Out of the Depths: A Romance of Reclamation

  CHAPTER III

  QUEEN OF WHAT?

  Heedless of the men behind him, Ashton rode off with his ardent gazefixed admiringly upon his companion. The more he looked at her themore astonished and gratified he was to have found so charming a girlin this raw wilderness.

  As a city man, he might have considered the healthy color that glowedunder the tan of her cheeks a trifle too pronounced, had it not beenoffset by the delicate mold of her features. Her eyes were as blue asalpine forget-me-nots.

  Though she sat astride and the soft coils of her chestnut hair werecovered with a broad-brimmed felt hat, he was puzzled to find thatthere really was nothing of the Wild West cowgirl in her costume andbearing. Her modest gray riding dress was cut in the very lateststyle. If her manner differed from that of most young ladies of hisacquaintance, it was only in her delightful frankness and totalabsence of affectation. Yet she could not be a city girl on a visit,for she sat her horse with the erect, long-stirruped, graceful,yielding seat peculiar to riders of the cattle ranges.

  "Do you know," he gave voice to his curiosity, as she directed theircourse slantingly down the ridge away from Deep Canyon, "I am simplydying to learn, Miss Chuckie--"

  "Perhaps you had better make it 'Miss Knowles,'" she suggested, with aquiet smile that checked the familiarity of his manner.

  "Ah, yes--pardon me!--'Miss Knowles,' of course," he murmured. "But,you know, so unusual a name--"

  "You mean Chuckie?" she asked. "It formerly was quite common in theWest--was often used as a nickname. My real name is Isobel. Iunderstand that Chuckie comes from the Spanish Chiquita."

  "Chiquita!" he exclaimed. "But that is not a regular name. It is onlya term of endearment, like Nina. And you say Chuckie comes fromChiquita? Chiquita--dear one!"

  His large dark eyes glowed at her brilliant with audacious admiration.Her color deepened, but she replied with perfect composure: "You seewhy I prefer to be addressed as 'Miss Knowles'--by you."

  "Yet you permitted that common cowpuncher to call you Miss Chuckie."

  The girl smiled ironically. "For one thing, Mr. Ashton, I have knownKid Gowan over eight years, and, for another, he is hardly a _common_cowpuncher."

  "He looks ordinary enough to me."

  "Well, well!" she rallied. "I should have thought that even to theinnocent gaze of a tenderfoot--Let me hasten to explain that thecommon or garden variety of cowshepherd is to be distinguished in manyrespects from his predecessor of the Texas trail."

  "Texas trail?" he rejoined. "Now I know you're trying to string me.This Gowan can't be much older than I am."

  The girl dropped her bantering tone, and answered soberly: "He is onlytwenty-five, and yet he is a full generation older than you. He wasborn and raised in a cow camp. He is one of the few men of the typethat remain to link the range of today with the vanished world of thecattle frontier."

  "Yet you say that the fellow is only my age?"

  "In years, yes. But in type he belongs to the generation that ispast--the generation of longhorns, long drives, long Colt's, and shortlives; of stampedes, and hats like yours, badmen, and Injins."

  "Surely you cannot mean that this--You called him 'Kid.'"

  "Kid Gowan," she confirmed. "Yes, he holds to the old traditions evenin that. There are six notches on the hilt of his 'gun,' if you countthe two little ones he nicked for his brace of Utes."

  "What! He is a real Indian fighter, like Kit Carson?"

  "Oh, no, it was merely a band of hide hunters that came over the linefrom Utah, and Mr. Gowan helped the game warden run them back to theirreservation."

  "He actually killed two of them?"

  "Yes," replied the girl, her gravity deepening to a concerned frown."The worst of it is that I'm not altogether certain it was necessary.Men out here, as a rule, think much too little of the life of anIndian."

  "Ah!" murmured Ashton. "Two Indians. But didn't you speak of sixnotches?"

  "Six," confirmed the girl, her brow partly clearing. "The others weredifferent. Three were rustlers. The sheriff's posse overtook them.Both sides were firing. Kid circled around and shot three. He happenedto have a long-range rifle. Daddy says they threw up their hands whenthe first one fell; but Kid explained to me that he was too far awayto see it."

  "Ah!" murmured Ashton the second time, and he put up his hand to thehole in the front of his sombrero.

  "The last was two years ago," went on the girl. "There was a disputeover a maverick. Kid was tried and acquitted on his plea ofself-defense. There were no witnesses. He claimed that the other mandrew first. Two empty shells were found in the other man's revolver,and only one in Kid's. That cleared him."

