***" \. ^r ^ 
 
 m 
 
 ALFRED 
 HENRY 
 LEWIS 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
Pedro of the Ear," cried Moonlight, " I owed you that. 
 
THE 
 THROWBACK 
 
 A ROMANCE OF 
 THE SOUTHWEST 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED HENRY LEWIS 
 
 Author of "Wolfville," "Peggy O Neal," "The President, 
 "The Sunset Trail," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR 
 AND THREE OTHER PICTURES FROM PAINTINGS 
 BY N. C., fTTEfH ,. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 1906 
 
Copyright, 1905 and 1906, by 
 THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Entered at Stationers Hall, London, Eng. 
 
 All riyhts reserved 
 
 TITK OUTINi; PRh 
 UL POSIT, N. V 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEH PAGE 
 
 I. ON THE FAR CANADIAN . . . .1 
 
 II. OLD TOM MOONLIGHT . .10 
 
 III. OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL . . 22 
 
 IV. IRONJACKET S LOST MEDICINE . 40 
 V. THE STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT . . 52 
 
 VI. THE TREASURE OF DON LOPEZ . 66 
 
 VII. THE RED BULL OF THE CROSS-S . . 79 
 
 VIII. DON ANTON AND THE DONA INEZ . . 93 
 
 IX. THE UNINVITED GUEST . . 108 
 
 X. THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON . . 125 
 
 XI. THE MISSION OF PEDRO OF THE KNIFE . . 147 
 
 XII. THE PLOTTING OF ROBERT AND DON ANTON . 156 
 
 XIII. ROBERT S TONGUE-TIED LOVE . . 168 
 
 XIV. JEFF HORNE TURNS MINER .181 
 XV. THE RESCUE IN THE SNOW . . 194 
 
 XVI. AUNT TILDA TRIES A STAMPEDE . . 207 
 
 XVII. MR. HANRAHAN DELIVERS A MESSAGE . .215 
 
 XVIII. THE PROFESSOR ENCOUNTERS JEFF . . 223 
 
 XIX. ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY . . 237 
 
 &130V99 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XX. THE POISONED ARROW . ... 256 
 
 XXI. APPLIED SCIENCE AND THE MONK S HILL . 273 
 
 XXII. IRONJACKET PAYS A PATERNAL VISIT . . 288 
 
 XXIII. THE BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST . . 306 
 
 XXIV. LOVE GREW AND TREASURE CAME . .321 
 XXV. WEDDING BELLS AND SOMERSET . 338 
 
 Vl 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " PEDRO OF THE EAR," CRIED MOONLIGHT, " I OWED 
 YOU THAT " Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 MOONLIGHT WAS LOST IN A CONTEMPLATION OF THE 
 CROSS 
 
 THREW THE BRIDLE REIN ON SATHANTHUS NECK AND 
 ROLLED AND LIGHTED A CIGARETTE . . j . . 136 
 
 BEHIND, NOT TWO HUNDRED YARDS AWAY, WERE TWO 
 INDIANS . . . . . . . . . 252 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ON THE FAR CANADIAN 
 
 ROBERT BLAINEY on a brisk October afternoon was 
 pushing his slow way westward along that yellow 
 strip of wagon track, ribboned between the Cana 
 dian and the ragged fringe of the Staked Plains, 
 and known as the Old Fort Bascomb Trail. The 
 vehicle in which he rode a light surrey besides the 
 negro driver, carried in addition to himself a stout 
 woman, extremely the lady in look, and of more 
 than middle weight and years. This lady was old 
 enough to be the mother of Robert Blainey. She 
 had been so fortunate, however, as to escape such re 
 lationship, while sharing most of its ill consequences, 
 and was of no nearer kin to him than just aunt on 
 his dead mother s side of the family. Her name was 
 Matilda Hempstead, and in that strip of country 
 along the Chesapeake known as the Eastern Shore, 
 she had been looked up to and obeyed as "Aunt 
 Tilda." 
 
 Aunt Tilda had the dominant air of one deter 
 mined to rise superior to what difficulties should be 
 presented by new and untried surroundings. Robert 
 
 1 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 on his side wore brows of gloom, as one already dis 
 satisfied and who, while disgruntled with the present, 
 divided what capacity for emotion remained with 
 him between regret for what was behind and distrust 
 as to what lay before. 
 
 Off a trifle to the rear and right of the surrey, a 
 young girl was riding a coal-black saddle pony. You 
 would have guessed her age as seventeen. Her girl 
 ish beauty was of the kind termed striking with 
 her rounded form, fresh cheeks, brown deep eyes, and 
 rice-white teeth showing between the rich fullness of 
 damask lips. 
 
 Ethel Pryce was the foster-daughter of Aunt Tilda; 
 and her sweet face, with oval chin, eyes at an encour 
 aging distance from one another, small aristocratic 
 nose a trifle tip-tilted, told of pride and courage and 
 romance and honesty, and withal a fathomless power 
 for the love that encounters all things, flags not, and 
 is faithful unto death. With the pretty Ethel, how 
 ever, on that particular October afternoon, the soft 
 question of love was restrained and limited to a mere 
 fact of power; for no man s memory invoked a sigh 
 from the virgin lips, no man s image was traced upon 
 the untried virgin heart. 
 
 "This is a passing strange country, Robert," ob 
 served Aunt Tilda a bit wearily, casting her glance 
 toward the tumbling river, and then where the jagged 
 broken hills showed like saw teeth against the south 
 ern sky. " Although," she added, following a pause, 
 "I suppose that after we ve got settled in our new 
 home the Bar-Z you called it, I think the strange 
 ness will wear away. Still, it s a discouraging con- 
 
 2 
 
ON THE FAR CANADIAN 
 
 trast to the rich green of old Somerset this country, 
 so sterile and gray and poor!" 
 
 "I shall never forgive Uncle Gordon," exclaimed 
 Robert, bursting into a sudden flame of passion, "for 
 driving us hither." 
 
 " Uncle Gordon! Why should you charge him 
 with driving us here? It was you who urged our 
 coming; and for the matter of that I see nothing to 
 prevent our home-going to-morrow, should we so 
 resolve." 
 
 "True, Aunt, so far as you and Ethel are con 
 cerned," rejoined Robert, his manner a trifle im 
 proved, though peevish and fault-finding; "and I 
 ought perhaps to thank you for bearing me company 
 in this exile. But take my own case: How was I to 
 remain in Somerset under those changed conditions 
 made by Uncle Gordon s death? conditions which 
 he, in selfish disregard of what I might suffer, con 
 structed and cast about me." 
 
 "Now you are far from just to your Uncle Gordon." 
 Aunt Tilda spoke in a manner of steady reproof. 
 "His will gives you twenty thousand dollars in hand; 
 and its purpose is to pass you over the entire estate, 
 its lands and its moneys and all that belongs with it, 
 at the end of ten years." 
 
 " At the end of ten years! You fail to remember 
 that in event of the runagate Alan turning up, it goes 
 every stiver to him." 
 
 "There is, I fear, small hope of Alan coming back. 
 I make no doubt the poor unhappy boy is dead these 
 years gone. But if he were alive, and returned, why 
 should you complain of Uncle Gordon? Is it so un- 
 
 3 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 natural that a father should prefer his own son for 
 his own acres, rather than leave them to a nephew?" 
 
 Robert and the others, at the time one finds them 
 were nearing their journey s end. The Bar-Z ranch 
 was no more than a day s travel ahead a slow day s 
 travel, too, since the pace was regulated by two six- 
 mule teams. These latter toiled behind the surrey at 
 a snail s-gait, each team drawing two great Bain 
 wagons, hooked up lead-and-trail, and loaded to their 
 canvas tilts with what furnishings and house-belong 
 ings the prudence of Aunt Tilda had decided upon. 
 Altogether, with Ethel and her pony Jet, the surrey 
 carrying Aunt Tilda and Robert, and the quartette of 
 heavy wagons bringing up the creaking rear, the cara 
 van presented no mean spectacle. 
 
 The muster of the little party must be strengthened 
 to the extent of one who, up to this point has had no 
 mention. This personage was a certain fish out of 
 water, videlicet one Ptolemy Doremus, A.M., professor 
 of Greek and Latin, and of Mathematics, in that 
 ancient temple of learning, the College of William 
 and Mary. It was in the guileless bosom of Ptolemy 
 Doremus to see new lands and peoples. Moreover he 
 was a passionate naturalist; and it was so he de 
 clared to study the flora and fauna of the Texas 
 Panhandle, that he made himself a member of the 
 company. 
 
 Folk with a bias for romance might have placed 
 the presence of Ptolemy Doremus on more dulcet 
 grounds. There had been a day long before when he 
 numbered himself among those many who sighed in 
 the wake the girlish, obdurate wake of Aunt Tilda. 
 
 4 
 
ON THE FAR CANADIAN 
 
 It was not his fault that she took the name of Hemp- 
 stead. He did what he knew to win her. Failing, 
 he went no more afield with his affections, but lived 
 a musty bachelor, buried to the brows in musty books, 
 for her dear sake. There were those who argued that 
 the love of Ptolemy Doremus for Aunt Tilda never 
 died. They said that he housed it in his heart, as 
 something harmless at once and precious, tending its 
 sacred fires like a devotee. 
 
 An innocent old gentleman of the old Virginia 
 school was Ptolemy Doremus. Through her wife- 
 hood and subsequent widowhood he had maintained, 
 unbroken, his friendship for Aunt Tilda a friend 
 ship hedged about by an elaborate respect. When 
 he was told of Robert s Southwestern intentions, 
 and how Aunt Tilda would go, he decided upon an 
 indefinite leave of absence from his duties at William 
 and Mary. Calling himself a naturalist, and never 
 once a lover, he had asked Robert and Aunt Tilda 
 for leave to accompany them. 
 
 "All my life/ said he, "I ve been mad to study, 
 first-hand, the plant and animal life of northwestern 
 Texas, and this offers the precise chance for which 
 I ve hungered." 
 
 Aunt Tilda smiled a smile of tolerant benevo 
 lence, for she felt the compliment of his request. 
 She was willing he should disguise the motive, and 
 give coyote and cactus, mesquite and scorpion, . as 
 the eager reasons of his pilgrimage. For all that, 
 her woman s prescience was not to be blinded. 
 Thorny, savage, poisonous, neither coyote nor cactus, 
 neither mesquite nor scorpion, by any most fevered 
 
 5 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 stretch of the imagination, could be made to serve as 
 a pet term of endearment. And yet she realized in 
 each a tender alias, behind which Ptolemy Doremus 
 would have concealed her. It gratified Aunt Tilda; 
 for every woman is a love-miser, and, though she 
 may not return your love, she will rejoice in its re 
 ception, in having it and hoarding it; and whatever 
 the quarter it comes from, only so it be honorable, 
 she can never get enough. 
 
 "What has become of Professor Doremus?" sud 
 denly asked Aunt Tilda. She was willing to take 
 Robert out of his peevishness with a change of topic. 
 Moreover, his selfishness as evinced in his condem 
 nations of old Alan Gordon grated on her. "He has 
 been gone from the wagons for a half hour." 
 
 "He saw a coyote over on a hill," returned Robert, 
 "and scrambled down to make its nearer acquaint 
 
 ance." 
 
 "What an enthusiastic boy s heart the Professor 
 has!" This, with a color of admiration. Then, anx 
 iety again on edge, Aunt Tilda turned to Ethel: 
 "Won t you whip across to those hills, dear, and see 
 if you can find Professor Doremus ? In such a desert, 
 so full of hills and hollows, he might lose his way." 
 
 "There he is now, Aunt," returned Ethel, pointing 
 with her quirt. 
 
 The slim, gray form of the wanderer was visible 
 about a furlong ahead. He was seated on a rock, 
 mopping his bald pate as though his efforts to make 
 the coyote s acquaintance had told on him. 
 
 "A splendid specimen," observed the Professor en 
 thusiastically, as the others drew near, "a splendid 
 
 6 
 
ON THE FAR CANADIAN 
 
 specimen of the cam s latrans or barking wolf." Then, 
 regretfully: "But he would not let me approach 
 him." 
 
 The surrey made a pause, and the naturalist took 
 the vacant seat by Cato, the negro driver. That 
 swart functionary, quite as old and gray as Ptolemy 
 Doremus himself, welcomed him with a wide ear-to- 
 ear grin. 
 
 "Them coyote- wolves, Professah, am a heap hard 
 to ketch." 
 
 "They are indeed, Cato, most restless beasts; and 
 as you say exceeding wary and timid. However, I 
 did not think to catch this one; I only sought a 
 nearer view." The Professor, twisting about in his 
 seat, beamed on Aunt Tilda. "And how, my dear 
 Madam, do you sustain the fatigues of the day?" 
 
 "Thank you, Professor," returned Aunt Tilda, "I 
 do better than usual, remembering how near we are 
 to the end of our troubles." 
 
 "We stop at Captain Ruggles ranch to-night," 
 vouchsafed Robert. "We should reach the Bar-Z 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The surrey was skirting a point of rocks that, 
 coming well down toward the river, left barely room 
 for the trail. As our party rounded this rude head 
 land they came upon a broad level stretch. It was 
 horseshoe in shape and framed about with gray hills. 
 This expanse, covered with a thick, deep carpet of 
 grass, was studded with giant cottonwoods. Stand 
 ing far apart, and plenty of space between, they made 
 rather a grove than a forest. The rays of the sun, 
 falling slantwise through the branches, checkered the 
 
 7 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 grass with patterns of light and shadow, that danced 
 like creatures alive as the wind stirred the boughs 
 above. 
 
 Suddenly Aunt Tilda gave a startled "Oh!" 
 
 By the side of the flashing river, and quite the con 
 gruous thing in that horse-shoe emerald flat cano 
 pied of its ancient cottonwoods, stood the skin-lodge 
 of an Indian. The savage landlord himself was sit 
 ting, blanket-wrapped, on the grass to the left of 
 the lodge-flap or door. He was not a pleasant speci 
 men with face painted black, a blotch of mud in his 
 hair, and blanket torn and ragged. 
 
 In front of the lodge a fire was going. An Indian 
 woman and a girl were busy with some crude cookery. 
 On the fallen trunk of a cottonwood sat a white man, 
 roughly garbed and something past middle years, 
 watching with keen expectant interest the culinary 
 operations of the two squaws. Twenty rods to the 
 rear, another younger white man was employed in 
 twisting rawhide hobbles on a pair of ponies. These 
 latter, fitted with heavy Colorado saddles, belonged, 
 it was plain, to him who attended them, and his 
 hungry-faced elder, sitting on the cottonwood trunk. 
 
 As the surrey came into view around the rocky 
 promontory, the squaws and the white men bestowed 
 upon it their curious attention. The ragged mud- 
 daubed one, however, never once looked up, but re 
 mained plunged in sadly desperate meditation all his 
 own. He seemed to see no one, neither the squaws 
 of his household nor yet the two white men. As for 
 unexpected surreys rounding points of rock, they 
 were as nothing to him. 
 
 8 
 
ON THE FAR CANADIAN 
 
 The elder white man stood upon his feet, and 
 waved the travelers a cordial invitation to approach. 
 
 Cato, a prey to those timid uncertainties that wait 
 on strangers in a strange land, the moment he clapped 
 eyes on that mixed community under the cotton- 
 woods, pulled short up, cheek struck suddenly from 
 black to muddy gray. 
 
 "Whoa-a-a!" cried Cato tremulously. Then, ap 
 pealing to the entire party: "Now whoever does you- 
 all reckon dem outcasts is?" 
 
 "Drive on!" commanded Robert impatiently. 
 "What have you halted for?" 
 
 "Doan t like d looks of d squad settin about 
 dat cowhide house, Marse Robert!" Cato had been 
 with Aunt Tilda for years, and felt privileged to own 
 and express opinions. "Dem s mighty rannikaboo 
 appearin people, dat passel of folks is. Speshully d 
 aboriginal person w ats got d soot on his face. Whoa 
 dar, Jinny! Yassir, Marse Robert, I sort o allows 
 we-all had better reeconnoiter dat bunch, befo we 
 goes surgin into d middle of em. How do you know 
 dey ain t murderers?" 
 
 "But Cato," remonstrated Professor Doremus, 
 "can t you see the gentleman making reassuring ges 
 tures? He seems affable and friendly." 
 
 "Can t tell nuthin from dat, Professah. D ; wick 
 edest dawg 11 wag his tail." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 OLD TOM MOONLIGHT 
 
 "Go ON, you black idiot!" again commanded Robert. 
 
 "Whoa-a-a!" repeated the fear-struck Cato, heed 
 less of Robert, in his terror. 
 
 The two mules that furnished the motive-power 
 of the surrey, nothing loath, stood fast, switching 
 their ridiculous tails like paint-brushes. The six- 
 mule teams lounged heavily up, and taking their cue 
 from the surrey came also to a standstill. The affable 
 personage by the fire continued meanwhile his panto 
 mimic invitations. 
 
 Professor Doremus, who sympathized with poor 
 Cato s timidities while in no wise sharing them, 
 sought to encourage the old darky. 
 
 "Do as your master bids," he urged. "There s 
 nothing to apprehend from these simple people. 
 One might tell as much from their looks." 
 
 "It s d way dey re jumbled together skeers me," 
 returned Cato. "When I sees white folks an red 
 folks mixed up, same as that clanjamfrey under d 
 trees, it jes nacherally calls out my prudence. An 
 as for their looks, Professah: Sho! you can t pick 
 out a man by d looks any more n you can pick out 
 a watermelon by d looks." 
 
 Here Robert used more strong language, and might 
 10 
 
OLD TOM MOONLIGHT 
 
 have used bad, had it not been for the repressive pres 
 ence of Aunt Tilda. As for that lady herself, these 
 were her first Indians ; and her feelings kept somewhat 
 abreast of Cato s. 
 
 Professor Doremus broke the deadlock by reaching 
 for the reins. 
 
 "If you won t drive on, I will," said he. 
 
 Cato, making a virtue of necessity, started the 
 team toward that alarming group. 
 
 Professor Doremus was first out of the surrey, man 
 aging his descent with a wooden agility that spoke of 
 both his ardor and his years. 
 
 "Permit me, my dear Madam!" said he, assisting 
 Aunt Tilda to the ground. 
 
 "That s right, folks," cried the pantomimic one; 
 "it ll do you good to stretch your laigs." Then to 
 Professor Doremus: "What may I call you, stran 
 ger?" 
 
 Professor Doremus politely responded with a card. 
 
 "Sir, my name is Doremus, at your service- 
 Ptolemy Doremus of William and Mary College, 
 Virginia." 
 
 "Virginny!" commented the pantomimic one, in 
 specting the card. "You re a long day s ride, pard, 
 from your range!" Then pointing to the "A.M.," 
 "what s them? your brand?" 
 
