The Marquis and Miss Sally
Without knowing it, Old Bill Bascom had the honor of being overtaken byfate the same day with the Marquis of Borodale.
The Marquis lived in Regent Square, London. Old Bill lived on LimpingDoe Creek, Hardeman County, Texas. The cataclysm that engulfed theMarquis took the form of a bursting bubble known as the Central andSouth American Mahogany and Caoutchouc Monopoly. Old Bill's Nemesis wasin the no less perilous shape of a band of civilized Indian cattlethieves from the Territory who ran off his entire herd of four hundredhead, and shot old Bill dead as he trailed after them. To even up theconsequences of the two catastrophes, the Marquis, as soon as he foundthat all he possessed would pay only fifteen shillings on the pound ofhis indebtedness, shot himself.
Old Bill left a family of six motherless sons and daughters, who foundthemselves without even a red steer left to eat, or a red cent to buyone with.
The Marquis left one son, a young man, who had come to the States andestablished a large and well-stocked ranch in the Panhandle of Texas.When this young man learned the news he mounted his pony and rode totown. There he placed everything he owned except his horse, saddle,Winchester, and fifteen dollars in his pockets, in the hands of hislawyers, with instructions to sell and forward the proceeds to London tobe applied upon the payment of his father's debts. Then he mounted hispony and rode southward.
One day, arriving about the same time, but by different trails, twoyoung chaps rode up to the Diamond-Cross ranch, on the Little Piedra,and asked for work. Both were dressed neatly and sprucely in cowboycostume. One was a straight-set fellow, with delicate, handsomefeatures, short, brown hair, and smooth face, sunburned to a goldenbrown. The other applicant was stouter and broad-shouldered, with fresh,red complexion, somewhat freckled, reddish, curling hair, and a ratherplain face, made attractive by laughing eyes and a pleasant mouth.
The superintendent of the Diamond-Cross was of the opinion that he couldgive them work. In fact, word had reached him that morning that the campcook--a most important member of the outfit--had straddled his bronchoand departed, being unable to withstand the fire of fun and practicaljokes of which he was, ex officio, the legitimate target.
"Can either of you cook?" asked the superintendent.
"I can," said the reddish-haired fellow, promptly. "I've cooked in campquite a lot. I'm willing to take the job until you've got something elseto offer."
"Now, that's the way I like to hear a man talk," said thesuperintendent, approvingly. "I'll give you a note to Saunders, andhe'll put you to work."
Thus the names of John Bascom and Charles Norwood were added to thepay-roll of the Diamond-Cross. The two left for the round-up campimmediately after dinner. Their directions were simple, but sufficient:"Keep down the arroyo for fifteen miles till you get there." Both beingstrangers from afar, young, spirited, and thus thrown together by chancefor a long ride, it is likely that the comradeship that afterwardexisted so strongly between them began that afternoon as they meanderedalong the little valley of the Canada Verda.
They reached their destination just after sunset. The main camp of theround-up was comfortably located on the bank of a long water-hole, undera fine mott of timber. A number of small A tents pitched upon grassyspots and the big wall tent for provisions showed that the camp wasintended to be occupied for a considerable length of time.
The round-up had ridden in but a few moments before, hungry and tired,to a supperless camp. The boys were engaged in an emulous display ofanathemas supposed to fit the case of the absconding cook. While theywere unsaddling and hobbling their ponies, the newcomer rode in andinquired for Pink Saunders. The boss ol the round-up came forth and wasgiven the superintendent's note.
Pink Saunders, though a boss during working hours, was a humorist incamp, where everybody, from cook to superintendent, is equal. Afterreading the note he waved his hand toward the camp and shouted,ceremoniously, at the top of his voice, "Gentlemen, allow me to presentto you the Marquis and Miss Sally."
At the words both the new arrivals betray confusion. The newly employedcook started, with a surprised look on his face, but, immediatelyrecollecting that "Miss Sally" is the generic name for the male cook inevery west Texas cow camp, he recovered his composure with a grin at hisown expense.