  Ashton took off his hat and stared at the holes where the heavyforty-four bullet had gone in and gone out. He was silent.

  "You see, poor Kid has been unfortunate," remarked the girl, as sheheaded her pony down over the edge of the mesa. "That time with therustlers, all the posse were firing, and he just happened to be theone that got the best aim; and the time with the Indians, I'm sure hedid not shoot to kill. It just happened that way. He told me sohimself."

  Ashton ran his tongue over his lip. "Yes--I suppose so," he muttered.

  "Kid has all the good qualities and only a few of the faults of theold-time cowboys," went on the girl. "He is almost fiercely loyal toDaddy's interests. That's why he led a raid on a sheep outfit, fouryears ago, when almost half of a large flock were run over into DeepCanyon--poor innocent beasts! Daddy was furious with Kid; but there wasno legal proof as to who were members of the attacking party, and thesheep were destroying our range. All of Daddy's cattle would havestarved."

  "He was not punished?" murmured Ashton.

  "Daddy could not be expected to discharge him, could he, when Kid didit to save our range? You see, it was just because he was so veryloyal. You must not think from these things that he--It is true he issuspicious of strangers, but he always has been very kind and gentleto me. I am very fond of him."

  "You are?" exclaimed Ashton, stirred from his uneasy depression. "Ishould hardly have thought him the kind to interest a girl like you."

  "Really?" she bantered. "Why not? I have lived on the range ever sinceI was fourteen."

  He stared at her incredulously. "Since you were fourteen?"

  "For nine years," she added, smiling at his astonishment.

  "But--it can't be," he protested, his eyes on her stylish costume. "Atleast, not all the time."

  She nodded at him encouragingly. "So you _can_ see--a little. Nearlyall my winters have been spent in Denver, except one in Europe."

  "Europe?" he repeated.

  "We didn't cross in a cattle boat," she flashed back at him, dimplingmischievously. "Nor did I go as the Queen of the Rancho, or of theRoundup, or even of the Wild and Woolly Outlaw Band."

  He flushed with mortification. "I am only too well aware, MissKnowles, how you must regard me."

  "Oh, I do not regard you at all--as yet," she bantered. "But of courseI could not expect you to know that Daddy's sister is one of theSacred Thirty-six."

  "Sacred--? Is that one of the orders of nuns?"

  "None whatever," she punned. In the same moment she drew a mostsolemn looking face. "My deah Mistah Ashton, I will have you tounderstand my reference was to that most select coterie whichcomprises Denver's Real Society."

  "Indeed!" he said, with a subtle alteration in his tone and manner."You say that your aunt is one of--"

  "My aunt by adoption," she corrected.

  "Adoption?"

  "I am not Daddy's natural daughter. He adopted me," explained the girlin her frank way.

  "Yes?" asked Ashton, plainly eager to learn more of her history.

  Without seeming to observe this, she adroitly balked his curiosity--"So,you see, Daddy's sister is only my aunt by adoption. Still, she has beenvery, very good to me; though I love Daddy and this free outdoorlife so much that I insist on coming back home every spring."

  "Ah, yes, I see," he replied. "Really, Miss Know
les, you must think mea good deal of a dub."

  "Oh, well, allowances should be made for a tenderfoot," she bantered.

  "At least I recognized your queenliness, even if at first I didmistake what you were queen of," he thrust back.

  "So you still insist I'm a queen? Of what, pray?"

  "Of Hearts!" he answered with fervor.

  His daring was rewarded with a lovely blush. But she was onlymomentarily disconcerted.

  "I am not so sure of that," she replied. "Though it's not Queen ofSpades, because I do not have to work; and it can't be Diamonds,because Daddy is no more than comfortably well to do--only sixthousand head of stock. But as for Hearts--No, I'm sure it must beClubs; I do so love to knock around. Really, if ever they break upthis range, it will break my heart same time."

  "Break up the range? How do you mean?"

  "Put it under irrigation and turn it into orchards and farms, as theyhave done so many places here on the Western Slope. You know, Coloradoapples and peaches are fast becoming famous even in Europe."

  "I do not wonder, not in the least--if I am to judge from a certainsample of the Colorado peach," he ventured.