 "They signify Master of Arts," responded Pro 
 fessor Doremus, gravely. "They are supposed to 
 mark a certain degree of erudition." 
 
 "Shake!" cried the pantomimic one, grasping the 
 hand of Professor Doremus. "Which I shorely do 
 enjoy meetin a eddicated gent. My name s Jeff 
 
 11 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Home, and since I don t pack no pasteboard, 
 you ll sort o have to take my word for it I reckon. 
 Glad to see you, marm!" he continued, removing his 
 wide chihuahua hat in compliment to Aunt Tilda. 
 Then, as though seeking a favor: "As soon as you- 
 all feels well enough acquainted to do so, jest call me 
 Jeff. I m sort o partial to that name." 
 
 Aunt Tilda, Professor Doremus and Jeff Home 
 bowed and scraped as though the grass beneath and 
 the arched boughs overhead made up some drawing- 
 room, and that chance-blown collision by the Cana 
 dian were a planned and formal function. The two 
 squaws, crouching by the fire, reviewed these cere 
 monies with deep interest, beaming aboriginally. 
 
 Robert, who had left none of his superciliousness 
 in Somerset, did not alight from the surrey. He had 
 decided that the welcoming Mr. Home and his com 
 panions were of an inferior caste, and felt it due his 
 dignity to maintain toward them a degree of reserve. 
 
 Ethel, who had been lagging behind in dreamy ap 
 preciation of the picturesque, now cantered smartly 
 up. Both Professor Doremus and the polite Jeff 
 made as though to take her from the saddle. She 
 did not want their aid, but sprang lightly to the 
 grass. She and the Indian girl gazed at each other, 
 a flush of mutual interest, belonging with their sex 
 and years, showing in the cheeks of both. Also, 
 both had soft brown eyes, bright as stars; but with a 
 difference. Ethel s eyes had been deepened and en 
 nobled by centuries of civilization, while the other s 
 were gently wild like the eyes of a deer. 
 
 Professor Doremus made a courteous gesture 
 12 
 
OLD TOM MOONLIGHT 
 
 toward the soot-visaged one, who throughout had 
 maintained his stolid and inert demeanor, as though 
 what was passing were the April chirpings of a frog 
 pond. 
 
 "And he," observed the Professor, "is, I take 
 it, the proprietor of this unique edifice. May I crave 
 his name?" 
 
 "Shore!" returned Jeff. "His name s Ironjacket. 
 These yere are his squaw an daughter." 
 
 Professor Doremus put on his spectacles for a 
 better look at the household of Ironjacket; for his 
 concern as a naturalist covered Kiowas as well as 
 coyotes. 
 
 "Yere!" exclaimed Jeff, "I ll give you-all an 
 introduction in regulation style." Then, with a 
 flourish caught from those Chesterfields, the floor 
 managers in the dance-halls, he proceeded: "Pro 
 fessor Doremus, let me give you a knockdown to Mrs. 
 Southwind, and Miss Firelight, both esteemable ladies 
 of the Kiowa tribe." 
 
 "How!" murmured the squaws, bashfully offering 
 small brown paws. 
 
 Following this acknowledgment, Firelight shrunk 
 away like a rabbit before those learned spectacles. 
 She seemed inclined to find safety behind Ethel, dis 
 cerning perils, formless yet profound, in that glassy 
 stare. 
 
 "And the sept," observed the Professor, removing 
 the mysterious glasses to the vast relief of both 
 Southwing and the young Firelight "the sept to 
 which these interesting beings belong is, you say, 
 the Kiowa?" 
 
 13 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "C rrect!" responded Jeff; "Kiowa is their tribe. 
 The particular band they belong to is some ers over 
 on the Rabbit Ear." 
 
 "And is he a chief?" asked Aunt Tilda, pointing 
 to the unregarding Ironjacket, and sinking her voice 
 out of respect for that warrior; "is he the leader of 
 his people?" 
 
 "No," replied Jeff, considering the soot-faced per 
 sonage under discussion with a mien both cool and 
 calm, and not at all sinking his voice; "no, he ain t 
 the chief. Wolf Robe s their chief. Just the same, 
 this yere Ironjacket is what you might call a leadin 
 citizen." 
 
 "And the black on his visage," remarked the Pro 
 fessor, again donning his spectacles for a survey of 
 Ironjacket, "is, I take it, significant of mourning. 
 His manner of grief- wrapped abstraction would sug 
 gest as much. Was it a near relative?" 
 
 "No relative at all." The loquacious Jeff then ex 
 plained that the woe of Ironjacket had a deeper reason 
 than one so savagely commonplace as the death of 
 any relative, however near. "It s his medicine, 
 he concluded. "This Ironjacket s gone shy his 
 medicine. An that, Professor, is about the worst 
 loss that can overtake an Injun." 
 
 "His medicine!" exclaimed the Professor, all con 
 cern in a moment. "From what malady is he suf 
 fering? I ve some little skill in surgery, and we have 
 a chest of drugs. Perhaps I can prescribe some 
 thing that will bring him relief." 
 
 "No, no, Professor," protested Jeff; "you re 
 barkin at a knot. He ain t sick. It s his medicine 
 
 14 
 
OLD TOM MOONLIGHT 
 
 bag a kind of fetish that s lost. When you saveys 
 Injuns, it ll be as plain to your understanding as the 
 river out yonder. For an Injun to lose his medicine, 
 is the same as for a white man to lose his money; it 
 leaves him plunged in disrepoote. Bein , as I ex 
 plains, disgraced that-away, this yere Ironjacket has 
 blacked his face, daubed that splotch of mud in his 
 hair, put on his raggedest blanket, and pulled off to 
 one side by himself sort o hidin his shame." 
 
 This picture touched the sensibilities of Aunt Tilda. 
 
 "Poor man!" she said, voice full of feeling. "Is 
 there no consolation one can offer?" 
 
 "None, marm, none! Injuns is so much like mules 
 that, if they re sick, you can t cure em, an if they re 
 sad you can t console em. Injuns an mules are 
 born plumb outside of every softer hooman in- 
 flooence." After considering the sorrowful one a mo 
 ment, Jeff continued: "Not, of course, but what Iron- 
 jacket has his chance open. He may knock over some 
 Comanche or some Cheyenne d ye see; in which 
 event he nacherally fits himself out with that de 
 ceased person s medicine. Now if he was to show 
 up on the Rabbit Ear, equipped with a Comanche 
 or a Cheyenne medicine won in fight, why he d be 
 aces-up with that Kiowa outfit in a moment." 
 
 "Shocking!" cried the Professor, beginning to dis 
 taste the somber Ironjacket. "Nothing, you say, 
 save murder, can rehabilitate him! Shocking! It s 
 like offering a premium for homicide!" 
 
 "Shore!" acquiesced Jeff, composedly. "Homi 
 cide an hoss-stealin that-away is what all Injuns is 
 born to." 
 
 15 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 It developed, as the talk took wider range, that 
 Jeff and his young comrade the latter still busy 
 about the two ponies were only callers at the camp 
 of Ironjacket. 
 
 "Not that the visit is altogether casooal," ex 
 plained Jeff. "My compadre downed an antelope as 
 we comes up the trail, an we told Southwind here 
 that we d stake her to the said prong-horn, if she d 
 roast a hunk for us." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the Professor, considering the 
 half-butchered antelope partly hidden in the grass. 
 "Ah! I see! We ve had fleeting glimpses of divers 
 specimens during our journey. As I ve told you, my 
 dear Madam," he went on, addressing Aunt Tilda, "it 
 is a most curious animal. This particular species, the 
 occidental or Indian antelope, belongs to the family 
 Talopus Cervicapri. It was a beast only insufficiently 
 known to the ancients, who placed it on the banks 
 of the Euphrates. It was of importance in the fauna 
 of their heraldry, and described by them as peculiarly 
 savage and fleet. They pictured it as possessing 
 saw- toothed horns wherewith it cut down trees." 
 
 "Shake again!" cried Jeff, seizing afresh the hand 
 of Professor Doremus. " What you ve said, Professor, 
 goes to show what an eddicated gent really is, only 
 give him room accordin to his strength. Now I ve 
 been killin an eatin prong-horns for forty years; an 
 you ve told me more about em in a breath than I 
 could have found out by cross-examinin the entire 
 Panhandle. Shake!" 
 
 Professor Doremus received the plaudits of Jeff 
 with modest warmth. He was even moved to thank 
 
 16 
 
OLD TOM MOONLIGHT 
 
 him for the compliments wherewith he showered 
 him. 
 
 "And you, too, have studied," he said, for he felt 
 like returning upon the pleasant head of Jeff some 
 portion of encomium " you, too, I m sure have studied. 
 If not books, then nature that most marvelous of 
 books!" 
 
 "Right you be, Professor," Jeff replied; "as you 
 put it, I ve studied nature. Also I might add that 
 I ve not neglected the three Rs ." 
 
 "Precisely! The three <Rs Readin , Ritin 
 and Rithmetic, as runs the old jest." 
 
 "Wrong, Professor." This with a quizzical grin: 
 "The three Rs to which I aUoodes is Rifle, Rope 
 an Runnin -iron." 
 
 Before Professor Doremus might frame any reply 
 to the autobiographical hint offered by the frank 
 ness of his new friend, there came an interruption. 
 Robert had not objected to the halt before the 
 lodge of Ironjacket. It rested the teams; besides 
 he was too well trained in deference to Aunt Tilda, 
 too much in the habit of taking his direction from 
 her in all he did, to dream of such a liberty. He had 
 had no portion in the talk; but that arose partly from 
 want of interest, partly from a conceit of himself. 
 Essentially the churl, he imagined the supercilious 
 to be the superior, and his method of testifying to 
 his own elevation was to ignore such groveling, peas 
 ant-creatures as Jeff and his company. Wherefore, 
 wrapped in impressive opinions of his own importance, 
 Robert had not so much as listened to the others. 
 By way of burning incense to himself, and to employ 
 
 17 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 his time agreeably, he had lighted a cheroot. This 
 he languidly puffed, as one beyond the touch of com 
 mon men. For the rest of it, he might have been 
 an example of wearied abstraction for the wordless, 
 moveless Ironjacket himself. 
 
 This attitude of a nobility traveling incognito 
 which, by the way, invariably flies the flag of an ar 
 rogant patricianism, lest that incognito it pretends 
 to be accepted, and its noble identity be vulgarly 
 overlooked might have been maintained unbroken 
 to the end, had it not been for the younger man 
 referred to as busy about the ponies. 
 
 While the Professor and Jeff were still engaged, 
 that individual of the ponies loafed slowly up, and 
 took position under one of the cottonwoods. His air 
 of unconcern was quite the blood brother of that of 
 either Ironjacket or Robert. The latter, however, was 
 moved to some slight interest in the young man of the 
 ponies. It took the form of a request, or rather if 
 phrasing is to guide a demand for information. 
 
 The young man of the ponies, under his selected 
 cottonwood, stood in conversational throw of Robert. 
 The idea striking him, the latter, with an ineffable 
 suggestion of the social distance that separated them, 
 broke into speech. 
 
 "See here, my man," he said, snapping thumb 
 and finger to attract attention; "how far should you 
 say it was to Captain Ruggles ranch?" 
 
 There was enough in the manner to explode the 
 irate powder in the composition of most folk. It 
 exploded none in that of the young man of the ponies. 
 Not that he ignored the commanding Robert. On 
 
 18 
 
OLD TOM MOONLIGHT 
 
 the contrary he raised his eyes, and looked squarely 
 into those of his interrogator. Beyond this unblink 
 ing look, however, he offered no retort. There he 
 stood and stared; and under the uncanny sparkle 
 of those gray eyes, alive with a cold fire like the arctic 
 flame of a diamond, Robert paled and flushed and 
 paled again, while his forehead broke into little pin 
 points of sweat. What was it that changed his heart 
 to water in his breast? He tried to get a grip on his 
 nerves, and return that gray stare. He failed; his 
 whole nature broke and gave way in utter rout before 
 the battery of those eyes. At that, there was nothing 
 of threat, nothing of challenge in them; they exhib 
 ited neither a sense of injury nor surprise. There was 
 no reproof, no anger; naught save that remorseless, 
 inscrutable stare. 
 
 Something terribly elemental must have dwelt in 
 those strange eyes something of the irresistible- 
 invincible. They owned a force which was neither 
 to be refuted nor returned like the frown of a moun 
 tain, the downpour of a cataract, the sweep of a 
 storm. They belonged with the soul of domination 
 the spirit of conquest. Without evasion as without 
 defiance, they seemed founded on themselves, and 
 spoke of a will that made and enforced its own laws. 
 The incident was over and by in a moment; and yet 
 it left not alone Robert but the others as much tossed 
 about as though a tornado had smote upon them. 
 
 Not the least sinister sign was the deferent, sub 
 jected attitude of the theretofore ebullient Jeff. 
 Throughout that gray bombardment of Robert he 
 stood tongue-tied. 
 
 19 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Abruptly the young man of the ponies wheeled 
 on his heel and strode away toward the river. With 
 that Jeff, drawing a breath, began to find words. 
 
 "Colonel," he said, addressing Robert in com 
 mingled congratulation and reproach, "I don t know 
 where you learned your manners, or who brought 
 you up; but permit a gent who s old enough to be 
 your father to warn you not to do that ag in." Jeff 
 shook his grizzled head as though he had witnessed 
 the passing of a miracle. "I reckon now it was these 
 yere ladies bein present let you out. I ve knowed 
 him, two years back on the Pecos, to throw a bowie 
 plumb through a Mexican for half as much." 
 
 "I intended no offense," stammered Robert, as 
 much shaken as though a ghost had gripped him. 
 
 "All the same" and Jeff began to recover his old 
 happy vigor "mind you: Don t do it ag in! I 
 begin to guess who you-all are. You re the party 
 who s bought the Bar-Z ranch. Very well; the mo 
 ment you turn the next p int of rocks" Jeff indicated 
 a near-by tongue of land to the west, just across the 
 grassy, wooded expanse "you ll make out the Rug- 
 gles home-camp not a mile away. But," here Jeff 
 held up his hand as though to again invoke an empha 
 sis "yereafter, at least while you stays on the Cana 
 dian, don t run no more blazers, nor put up no more 
 bluffs. I mean this, as much as though I told you not 
 to feel in the mouths of no bob-cats, nor go braidin 
 the tails of no mules. You squeaked through this 
 trip; don t freight over the same trail ag in." 
 
 "Who is he?" asked the Professor, pointing to the 
 young man of the ponies, who now stood gazing out 
 
 20 
 
OLD TOM MOONLIGHT 
 
 across the wide Canadian. Professor Doremus, like 
 Robert, had been held spellbound by those indomit 
 able gray eyes. Unlike Robert, however, his man 
 hood had kept its feet. " Who is he? " he again asked. 
 "Who is he?" repeated Jeff, in open-mouthed won 
 der at the question. "Who is he? Why, man! he s 
 Old Tom Moonlight!" 
 
 21 
 
CHAPTER III 
 OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 THERE had been a Gordon in the Maryland county 
 of Somerset since as far away as Cromwell s time. 
 Hector Gordon, being the first of the name to come 
 to Maryland, had commanded a regiment in the 
 cause of that Charles Stewart who, one wintry White 
 hall day, gave up his crown to the commons and his 
 head to block and axe, and for whom first and last 
 more good true English blood went flowing than 
 should have served to save the nation against a for 
 eign enemy. 
 
 When his king was dead, and the young prince who 
 should have succeeded him had fled from the trucu 
 lent roundheads, Hector Gordon, seeing the cause he 
 fought for cast away, put up his sword, and rather 
 than live under the rule of those whose hands were 
 stained with the purple blood of his king, took ship 
 for America. He did not come empty of purse, and 
 his gold, whereof his prudence had saved a consider 
 able store, even through that rough, uncertain sea 
 son of civil war, was laid out in a broad estate on the 
 shores of the Chesapeake. There he reared a stately 
 mansion; and there he and his good dame held sway 
 until their deaths. They raised unto themselves 
 children in this new land; and so, after them, up- 
 
 22 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 holding their name and the ancient credit of the 
 family they had founded, came a noble procession 
 of Gordons, all living in the old mansion, and each 
 in his turn the great looked-up-to figure of the county 
 of Somerset. 
 
 Alan Gordon, being that "Uncle Gordon" so splen- 
 etically adverted to by Robert Blainey, was the last 
 of the line the last leaf on the old tree. There had 
 been but one child born to him, a boy, and his wife 
 a dove-eyed girl she was, when Alan Gordon led 
 her to church as his bride died in bringing him into 
 the world. 
 
 This Aian Gordon was an iron man. Stern, silent, 
 high, he was no one to have sole care of a child. And 
 what would have been bad at best was made worse, 
 since the son, to whose upbringing he now turned, 
 was as high and unconquerable as himself. 
 
 They lived alone, these two, save for a cloud of 
 black servitors; for the elder Alan, brotherless from 
 his birth, had been estranged from his two sisters 
 even before he, himself, was married. 
 
 These sisters, so Alan held, had lowered the Gor 
 don name. Each, in the esteem of their brother, 
 whose family pride was as high and steep as the 
 Scotch mountains among which the Gordons had 
 had their source, had gone below her caste in selecting 
 a husband. These husbands were struggling folk of 
 much vulgar inconsequence; one was a merchant, 
 the other an attorney; both died without a dollar, 
 debt-eaten to the core. The only difference between 
 them, as remarked by their haughty brother-in-law, 
 was, that whereas the merchant Hempstead died 
 
 23 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 childless, the attorney Blainey, less considerate, left 
 behind him a son. 
 
 Alan Gordon, his two offensive brothers-in-law 
 being dead, did the best he could; that is to say, he 
 amply provided for his sisters support, but refused 
 either to see or hold communication with them. The 
 money ordained for their care was put in their hands 
 by his agent, and the two were warned that if either 
 set foot in Somerset the provision, in the case of the 
 offending one, should come sharply to an end. They 
 had disgraced the Gordons; he would not condone 
 their more than fault. He would see that they did 
 not want; beyond that he would not go. All he 
 asked in requital of his brotherly care, was that they 
 and theirs should never darken his Somerset doors. 
 
 The sisters, being both Gordons and of tempers 
 more than half a match for Alan Gordon s own, re 
 ceived this in the dour spirit wherein it was pro 
 nounced. They would take his money; since with 
 the last of it that money was Gordon money, and 
 morally as much their gold as his. Beyond that they 
 would be quite as stiff-necked as their brother. He 
 might rest sure that both he and his doors of Som 
 erset should never see them. 
 
 Thus lay the quarrel, when one day the mother of 
 Robert Blainey, then a lad of eleven, died and joined 
 her husband, the attorney, in the land beyond. The 
 iron Alan never went to the funeral, and took no 
 notice of his sister s death, beyond ordering her half 
 yearly sum to be paid thereafter into the fingers of 
 Aunt Tilda. 
 