His companion showed little less discomposure, even turning angrily,with a bitten lip, and reaching for his saddle pommel, as if to remounthis pony; but "Miss Sally" touched his arm and said, laughingly, "Comenow. Marquis; that was quite a compliment from Saunders. It's thatdistinguished air of yours and aristocratic nose that made him call youthat."
He began to unsaddle, and the Marquis, restored to equanimity, followedhis example. Rolling up his sleeves, Miss Sally sprang for the grubwagon, shouting: "I'm the new cook b'thunder! Some of you chaps rustle alittle wood for a fire, and I'll guarantee you a hot square meal insideof thirty minutes." Miss Sally's energy and good-humor, as he ransackedthe grub wagon for coffee, flour, and bacon, won the good opinion of thecamp instantly.
And also, in days following, the Marquis, after becoming betteracquainted, proved to be a cheerful, pleasant fellow, always a littlereserved, and taking no part in the rough camp frolics; but the boysgradually came to respect this reserve--which fitted the title Saundershad given him--and even to like him for it. Saunders had assigned him toa place holding the herd during the cuttings. He proved to be a skilfulrider and as good with the lariat or in the branding pen as most ofthem.
The Marquis and Miss Sally grew to be quite close comrades. After supperwas over, and everything cleaned up, you would generally find themtogether, Miss Sally smoking his brier-root pipe, and the Marquisplaiting a quirt or scraping rawhide for a new pair of hobbles.
The superintendent did not forget his promise to keep an eye on thecook. Several times, when visiting the camp, he held long talks withhim. He seemed to have taken a fancy to Miss Sally. One afternoon herode up, on his way back to the ranch from a tour of the camps, and saidto him:
"There'll be a man here in the morning to take your place. As soon as heshows up you come to the ranch. I want you to take charge of the ranchaccounts and correspondence. I want somebody that I can depend upon tokeep things straight when I'm away. The wages'll be all right. TheDiamond-Cross'll hold its end up with a man who'll look after itsinterests."
"All right," said Miss Sally, as quietly as if he had expected thenotice all along. "Any objections to my bringing my wife down to theranch?"
"You married?" said the superintendent, frowning a little. "You didn'tmention it when we were talking."
"Because I'm not," said the cook. "But I'd like to be. Thought I'd waittill I got a job under roof. I couldn't ask her to live in a cow camp."
"Right," agreed the superintendent. "A camp isn't quite the place for amarried man--but--well, there's plenty of room at the house, and if yousuit us as well as I think you will you can afford it. You write to herto come on."
"All right," said Miss Sally again, "I'll ride in as soon as I amrelieved to-morrow."
It was a rather chilly night, and after supper the cow-punchers werelounging about a big fire of dried mesquite chunks.
Their usual exchange of jokes and repartee had dwindled almost tosilence, but silence in a cow camp generally betokens the brewing ofmischief.
Miss Sally and the Marquis were seated upon a log, discussing therelative merits of the lengthened or shortened stirrup in long-distanceriding. The Marquis arose presently and went to a tree near by toexamine some strips of rawhide he was seasoning for making a lariat.Just as he left a little puff of wind blew some scraps of tobacco from acigarette that Dry-Creek Smithers was rolling, into Miss Sally's eyes.While the cook was rubbing at them, with tears flowing, "Phonograph"Davis--so called on account of his strident voice--arose and began aspeech.
"Fellers and citizens! I desire to perpound a interrogatory. What is themost grievous spectacle what the human mind can contemplate?"
A volley of answers responded to his question.
"A busted flush!"
"A Maverick when you ain't got your branding iron!"
"Yourself!"
"The hole in the end of some other feller's gun!"
"Shet up, you ignoramuses," said old Taller, the fat cow-puncher. "Phonyknows what it is. He's waitin' for to tell us."
