Part 19

It appears that one was English and the other a tenderfoot. The tenderfoot was in love with a girl who had filed on a homestead near the ranch on which he was employed, but who was then a waitress in the hotel we were at. She had not seemed kind to the tenderfoot and he was telling his friend about it. The Englishman was trying to instruct him as to how to proceed.

"You need to be very circumspect, Johnny, where females are concerned, but you mustn't be too danged timid either."

"I don't know what the devil to say to her; I can barely nod my head when she asks me will I take tea or coffee; and to-night she mixed it because I nodded yes when she said, 'tea or coffee,' and it was the dangdest mess I ever tried to get outside of."

"Well," the friend counseled, "you just get her into a corner some'eres and say to 'er, 'Dearest 'Attie, I hoffer you my 'and hand my 'eart.'"

"But I can't," wailed Johnny. "I could never get her into a corner anyway."

"If you can't, you're not hold enough to marry then. What the 'ell would you do with a woman in the 'ouse if you couldn't corner 'er? I tell 'e, women 'ave to 'ave a master, and no man better tackle that job until 'e can be sure 'e can make 'er walk the chalk-line."

"But I don't want her to walk any line; I just want her to speak to me."

"Dang me if I don't believe you are locoed. Why, she's got 'e throwed hand 'og-tied now. What d'e want to make it any worse for?"

They talked for a long time and the Englishman continued to have trouble with his h's; but at last Johnny was encouraged to "corner 'er" next morning before they left for their ranch.

We expected to be astir early anyway, and our curiosity impelled us to see the outcome of the friend's counsel, so we were almost the first in the dining-room next morning. A rather pretty girl was busy arranging the tables, and soon a boyish-looking fellow, wearing great bat-wing chaps, came in and stood warming himself at the stove.

I knew at once it was Johnny, and I saw "'Attie" blush. The very indifference with which she treated him argued well for his cause, but of course he didn't know that. So when she passed by him and her skirt caught on his big spurs they both stooped at once to unfasten it; their heads hit together with such a bump that the ice was broken, although he seemed to think it was her skull. I am sure there ought to be a thaw after all his apologies. After breakfast Mrs. O'Shaughnessy went out to see her friend Cormac O'Toole. He was the only person in town we could hope to get a team from with which to continue our journey. This is a hard country on horses at best, and at this time of the year particularly so; few will let their teams go out at any price, but Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had hopes, and she is so persuasive that I felt no one could resist her. There was a drummer at breakfast who kept "cussing" the country. He had tried to get a conveyance and had failed; so the cold, the snow, the people, and everything else disgusted him.

Soon Mrs. O'Shaughnessy returned, and as the drummer was trying to get out to E----, and that was our destination also, she made her way toward him, intending to invite him to ride with us. She wore over her best clothes an old coat that had once belonged to some one of her men friends. It had once been bearskin, but was now more bare skin, so her appearance was against her; she looked like something with the mange. So Mr. Drummer did not wait to hear what she was going to say but at once exclaimed, "No, madam, I cannot let you ride out with me. I can't get a rig myself in this beastly place." Then he turned to a man standing near and remarked, "These Western women are so bold they don't hesitate to demand favors."

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy's eyes fairly snapped, but she said nothing. I think she took a malicious delight in witnessing the drummer's chagrin when a few moments later our comfortable sleigh and good strong team appeared.

We were going to drive ourselves, but we had to drive to the depot for our suit-cases; but when we got there the ticket-office was not open, so the agent was probably having his beauty sleep. There was a fire in the big stove, and we joined the bunch of men in the depot. Among them we noticed a thin, consumptive-looking fellow, evidently a stranger.

Very soon some men began talking of some transaction in which a Bishop B---- was concerned. It seemed they didn't admire the Bishop very much; they kept talking of his peculiarities and transgressions, and mentioned his treatment of his wives. His "second," they said, was blind because of cataracts, and, although abundantly able, he left her in darkness. She had never seen her two last children. Some one spoke up and said, "I thought polygamy was no longer practiced." Then the man explained that they no longer contracted plural marriages, but that many kept all their wives and B---- still had both of his. He went on to say that although such practice is contrary to law, it was almost impossible to make a case against them, for the women would not swear against their husbands. B---- had been arrested once, but his second swore that she didn't know who her children's father was, and it cost the sheriff his office the next election.

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy spoke to an acquaintance of hers and mentioned where we were going. In a short while we got our suit-cases and we were off, but as we drove past the freight depot, the stranger we had noticed came down the steps and asked us to let him ride out with us. I really felt afraid of him, but Mrs. O'Shaughnessy thinks herself a match for any mere man, so she drew up and the man climbed in. He took the lines and we snuggled down under the robes and listened to the runners, shrill screeching over the frozen surface.

We had dinner with a new settler, and about two o'clock that afternoon we overtook a fellow who was plodding along the road. His name was B----, he said, and he pointed out to us his broad fields and herds. He had been overseeing some feeders he had, and his horse had escaped, so he was walking home, as it was only a couple of miles. He talked a great deal in that two-mile trip; too much for his own good, it developed.

For the first time since B---- climbed into our sleigh, the stranger spoke. "Can you tell me where Mrs. Belle B---- lives?" he asked.

"Why, yes," our passenger replied. "She is a member of our little flock. She is slightly related to me, as you perhaps noticed the name, and I will show you to her house."

"Just how is she related to you?" the stranger asked.

"That," the man replied, "is a matter of protection. I have given her the protection of my name."

"Then she is your wife, is she not?" the stranger asked.

"You must be a stranger in this country," the man evaded. "What is your name?"

But the stranger didn't seem to hear, and just then we came opposite the residence of the Bishop, and the man we had picked up in the road said, "That is my home, won't you get out and warm? My wife will be glad to get acquainted with you ladies."

We declined, as it was only a short distance to the house of the man Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had come to see, so he stayed in the sleigh to show the stranger to the house of Mrs. Belle B----. I can't say much for it as a house, and I was glad I didn't have to go in. The stranger and B---- got out and entered the house, and we drove away.

Next morning, as we returned through the little village, it was all excitement. Bishop B---- had been shot the night before, just as he had left the house of Mrs. Belle B----, for what reason or by whom no one knew; and if the Bishop knew he had not told, for he either would not or could not talk.

They were going to start with him that day to the hospital, but they had no hopes of his living.

When we came to Mrs. Belle's house, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy got out of the sleigh and went into the house. I could hear her soothing voice, and I was mighty glad the poor, forlorn woman had such a comforter.