 When his mother was put in the grave, Aunt Tilda 
 24 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 took home with her the orphaned Robert. Young 
 Robert made a third in the little family group at 
 Aunt Tilda s Baltimore cottage; for pretty Ethel 
 Pryce, a child just learning to walk and talk, was 
 already installed as a member. The little Ethel, 
 like young Robert himself, had been a death-bed 
 gift from one doubly dear to her as her husband s 
 only sister, and again as her own girl-chum at school. 
 Aunt Tilda s heart and house opened at once to baby 
 Ethel, when, with her mother s going, the little one 
 stretched out her lonely baby hands to her. 
 
 It was good for Aunt Tilda to have these children, 
 Robert and Ethel, come to her; she had none of her 
 own, and her starved heart went out to meet them 
 with a mother s tenderness and love. Meanwhile, 
 the iron Alan Gordon down in Somerset ignored them 
 every one; and beyond those half-yearly remittances 
 they were roundly fat, as became a Gordon who 
 would do things like a nobleman gave never the 
 sign that he so much as knew they lived. He turned 
 his stiff, patrician back on them, and set himself 
 wholly to the congenial task of bringing up his son 
 Alan in the way he would not go. 
 
 The education of the boy Alan was not unmarked 
 of vicissitudes. He showed in no wise pliant to his 
 father s will; their relations were not so smooth and 
 rippleless as is a mirror. The struggle between 
 father and son began when the latter was six years 
 old. It continued without truce until the end. 
 There could be no talk of concord, no chance of the 
 pair living in agreement. The father, as a calling 
 most genteel, was for having the boy educated to 
 
 25 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the pulpit. According to his awful notions of what 
 constituted a Christian, Alan the elder never doubted 
 the sincerity of his own religious professions. To his 
 mind he was as true a follower of the meek and lowly 
 Nazarene as any to be found in Lord Baltimore s old 
 domain. He felt himself to be representative of 
 every Christian virtue, and would have been scandal 
 ized to the quick had any one, high enough to be 
 accounted the peer of a Gordon, so much as inti 
 mated that he, Alan Gordon, was not a headland on 
 the coast of existence by which careful, pious folk, 
 heavenward bound, might safely steer. 
 
 Being thus full of piety, and churchly to the pure 
 core of him, Alan Gordon set his heart on making 
 his son a clergyman. To this high end he filled up 
 the house with deeply religious tutors, and the book 
 shelves with deeply religious books, and between 
 these two, as the upper and the nether millstones 
 of his sacred purpose, set about grinding the boy Alan 
 into, as it were, a flour of much theological fineness. 
 
 The son Alan resisted; he stormed, wept, rebelled, 
 stood doggedly but unchangeably sullen in the teeth 
 of paternal command, and in all ways and on all oc 
 casions refused to be cast into the hopper of his 
 father s pious purposes, to be presently ground and 
 bolted and sacked ecclesiastically as aforesaid. It 
 was in vain the father punished, argued, or com 
 manded; he had met with metal as hard as was his 
 own and found his son as iron as himself. The boy 
 Alan was a brisk marvel with his books at that, and 
 learned all and more than his tutors could teach. 
 Studies aside, however, his reading ran away to pi- 
 
 26 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 rates, not priests, and he cared more for Morgan and 
 Blackbeard and England, than for all the saints that 
 were ever pictured with a halo. 
 
 It makes too long a tale, this battle between father 
 and son. Suffice it that the latter would shoot and 
 ride and sail and hunt and fish, and live whole weeks 
 on the water or in the woods. As against this he re 
 fused the churchly lesson; and if pressed would hurl 
 good Christian tomes at his tutors heads, declaring 
 war upon them and every pulpit thing for which they 
 stood. Thus, for those eight years that fell in be 
 tween young Alan s sixth and fourteenth birthdays, 
 father and son, both iron, both will-rooted as Gib 
 raltar, stood foot to foot, knee to knee, breast to 
 breast, and gave each other battle without halt. 
 
 One day the elder Alan, as the pair with honors 
 even concluded a verbal skirmish of more than usual 
 fervor, said to his son: 
 
 "Sir; you are a degenerate a throwback. You 
 are a congenital savage! Civilization, with its re 
 finement, is lost and thrown away upon you. Here, 
 I ll read you what you are; I shall take it from the 
 life-story of one who three centuries ago was your 
 ancestor. Observe: This, while it gives you some 
 picture of how that savage Gordon lived and died, 
 will also furnish a likeness of what in your tastes and 
 instincts, ay! in each uttermost expression of your 
 nature, you yourself are." 
 
 The elder Alan took up a book, evidently in part 
 a history of his house of Gordon, and began to read: 
 
 " This put an end to the fray, for all of the Gordons fled down 
 the hillside all save one, a man of powerful form and ferocious 
 
 27 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 aspect, who was naked to the waist and had his kilt girdled about 
 him by a belt of untanned bull s-hide. This Celtic savage, whose 
 name was Alan Gordon, flung himself upon the nearest of his 
 foes and forced him to the grass. He seized the prostrate man 
 by the throat with his teeth; then stretching out his hands, main 
 taining the while his wolf-grip on the other s throat, he grasped 
 Greumoch by the right foot and endeavored to drag him down by 
 the side of the first. Greumoch strove vainly to release himself. 
 His pistol was empty, but he struck the savage again and again 
 on the head with the steel butt. He might with as much good 
 effect have hammered upon a hillside stone. In the end, Greu 
 moch tore himself free, and, snatching a claymore from one of his 
 followers, closed in, and thrust the blade through and through the 
 Gordon, where he still lay, wolf-fastened to the throat of his 
 enemy. As the claymore passed through his huge body, he 
 turned with a cry of rage on Greumoch, and writhing himself 
 forward on the steel made a terrible effort to get his executioner 
 within his grasp. His work was vain; suddenly with a fearful 
 yell, rather of defeat than agony, he rolled himself free of the 
 blade that had transfixed him, and died biting the heather, 
 wallowing in gore. It is from this wild man for so he was 
 that the Gordons of Somerset, by direct strain, take their de 
 scent. 
 
 "There!" cried the father, closing the book and 
 eyeing his obstinate heir, "I have read you what the 
 first of our race was like. I now tell you, that you, 
 the last of our race, are in every native trait one and 
 the savage same with him. Extremes have met, the 
 circle is complete, and you, sir, the last hope of my 
 family, are a degenerate and a throwback a throw 
 back to that white savage clad in skins. Sir, I can 
 foresee in part your future for you. I cannot say 
 what criminally disgraceful deed you ll do; but crime 
 you ll commit, wrong and evil you ll perpetrate, in 
 famy you ll bring down upon the name of Gordon." 
 The elder Alan wrung his hands, for he believed 
 every word he uttered. "Conquering the feelings 
 
 28 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 of a father," he said in conclusion, and not without 
 a nearest approach to emotion that he ever made, 
 "I could wish you lying dead to-night, rather than 
 that you should grow up to drag the name of Gordon 
 in the mire of your misdeeds." The elder Alan rose 
 and left the room, leaving the younger Alan very 
 white, but as hard and as dry-eyed as in the begin 
 ning. 
 
 The next morning there was much calling, and no 
 replying, throughout the halls of the Somerset Gor 
 dons; for young Alan had left his father s house 
 in the night. And no one knew his course of flight. 
 Neither, in the long years that followed, did sign or 
 sound of him float backward to his father, who, from 
 the hour of his son s disappearance, was a changed 
 and broken man. 
 
 Forgetting all, forgiving all, Alan Gordon sent for 
 Aunt Tilda. She came good soul! and till his 
 death kept his house, and was sister, mother, nurse 
 to him. Robert and little Ethel came with her; and 
 the elder Alan being now, with his own son fled, 
 the only Alan was pitifully glad to see them. He 
 grew old in a day, and became gray, and bent, and 
 went doddering about on a cane while his years were 
 yet among the forties. He never spoke of his son, 
 nor named him; and if he made aught of effort to 
 track him out, none knew. 
 
 Alan Gordon died, and left a curious will. And 
 yet, rightly looked at, it was not curious. Twenty 
 thousand dollars in flat cash were given to Robert; 
 while to Aunt Tilda and her foster-child Ethel, the 
 dying Gordon gave each two thousand dollars a year, 
 
 29 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 to be a charge upon his estate and payable every 
 New Year s day. The residue lands and houses, 
 stocks, mortgages and moneys the aggregate value 
 whereof touched roundly a half million, was tied up, 
 principal and income, for a period of ten years. If 
 the young Alan came back within that space, it was 
 all and singly to become his. Upon his failure thus 
 to return, the nephew Robert was to take all in the 
 prodigal s stead. Pending those waiting ten years, 
 no one was to dwell in the Gordon mansion. It 
 was to be held in the care of trustees; Aunt Tilda, 
 Robert, and Ethel now ripened and rounded into 
 beautiful girlhood were to occupy a near-by cot 
 tage, leaving the great house tenantless and ready 
 for the wandering Alan to have instant possession of 
 as its master. 
 
 Robert Blainey, not yet thirty, was sickly, melan 
 choly, selfish, cruel without courage, full of book- 
 cleverness, with a bent for plot and intrigue, and an 
 innate preference for profit based on wrong. There 
 was something repellant in his sallow skin, thin quer 
 ulous lips, lank black hair, and small, dark complain 
 ing eyes. No one liked him; and when, taking his 
 Uncle Gordon s will in dudgeon he set up a wail 
 against it, saying it was hard and unfair that he 
 should be thus put aside in favor of one who, if liv 
 ing, was certain to bring with him as he came into 
 his fortune a name soiled and disfigured by a past 
 given over to evil courses, no one to his wonder 
 appeared to sympathize. On the contrary he 
 met cold looks, and scarcely disguised contempt. 
 He was never a favorite in old Somerset; now, 
 
 30 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 when he might become the Gordon heir, it was 
 as though the countryside had combined to loathe 
 him. 
 
 "One would think, Aunt Tilda," said he, "that I, 
 in order to supplant him and steal his heritage, had 
 contrived the long-ago flight of this Alan, and was 
 now intriguing to prevent his return." 
 
 The good folk of Somerset had one advantage over 
 and beyond any enjoyed by Robert and Aunt Tilda. 
 The Somerset good people knew the runaway Alan; 
 they had been acquainted with him as a lad, and 
 numbered themselves his friends. To set opposite 
 this, neither Robert nor Aunt Tilda nor Ethel had 
 ever been given a glimpse of him. It was young 
 Alan s flight that had broken down the barriers of 
 his father s pride, and brought the latter and Aunt 
 Tilda together. Before that day, young Alan heard 
 but little of his Baltimore relatives, and saw them not 
 at all. Love affection never exists without ac 
 quaintance, any more than your blossom exists with 
 out its root; and it would not be fair to find fault 
 with Robert and the feminine two for taking calmly 
 the absence of young Alan Gordon. At the most 
 he was but a name; besides and this is said for 
 the good of Robert where is he who will hunt up a 
 lost rival, the coming of whom is to chouse him out 
 of an inheritance? 
 
 Disliking Robert, however, and loving or thinking 
 they loved young Alan, the good Somerset folk all 
 neighbors in his day of the proud Alan Gordon just 
 passed consented to nothing in Robert s favor. He 
 had been passively hateful while his uncle lived, he 
 
 31 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 was actively hateful now when his uncle was dead 
 and he a probable heir. 
 
 One s sensibilities are safer in a city. The bustle 
 and rush of the crowd are a kind of defense. If, 
 being city-surrounded, you are disapproved of or dis 
 liked, he who entertains the feeling, would he bring 
 it home, must, so to speak, detain you by the elbow 
 and tell you of it. He must say it in words or express 
 it by overt actions; for the town-hubbub of the herd 
 defeats an inference or a deduction from premises 
 more passive and less gross. 
 
 In country regions the rule goes the other way 
 about. There folk are sparsely sown. There like 
 wise, in a paucity of more reasonable amusements, 
 gossip protected by precedent is made to take the 
 place of reputable entertainment. Every one knows 
 everybody by his or her first name, and your farthest 
 neighbor can tell more of you and your affairs than 
 even you, yourself, might relate. It is under such 
 familiar, close conditions that personal criticism, in 
 its annoying possibilities, is lifted to the plane of art. 
 Your disrepute, if it exists, becomes parcel of the 
 very atmosphere. You taste it, feel it, smell it, see 
 it, hear it; and that, too, without word or look or 
 gesture on the parts of those who convey to you the 
 information. 
 
 Thus was it in rural Somerset; and thus did 
 Robert Blainey discover his own bad standing, and 
 the low esteem in which, communally, he was held. 
 Here was a thorn he had not counted on. Robert 
 owned enough of pride to make the situation gall 
 and wormwood to him. The fact that he himself had 
 
 32 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 had some original hand in the brewing thereof, ren 
 dered it none the less bitter to his taste. 
 
 During those dozen or more years in which Robert 
 lived at the Gordon mansion, he had played the young 
 lordling to the hilts. Weakened and shattered by 
 the disappearance of his son, old Alan Gordon went 
 seeking sympathy, dumbly, from all about him. This 
 reaching out for support led him into an attitude of 
 affection, almost childish, toward Robert; on this, 
 the latter, being imaginative in a bilious selfish way, 
 had builded many an air-castle. It spelled heirship 
 to him, and on it his mean nature was nourished 
 as on the milk of lions. It gave him courage to be 
 insolent, strength to strut, and filled him to the brim 
 with the vanity usual in the instance of your pro 
 moted vulgarian that transacts itself at the expense 
 of other men. 
 
 Some natures are nobly proud; also such natures 
 nobly pay the bills which their prides contract. This 
 was not the case with Robert, in whom nothing of 
 nobleness abode. With him, authority meant ty 
 ranny and pride was the synonym of oppression. 
 Brought face to face with power, that is danger, he 
 would have fawned, and cringed, and been a syco 
 phant for safety s sake. By the same token, passing 
 his youth and young manhood on a peak the peak 
 of the Somerset Gordons and far above and beyond 
 the reach of any local social artillery, he waxed super 
 cilious, contemptuous; while his manners, if they 
 may be called manners, smelled of the essence of in 
 sult. 
 
 Nor was Robert more wise or guarded in his utter- 
 33 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 ances. Often he gave the country folk a glimpse 
 of those air-castles, and he had been prone to boast 
 himself as the decreed heir of old Alan Gordon. He 
 would speak of his uncle s will as of a document he 
 had read, and had had some consulting hand in 
 making. Then, coarsely anticipating old Alan s 
 death, he expatiated on what should be his con 
 duct when he might write himself master of the 
 great white Gordon mansion buried among its trees. 
 
 The will of old Alan Gordon was to Robert both a 
 surprise and a blow. For one disconcerting thing, 
 it gave the lie direct to those heirship boasts of which 
 he had been so foolishly profuse. To be ousted from 
 the Gordon mansion, was of itself like being stripped 
 of some star and garter of nobility. The cottage 
 into which Aunt Tilda and Ethel and he had re 
 moved became a visible sign of Ms fallen estate. 
 
 Not only did Robert keenly realize these grinding 
 truths, but the good Somerset folk, lest in some blind 
 ness of a fatuous self-conceit he overlook them, were 
 wont to remind him of them in countless ingenious 
 ways. Once, in speaking of what he would do when 
 he came into his fortune as the heir of old Alan, 
 and was the unbridled lord of the Gordon mansion, 
 he had said that, abandoning Blainey, he should 
 change his name to Gordon. This was recalled by 
 ones with talents for irritation; and many were the 
 inquiries, put with a sober slyness that baffled re 
 prisal, as to whether or no now his uncle was dead 
 he desired to be addressed as "Mr. Gordon." In 
 every fashion was he made to feel the general jeer, 
 and this went on until alwavs melancholy he be- 
 
 34 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 came morbid. Aunt Tilda and Ethel heard naught 
 and knew less of this bed of nettles whereon the un 
 fortunate Robert lay stretched. As he was hated 
 and despised, so were they respected and loved; and, 
 while he lived in the shadow, they dwelt in the neigh 
 borhood sun. 
 
 Finally, those sharply disagreeable surroundings 
 spurred Robert to a desperate leap. He made up 
 his mind to abandon Somerset. In coming to this 
 mighty decision, there were certain reasons, not in 
 cluded among those which had their roots in the ill- 
 will of those Somerset good people, that had no little 
 weight with him. The lost Alan might still be some 
 where upon the earth. He might even seek to es 
 tablish communication with Somerset. Now a let 
 ter to his father, and his father dead, would infallibly 
 fall into the honest hands of Aunt Tilda. Such a 
 ruinous contingency must be fended against. It 
 would be the part of cautious wisdom, if the step 
 might be managed, to carry Aunt Tilda as far from 
 Somerset, and from Maryland itself, as she would go 
 so far, indeed, as to fairly cut off communication 
 with the old home. Having achieved such isolation, 
 he must contrive to maintain it throughout those ten 
 waiting years. Then young Alan s letter, should he 
 send one, would not be replied to, and the silence 
 thus arranged would prevent so Robert hoped 
 his return. Thus did he consider and connive; and 
 those plans he was thereby moved to build were 
 pleasant to him, becoming as manna that melted 
 on the lips of his native genius for intrigue. 
 
 There arose a second argument, almost as cogent 
 35 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 with Robert as was the one just rehearsed, an argu 
 ment which should meet perhaps with a more tolerant 
 sympathy. In a shifty secret fashion, concealing it 
 as though disclosure meant shame, he was in love 
 with Ethel. 
 
 There was nothing nobly creditable in this love, 
 albeit it might be pointed to as that sentiment least 
 discreditable to which his narrow breast gave refuge. 
 It was not the love of an aggressive masculinity, 
 deep-chested and commanding, that seizes without 
 question put, and upon which the feminine refusal 
 is wasted and of no effect, since there was not enough 
 to be stark and manly in his fiber for such love to 
 feed upon. A coward speaking of the male is 
 never a lover in that larger sense required of the 
 role; and Robert was a coward. It may be taken 
 as one of love s truisms that he who cannot face a 
 man, can still less face a woman. Also, a woman 
 before she can love must look up; and it is woman s 
 nature to look up only to courage. 
 
 With these, the laws of love, Robert, as a mere 
 result of instinct, felt himself defeated in his hopes 
 of Ethel before he had made a first advance. Ethel, 
 warm in her womanhood, and woman to the heart, 
 could not love down, but must love up; how, then, 
 was he to have her? he who was so wholly her in 
 ferior! This was the query which his instinct put, 
 and shrunk from having answered. 
 