"No, fellers and citizens," continued Phonograph. "Them spectaclesyou've e-numerated air shore grievious, and way up yonder close to theso-lution, but they ain't it. The most grievious spectacle air that"--hepointed to Miss Sally, who was still rubbing his streaming eyes--"atrustin' and a in-veegled female a-weepin' tears on account of her heartbein' busted by a false deceiver. Air we men or air we catamounts togaze upon the blightin' of our Miss Sally's affections by aa-risto-crat, which has come among us with his superior beauty and hisglitterin' title to give the weeps to the lovely critter we air bound topertect? Air we goin' to act like men, or air we goin' to keep on eaten'soggy chuck from her cryin' so plentiful over the bread-pan?"
"It's a gallopin' shame," said Dry-Creek, with a sniffle. "It ain'thuman. I've noticed the varmint a-palaverin' round her frequent. And hima Marquis! Ain't that a title, Phony?"
"It's somethin' like a king," the Brushy Creek Kid hastened to explain,"only lower in the deck. Guess it comes in between the Jack and theten-spot."
"Don't miscontruct me," went on Phonograph, "as undervaluatin' thea-ristocrats. Some of 'em air proper people and can travel right alongwith the Watson boys. I've herded some with 'em myself. I've viewed theelephant with the Mayor of Fort Worth, and I've listened to the owl withthe gen'ral passenger agent of the Katy, and they can keep up with thepercession from where you laid the chunk. But when a Marquis monkeyswith the innocent affections of a cook-lady, may I inquire what the caseseems to call for?"
"The leathers," shouted Dry-Creek Smithers.
"You hearn 'er, Charity!" was the Kid's form of corroboration.
"We've got your company," assented the cow-punchers, in chorus.
Before the Marquis realized their intention, two of them seized him byeach arm and led him up to the log. Phonograph Davis, self-appointed tocarry out the sentence, stood ready, with a pair of stout leatherleggings in his hands.
It was the first time they had ever laid hands on the Marquis duringtheir somewhat rude sports.
"What are you up to?" he asked, indignantly, with flashing eyes.
"Go easy, Marquis," whispered Rube Fellows, one of the boys that heldhim. "It's all in fun. Take it good-natured and they'll let you offlight. They're only goin' to stretch you over the log and tan you eightor ten times with the leggin's. 'Twon't hurt much."
The Marquis, with an exclamation of anger, his white teeth gleaming,suddenly exhibited a surprising strength. He wrenched with his arms soviolently that the four men were swayed and dragged many yards from thelog. A cry of anger escaped him, and then Miss Sally, his eyes clearedof the tobacco, saw, and he immediately mixed with the struggling group.
But at that moment a loud "Hallo!" rang in their ears, and a buckboarddrawn by a team of galloping mustangs spun into the campfire's circle oflight. Every man turned to look, and what they saw drove from theirminds all thoughts of carrying out Phonograph Davis's rather time-worncontribution to the evening's amusement. Bigger game than the Marquiswas at hand, and his captors released him and stood staring at theapproaching victim.
The buckboard and team belonged to Sam Holly, a cattleman from the BigMuddy. Sam was driving, and with him was a stout, smooth-faced man,wearing a frock coat and a high silk hat. That was the county judge, Mr.Dave Hackett, candidate for reelection. Sam was escorting him about thecounty, among the camps, to shake up the sovereign voters.
The men got out, hitched the team to a mesquite, and walked toward thefire.
Instantly every man in camp, except the Marquis, Miss Sally, and PinkSaunders, who had to play host, uttered a frightful yell of assumedterror and fled on all sides into the darkness.
"Heavens alive!" exclaimed Hackett, "are we as ugly as that? How do youdo, Mr. Saunders? Glad to see you again. What are you doing to my hat,Holly?"
"I was afraid of this hat," said Sam Holly, meditatively. He had takenthe hat from Hackett's head and was holding it in his hand, lookingdubiously around at the shadows beyond the firelight where now absolutestillness reigned. "What do you think, Saunders?"
Pink grinned.
