第5章

Bostil went toward the house with his daughter, turning at the door to call a last word to his riders about the care of his horses.

The house was a low, flat, wide structure, with a corridor running through the middle, from which doors led into the adobe-walled rooms.The windows were small openings high up, evidently intended for defense as well as light, and they had rude wooden shutters.The floor was clay, covered everywhere by Indian blankets.A pioneer's home it was, simple and crude, yet comfortable, and having the rare quality peculiar to desert homes it was cool in summer and warm in winter.

As Bostil entered with his arm round Lucy a big hound rose from the hearth.

This room was immense, running the length of the house, and it contained a huge stone fireplace, where a kettle smoked fragrantly, and rude home-made chairs with blanket coverings, and tables to match, and walls covered with bridles, guns, pistols, Indian weapons and ornaments, and trophies of the chase.In a far corner stood a work-bench, with tools upon it and horse trappings under it.In the opposite comer a door led into the kitchen.This room was Bostil's famous living-room, in which many things had happened, some of which had helped make desert history and were never mentioned by Bostil.

Bostil's sister came in from the kitchen.She was a huge person with a severe yet motherly face.She had her hands on her hips, and she cast a rather disapproving glance at father and daughter.

"So you're back again?" she queried, severely.

"Sure, Auntie," replied the girl, complacently.

"You ran off to get out of seeing Wetherby, didn't you?"Lucy stared sweetly at her aunt.

"He was waiting for hours," went on the worthy woman."I never saw a man in such a stew....No wonder, playing fast and loose with him the way you do.""I told him No!" flashed Lucy.

"But Wetherby's not the kind to take no.And I'm not satisfied to let you mean it.Lucy Bostil, you don't know your mind an hour straight running.You've fooled enough with these riders of your Dad's.If you're not careful you'll marry one of them....One of these wild riders! As bad as a Ute Indian!..

.Wetherby is young and he idolizes you.In all common sense why don't you take him?""I don't care for him," replied Lucy.

"You like him as well as anybody....John Bostil, what do you say? You approved of Wetherby.I heard you tell him Lucy was like an unbroken colt and that you'd--""Sure, I like Jim," interrupted Bostil; and he avoided Lucy's swift look.

"Well?" demanded his sister.

Evidently Bostil found himself in a corner between two fires.He looked sheepish, then disgusted.

"Dad!" exclaimed Lucy, reproachfully.

"See here, Jane," said Bostil, with an air of finality, "the girl is of age to-day--an' she can do what she damn pleases!""That's a fine thing for you to say," retorted Aunt Jane."Like as not she'll be fetching that hang-dog Joel Creech up here for you to support.""Auntie!" cried Lucy, her eyes blazing.

"Oh, child, you torment me--worry me so," said the disappointed woman."It's all for your sake....Look at you, Lucy Bostil! A girl of eighteen who comes of a family! And you riding around and going around as you are now--in a man's clothes!""But, you dear old goose, I can't ride in a woman's skirt," expostulated Lucy.

"Mind you, Auntie, I can RIDE!"

"Lucy, if I live here forever I'd never get reconciled to a Bostil woman in leather pants.We Bostils were somebody once, back in Missouri."Bostil laughed."Yes, an' if I hadn't hit the trail west we'd be starvin' yet.

Jane, you're a sentimental old fool.Let the girl alone an' reconcile yourself to this wilderness."Aunt Jane's eyes were wet with tears.Lucy, seeing them, ran to her and hugged and kissed her.

"Auntie, I will promise--from to-day--to have some dignity.I've been free as a boy in these rider clothes.As I am now the men never seem to regard me as a girl.Somehow that's better.I can't explain, but I like it.My dresses are what have caused all the trouble.I know that.But if I'm grown up--if it's so tremendous --then I'll wear a dress all the time, except just WHEN I ride.

Will that do, Auntie?"

"Maybe you will grow up, after all," replied Aunt Jane, evidently surprised and pleased.

Then Lucy with clinking spurs ran away to her room.

"Jane, what's this nonsense about young Joel Creech?" asked Bostil, gruffly.

"I don't know any more than is gossiped.That I told you.Have you ever asked Lucy about him?""I sure haven't," said Bostil, bluntly.

"Well, ask her.If she tells you at all she'll tell the truth.Lucy'd never sleep at night if she lied."Aunt Jane returned to her housewifely tasks, leaving Bostil thoughtfully stroking the hound and watching the fire.Presently Lucy returned--a different Lucy--one that did not rouse his rider's pride, but thrilled his father's heart.She had been a slim, lithe, supple, disheveled boy, breathing the wild spirit of the open and the horse she rode.She was now a girl in the graceful roundness of her slender form, with hair the gold of the sage at sunset, and eyes the blue of the deep haze of distance, and lips the sweet red of the upland rose.And all about her seemed different.

"Lucy--you look--like--like she used to be," said Bostil, unsteadily.

"My mother!" murmured Lucy.

But these two, so keen, so strong, so alive, did not abide long with sad memories.

"Lucy, I want to ask you somethin'," said Bostil, presently."What about this young Joel Creech?"Lucy started as if suddenly recalled, then she laughed merrily."Dad, you old fox, did you see him ride out after me?""No.I was just askin' on--on general principles.""What do you mean?"

"Lucy, is there anythin' between you an' Joel?" he asked, gravely.

"No," she replied, with her clear eyes up to his.

Bostil thought of a bluebell."I'm beggin' your pardon," he said, hastily.

"Dad, you know how Joel runs after me.I've told you.I let him till lately.Iliked him.But that wasn't why.I felt sorry for him--pitied him.""You did? Seems an awful waste," replied Bostil.