 Incapable of the positive and the direct, Robert 
 had never told his love to Ethel. His poor confi 
 dence had never risen even to the little heights of 
 hinting it. The best he might do was fall to plot- 
 
 36 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 ting, just as a rat might fall to gnawing; and with 
 that it came to him as a thought as in the instance 
 of Aunt Tilda, where the motive was fear instead of 
 love to carry her primarily from out the midst of 
 men. He was just male enough to understand in 
 every other male of his tribe a rival; thus far his 
 nature ran true. Proceeding, therefore, one step at 
 a time, as the weak ever slowly must, it would be in 
 the direction of final triumph, to divorce her as much 
 as might be from every masculine influence other 
 than his own. 
 
 With these thoughts running in his head concern 
 ing both Ethel and Aunt Tilda, and to escape those 
 acrid Somerset conditions which hedged him round 
 like fire, Robert turned his scheming eyes to the 
 wilderness of the far Southwest, as offering those 
 lonesome advantages whereof he was in search. 
 There were his twenty thousand dollars! He would 
 invest in cattle. To what better opportunity could 
 his limited fortune be addressed? In ten years, by 
 all he could learn, those twenty thousand dollars, 
 planted in a ranch, would bring forth a tenfold har 
 vest. He could return to Somerset rich in his own 
 right, and add the new 7 wealth he had gathered to 
 that wealth which would then be his by Alan Gor 
 don s will. He would take possession of the Gordon 
 mansion, and set up lord in earnest. Also, he must 
 have his hour of vengeance upon those sneering ones. 
 
 The longer Robert dwelt upon that programme 
 of emigration and investment, the better he liked it. 
 He had heard of two birds and one stone; this would 
 be a triple killing. It would give him the woman he 
 
 37 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 loved; it would reduce to minimum the chance of 
 young Alan s return; it would pour down golden 
 profits on those twenty thousand dollars. Aside 
 from these, it would presently take him out of a 
 Somerset environment that was as a garment of 
 thorns. 
 
 Having made his plan and arranged his reasons to 
 support it, Robert laid the proposition before Aunt 
 Tilda. He was, he said, young, idle, without a pro 
 fession; he was pressed upon by the propriety of 
 doing something. The Southwest offered a most 
 hopeful field. 
 
 "Give me your judgment, now," said he. "At 
 the same time" here he bent a filial eye upon Aunt 
 Tilda "you must not forget, dear Aunt, that I shall 
 engage in nothing, go nowhere, that separates me 
 from you and Ethel. Do not counsel me to take the 
 step which I ve outlined, unless you are willirg to go 
 with me. I shall need your care; I tell you frankly 
 that no argument of money-profit could for one mo 
 ment reconcile me to the loss of it. Go or stay, it is 
 settled that I must be with you and Ethel." 
 
 At this fine passage, Robert was so much a master 
 of policy as to kiss Aunt Tilda; and he managed the 
 caress quite knowingly. The worthy lady, thus ap 
 proached, was obviously touched. A woman as a 
 rule likes to think herself indispensable, and Aunt 
 Tilda was no exception. Besides, Robert had come 
 at her on her motherly side, where the defenses were 
 weakest. She was both flattered and melted; and 
 while it cost her an effort, and filled her with misgiv 
 ings, she bravely and at once agreed that his design 
 
 38 
 
OLD ALAN GORDON S WILL 
 
 seemed one of solvent wisdom, and promised to 
 accompany him wherever he should go. 
 
 Aunt Tilda was the more satisfied; for she had 
 long harbored a wish that Robert would apply him 
 self in some vigorous, manly direction. She believed 
 in work, Aunt Tilda did, as she believed in the current 
 of a brook, and held it to be a purification. Idleness, 
 and whether one were pressed by money-need or no 
 was no other nor better than just so much stagnant 
 disgrace. Her respect for Robert took on weight, 
 when now he turned ambitious to be no more a drone. 
 
 Aunt Tilda re-told the talk with Robert to Ethel; 
 and because it pleased Aunt Tilda this plan of emi 
 gration it pleased Ethel. With this for the start, 
 details were soon arranged, and within two months 
 thereafter the trio found themselves in Galveston. 
 
 It has been ever easy to buy a cattle ranch in 
 Texas; in good truth it has been ever easier to buy 
 than to sell one. Within a fortnight after he stepped 
 ashore Robert, counseled somewhat by Aunt Tilda 
 and the Professor, had become the proprietor of the 
 Bar-Z outfit, with ranges on the upper Canadian. It 
 was only a small outfit, as brands and ranches go, 
 with perhaps a thousand head of cattle, and what 
 ponies were required to "work" them. Still one 
 may not make himself cattle-master of a hundred 
 herds, with twenty thousand dollars. Our investor 
 took enough for his money, and was fortunate to fare 
 so well. 
 
 39 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 IRONJACKET S LOST MEDICINE 
 
 FOR ten minutes after the lodge of Ironjacket had 
 been left behind, silence prevailed among those in 
 the surrey. This may have been due to the break 
 neck gait which, under Cato s urging, the mules main 
 tained. The pitching of the light vehicle among the 
 ruts was not conducive to conversation. Cato s orig 
 inal fears had been in no wise mollified by the stop, 
 and he went cracking his thong along the backs of 
 his cattle as though some wide-mouthed peril pur 
 sued. At last Professor Doremus put out a caution 
 ary hand. 
 
 "Not so fast," he cried, "not so fast, Cato. We ve 
 left the wagons far behind." 
 
 Cato retired his lash from circulation and glanced 
 nervously over his shoulder. The thin pencil of 
 smoke among the cottonwoods, that marked the 
 camp-fire of Ironjacket, was half a mile astern, and 
 Cato drew a long breath. 
 
 "I s ppose it s d way I m made, Professah," he 
 began apologetically; "but all d time we was idlin 
 about dem Injuns, I expec s every minute s goin 
 to be our nex . It jes sets me, once we does get 
 started, to pourin d leather into d mules." 
 
 "Old Tom Moonlight!" repeated Professor Dore 
 mus. The mules had been subdued to a walk, and 
 
 40 
 
IRONJACKET S LOST MEDICINE 
 
 he was speaking now to Aunt Tilda and Robert. 
 "Truly, an odd prefix for one who, obviously, has not 
 seen thirty years." 
 
 " Not so odd as his manner," fumed Robert. " Had 
 he been a gentleman, I might have called him to 
 book." 
 
 Robert was fed upon by that anger which weak 
 men feel toward themselves, when a peril they 
 failed to face has passed by. His brow was hot and 
 red. With those hard, gray eyes a half mile away, 
 he really and for the moment felt capable of bitter 
 deeds. 
 
 "That look of insult the fellow cast upon me," 
 Robert went on, "would have merited attention, 
 had he been of my station." 
 
 Professor Doremus coughed in a queer way. 
 
 "There arose naught to indicate that this Mr. 
 Moonlight was not a gentleman." The remark, in 
 its inflection, took the upward twist of criticism. 
 Plainly, Robert s ready dismissal of the cool Moon 
 light, as one beneath his haughty notice, did not 
 invoke the approval of the Professor. " For myself, 
 I make it a rule to presume every man a gentleman 
 until the contrary is shown." 
 
 "Then," observed Robert, growing hotter and 
 redder, "you would have demanded an explana 
 tion." 
 
 "Why, sir, I think I should." The Professor 
 had become quite stiff and ramrod like. "The at 
 titude of this Mr. Moonlight was not explainable save 
 on a theory of contumely. And, while I realize" 
 here the Professor stroked his thin locks "that I 
 am come of a day when men were not nice in these 
 
 41 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 matters, I hold it to be better to fight ignorantly 
 with yokels rather than let one gentleman escape. " 
 
 11 Mercy on us!" exclaimed Aunt Tilda; "you 
 surely would not counsel Robert to a duel, Professor!" 
 
 Aunt Tilda had not followed the talk closely, being 
 plunged in thoughts concerning the savage house 
 keeping of Madam Southwind, with her one-room 
 skin tent, and her kitchen the ground beneath a shel 
 tering tree. She was wondering how a Kiowa wife 
 managed to fry or boil, or in truth do any culinary 
 thing save roast, when the hardy tenor of Professor 
 Doremus observations attracted her. 
 
 "Assuredly, my dear Madam," said the Professor, 
 with a deep bow, "I would counsel no one to so 
 serious a step. I spoke only of what, under certain 
 conditions, should be my own course." 
 
 "And do you defend the barbarism of dueling?" 
 
 Aunt Tilda was shocked. 
 
 "I do riot defend, I simply accept the barbarism 
 of which you speak, precisely as I accept every other 
 barbarism of my time and place. Also, one must up 
 hold his honor; that is not for one moment to be de 
 nied." 
 
 "Honor!" repeated Aunt Tilda. She had begun 
 to recall, how, when the world was young with both 
 of them, the thin, suave Professor had had fame as a 
 fire-eater of most sensitively truculent fiber. This 
 served to abate astonishment at her old friend s 
 bristling views, while in no sort diminishing her 
 condemnation. "I do not understand," she contin 
 ued, " how one s honor can be put in question by a 
 mere stranger who sees fit to be rude. Like Robert, I 
 think the young man beneath notice. Although, 
 
 42 
 
IRONJACKET S LOST MEDICINE 
 
 doubtless" Aunt Tilda feared to be unjust -" his 
 wild surroundings, and want of opportunity, are to 
 blame for his boorishness." 
 
 Here befell the unexpected. Ethel had been hold 
 ing Jet close to the surrey s wheel. She now claimed 
 her part. 
 
 " There was no boorishness, dear aunt!" cried 
 Ethel. Her manner was wondrous passionate. "He 
 held us in contempt; that was all. I could see it 
 while he glared at Robert; I felt it when he turned 
 away." 
 
 Like Robert, Ethel was angry with herself. She, 
 too, had felt the spell of those gray eyes; and she 
 resented it. They had not alarmed her, as they 
 alarmed Robert; worse, they had fascinated her. 
 For the first time in her young life there had come 
 a man who made the pretty Ethel think twice of 
 him. This ruffled her spirit; to her girl s instincts 
 it seemed to speak of weakness, and rendered her 
 impatient and uneasy. 
 
 "There was no impression of the boor about him/ 
 she continued. Her tone was lower now. "His 
 face was high and noble, and he carried an atmos 
 phere of command." Then, with a sudden, angry 
 pointlessness, wholly diagonal arid feminine, she 
 wheeled upon Robert: "I wonder you did not strike 
 him!" 
 
 Robert s look grew black enough. Vaguely he felt 
 that he had lost place with Ethel, as he had with 
 the Professor. As vaguely, yet no less surely, he 
 knew that she was, even then, mentally comparing 
 him with the stranger, to his, Robert s disadvantage. 
 This set his jealousy afire, and gave his hate a double 
 
 43 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 reason. He would have replied, but could fashion 
 nothing to help his case. While he paused, wordless, 
 the Professor again spoke up. 
 
 "I would not offend," said he, "but, as Miss Ethel 
 has said, this Mr. Moonlight owned every mark above 
 the common. Mr. Home himself spoke of him as 
 though he dealt with a demigod. Really, my dear 
 Madam, I do not think that any gentleman, having 
 in view his own honor, could safely overlook an in 
 sult at his hands." 
 
 Professor Doremus cast upon Aunt Tilda a respect 
 ful but still a firmly warlike eye, as though concerning 
 this topic of ticklish honor he would combat even her. 
 
 Beholding which, and privily approving, she smiled 
 back upon him a smile of pleased submission. A 
 woman likes deference in a man, but she does not 
 want him to surrender to her. She will now and 
 then confute him, and give him battle, but she does 
 not desire to defeat him. Indeed, victory embar 
 rasses a true woman; she knows not what to do with 
 triumph. She is not looking so much for conquest 
 as for protection, when she marches forth to meet a 
 man, and she will forgive in him anything, every 
 thing, except being weaker than herself. When, 
 therefore, her ancient admirer stood stubbornly, even 
 against her revered word, in defense of that primal 
 manly franchise to war with other and contumelious 
 members of his sex, Aunt Tilda could not repress an 
 amiable ray. Moreover, the word "Honor," as it fell 
 from the Professor for she had not read her ballads 
 for nothing recalled old Lovelace: 
 
 "I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
 Loved I not honor moro." 
 4.4 
 
IRONJACKET S LOST MEDICINE 
 
 It would be difficult to say into just what con 
 cessions Aunt Tilda was upon the brink of being be 
 trayed, concessions which, added to the stiff pose of 
 the Professor and the resentful sparkle of Ethel, 
 would have weighed crushingly upon Robert, if a 
 new and to the latter gentleman a more interesting 
 subject had not thrust itself upon the conversation. 
 They were now abreast of that rocky point re 
 marked by the obliging Jeff in his last directions, 
 and there before them rose the mud walls of Cap 
 tain Ruggles home-ranch. 
 
 When Cato went whipping away, Jeff Home stood 
 watching the surrey s headlong departure with a 
 smile. 
 
 "That darky s stampeded," said he to himself. 
 "Now I wonder was it Ironjacket s black paint or 
 the Cap n s scowl!" 
 
 Jeff Home had two titles for his companion. When 
 he named him to others, he referred to him as "Old 
 Tom Moonlight." To himself, or when he addressed 
 that gentleman personally, he hailed him as "Cap n." 
 
 Southwind looked up from the fire, and spoke a 
 word or two in a broken jumble of Kiowa and Span 
 ish. Thereupon Jeff lost interest in the vanishing 
 surrey in favor of something nearer his heart and his 
 hand. Southwind had announced her savage dinner; 
 the antelope was roasted to a turn. 
 
 "Cap n!" cried Jeff; "Oh Cap n!" 
 
 Moonlight was standing where he had taken position 
 after staring Robert hot and cold and hot again. At 
 the call he turned his head. 
 
 "Chuck!" said Jeff. 
 
 45 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Having thus announced the repast and done, as he 
 would have thought, his full duty in the premises, 
 Jeff seized upon the antelope rib which Southwind 
 tendered, and fell to, wolfishly. 
 
 "Good conscience, good appetite!" he ruminated 
 philosophically. "Thar s nothin so condoocive to 
 health, that-away, as a strickly moral life." 
 
 Moonlight was not a whit behind Jeff so far as 
 appetite was involved, albeit he managed with less 
 wolfishness and more delicacy. 
 
 "That gent in the surrey, Cap n," observed Jeff, 
 the wire-edge of his hunger worn away, "was a fool," 
 
 "He ll know more later." 
 
 The voice was full, deep, musical, and in keeping 
 with the noble face. Ethel and the Professor were 
 right; the most casual survey would have exempted 
 Moonlight from any imputation of the commonplace. 
 He was above a middle height, slim, long in the reach, 
 with rounded chest, and wide, powerful shoulders. 
 His hands and feet were as small as those of a dandy 
 or an Indian. His skin, tanned almost to an aborigi 
 nal copper, showed him no newcomer to the plains. 
 The expression of his face to quote from Ethel 
 was high and noble; and yet the pronounced cheek 
 bones, lean, curved nose, clean angles at chin and jaw, 
 told of the predatory. The wonder of the man lurked 
 in those gray eyes, which danced or drew to a level 
 stare, were soft as a woman s or hard as agate, ac 
 cording to their owner s mood. Over all abode dig 
 nity and domination without truculence. And, yet, 
 given anger as an element and an enemy to be the 
 object, one could feel a latent genius for vengeance 
 and reprisal. One might have found an easier foe; 
 
 46 
 
IRONJACKET S LOST MEDICINE 
 
 there was that about him which furnished, even 
 to the thickest and most careless, a thought of the 
 tiger asleep. 
 
 Having dined to his satisfaction, Jeff regaled him 
 self with a huge mouthful of tobacco. Moonlight 
 rolled and lighted a cornhusk cigarette with the dex 
 terity of a Mexican. After a lazy puff or two he 
 glanced at Jeff. There was a questioning slant in the 
 glance that set Jeff talking. 
 
 "The old gent, who called himself Professor Dore- 
 mus and lectured on antelopes, was clean strain. 
 He wasn t like t other. An as for that lady the 
 one I talked with thar s nothin of the long horn 
 about her. She was shore nough corn-fed, or I m 
 no judge of cattle." 
 
 Moonlight, the taciturn, blew pale, thick rings of 
 smoke. He was thinking of the girl on the black 
 pony; and since his thoughts ran to the effect that 
 she was sublime in her dark, soft beauty, he did 
 not frame them into words. His impressions of Ethel 
 would have been wasted upon Jeff and made only a 
 crying instance of pearls and swine. 
 
 " They re the outfit that bought the Bar-Z ranch." 
 Jeff tossed this off lest Moonlight be behind on Pan 
 handle gossip. "About a day s pull up the river the 
 home-ranch is. They ll stay at old Ruggles to 
 night." 
 
 Moonlight puffed on without comment. 
 
 "Frosty told me at Tascosa," continued Jeff, 
 naming a gifted gambler of his acquaintance, "that 
 old Ruggles was goin to give a baile. It s day after 
 to-morrow. Frosty s comin up to turn a little monte 
 for the Mexicans. He ought to win a peso or two, 
 
 47 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Frosty had. When it gets down to kyards, he s as 
 cunnin as a pet fox. I wonder now what s old Rug- 
 gles little game in givin this fandango." 
 
 " There should be nothing strange about it," ob 
 served Moonlight, rolling a second cigarette. "Rug- 
 gles is more of a Mexican than a white man. His 
 wife was a Mexican a Baca. Now his daughter 
 is to marry a Baca a Don Anton Baca, from over 
 near Chaparita. The baile is in honor of their be 
 trothal." 
 
 "Not your Don Anton Baca?" 
 
 Jeff had pricked up his ears at the name. 
 
 "You ve guessed it. It was his peons who tore my 
 buffalo camp to pieces last fall, and cut and slashed 
 two hundred robes for me." 
 
 "An then left a moccasin behind," jeered Jeff 
 in vast contempt for the stratagem, "to make you 
 think they was Injuns." 
 
 "But forgot," went on Moonlight, "to mount their 
 ponies from the right side, as Indians would, and so 
 left proof as plain as a page of print that they were 
 Mexicans. However, there s no question. I ran 
 their trail straight to the Baca ranch on the Concha." 
 
 "Ay!" this, with a satisfied smile "an cut out 
 two hundred head of Don Anton s fattest steers, an 
 drove them over to the Palo Duro to make all even. 
 Two hundred steers for two hundred robes is proper 
 good barter. To keep it up would break all the Ba- 
 cas between the Canadian an the Rio Grande." 
 
 Silence fell for a space. 
 
 "Jeff," observed Moonlight, after a wordless two 
 minutes, "I ve a notion to attend that baile." 
 
 "You re the doctor, Cap n!" returned Jeff, dubi- 
 48 
 
IRONJACKET S LOST MEDICINE 
 
 ously. But you know old Ruggles ain t got much 
 use for us buffalo hunters. He allows we kill his 
 cattle. Besides, thar s your friend Don Anton. 
 Don t you-all reckon, Cap n, the young rico has missed 
 them two hundred steers by now?" 
 