"Better elevate it some," he said, in the tone of one givingdisinterested advice. "The light ain't none too good. I wouldn't want iton my head."
Holly stepped upon the hub of a hind wheel of the grub wagon and hungthe hat upon a limb of a live-oak. Scarcely had his foot touched theground when the crash of a dozen six-shooters split the air, and the hatfell to the ground riddled with bullets.
A hissing noise was heard as if from a score of rattlesnakes, and nowthe cow-punchers emerged on all sides from the darkness, stepping high,with ludicrously exaggerated caution, and "hist"-ing to one another toobserve the utmost prudence in approaching. They formed a solemn, widecircle about the hat, gazing at it in manifest alarm, and seized everyfew moments by little stampedes of panicky flight.
"It's the varmint," said one in awed tones, "that flits up and down inthe low grounds at night, saying, `Willie-wallo!'"
"It's the venomous Kypootum," proclaimed another. "It stings after it'sdead, and hollers after it's buried."
"It's the chief of the hairy tribe," said Phonograph Davis. "But it'sstone dead, now, boys."
"Don't you believe it," demurred Dry-Creek. "It's only 'possumin'.' It'sthe dreaded Highgollacum fantod from the forest. There's only one way todestroy its life."
He led forward Old Taller, the 240-pound cow-puncher. Old Taller placedthe hat upright on the ground and solemnly sat upon it, crushing it asflat as a pancake.
Hackett had viewed these proceedings with wide-open eyes. Sam Holly sawthat his anger was rising and said to him:
"Here's where you win or lose, Judge. There are sixty votes on theDiamond Cross. The boys are trying your mettle. Take it as a joke, and Idon't think you'll regret it." And Hackett saw the point and rose to theoccasion.
Advancing to where the slayers of the wild beast were standing above itsremains and declaring it to be at last defunct, he said, with deepearnestness:
"Boys, I must thank you for this gallant rescue. While driving throughthe arroyo that cruel monster that you have so fearlessly and repeatedlyslaughtered sprang upon us from the tree tops. To you I shall considerthat I owe my life, and also, I hope, reelection to the office for whichI am again a candidate. Allow me to hand you my card."
The cow-punchers, always so sober-faced while engaged in theirmonkey-shines, relaxed into a grin of approval.
But Phonograph Davis, his appetite for fun not yet appeased, hadsomething more up his sleeve.
"Pardner," he said, addressing Hackett with grave severity, "many a campwould be down on you for turnin' loose a pernicious varmint like that init; but, bein' as we all escaped without loss of life, we'll overlookit. You can play square with us if you'll do it."
"How's that?" asked Hackett suspiciously.
"You're authorized to perform the sacred rights and lefts of mattermony,air you not?"
"Well, yes," replied Hackett. "A marriage ceremony conducted by me wouldbe legal."
"A wrong air to be righted in this here camp," said Phonograpby,virtuously. "A a-ristocrat have slighted a 'umble but beautchoos femalewat's pinin' for his affections. It's the jooty of the camp to dragforth the haughty descendant of a hundred--or maybe a hundred andtwenty-five--earls, even so at the p'int of a lariat, and jine him tothe weepin' lady. Fellows! roundup Miss Sally and the Marquis, there'sgoin' to be a weddin'."
This whim of Phonograph's was received with whoops of appreciation. Thecow-punchers started to apprehend the principals of the proposedceremony.
"Kindly prompt me," said Hackett, wiping his forehead, though the nightwas cool, "how far this thing is to be carried. And might I expect anyfurther portions of my raiment to be mistaken for wild animals andkilled?"
"The boys are livelier than usual to-night," said Saunders. "The onesthey are talking about marrying are two of the boys--a herd rider andthe cook. It's another joke. You and Sam will have to sleep hereto-night anyway; p'rhaps you'd better see 'em through with it. Maybethey'll quiet down after that."