  This time she did not blush. "I am quite serious, Mr. Ashton," shereproved him. "Daddy owns only five sections. The rest of his range ispublic land. If settlers should come in and homestead it, he wouldhave to quit the cattle business. You cannot realize how fearfully weare watching the irrigation projects--all the Government reclamationwork, and the private dams, too. There seems to be no water that canbe put on Dry Mesa, yet the engineers are doing such wonderful thingsthese days."

  Ashton straightened on his saddle. "That is quite true, Miss Knowles.You know, I myself am an engineer."

  "Oh!" she exclaimed in dismay. "You, an engineer? Have you come hereto see if our mesa can be irrigated?"

  "No, indeed, no, I shall not do that," he replied. "I have not theslightest thought of such a project. I am merely out for sport."

  She eyed him uncertainly. "But--We get all the reports--There is anAshton connected with that wonderful Zariba Dam, just being finishedin Arizona."

  "That is my father. He is interested in it with a Mr. Leslie. They arefinancing the project. But I have nothing to do with it, nothingwhatever, I assure you. The engineer is another man, a fellownamed--"

  He paused as if unable to remember. The girl looked at him with ashade of disappointment in her clear eyes.

  "A Mr. Blake--Thomas Blake," she supplied the name. "I thought youmight have known him."

  "Ah--Blake?" he murmured hesitatingly. "Why, yes, I did at one timehave somewhat of an acquaintance with him."

  "You did?" she cried, her eyes brilliant with excitement. "Oh, tellme! I--" She faltered under his surprised stare, and went on ratherlamely: "You see, I--we have been immensely interested in the ZaribaDam. The reports all describe it as an extraordinary work ofengineering. And so we have been curious to learn something about theengineer."

  "But if you're so opposed to irrigation projects?" he thrust.

  "That makes no difference," she parried. "We--Daddy and I--cannot butadmire such a remarkable engineer."

  Ashton shrugged. "The dam was a big thing. I fail to see why youshould admire Blake just because he happened to blunder on the ideathat solved the difficulty."

  "You do not like him," she said with frank directness.

  He hesitated and looked away. When he replied it was with evidentreluctance: "No, I do not. He is--You would hardly admire himpersonally, even though he did bully Genevieve Leslie into marryinghim."

  "He is married?" exclaimed the girl.

  "No wonder you are surprised," said Ashton. "It was the most amazingthing imaginable--she the daughter of H. V. Leslie, one of ourwealthiest financiers, and he a rough, uncouth drunkard."

  "Drunkard?" almost screamed the girl. "No, no, not drunkard! I cannotbelieve it!"

  "He certainly was one until just before Genevieve married him,"insisted Ashton. "I hear he has managed to keep sober since."

  "O-o-oh!" sighed Miss Isobel, making no effort to conceal her vastrelief. She attempted a smile. "I am so glad to hear that he is allright now. Of course he must be!... You say he married an heiress?"

  "She is worth three millions in her own right, and Leslie is as daftover him as she is. Leslie and my father are the ones who backed himon the Zariba Dam."

  "How interesting! And I suppose Mr. Blake is a Western man. So many ofthe best engineers come from the West."

  Ashton looked at her suspiciously. He could not make out her interestin Blake. She apparently had come to regard the engineer as a sort ofhero. Yet why should she continue to inquire about him, now that sheknew he was a married man?

  "I'm sure I cannot tell you," he replied, somewhat stiffly. "Thefellow seems to have come from nowhere. Had it not been for anaccident, he would never have got within speaking distance ofGenevieve, but they happened to be shipwrecked together alone--on thecoast of Africa."

  "Wrecked?--shipwrecked? How perfectly glorious!"

  "I wouldn't mind it myself--with you!" he flashed back.

  "I might," she bantered. "This Mr. Blake, I imagine, was hardly atenderfoot."

  "No, he was a roughneck," muttered Ashton.

  "You do not like him," she remarked the second time.

  "Why should I, a low fellow like that? I've heard that he even bragsthat he started in the Chicago slums."

  The girl put her hand to her bosom. "In the--the Chicago slums!" shehalf whispered.

  "No wonder you are surprised," said Ashton. "Anyone would presumethat he would keep such a disgrace to himself. It shows what heis--absolutely devoid of good taste."

  "Is he--What does he look like?" she eagerly inquired.

  Ashton shrugged. "Pardon me. I prefer not to talk any more about thefellow."

  Miss Isobel checked her curiosity. "Very well, Mr. Ashton." She lookedaround, and suddenly flourished her leathern quirt. "Look--there areKid and Daddy trying to head us. Come on, if you want a race. I'mgoing to beat them down to Dry Fork."