 "And if he has?" 
 
 " No thin much! Only under all them circum 
 stances I sort o wondered if your cuttin in on old 
 Ruggles baile might not lead up to a war." 
 
 Moonlight smiled carelessly. 
 
 "The smoke would have to be thick, amigo, to 
 keep me from seeing my way through." Then rous 
 ing himself with a manner of decision: " How 
 ever, it s settled; I ll be at that betrothal dance of 
 the Senorita Inez. Also, I shall want my best horse. 
 Catch up your pony and ride over to the Palo Duro; 
 a good road gait should bring you there by midnight, 
 and you ll have a moon. Meet me here to-morrow 
 night, and bring President with you." 
 
 "President?" 
 
 "Yes, President; I ve an impression that I shall 
 open the Mexican eyes before we re through, and to 
 do it I ll need the four swiftest hoofs in the Pan 
 handle." 
 
 "An Red River Bill? he ll shore want to come!" 
 
 "I ve never felt the worse for having Red River 
 about. But you d better call up your pony, and pull 
 out; it s quite a scramble to the Palo Duro, and you ll 
 need all the time." 
 
 "An you?" 
 
 "I ll camp here with Ironjacket; I want to talk 
 with our painted friend." 
 
 "You couldn t get a word out o him, Cap n, now 
 49 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 he s lost his medicine bag, an got himself disgraced 
 that-away no, not if you was to bend your six- 
 shooter over his head." 
 
 Jeff, who was learned as to Kiowas, spoke with 
 confidence. Moonlight, with quite as much wisdom 
 touching Kiowas, replied with equal confidence. 
 
 " Never fear; I ll find a way to make him talk." 
 
 Moonlight s confidence was better grounded than 
 was that of Jeff s. He knew what he was going to 
 talk about, and Jeff did not. 
 
 It was a forty-mile run from the Canadian to the 
 Palo Duro, and Jeff, who loved his ease, sighed woe 
 fully as he swung into the saddle. None the less he 
 did not hesitate, for the word of Moonlight was his 
 law. With a dig of his spurs, and a farewell " How!" 
 to Southwind and her blooming daughter, he cantered 
 off among the cottonwoods toward the south. 
 
 When Jeff had departed, Moonlight cast loose the 
 cinches, and drawing the saddle from his already 
 hobbled pony, threw it on the grass by the camp 
 fire. Rummaging in one of the war-bags he took out 
 a sizable bundle, ambiguous in character, but as 
 nearly as one might guess in the twilight now gather 
 ing beneath the thick-boughed trees, the skin of some 
 animal rolled tight. With this in his hands he ap 
 proached the mournful Ironjacket, still rigid and 
 moveless as a statue. 
 
 "How fares it with my father?" 
 
 Moonlight s words were gravely sympathetic. Iron- 
 jacket never gave a sign; the query gained not the 
 quiver of an eyelash in reply. It was as though 
 Moonlight had spoken to a tree. The latter went on 
 neither astonished nor hurt. 
 
 50 
 
IRONJACKET S LOST MEDICINE 
 
 "I come," said he, "to lift shame from my father s 
 shoulders, and wash the black from his face and the 
 sorrow from his heart. Does my father see?" 
 
 Moonlight undid the mysterious roll and threw it 
 at the feet of Iron jacket. It was a pouch made from 
 the whole skin of a beaver, with claws and teeth and 
 tail retained. 
 
 Ironjacket s broad breast began to heave. What 
 Moonlight had tossed down before him was as the 
 heaven and the earth to him, but, beyond that strain 
 ing bosom and the fire gathering in his eye, he con 
 trolled himself. 
 
 "It is the lost medicine of Ironjacket!" he whis 
 pered, drawing the beaver skin pouch toward him in 
 a mystified way. "The medicine of Ironjacket has 
 come back!" 
 
 Casting off the ragged blanket, he sprang to his 
 feet, and sent a yell, that was as a proclamation of 
 self-respect, reverberating among the hills which 
 fenced about the cottonwood grove. It was not 
 defiant, not joyful, that yell. It was simply the 
 reassertion of his savage manhood, and notice to the 
 world that Ironjacket had once more taken to him 
 self the high place that was his in the ranks of the 
 Kiowas. 
 
 51 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT 
 
 IRONJACRET stood for a moment as straight as a pine 
 nostril working, eye burning with pride. Then he 
 wheeled on his heel and stalked into his lodge. 
 
 Moonlight rolled a fresh cigarette as though he 
 were alone. The Kiowa, in his native eccentricities, 
 was no new tale to him, and he waited the return of 
 Ironjacket without remark. Repose is the founda 
 tion of dignity with a savage, and Moonlight when he 
 dealt with Indians became as one of them. Besides 
 it was not his " medicine" that had been lost and 
 was now returned; his good repute had not just 
 been lifted from the mire. It was easy for him to be 
 cool, and preserve a steady gravity of manner. 
 
 Southwind and her daughter Firelight understood 
 all that had passed, and could construe its meaning 
 in their dusky destinies. They had glowed passively 
 while Ironjacket was near; once he stepped within 
 the lodge, and the restraint of his presence was with 
 drawn, they chirped to each other like a brace of 
 catbirds. A squaw has no dignity to keep up. She 
 may grow as excited as she chooses. She may wail 
 with sorrow or laugh with delight, and her standing 
 remain untouched. There was nothing to subdue or 
 silence the joy of Southwind and the young Firelight. 
 
 52 
 
STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT 
 
 The disgrace of the husband and father the unspeak 
 able shame of a man who has lost his " medicine " had 
 attached to them, since tribally they must rise or 
 fall by him. They had been as outcasts; now, with 
 the lost " medicine" restored, they might again lead 
 Kiowa fashion on the Rabbit Ear. It was their 
 social prospects, so splendidly repaired, that fur 
 nished the impulse of their half-hysterical, congratu 
 latory chatter. 
 
 Ironjacket came forth from the lodge, and that 
 gratulatory chatter sunk to whisperings and ecstatic 
 murmurs. He himself was in gay fresh face paints 
 yellow, green and red. Two arrogant eagle feath 
 ers jutted skyward from the roots of his scalp-lock. 
 His blanket was black and red. Where it fell away 
 from his brawny throat, a silver medal showed pend 
 ent to a necklace of bear claws. Also he had pinched 
 silver earrings into the lobes of his ears, and embel 
 lished his belt with a knife and tomahawk steel- 
 bright and glancing in the flare of the camp fire. 
 
 In his hand Ironjacket bore his reds tone " medi 
 cine" pipe of ceremony, brought at the price of two 
 lives from the sacred pipe-stone quarries a long twelve 
 hundred miles to the north quarries guarded from 
 Kiowas by blood-hungry Sioux and Pawnees. Alto 
 gether, during those brief moments within the lodge, 
 he had wrought a marvel in his appearance. He had 
 gone in the tribal vagrant ragged, painted a de 
 jected black. He came out brilliant, prosperous and 
 proud a Kiowa of wealth, station and respect. 
 
 Shaking the rich blanket from his shoulders, Iron- 
 jacket spread it like a sumptuous rug on the wind 
 ward side of the fire, and in Kiowa invited Moonlight 
 
 53 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 to occupy it. When they were placed, cross-legged 
 like two tailors, he began with not a little flourish to 
 fill the red-stone pipe. He spoke a sharp word to 
 Southwind. That obedient woman scrambled to her 
 feet, and a moment later planted Ironjacket 7 s lance 
 in the ground at the door of the lodge. On the lance 
 she hung his war shield. The long, red plume of 
 hawks feathers that adorned the center of the shield 
 tossed in the slow evening breeze, and gave notice 
 that here a warrior lived one capable for peace or 
 strife, or whatever other manly thing might be de 
 manded of him. 
 
 The pipe being filled Ironjacket lighted it with a 
 coal of fire, and blew smoke to the sky above, the 
 earth beneath, and lastly to the setting sun, whose 
 red disk just showed above the western skyline. He 
 passed the pipe to Moonlight, who returned the peace 
 ful compliment of those three formal smoke-puffs. 
 Ceremony being satisfied, Ironjacket reclaimed his 
 pipe, Moonlight again betook himself to cigarettes, 
 and the pair settled themselves to the commonplace 
 of a tobacco-comforted evening. 
 
 After ten minutes of silent smoking, Ironjacket 
 bent a benignant look upon Moonlight. 
 
 "I was forgotten," said Ironjacket in Kiowa, "and 
 my son restored me; I was dead, and he has made 
 me live. My son is a warrior I have seen him fight. 
 But some day he may have too many enemies. When 
 that morning comes, my son must send for his father. 
 Nor shall his father be far to seek. Waiting for that 
 hour, Ironjacket swears by his l medicine/ and by 
 grass and water and the fire made of cedarwood, that 
 he will never again be two days ride from his son." 
 
 54 
 
STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT 
 
 "I thank my father, and shall not forget/ 7 Moon 
 light answered, as he had been addressed, in Kiowa. 
 Then, with a half indolent, half curious air, as though 
 the business possessed but a partial interest, he asked : 
 "Where did my father see me fight?" 
 
 "On the banks of the Beaver. It was there my 
 son killed Sun Boy. It was a fight of knives. 7 
 
 "That is of another day," observed Moonlight mus 
 ingly. "The buffaloes have gone north seven times 
 since then. Sun Boy belonged with the Wolf Robe 
 band of Kiowas; I was with the Kicking Bird." 
 Moonlight got this off tranquilly; the memory of that 
 homicide raised never a ripple. Dropping the filial, 
 he continued: "I remember now; Ironjacket and 
 Wolf Robe came to the ground with Sun Boy." 
 
 "It was to see right done," returned Ironjacket, 
 puffing composedly. "Sun Boy was my brother s 
 son. Moonlight and Sun Boy fought about a squaw." 
 
 "Ay! a squaw. She looked at me twice ; Sun 
 Boy grew jealous and killed her with his war axe." 
 
 "She was an idler and a gad-about," quoth Iron- 
 jacket, phlegmatically, "and tanned no buffalo robes. 
 Also, she saw too many men with her eyes. Her 
 name was Saucy Osage. After she died, Kiowa 
 squaws worked good. Sun Boy did well." 
 
 "Perhaps! But I did not like it. So I killed Sun 
 Boy with my knife." 
 
 "The fight was fair, and Moonlight is a mighty 
 warrior; his heart and his medicine are strong. 
 Sun Boy is now dead, and Moonlight is Ironjacket s 
 son." 
 
 As though to re-emphasize his friendship, Iron- 
 jacket again passed his pipe to Moonlight, who quali- 
 
 55 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 fied the peace between them with the usual three 
 puffs. There came another smoky silence, which 
 Ironjacket was the first to break. 
 
 "My son was a Kiowa when he killed Sun Boy." 
 
 "My father is right. I was a Kiowa of the band 
 of Kicking Bird." 
 
 "Kicking Bird Ta-ne-on-koe" repeated Iron- 
 jacket, giving the Indian pronunciation. "He was 
 always urging the Kiowas to follow the white >man s 
 trail, and do as the white man did. That was not 
 well, Kicking Bird should have thought again. The 
 Indian cannot do as the white man does; his hands 
 are too small." Ironjacket held out his two hands 
 which, like the hands of most Indians, were no bigger 
 than a woman s. "An Indian s hands are big enough 
 to pull a bow, or shoot a gun, or hold a lance, or stab 
 with a knife; but they are not big enough to use a 
 hoe or guide a plow. Kicking Bird talked wrong 
 talk. So thought the Great Spirit; for when Kick 
 ing Bird who would be as a white man took a 
 Mexican woman for his squaw, she put poison in 
 his cup. Kicking Bird is now with Sun Boy. But 
 he has to catch and saddle Sun Boy s pony, and 
 carry home the deer that he kills, for Sun Boy met 
 his death at the knife of a warrior, face to face, while 
 Kicking Bird was poisoned like a coyote by a squaw." 
 
 Moonlight let Ironjacket dispose as he would of the 
 heavenly fortunes of the departed Kicking Bird. 
 Ironjacket knocked the ashes from the redstone pipe 
 and fumbled in his pouch for more tobacco. 
 
 "My son is no longer a Kiowa. Now he is a white 
 man, hunts buffaloes, holds cattle, and lives with 
 other white men on the Palo Duro." 
 
 56 
 
STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT 
 
 Moonlight nodded. 
 
 "My son has no squaw?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "He shall have the Firelight." 
 
 Moonlight smiled, and pointed to the small figure 
 of a bear, in blue ink, on the breast of Ironjacket. 
 
 "A bear cannot wed with a bear," he said. Tear 
 ing open his shirt at the throat, Moonlight displayed 
 a little blue bear on the white skin, fellow of the one 
 that 1 marked the breast of Ironjacket. "It cannot 
 be; we are both bears, and the Firelight must not be 
 my squaw." 
 
 The young lady under discussion had already re 
 tired within the lodge in attendance upon her mother, 
 Southwind, and Ironjacket and Moonlight were alone. 
 The sensibilities of Firelight were thus saved. 
 
 The prompt disposal of his offer of the fair Firelight 
 did not ruffle Ironjacket. He glanced at the totem 
 tattooed on the breast of Moonlight, and grunted 
 agreement. 
 
 "My son is right; bear and bear do not marry." 
 Ironjacket puffed judgmatically: "Besides, much 
 worry comes with a squaw. She wants always new 
 things: one day a pony, next day a blanket. When 
 her husband is asleep she talks with squaws as care 
 less as herself; and while she talks the camp fire goes 
 out." 
 
 On the back of this wisdom conversation fell prone 
 for the space of a score of puffs at Ironjacket s red- 
 stone pipe. Moonlight had no notion of proposing a 
 fresh subject. He was waiting for Ironjacket to talk 
 about his beaver-skin "medicine" that had been lost 
 and was found again. Ironjacket would come to that 
 
 57 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 in time. He could not rush to it as a topic; to do so 
 would be in defiance of Kiowa etiquette, and militate 
 against his dignity. Its loss had been worse than 
 death; its return meant more than life; this Iron- 
 jacket had conceded, and would act upon throughout 
 his life in favor of him who was the reason of his re 
 habilitation. But he must not too much dwell upon 
 the incident. To do so would be the sign of a woman, 
 and slight his manhood. Moonlight understood, and 
 kept his patience. Ironjacket was bound in the end 
 to recur to that subject of the " medicine" bag. An 
 Indian has his dignity; but also he has his curiosity. 
 
 Ironjacket began finally in this casual fashion. 
 
 "My son found the lost medicine of his father 
 by Wolf Creek. It had been caught in the bough 
 of a little tree." 
 
 "I found my father s medicine by the salt lakes 
 back of Tulia." Moonlight wore the same air of 
 careless indifference that distinguished Ironjacket. 
 "Gray Horse, the Comanche, was wearing it. He 
 had bragged that he took it in battle." 
 
 The cords in Ironjacket s throat began to swell 
 rancorously. 
 
 "Gray Horse lied. The Comanches ambushed us 
 in the thick bushes by Wolf Creek. My medicine 7 
 was tied to my lance, and when I charged it was torn 
 off by the branches. For one whole moon I sought 
 it, but it was not to be found. The lying Gray Horse 
 had picked it up. Now I shall search for this two- 
 tongue; when I have found him he will talk no more 
 lies." 
 
 Moonlight reached for his bridle that had been 
 thrown on the grass by his saddle. From the bits 
 
 58 
 
STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT 
 
 depended a black glossy braid of hair. This he dis 
 engaged and tossed to Ironjacket. 
 
 " There is his scalp," said he, "and my father is 
 too late. Gray Horse ate my buffalo meat, and 
 smoked my pipe. Then he crept in among my horses 
 to steal; for Gray Horse was a thief as well as a liar. 
 It was in the night; but my eye was open and my 
 ear awake. So I shot him with my buffalo gun, and 
 brought my father back his medicine. Also, my 
 father may keep the scalp; it will give him a good 
 heart." 
 
 Ironjacket s black eyes snapped and blazed, as he 
 fondled the thick braid of hair. 
 
 "I will tie it to my medicine/ " he said. "It shall 
 be as a warning to liars." 
 
 After surveying for a moment the beaver-skin, 
 which was as the outward husk of that important 
 "medicine," Ironjacket opened it at the laced slash 
 between the forelegs, and thrust in his hand. One 
 by one with his searching ringers he counted over 
 those several occult odds and ends that together 
 made up his fetish. Nothing was missing, as one 
 might tell by the satisfied twinkle of his eyes. 
 
 "It is good!" said he. "But yet" he looked 
 inquiringly at Moonlight "how did my son know it 
 was the medicine of his father?" 
 
 "Am I not a Kiowa? Do I not know a Kiowa 
 medicine even on a thieving Comanche? Does not 
 every Kiowa know Ironjacket? The trail to my 
 father was neither long nor hard. I knew that he 
 must be mourning for his loss, so I came at once. 
 Let me ask my father: Is there nothing gone? He 
 should feel in his beaver-skin bag again." 
 
 59 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 " All is there," reported Ironjacket, after a second and 
 more thorough exploration. " There is nothing lost." 
 
 Moonlight held out a buckskin packet, stained with 
 time, and whipped about with deer-sinews. 
 
 "Did my father ever see this?" he asked. "I took 
 it from my father s medicine bag, when I stripped 
 it from the shoulders of the lying Gray Horse. Had 
 the Comanche put it there?" 
 
 Ironjacket took the buckskin packet into his hands, 
 and looked it over with familiar interest. 
 
 "This I have seen always," said Ironjacket. "I 
 had it from my father; whose father had it from his 
 father before him. It was with my l medicine, but 
 it was not part of it. No" and Ironjacket again 
 recurred to his scrutiny of the buckskin packet 
 "no; this was the medicine of a white face who 
 died long ago so long ago that this river" tossing 
 his hand toward the Canadian "was young when 
 he died." 
 
 "I have looked inside," said Moonlight. "As my 
 father says, it is a white man s medicine. It is a 
 talking medicine, and tells of the white man s 
 God." 
 
 "My son is brave. The heart of Ironjacket is 
 strong; and yet he would not unwrap this thing. 
 Our wise men have said that an evil spirit has his 
 home in it. Wait!" 
 
 Ironjacket arose and entered the lodge. Soon he 
 returned with a short tunic or hunting-shirt, heavily 
 bedecked with fringes and feathers. He put the gar 
 ment into the hands of Moonlight. The weight 
 amazed him; on closely examining it the mystery 
 was laid bare. The body of the tunic was made up 
 
 60 
 
STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT 
 
 of a shirt of finely linked chain mail. The steel links 
 were brown with stain and rust, but had been kept 
 smooth with tallow. Divested of feathers and buck 
 skin fringes, which were an Indian addition, this 
 steel shirt sleeveless it was would have reached 
 from a tall man s throat to a point midway between 
 hip and knee. Moonlight hefted the thing in his 
 hand; his examination over, he bent an inquiring 
 glance on the Kiowa. 
 