The matchmakers found Miss Sally seated on the tongue of the grub wagon,calmly smoking his pipe. The Marquis was leaning idly against one of thetrees under which the supply tent was pitched.
Into this tent they were both hustled, and Phonograph, as master ofceremonies, gave orders for the preparations.
"You, Dry-Creek and Jimmy, and Ben and Taller--hump yourselves to thewildwood and rustle flowers for the blow-out--mesquite'll do--and getthat Spanish dagger blossom at the corner of the horse corral for thebride to pack. You, Limpy, get out that red and yaller blanket of your'nfor Miss Sally's skyirt. Marquis, you'll do 'thout fixin'; nobody don'tever look at the groom."
During their absurd preparation, the two principals were left alone fora few moments in the tent. The Marquis suddenly showed wildperturbation.
"This foolishness must not go on," he said, turning to Miss Sally a facewhite in the light of the lantern, hanging to the ridge-pole.
"Why not?" said the cook, with an amused smile. "It's fun for the boys;and they've always let you off pretty light in their frolics. I don'tmind it."
"But you don't understand," persisted the Marquis, pleadingly. "That manis county judge, and his acts are binding. I can't--oh, you don'tknow--"
The cook stepped forward and took the Marquis's hands.
"Sally Bascom," he said, "I KNOW!"
"You know!" faltered the Marquis, trembling. "And you--want to--"
"More than I ever wanted anything. Will you--here come the boys!"
The cow-punchers crowded in, laden with armfuls of decorations.
"Perfifious coyote!" said Phonograph, sternly, addressing the Marquis."Air you willing to patch up the damage you've did this ere slab-sidedbut trustin' bunch o' calico by single-footin' easy to the altar, orwill we have to rope ye, and drag you thar?"
The Marquis pushed back his hat, and leaned jauntily against somehigh-piled sacks of beans. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes wereshining.
"Go on with the rat killin'," said be.
A little while after a procession approached the tree under whichHackett, Holly, and Saunders were sitting smoking.
Limpy Walker was in the lead, extracting a doleful tune from hisconcertina. Next came the bride and groom. The cook wore the gorgeousNavajo blanket tied around his waist and carried in one band thewaxen-white Spanish dagger blossom as large as a peck-measure andweighing fifteen pounds. His hat was ornamented with mesquite branchesand yellow ratama blooms. A resurrected mosquito bar served as a veil.After them stumbled Phonograph Davis, in the character of the bride'sfather, weeping into a saddle blanket with sobs that could be heard amile away. The cow-punchers followed by twos, loudly commenting upon thebride's appearance, in a supposed imitation of the audiences atfashionable weddings.
Hackett rose as the procession halted before him, and after a littlelecture upon matrimony, asked:
"What are your names?"
"Sally and Charles," answered the cook.
"Join hands, Charles and Sally."
Perhaps there never was a stranger wedding. For, wedding it was, thoughonly two of those present knew it. When the ceremony was over, thecow-punchers gave one yell of congratulation and immediately abandonedtheir foolery for the night. Blankets were unrolled and sleep became theparamount question.
The cook (divested of his decorations) and the Marquis lingered for amoment in the shadow of the grub wagon. The Marquis leaned her headagainst his shoulder.
"I didn't know what else to do," she was saying. "Father was gone, andwe kids had to rustle. I had helped him so much with the cattle that Ithought I'd turn cowboy. There wasn't anything else I could make aliving at. I wasn't much stuck on it though, after I got here, and I'dhave left only--"
"Only what?"
"You know. Tell me something. When did you first--what made you--"
"Oh, it was as soon as we struck the camp, when Saunders bawled out 'TheMarquis and Miss Sally!' I saw how rattled you got at the name, and Ihad my sus--"
"Cheeky!" whispered the Marquis. "And why should you think that Ithought he was calling me 'Miss Sally'?"
"Because," answered the cook, calmly, "I was the Marquis. My father wasthe Marquis of Borodale. But you'll excuse that, won't you, Sally? Itreally isn't my fault, you know."
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