 " Listen!" said Ironjacket, in response to the 
 glance. "It is that" pointing to the steel tunic 
 " which makes the name of Ironjacket. My son shall 
 hear. No, I wouldn t tell it to a white man; but my 
 son is a Kiowa. This is what was told by my father, 
 who heard it from his father. There have been many 
 Ironjackets so many." He held up seven fingers. 
 "One and all they have owned this iron shirt, the 
 father giving it to the son; and with it the med 
 icine " pointing to the skin-wrapped packet "of the 
 dead white face. I am a Kiowa; my father was a 
 Kiowa. But my father s father, and all who went 
 before, were Missouris. The Missouris were bold 
 men, but they are gone now. Some were killed by 
 the Pawnees; some by the Sioux. Then the small 
 pox came, and only a few were left. That was many 
 summers ago when my father s father was chief of 
 the Missouris. Now when they were too weak to 
 fight with the Pawnees and the Sioux, they came to 
 their cousins the Kiowas, and there were no more 
 Missouris. They were all Kiowas from that time." 
 
 Ironjacket paused to uplift himself with a puff 
 from the redstone pipe. 
 
 "My son, listen! As many summers ago as there 
 61 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 are leaves on a large tree, the Missouris lived by the 
 big bend where the Kaw has its mouth. One day 
 their hunters were far out on the plains after buffaloes. 
 Their camp was by the Pawnee Rock. While the 
 Missouris were by the Rock, many white men came 
 from the West; with them were their squaws and 
 pappooses. The white men were fools. They thought 
 the Missouris were Osages, to whom they bore a 
 message. The captain of the white men smoked 
 with the chief of the Missouris. When he had smoked 
 he said: We come from beyond the mountains to 
 the west. By the mouth of the Kaw, on the big 
 bend of the Missouri, we are going to live. See, we 
 bring our squaws, and our pappooses, and our spotted 
 buffaloes; for we shall build a town and stay. But 
 first we must kill all the Missouris. That is why 
 we smoke with the Osages, who are at war with 
 the Missouris. You and I will help one another. 
 W^e will go together and kill all the Missouris. Then 
 we who are white men shall build the town; and you 
 and your Osages, who are our friends, shall trade 
 with us. This" here Ironjacket snorted his con 
 tempt for that fatuous white man "the paleface 
 captain spoke to the chief of the Missouris, for the 
 paleface captain was a fool." 
 
 "As my father says," observed Moonlight, "that 
 white man was a fool and deserved to die." 
 
 "This was on him when he spoke," said Ironjacket, 
 picking up the chain-mail shirt. "Also, he died, 
 as my son has said." 
 
 There was a further moment given up to smoke 
 and silence. 
 
 "It was this way," resumed Ironjacket. "The 
 62 
 
STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT 
 
 chief of the Missouris said he was glad to hear the talk 
 of the white captain, for it gave him a good heart. 
 He would send for his young men; and after that 
 he would show the white men where to find the 
 Missouris. So he sent his runners for his people; 
 and he and the white captain waited and smoked. 
 Seven sleeps they smoked; and on the seventh day 
 the fighting men of the Missouris had come." 
 
 "And the chief of the Missouris then told the fool 
 white captain the truth?" 
 
 "He told him the truth," replied Ironjacket com 
 placently. "Lance and axe and arrow never lie, and 
 the chief spoke with arrow and lance and axe." 
 
 "Did he kill all?" 
 
 "All! men, pappooses, squaws; he killed all. 
 But at first one man, who was dressed like a squaw, 
 got away on a horse. There were other horses, but 
 the Missouris were afraid to ride them; for this was 
 many summers ago. The Missouris would fight with 
 a horse, for they were brave; but at that time their 
 hearts had not grown big enough to ride on a horse s 
 back. The Missouris chased the squaw-man; but 
 they chased him a-foot. The chief told his young 
 men they must kill him, or he would bring back more 
 white men. So they followed him by his horse s 
 tracks across Sand Creek, and Crooked Creek, and 
 the Medicine Lodge, and the Cimarron; and they 
 knew they would get him, for they saw by the two 
 camps he made that he had nothing to eat. Then 
 they found where the wolves killed his horse. And 
 then a fire shone on a hill. That was by this river, 
 the Canadian; and the hill was this hill by which we 
 are now camped." 
 
 63 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Ironjacket pointed to the huge hill that furnished 
 the bluff termination of the point of rocks, which 
 ran down towards the river on the eastern edge of 
 the cottonwood grove. Its outlines stood out tall 
 and black in the moonlight. 
 
 "And the squaw-man/ asked Moonlight; "did the 
 Missouris kill him?" 
 
 "They found him on that hill by his fire; and they 
 killed him. He did not fight, for he was weak. Be 
 sides, he was a squaw-man, and wore the dress of a 
 squaw. When the Missouris crept upon him he did 
 not hear. He was talking with what is wrapped up 
 in that buckskin talking with his medicine. The 
 Missouris waited to see what his medicine would 
 do; but it did nothing. Then they waited no longer, 
 and smote him with their stone clubs. No, they did 
 not scalp him; for in his fear, being a squaw-man, 
 he had shaved away his hair, and there was no scalp- 
 lock. But they brought his medicine to the chief 
 of the Missouris who was many times back my 
 father. The medicine men of the Missouris packed 
 it with cedar leaves and medicine grass, and wrapped 
 it tight in buckskin. They said it could talk, and 
 must be kept close, or it would get away and tell the 
 white men of that big killing by the Pawnee Rock. 
 So the chief of the Missouris took it that, and the 
 fool white captain s steel shirt. And so, from that 
 day father gave these things to son, father gave them 
 to son, father gave them to son, until they are here 
 in our hands by this fire." 
 
 Moonlight was thinking on that long-dead monk, 
 whose Bible lay in the buckskin wrapper. He did 
 not distrust the tale of Ironjacket; for he knew how, 
 
 64 
 
STORY OF THE STEEL SHIRT 
 
 word for word, the Indians preserve the accurate 
 truth for centuries. 
 
 While Moonlight ruminated of that ancient slaugh 
 ter by Pawnee Rock, with its little epilogue of blood 
 on the near-by hill, Ironjacket was running another 
 thought to earth. 
 
 "My son has looked at the squaw-man s med 
 icine ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did it talk to him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is it a good medicine ?" 
 
 "It is good for white men. It would not talk to 
 a Kiowa." 
 
 Ironjacket considered deeply. 
 
 "See now," he said at last, "because my son is 
 a Kiowa, and because he brought back my honor 
 when it was held by Gray Horse, I will do a new 
 thing. I will give my son the squaw-man s medi 
 cine to be his. But the steel shirt I will keep, since 
 it is my name, and Ironjacket must not give away 
 his name and the name of his fathers." 
 
 "And to-morrow my father will go to the hill where 
 the squaw-man died?" 
 
 "There is a mark on the great soft rock at the top 
 of the hill a mark such as white men make. I 
 shall show my son the squaw-man s mark. Now let 
 us sleep, for there will be much time on the morrow, 
 since Talk-a-heap " that was Ironjacket s name for 
 the voluble Jeff Home "cannot bring the big horse 
 before dark. The next day I go back to my people 
 on the Rabbit Ear." 
 
 65 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE TREASURE OF DON LOPEZ 
 
 IRONJACKET turned into his lodge, and slept as be 
 came a warrior and an untroubled man. Moonlight 
 sat by the fire, looking straight before him into the 
 coals, as though their glowing bosoms held some 
 worth-while secret that his gaze might in the end 
 unlock. Not a sound arose to vex the night, noth 
 ing save the lipping mutter of the river fretting with 
 its banks. The camp was death-still; the lodge, 
 for any suggestion of sound that came from it, might 
 have been empty of all life. An Indian is savage, 
 but not vulgar; he never snores, and his commend 
 able slumbers are as the deep sleep of a tree. 
 
 He was a study in the curious our young gentle 
 man by the fire. " Captain Moonlight! 7 " Old Tom 
 Moonlight!" those were but names of respect, mere 
 titles of a regional nobility. The taste of the Pan 
 handle had conferred them on him, in admiration 
 of his stark courage and a fortitude without a flaw. 
 They had a sober sound, those names, and a weight 
 that belonged with years. And yet they were so 
 much a contradiction, that he who wore them was 
 hardly better than a boy. 
 
 In those lands of unsafety where no law exists, 
 and one s hand must keep one s head, the features 
 pick up a kind of facial caution of their own. Espe 
 cially are the eyes and mouth instructed in an iron 
 
 66 
 
TREASURE OF DON LOPEZ 
 
 impassivity that cloaks emotion, and makes a mask 
 behind which the man loves or hates, or saves or 
 slays, unbetrayed as to the sentiment that underlies. 
 It is the caste-mark of the wilderness. The desert 
 dweller who would be equal to his bleak estate must 
 rise above and beyond the changing touch of joy or 
 sorrow, hope or fear. He may be fire within; he 
 must be ice without. This comes not so much from 
 pride as from an instinct of defense; albeit, like much 
 that finds root in prudence, it oft turns to vanity in 
 its fruit. 
 
 Our young friend by the fire was quite the native 
 flower of his surroundings. No cactus of unyielding 
 thorn could have been more stubbornly natural to 
 that hard environment. The desert never concili 
 ates, never compromises; it asks no quarter, gives 
 none. And such would have been the picture of 
 our young fire-gazing friend, had one been there to 
 paint it. 
 
 In favor of truth, however, there should be thrown 
 in some measure of qualification. Our young friend 
 was one of those sphinx-like indurated natures merely 
 while folk were looking on. Let a stranger encounter 
 him; at once his manner was replete of no concession, 
 non-surrender; the best that stranger might win from 
 him was a truce. His face would offer but the poor 
 choice of two expressions. These belonged with the 
 gray eyes. They were like a pair of sentries those 
 eyes. They challenged. And there came nothing 
 more warmly friendly than that challenge. He was 
 either one s enemy, or he turned his back. Com 
 monly it was the latter; for he seemed hedged of 
 an arctic indifference that, courting nothing and 
 
 67 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 caring for naught, was fine only in being as bendless 
 as an oak. Byron, in his affected hour, would have 
 written a poem on him. 
 
 You are to understand that our young friend was 
 these several granite things while he felt the gaze of 
 folk upon him. Now, as he sat alone, his guard of 
 face relaxed. Those eyes, so ready to command or 
 menace, became notably soft. As they brooded 
 upon the dying embers, what lights and shadows 
 ebbed or flowed in the gray depths were as gentle 
 processions of sentiment. 
 
 To the reader of faces those lights and shadows 
 would have told of a mood, self-accusatory and sor 
 rowful, and spoken of memories freighted of regrets. 
 Conscience is remembrance plus deduction, and, 
 with a mind busy over the past, and indulging in 
 inferences far from self-flattering, our young friend 
 was shrinking under the lash of conscience. Also, 
 he seemed a bit surprised that this should be so; 
 from which one is to argue that these visitations were 
 new. 
 
 And yet their sources were not far to seek. His 
 trouble might have been diagnosed as one with that 
 of Kipling s gorilla. He had too much ego in his 
 cosmos. Only he did not know; since Kipling was 
 not to write till later. Too much pride, too much 
 sentiment these were his defects. Likewise he suf 
 fered from a lack of that common, workaday wit of 
 give-and-take, which will believe in half a loaf rather 
 than believe in none. 
 
 Our young friend began to think aloud a bad 
 habit, significant of a soul feeding upon itself. 
 
 "I begin to believe," said he, giving the fire a little 
 
TREASURE OF DON LOPEZ 
 
 vicious shove with his foot to bring the brands to 
 gether " I begin to believe that while a man is born 
 sane, he wanders mentally as he grows old. My 
 method of life of which I was a trifle fond ceases 
 all at once to please. What has come over me? 
 What sudden wisdom have I gained?" 
 
 Our young friend, being an egotist, would never 
 have guessed. To one older, and not so personally 
 concerned, that irritating soul-turmoil wherein he 
 found himself would have been easily explained. A 
 very radical, and yet very usual, element had been 
 thrust into the equation of his nature. Like some 
 bright bird glancing through the twilight aisles of a 
 wood, there had come the beautiful vision of a girl. 
 He had looked at Robert; but he saw Ethel. To his 
 half-fed fancy she was as the sublimation of soft 
 loveliness. 
 
 Still, had one so told him he would have denied it. 
 He would have remembered with a scowl only 
 Robert. For Ethel had left her sweet impression, 
 not upon his memory but upon his heart, and our 
 troubled one to his soul s scandal held but few 
 conferences with his heart. Now that neglected 
 organ had resolved to be heard; it was that heart- 
 voice, so strange and so unrecognized, speaking 
 what he did not understand, which had set him to 
 self-distrust, and to questioning a past the round full 
 virtues whereof he never before distrusted. 
 
 This was as heaven meant it should be. There 
 come proverbs to tell of love s blindness. It is false 
 talk; no man sees himself until his eyes have been 
 opened by love. And so with our dissatisfied one. 
 Ethel had come; and the conviction of her tender- 
 
 69 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 ness and pure truth fell all across him like a light. 
 By it the ungrace of his own life stood revealed. He 
 reviewed himself; and the portrait did not please 
 him. 
 
 "I have based myself/ he said, in a tone wherein 
 contempt and regret were mingled, "I have based 
 myself on myself, like an eagle on a crag; and, like 
 the eagle, I look about to find mere loneliness and 
 desolation." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "Are you proud of your thews? A cheap boast, 
 truly! Every buffalo, every bear is stronger! The 
 antelope is fleeter; the hawk has a truer eye! And 
 your courage?" This, with a sneer: " Courage? It 
 is as common as buffalo grass! So few are without 
 it that in all my life I ve met but three cowards. 
 One, I saw to-day." At the thought of Robert he 
 glowered. "I should have wrung round his neck, 
 had it not been for disgracing these fingers!" 
 
 His self-criticism took another course. 
 
 "Are these better" holding out his hands "be 
 cause there is blood upon them? What a poor brag 
 to say that one has taken life! One may even slay, 
 and not defeat! Sun Boy? I held his knife-hand 
 with my left, and drove my blade through his throat. 
 I looked into his eyes; they neither wavered nor 
 failed. They glared back into mine; the man died 
 unconquered. I myself could have done no more. 
 Fortitude? Ironjacket, asleep in his lodge, might 
 over-match me! Pierced through and through with 
 what to him was more than death, he took his wound 
 as the wolf takes its wound and crept aside, asking no 
 sympathy. For what have I lived?" 
 
 70 
 
TREASURE OF DON LOPEZ 
 
 There came no answer to the last. He gazed at the 
 fire a moment, and with a toss of the hand exclaimed: 
 
 "Possibly, my life is not my fault! The disaster 
 may be congenital, and I as my discerning father 
 declared a simple Recurrence a Repetition a Re 
 crudescence in brief, a Throwback." He concluded 
 with a gesture of disgust, as one who weakly confesses 
 too much: "Come; I m not so important as I would 
 make it appear! I too much dwell upon myself!" 
 
 Which last was the truest word he spoke that night. 
 
 Moonlight shook himself like a swimming dog. It 
 was as though he would dismiss the thoughts that 
 weighed upon his spirits as the dog dismisses the 
 water from its coat. He picked up the buckskin 
 packet, and began to unfasten the deer-sinew liga 
 tures. Unfolding it, he took out a Bible. The black 
 covers were cracked with time, but still defended 
 successfully the body of the book. The print was 
 Latin; the title page showed it to have come from 
 the celebrated presses of Lucio in Florence, and the 
 date of that printing was 1693. They did good work 
 then; for the paper was as fresh, and the type as 
 clear, as on the day it went first to the shelves. 
 
 Moonlight did not wander into the body of the 
 volume; it was the fly-leaves, and what had been 
 written thereon, that interested him. Already he 
 had read it sundry times since the death of that 
 Comanche horse- thief; but now he went back to it 
 as earnestly as though it were new. 
 
 He threw a resin-soaked knot on the embers to 
 give him light. There were three pages closely writ 
 ten in Spanish. The text was small, the ink had run 
 a little and grown brown; none the less it could be 
 
 71 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 readily picked out. This is a free translation of what 
 he read: 
 
 " To whomsoever shall find these, my words, greeting: 
 
 "In the year of our Lord, Seventeen hundred and Sixteen, 
 being now the month of June, I, Jose, a brother of the Society of 
 Jesus, sometime a student at Lisbon, say these things; trusting 
 in the fullness of time thus to make known the fate of Don Lo 
 pez d Salazar, and the expedition under him. We left Santa F6 
 with fifteen hundred souls men, women and little children. 
 Our purpose was to settle on the Great River, to the end that we 
 claim the region for Spain, and hold in check the French, who 
 were pushing north from Louisiana. 
 
 The ground marked for our occupation was held by certain 
 warlike savages called the Missouris. Our orders were to wage 
 instantly against these pagans a war of extermination, as being 
 for our best safety and the glory of Christ. 
 
 "The better to do this, we designed to make friends and allies 
 of certain other savages, living to the south and west of the 
 Missouris, and engaged in bloody feud with them. These were 
 called Osages, and our scouts, sent forth from Santa F6 the sea 
 son before, had reported on them as friendly to the Spanish. 
 That report was either a lie, or the two warring tribes of Osage 
 and Missouri had made meanwhile a peace. This the sequel will 
 show. 
 
 "Two weeks before I write, if my count of the days be true, 
 we encountered a party of the Osages. Don Lopez, yielding 
 to the custom of these savages, smoked with their head man, 
 and laid bare his mission. 
 
 "The head man of the Osages listened with respect, and appar 
 ent agreement. He assured Don Lopez of his friendship, and 
 said that he would send for his warriors. They would come 
 presently; and then, with Don Lopez and the soldiers, he and 
 his Osages would fall upon the Missouris, whom deceiving us 
 he professed to hate rancorously. 
 
 " Don Lopez waited; and at the end of seven days a force of 
 two thousand warriors had gathered a force five times the 
 fighting strength of the Spaniards. Besides they attacked us 
 without notice, taking Don Lopez by surprise, arid slew all save 
 myself who write these words. 
 
 " I had come as the secretary of Don Lopez. This was so that 
 I might watch his actions, and report on them to my superiors. 
 Don Lopez was suspected as a heretic in Spain, and had fallen 
 under cloud of doubt with the Holy Inquisition. _ He himself 
 must have had some hint; for he turned his fortune into precious 
 stones, rubies mostly, by sacrificing it to the Jews, and then 
 privily quitted Spain for the Americas. 
 
 "The Holy fathers, upon discovering his going, named me 
 72 
 
TREASURE OF DON LOPEZ 
 
 to follow Don Lopez. As a stratagem I became his secretary; 
 and next, much against my pleasure, I was compelled in these 
 last days to go East with him across the desert. For it was 
 thought that in the settlement projected, he would be found tol 
 erating if not teaching doctrines inimical to Holy Mother Church. 
 
 "My service was not difficult, albeit I endured much hard 
 ship. Besides being secretary to Don Lopez, I was Chaplain of 
 the expedition; but, such was the godlessness under Don Lopez, 
 the duties of that post were but nominal. What befell us of 
 spear and knife and hatchet, I verily take to be the judgment of 
 an offended heaven upon our unrighteousness. But I must pro 
 ceed: I have had nothing save a few bitter roots to eat for al 
 most four days, and possess not too much strength for the task 
 of setting this to ink and paper. 
 
 "When the treacherous Osages fell upon us, which they did 
 with horrid yells and shouts, I was standing by my saddled 
 horse, having but just dismounted. Pausing only to catch up 
 the little metal box, which held the whole fortune of Don Lopez 
 and which had been entrusted to my hands as those safest and 
 most honest I threw myself upon my horse. I spurred south; 
 for I could have aided nothing in the fight, which was after all 
 but a slaughter, since I carried no arms other than my pens and 
 inkhorn in my girdle, and moreover was cumbered of my monkish 
 gown. 
 
 "As I say, taking the little treasure box of Don Lopez to save 
 it out of the hands of those heathen Osages, I spurred south at 
 top speed; and so busy were the savages dealing out death that 
 none perceived, and I got clear away. I expected to be followed 
 and slain, for there were horses fleeter than mine in our herds; 
 but by the mercy of the Mother none saw me, and I made good 
 my getting away. I kept at first to the south, thinking that 
 after I was surely safe I would hold westward in hopes of finding 
 Santa Fe*. 
 
 "This hope has now been dashed. During my flight I had 
 nothing to eat, and could find nothing, riding as I ve said without 
 weapons. The lack of food rendered me exceeding weak, and on 
 the third day, being starved and the sun pouring down very hot, 
 I fainted and fell from the saddle. When I recovered, which I 
 did shortly, my horse had wandered away, and was lost. Nor 
 have I seen it since. 
 
 "At the time of this catastrophe I was on the south bank of 
 a considerable stream, which I had crossed several hours before 
 and whose course I was then following toward the west. I was 
 near the foot of a high hill, tree-crowned; the base being thickly 
 brushed and shady. To this hill I crawled, when I had gained 
 the strength, and laying myself down in the shade, gradually 
 got back still greater strength. There was a spring at the foot 
 of the hill, the cool waters coming forth out of a little cave. I 
 found the waters very refreshing, much superior in truth to the 
 waters of the river, the latter being turbid with alkalies. 
 
 73 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 " Being strengthened by the pure water, I bethought me as to 
 what I should do. In my then situation I would soon die of 
 starving, and, with my horse gone, I could push on no farther. 
 As night came down, I resolved to crawl to the top of the hill 
 and, having flint and steel, make a fire of wood. I hoped thus 
 to attract to my succor some roving band of savages. They 
 might slay me; against this they might be prompted of heaven 
 to save me. As it stood, I was doomed to die of no food, and the 
 chance seemed worth taking. For three nights and days I have 
 kept up my fire on the hill; so far nothing has come of it. 
 
 "The treasure box of Don Lopez I have secreted in the little 
 cave out of which bubbles the spring the waters whereof have 
 preserved my strength most wondrously. The casket is buried in 
 the very bottom of the spring and covered with a thin slate from 
 the hill. Neither the casket nor the treasure can take harm 
 from the water, since the one is gold, enclosed in sheet steel, and 
 the other made up of precious stones many rubies, some 
 emeralds, and a few diamonds. 
 
 " Should I die as I well expect at this time whoever shall find 
 this, my Bible, is to have the treasure. For Don Lopez is surely 
 dead I saw him fall and was moreover a bachelor of no heirs. 
 Besides, he was a heretic; I had collected ample proof of it, when 
 the traitor Osages smote upon us. I say again, whosoever shall 
 find the treasure is to have it and hold it; only I charge that he 
 give to the Society of Jesus one-tenth. 
 
 "The cave of the spring is on the eastern slope of the hill at 
 the extreme base. I have carved as deeply as I might, with so 
 poor a tool as the steel tongue of my buckle, a cross in the rock 
 that crests the hill, and by that the hill may be surely known. 
 The substance of the rock is soft; but I have carved deeply, and 
 it should take centuries of weather to wear away the cross. 
 
 " Dig in the bottom of the spring for the treasure box. I shall 
 keep up my hilltop fire while I have strength to feed it; but my 
 strength is becoming less and less from want of nourishment, 
 and my hope is wasting with my strength. For all that, with 
 only half my promised days run out being now in my thirty- 
 fifth year I still say that the Will of God is my will. 
 
 " JOSEF." 
 
 Moonlight closed the time-worn volume, and fell 
 into a muse. "Heretofore," he ruminated, "I have 
 lived as the wolves live, with no more thought of 
 the morrow than of yesterday. I was content to 
 pull down each day s beef each day. And since I 
 lived happily, why should I now think on gold? Is 
 it this monk s tale?" He cast more wood on the 
 
 74 
 
TREASURE OF DON LOPEZ 
 
 coals. "Why delude myself? I but grow weary of 
 life as it is. To be first among savages is not enough. 
 And yet where else should I be first or even second? 
 Where a man, with the weapons of a man, may assert 
 his manhood in the face of nature, I can prove my 
 self a leader. All that would fail and fade in regions 
 more civilized. In the country of folk quiet and 
 law-guided for example the country of those whom 
 I saw to-day to what art or what craft might I 
 turn hand or head? No; it is settled. Long ago I 
 gave in my choice, and now I am captive to that 
 choice. I made the desert my bed, and in the desert 
 I must lie. What then? I am still dissatisfied. Ar 
 gument will not curb nor necessity quiet the uneasi 
 ness that has seized me. More; I am prophet enough 
 to know that it will continue to creep upon me like 
 ivy upon a wall." 
 
 He glanced wistfully at the book in his fingers, and 
 then opened it again at those Spanish-written fly 
 leaves. 
 
 "From this treasure of the dead and gone Don 
 Lopez," he went on, softly, as though debating a 
 point with himself, "I might being so fortunate as 
 to find it fashion freedom for myself. I had 
 thought I owned the wilderness; I now see that the 
 wilderness owns me. This treasure of which the 
 dead monk tells would mean my liberation. But 
 who is to discover it now? It would be too much to 
 suppose that it lies there ready to one s hand, after 
 a lapse of more than a century and a half. The 
 spring may have dried up. Or some traveler, dig 
 ging in the spring for deeper water, may have hit 
 upon it." Then decisively: "None the less I shall 
 
 75 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 have a look hoping no hopes. Yes, I shall look; 
 and so ease my soul s fret for the feel and the sight 
 of those rubies " He glanced across at the black 
 outlines of the hill, pointed to by Ironjacket as the 
 scene of the Jesuit s taking off. 
 
 ""It is," he observed, following a long pause, "a 
 strange coincidence that I should find my old Kiowa, 
 as I bring him the monk s book, camped within 
 arrow-flight of the very place." 
 
 Moonlight wrapped himself in the gay blanket 
 which the politeness of Ironjacket had left him, and 
 pulling his saddle toward him for a pillow, was pres 
 ently sleeping as soundly as were the others. If 
 dreams came they were pleasant dreams of gold and 
 pretty faces. Also so deep were his slumbers that 
 the friendly morning sun, when it shone in his face 
 to wake him, found no traces of them. 
 
 An Indian is never in a hurry, unless he is after a 
 foe or a foe is after him. The day had worn itself 
 into the west before Ironjacket with a grunt, tolerant 
 of paleface curiosity, signified his readiness to con 
 voy Moonlight to the dead monk s hill. Ironjacket 
 was in full panoply of Kiowa war, with face painted 
 in as many colors as Joseph s scriptural coat, when 
 he mounted his best pony for the journey. The hill 
 was distant about a furlong; but no Indian walks 
 when he may ride. There is a dignity indigenous to 
 a pony s back; and Ironjacket never forgot dignity. 
 
 Moonlight also mounted and rode by the Kiowa s 
 side. 
 
 "Has my son again talked with the dead squaw- 
 man s medicine ?" 
 
 "While my father slept, we talked together. It 
 76 
 
TREASURE OF DON LOPEZ 
 
 said the squaw-man, and those others who died by 
 the Pawnee Rock, never knew it was the Missouris 
 that rubbed them out. They died thinking it was 
 the Osages." 
 
 "Good!" quoth Ironjacket. "Until the sun and 
 moon and stars run together like water, and what 
 was dark is made light, they will fight the Osages in 
 the land of spirits for what my fathers did my 
 fathers, who were Missouris." 
 
 Moonlight made no effort to correct the theology 
 of Ironjacket. He knew that an Indian s theology is 
 immutable. Hard as glass, it will turn the edge of 
 any paleface argument, however keen. 
 
 "Is it not strange," said Moonlight at last, as the 
 ponies paced side by side, "that my father, at the 
 time I bring him the squaw-man s medicine, should 
 be seated in the shadow of this hill? There are 
 many hills; and yet my father is by this hill." 
 
 "Your father waited here for his lost medicine," 
 replied Ironjacket composedly. "The squaw-man s 
 medicine was also lost; and your father came, 
 knowing the squaw-man s spirit would be camped 
 here, waiting for the return of its medicine. The 
 two would return together; and so it was good that 
 your father should wait close by the spirit of the 
 dead squaw-man. My son can now see" here Iron- 
 jacket complacently sleeked with his hand the be 
 loved beaver-skin hung jealously about his neck 
 "that this was wise. The squaw-man s medicine 
 is very strong; it brought back the medicine of 
 Ironjacket, which the mean handling of a Comanche 
 liar had made weak and sick." 
 
 On the high point of the hill overlooking the river 
 77 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 there jutted skyward a huge rounded rock. It was 
 buried in oak bushes and hedged in by a thick-sown 
 guard of cedars. Ironjacket led the way to the rock, 
 and pointed to the face that looked toward the east. 
 
 "The squaw-man s mark," said Ironjacket, gravely. 
 "Does my son see?" 
 
 There on the eastern face, moss-grown but evi 
 dent, was carved a great cross. Moonlight stooped, 
 and cleared away the moss with his knife. There 
 could be no doubt; it was indeed the dead monk s 
 cross. His pulses quickened, for he remembered those 
 hidden rubies of Don Lopez. 
 
 78 
 
Moonlight was lost in a contemplation of the ( Vo.v.v. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE RED BULL OF THE CROSS-8 
 
 FIVE minutes went by, during which Moonlight was 
 lost in a contemplation of the cross, and what it 
 should promise. He was interrupted by an excla 
 mation from the Kiowa. 
 
 "Talk-a-heap!" ejaculated Iron jacket. 
 
 Moonlight looked up. Far away, where the 
 sparsely planted cottonwoods offered a view from 
 the hill, could be seen Jeff Home. With him rode 
 that Red River BUI, who was supposed to own an 
 amiable weakness for fandangoes. Their ponies were 
 being urged to that long, loping canter called in the 
 southwest where there are no roads a "road gait." 
 
 In addition to the ones they bestrode, Jeff and his 
 companion were bringing two riderless ponies, one 
 being led by Jeff, who was having trouble in restrain 
 ing its propensities for speed. The led pony was a 
 dark bay, taller and heavier than the others. In the 
 bright thin air, even at a distance of three miles, it 
 broke upon the sight of those on the hill as sharply 
 clear as an etching. The fourth pony packed to 
 the ears, it was Red River Bill was driving loose 
 before him. 
 
 " Talk-a-heap," commented Ironjacket, with ap 
 proval, " rides fast. He brings my son s big horse 
 
 79 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 And now," he concluded, following a pause, " Iron- 
 jacket will go to the Rabbit Ear." 
 
 " I thought my father spoke of to-morrow for that 
 journey." 
 
 Ironjacket pointed to the thither side of the Ca 
 nadian, where Southwind and Firelight could be seen 
 driving northward their ponies, the latter loaded with 
 lodge poles, robes, kettles and generally the house 
 hold equipment of Ironjacket. Wet and dripping, 
 they had just emerged from the ford. 
 
 Ironjacket became explanatory. 
 
 "Squaws," said he, in tones of condescension, "are 
 ever mad to be with squaws. Southwind and the 
 Firelight could not wait for another sun. They were 
 hungry for woman-talk." 
 
 With this sage setting forth of reasons for an im 
 mediate adjournment of his household to the Rabbit 
 Ear, as a place promising social advantages beyond 
 those provided by the loneliness of the Canadian, 
 Ironjacket led the way down the hillside. Once on 
 the flat below, without further farewells, he pushed 
 his pony into the river, and went squat tering and 
 plunging across, water sometimes to the fetlocks, 
 sometimes shoulder deep. On the far shore he 
 wheeled and waved his hand in a last aboriginal 
 good-by. That courtesy complete, he dug his moc- 
 casined heels into the pony s flanks, and was pres 
 ently established in the van of the family procession, 
 where, when his domestic outfit is on the march, a 
 Kiowa warrior, for arguments of defense and pride, 
 invariably takes his post. 
 
 Being now alone, Moonlight rounded the base of 
 the monk s hill for a look at its eastern face. He was 
 
 80 
 
RED BULL OF THE CROSS-8 
 
 pardonably curious concerning that treasure-conceal 
 ing spring. More often than once in traveling up and 
 down the trail, he had passed and repassed the hill; 
 but he had never bestowed upon it anything beyond 
 a careless glance. From the monk s fly-leaf memo 
 randa, he had taken the impression that the hill 
 toward the east fell off with reasonable abruptness, 
 offering a brush-sown, rocky steep. Hidden away at 
 the base should somewhere be the cave, with its out- 
 gushing spring, in the bottom sands of which those 
 Don Lopez rubies, wrapped in their gold steel-pro 
 tected box, lay buried. 
 
 Our young explorer was not one who on slight oc 
 casion hopes extravagantly. For all that, the monk s 
 story had taken hold on his imagination. The fact 
 found suggestion in that chill of disappointment 
 which now overswept him. On doubling the hill s 
 foot he found, instead of what he had pictured, the 
 eastern face of the hill to be just no face at all. Rather 
 it was a huge shouldering bulk of sand, that, resting 
 against the hill, reached far out on the bottom lands 
 beyond. Instead of oak brush and pines, springing 
 from a rocky face, there, smoothly rounded, rose this 
 baby mountain of sand. It had been builded by 
 the sand storms during the tireless years. The face 
 of the hill, as the ruby-hiding Jesuit had found it, 
 was wholly obliterated. 
 
 It called for no civil engineer to deduce what had 
 happened in those many sand-drifting years, and 
 Moonlight solved the riddle at a glance. He turned 
 his pony s nose, and rode out upon the grassy flat to 
 gain a better survey. As nearly as the eye might 
 measure, the cave where those rubies of Don Lopez 
 
 81 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 had been cached was buried beneath a sand-drift of. 
 full one hundred feet. To talk of digging was to talk 
 of men and horses and scrapers by the score. He 
 gave way to an exclamation of angry impatience. 
 He would have been loath to confess how much a pas 
 sion to possess that Don Lopez treasure had crept 
 upon him. 
 
 Riding in toward the giant sand-drift, he slowly 
 skirted its fringe where the sand joined the grass in 
 the bottom-lands. In this perambulation he kept 
 his eyes fixed upon the ground. At last he found 
 where a thin rivulet came seeping forth. 
 
 "That is from my dead monk s spring," he thought. 
 Then he lifted his gaze to the huge sand-shoulder, 
 covering acres with its foundations: "That treasure- 
 box might as well be at the bottom of the Pacific! 
 It s plain," ran his thoughts, "that if I ever redeem 
 myself from this thraldom of the wilderness, which 
 has begun so much to irk me, my friend, Don Lopez, 
 with his rubies, is not fated to pay the ransom." 
 
 As he gazed, there arose in his mind a whimsical, 
 half -superstitious notion that the shades of the Jesuit 
 and his master, Don Lopez, had invoked those sand- 
 piling storms, and so covered safe against his treasure- 
 seeking that engaging casket. 
 
 While Moonlight paused, eyes upon the little stream, 
 mind busy over vain schemes of wildcat engineering, 
 the voluble Jeff, with Red River Bill and the four 
 ponies, swept patteringly up. The two had espied 
 their leader as they came up the trail, and struck across 
 to join him. The inquisitive Jeff was prompt in not 
 ing the thoughtful attitude of his young chief. 
 
 "What is it, Cap n?" he queried. Jeff s native 
 82 
 
RED BULL OF THE CROSS-8 
 
 jauntiness of spirit by the way had been in no wise 
 worn down by his long ride to the Palo Duro. " What 
 ever be you-all puzzlin over if it ain t no secret?" 
 
 "What am I puzzling over? I m puzzling over 
 yonder sand-drift." Then, teasingly, willing to mul 
 tiply the mystery to the curious Jeff, he added: 
 " Under it lie my fortune and my future." 
 
 At this bit of news Jeff cocked a sage eye, as 
 though, under the sand-heaped circumstances, he re 
 garded Moonlight s fortune and future as among 
 things lost. 
 
 Dismissing one subject for another, he finally 
 nodded toward the impatient bay where it stood 
 mouthing its Spanish bit as if waiting for notice. 
 
 " Here s President," said he, with the up and down 
 manner of one making a report. " Likewise here s 
 Red River Bill." Then, coming last to the pack- 
 pony who, taking advantage of the halt, was saga 
 ciously cropping the grass: "Also, allowin that 
 you-all would feel like puttin on dog some at that 
 Ruggles baile, Red River an me decides to fetch 
 your Sunday clothes. Thar they be in that pack. 
 If the Cap n will shake a laig with them Cross-8 
 Mexicans, says I to Red River, the same bein a 
 play which I in no wise endorses, then he shore ought 
 to shake that laig in style. So, as I says, we nacher- 
 ally packs over them gala habiliments of yourn; an 
 thar they be." 
 
 While Jeff was pleasing himself with this recount 
 of what he had done, President, nostril hollyhocked, 
 ears pointed, neck arched, eyes like two moons, 
 pressed up and rubbed his black soft muzzle against 
 his master s knee. Moonlight in response gently 
 
 83 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 stroked the swelling neck ; whereat President breathed 
 loudly, as horses will when under strong emotions that 
 they are unable to express. 
 
 " Howdy, Red River !" observed Moonlight. 
 
 Red River Bill, a youth of twenty, was a fair speci 
 men of the craft of cows. His bronzed face, guiltless 
 of beard, seemed the home of silence and self-reliance; 
 badges of solitude and wild, wide-spreading wastes. 
 At the " Howdy!" his tanned face lighted up. 
 
 "Ridin easy, Cap n," he responded. 
 
 Having said so much, Red River sunk again into 
 silence, leaving Jeff to do the talking, a burden which 
 that personage was always willing to take up. 
 
 "Do we go over to the Cross-8 this evenin ?" asked 
 Jeff, who began to feel like putting a period to the 
 day s ride; "or do we camp yere, an go over to- 
 morry?" 
 
 "We will round that point of rocks," returned 
 Moonlight, pointing to the north shoulder of the dead 
 monk s hill, "and camp where Ironjacket s lodge was 
 pitched. I reckon we ll find his fire still burning, for 
 it isn t an hour since he left." 
 
 "Pulled his freight, has he?" queried Jeff. 
 
 "Ironjacket has found his lost i medicine, and now 
 he s on his way to the Rabbit Ear." 
 
 "Found his medicine, eh? Thar ll be roast-dog 
 doin s among them Wolf Robe Kiowas when he 
 reaches em"; and Jeff gave way to a low, envious 
 whistle of admiration. 
 
 The ranch-house of the Cross-8, Captain Ruggles 
 owner, was of Mexican architecture and construc 
 tion. It was a wide-spreading, one-story, window- 
 
 84 
 
RED BULL OF THE CROSS-8 
 
 less, mud-built edifice. There had been a prudent 
 thought for its defense; and two corners, diagonally 
 opposite one another, bulged into rude, circular lit 
 tle towers. Riflemen perched on the roofs of these 
 could control by their fire the four sides of the build 
 ing. 
 
 The roof of the structure, towers and all, was mud 
 piled on beams and rafters made from unbarked 
 trees, and to save it from the rains a rank coat of 
 grass had been taught to grow there. The adobe 
 walls of the house had been carried four feet above 
 the roof, and the garrison, in case of attack, could 
 take to that grass-sown platform. Once there, they 
 might from behind those four-foot battlements fight 
 as from a fort. Twenty cool hands should have held 
 at bay an entire tribe of savages. 
 
 The one opening to the big mud ranch-house 
 known among the Mexicans of the region for its size 
 and strength as the "Casa Grande" was a wide 
 double door, the thick folds of which when closed 
 were locked by a mighty cross-bar. For a furlong 
 about the house the cottonwoods had been cut away, 
 so as to afford no shelter to an approaching foe. 
 The Comanche or the Kiowa who attacked the Cross- 
 8 would have to attack in the open; and the mere 
 thought of riding forth into the open against rifle- 
 crowned walls will turn an Indian s soul sick. He 
 has no stomach for such turgid military operations; 
 but prefers to find his prey in the open, and over 
 power him by at least ten for one. 
 
 Not because he was loved, but because his mud- 
 made ranch-house was deemed impregnable, Captain 
 Ruggles had lived for years on the Canadian, hostile 
 
 85 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Indians coming and going all about him, without be 
 ing once assailed. Occasionally a Mexican herder 
 was killed and scalped, while abroad among the cattle ; 
 but those were catastrophes too small to engage seri 
 ously the large attention of Captain Ruggles. 
 
 "I am," said he, in a burst of candid self-descrip 
 tion, "always patient about the troubles of other 
 folks." 
 
 Captain Ruggles was not popular among Pan 
 handle Americans. He had taken to wife in his day 
 a Mexican woman; and in Texas that is worse than 
 murder or holding up a stage. The lady had been 
 rich in flocks and herds, which was doubtless the 
 reason of Captain Ruggles love. Certainly, by pop 
 ular tradition, there had been little in her looks to 
 bring him to his knees. She had been hideously 
 ugly besides being the color of a saddle. 
 
 "Old Ruggles must have picked her out by candle 
 light," was the comment of one Scotty, given at the 
 time. 
 
 Scotty, who sometimes carried the mail between 
 Tascosa and Dodge, spoke as one having metropol 
 itan opportunities to perfect his taste in feminine 
 beauty; wherefore, his decision that "Old Ruggles" 
 had wedded the ugliest woman between the Rio 
 Grande and the Platte had been widely heard and 
 everywhere accepted. The lady had been dead for 
 eighteen years; a fact, however, which in no wise 
 lifted that load of disrepute from Captain Ruggles 
 which, in the beginning, his espousal of a Mexican 
 imposed upon him in the minds of all right thinking 
 folk. 
 
 No American worked for Captain Ruggles or had 
 86 
 
RED BULL OF THE CROSS-8 
 
 place in his service. For the reason of that Mexi 
 can Mrs. Ruggles, an American of pure strain would 
 have held himself disgraced had he found his name 
 on the Cross-8 pay rolls. Those about Captain Rug 
 gles, who looked up to him as master were Mexicans 
 of the peon caste; and this perhaps better pleased 
 the fancy of the old renegade, since they were the 
 more readily inspired with fear, and therefore more 
 easily managed. 
 
 Captain Ruggles was wont, on offense given or 
 cause furnished, to rush among his Mexicans w r ith 
 hoarse berserk bellowings, striking right and left, 
 knocking the criminals about like nine-pins. Thus 
 it befell that he was vastly respected by his retainers, 
 who for those bellowings and headlong charges 
 called him the Toro Colorow or Red Bull, a title of 
 which he was proud. In age he had passed fifty 
 years; in figure he was round and unwieldy; his hair 
 was red, shot with gray; and his complexion which 
 stubbornly resisted every tanning influence of sun 
 and weather had turned a boiled, choleric hue. It 
 was this last which suggested to the Mexican imagi 
 nation the adjective of "colorow." 
 
 While the Red Bull was a thunderbolt of aggres 
 sive war where Mexicans were concerned, his manner 
 became singularly suave and pacific when set to deal 
 with Americans. The inspiration of this soft for 
 bearance was obvious when one understands that 
 the last thing for which the Red Bull really hungered 
 was battle. He was too wary, too fond of safety and 
 a profit. There lurk no dividends in duels, and the 
 prudent Red Bull nursed as first among many pet 
 aphorisms, the following: 
 
 87 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "A gun-fight is one of those things you see best 
 from a distance. " 
 
 There was a redeeming element in the ugly whole 
 of the Cross-8 establishment, being in truth the Red 
 Bull s daughter, the Dona Inez. It is not to be sup 
 posed that she resembled her mother, for her dark 
 beauty shone out against the harshness of her envi 
 ronment like a cactus flower against the homely 
 grays and browns and dust-colors of its native plains. 
 Also, the Dona Inez was of an imperious vein, and 
 her high-tempered father came and went on the breath 
 of her commands, or said "Yes" or "No" only he 
 said it in Spanish at the lifting or the lowering of 
 her little imperious finger. Even in his hour of 
 profoundest raging, the Red Bull would stifle his 
 bellowings if Dona Inez but raised repressive palm. 
 And now when she was to be betrothed, and on a soon 
 day wedded to Don Anton Baca, every one about the 
 Cross-8 felt depressed at the prospect. For her father 
 held by her as by the light of day, and the peons on 
 their side argued that, once she were gone, the Red 
 Bull would bellow and charge with fresh fury unre 
 strained. 
 
 And yet, the Mexicans were fond of their Red Bull 
 master, for all he knocked them about. A Mexican 
 does not like to be mauled; but he likes regular hours, 
 and work well ordered, less. The Red Bull was as 
 shiftless, and as much the soul of careless disorder, as 
 any Mexican could be; he cared nothing for almanacs, 
 nothing for clocks; and with him as with them, for 
 every purpose of labor, to-morrow was superior to 
 to-day. This easy slackness deeply dovetailed with 
 the wild, idle, half-baked inclinations of his adher- 
 
 88 
 
RED BULL OF THE CROSS-8 
 
 ents, and gave him a place in their esteem from which 
 no amount of assault and battery could shake him. 
 Altogether, the Cross-8 was not such a hive of dis 
 content, not such a sink of unhappiness, as one might 
 have supposed. The ruling influence, while passion 
 ate, was lazy, generous, careless; which was precisely 
 the kind of influence that matches the slipshod Mex 
 ican heart. Besides, was there not that lamp of 
 beauty, the Dona Inez as radiant as a star ! as high 
 above them as a saint! before whom they might 
 bow down and worship? 
 
 When Cato s eyes fell upon the Cross-8 ranch, in a 
 first thankfulness he unconsciously stopped the sur 
 rey. Compared with the rude savagery of the lodge 
 of the alarming Ironjacket, here was a fortress of civ 
 ilization. The pause was only momentary; quickly 
 recovering, Cato brought his team forward at even a 
 better speed than before. 
 
 "I sho shan t mind gettin into d company of 
 folks ag in," he said, partly to himself and partly to 
 Professor Doremus. 
 
 There was little in the sunbaked prospect to enlist 
 one fresh from the green meadows of Somerset, and 
 yet the sight of the Cross-8 ranch brought almost as 
 much relief to Aunt Tilda as to Cato. It opened a 
 chance to shift the conversation, and came tactfully 
 to the relief of Robert, who under the words of Ethel, 
 and the chilly attitude of Professor Doremus, had 
 been made to feel like a detected coward, and was 
 now sitting, tongue-tied and wordless beneath the 
 smart. 
 
 "What an idea," commented Aunt Tilda, "to 
 build a house without windows! And see" point- 
 
 89 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 ing to the scattered, weather-stained stumps "how 
 they have cut away the trees, as though coolness and 
 shade were the synonyms of pestilence!" 
 
 "My dear Madam," observed Professor Doremus, 
 who was not wanting in certain archaic war theories, 
 born of much reading of Homer, "I think the features 
 of which you complain are intended to be defensive." 
 
 From the parapet of the house hung countless 
 strings of red peppers curing in the sun. These 
 blazed out against the sad dun-colored landscape like 
 a fire in a forest. 
 
 "They make one think of a cataract of coral!" ex 
 claimed Ethel, to whom color was a music of the eye. 
 
 Mounted on a pony much too small for his weight, 
 a bulky figure came riding forth to meet them. It 
 was none other indeed than the Red Bull himself; he 
 had been warned of their coming and was on the 
 lookout. 
 
 This honor of a personal going forth to greet them 
 on the worthy Red Bull s part was not without mak 
 ing a grave impression on the local Mexican mind. 
 It at once established the new-comers as ricos, and 
 gave Robert and Professor Doremus the rank of 
 Dons; for it could be no slight matter that set the 
 Red Bull in the saddle, as his retainers were well 
 aware. He welcomed the travelers with an elaborate 
 politeness, the growth of his years among the Mexi 
 cans, and was particularly courteous toward Aunt 
 Tilda and Ethel. 
 
 As the party approached the ranch-house, the 
 heavy double doors swung wide, and the Red Bull, 
 with an effort that almost resulted in apoplexy, ex 
 tricated himself from his stirrups and ushered them 
 
 90 
 
RED BULL OF THE CROSS-8 
 
 in. He led them across the patio, an enclosed open 
 space within the walls of the house. This square 
 quite an eighth of an acre was a nodding wilderness 
 of flowers, with a spring of cool water bubbling in its 
 midst. From the patio he marshaled them into the 
 sola or reception hall, and there bade them be seated. 
 
 "The Dona Inez," he said, "will be here in a mo 
 ment." 
 
 As though their coming were a signal, a Mexican 
 girl bustled in bearing an armful of cedar, and albeit 
 the day was warm soon had a blaze crackling in the 
 mud fireplace. As she went about her fire-building, 
 turning now and then a shy inquisitive glance upon 
 the visitors, Aunt Tilda s attention was drawn to her. 
 Brow, nose, cheeks, chin the girl s entire face, ex 
 cept certain wide uncanny circles about the eyes and 
 mouth, was stained a sanguinary crimson. It was 
 as though she wore a hideous blood-red mask. 
 
 "What is it?" whispered Aunt Tilda, in tones be 
 tween awe and horror. "Is she suffering from some 
 plague?" 
 
 The sophisticated Red Bull, to whom the question 
 was put, could hardly repress a laugh, while the girl 
 discovering that she had become the subject of the 
 conversation, drew her reboza or shawl over her 
 highly painted countenance, and scuttled away with 
 the timidity of a rabbit. 
 
 "No, Madam, I assure you!" panted the Red Bull, 
 when he had mastered his emotion. "It is the juice 
 of the alegria plant. There is to be the betrothal 
 celebration of the Dona Inez and Don Anton Baca, 
 and poor Bonita stained her face three weeks ago in 
 anticipation of it, being determined to look as white 
 
 91 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 and pretty as she could. She is quite a belle, is 
 Bonita, and the face-painting was intended to assist 
 her complexion. You ll get used to it, Madam; all 
 Mexican girls bleach their faces with the alegria." 
 
 The Red Bull might have given reins to his merri 
 ment, but the severe dignity of Aunt Tilda daunted 
 him. Moreover he was being Mexicanized doubly 
 bound to courtesy toward strangers in his own house. 
 The Red Bull had taken his manners from the Mexi 
 cans, who got theirs from the Spaniards, who got 
 theirs from the Moors, who got theirs from the Arabs; 
 and the Arabs are the congenital Chesterfields of the 
 world. Wherefore, the Red Bull would have been no 
 one to laugh at the horror of Aunt Tilda, even if her 
 superior air had not held him in check. 
 
 As the Red Bull made his explanation, there arose 
 a thin rustle of silk, and the Dona Inez entered the 
 sola. Going first to Aunt Tilda and then to Ethel, 
 she kissed one and the other on the cheeks, and said 
 in a queer, lisping English: 
 
 "You are welcome." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 DON ANTON AND THE DOffA INEZ 
 
 THE Dona Inez was barbarically beautiful. Black 
 straight brows black deep midnight eyes black fog 
 of hair, as fine as finest silk, growing low and thick 
 on the forehead skin, not white, not brown, but 
 wheat-hued, with a rose-flush blushing in the round 
 cheeks, and coloring the ripe lips, between which 
 gleamed teeth small, even, white as milk such might 
 have been the sketch of her loveliness. With little 
 or nothing of the Saxon showing, the Dona Inez had 
 sprung altogether from her mother s people. 
 
 The glow and flash of her beauty quite swept into 
 captivity the fancy of Ethel, who had begun to be a 
 little lonely, feeling socially cast away and in need of 
 girlish companionship. The Dona Inez gazed at Ethel 
 with bright, quick bird-like glances, which Ethel re 
 paid with glances quite as bright, but of a soberer 
 glint. It was clear that these maidens approved of 
 one another. 
 
 "You are welcome, " repeated the Dona Inez, this 
 time with her eyes on Ethel. " My father told me you 
 were coming, and I was glad. Now when I see you I 
 am more glad." 
 
 "Is the place to which we are going far from here?" 
 
 Ethel already meditated an endless chain of calls 
 on the Dona Inez. 
 
 93 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "It is nothing!" cried the Dona Inez, who instinc 
 tively understood. "Twenty miles, perhaps! And 
 what is that? Two hours in the saddle a scamper!" 
 
 "Then" and Ethel, who was no hermit in her 
 heart, breathed with relief "then we may see each 
 other often?" 
 
 "Every day," responded the Dona Inez. The 
 heiress of the house of Ruggles was blandly uncon 
 ventional. "Yes; we shall pay each other long visits 
 you and I." 
 
 The Dona Inez became hospitably mindful that her 
 new friends were wayfarers, fresh from a wearisome 
 trail. Disdaining a chair, she sat down tailorwise, 
 that is to say, cross-legged, on a red Navajo blanket 
 which served as a partial carpet for the clay floor. 
 She looked very pretty, so Robert and Professor 
 Doremus thought, as thus established she gave her 
 self up to the concoction of chocolate in an ancient 
 Moorish silver pot. It was for this purpose of choco 
 late that the cedar- wood fire had been kindled. Pres 
 ently the chocolate was passed about in fragile china 
 cups, by a Mexican girl, who was not Bonita of the 
 painted face. 
 
 "Bonita is a fool!" explained the Dona Inez, who 
 owned to notions of a dress-reform sort. "Why 
 should she daub her face with alegria? That will do 
 no good; she should put flour on it." 
 
 The Dona Inez let her silken reboza slip down about 
 her shoulders. The garment was a startling combi 
 nation in black and yellow. Taken with the arch in 
 nocence friendly at once and daring of the black 
 eyes, it made her appear like a little ingenuous tigress. 
 
 Ethel, who was a born milliner, thought she had 
 
 94 
 
DON ANTON AND DONA INEZ 
 
 never beheld anything more bewilderingly fetching. 
 She ran the reboza over with a copying eye, remem 
 bering meanwhile that proverb concerning Rome and 
 Romans. 
 
 While Ethel and the Dona Inez were thus broad 
 ening the foundations of their young acquaintance, 
 Professor Doremus, Robert, and the Red Bull, with 
 Aunt Tilda lending an interested ear, had plunged 
 into what distances and difficulties separated the trav 
 elers from their journey s end. 
 
 "You must not think of to-morrow," observed the 
 hospitable Red Bull. "There was a storm to the 
 west, and the high water has left the ford in no shape 
 for wagons. You understand about the quicksand 
 fords in this region, Professor? You must rest easy 
 then for at least three days. Don Anton Baca should 
 be here by nightfall. There will be music and a 
 baile; and my herders are to hold a kind of bronco- 
 riding, cattle-roping tournament. Don Anton offers 
 a saddle, silver embossed, and brought especially from 
 Chihuahua, as a prize. So you see your stay should 
 pass quickly." 
 
 The Red Bull was the beaming jovial host in every 
 feature. 
 
 "It s the truth; the ford is impassable. Besides," 
 here the Red Bull winked a watery eye grega 
 riously "ford or no ford, I should have hung onto 
 you. Good company is scarce along the Canadian, 
 and as keeper of the trail I exact not less than a three- 
 days stay from all who travel it. What do you say, 
 Madam?" he concluded, addressing Aunt Tilda. 
 
 "I say," returned the good lady, with a courtesy to 
 match the Red Bull s, "that you are very good to 
 
 95 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 make us so welcome. It would be difficult to thank 
 you too much you and your beautiful daughter." 
 
 "Welcome!" retorted the Red Bull heartily, his 
 brickdust face a shade deeper as though for em 
 phasis; "why then, I call it nothing more than neigh 
 borly! We are to live within twenty miles of each 
 other; and that in the Panhandle means next door." 
 
 The Red Bull, following chocolate, recommended 
 Aunt Tilda and Ethel, with the Dona Inez to bear 
 them company, to the flowers in the patio. 
 
 "They should refresh your eyes," said he, "after 
 the dust-colored scenery through which you have 
 come." 
 
 The energetic Red Bull was for showing Robert 
 and the Professor through the sundry belongings of 
 the ranch. For exhibition enterprises of this char 
 acter he had all the heart that an Eastern farmer 
 possesses for showing the visitor his cattle and horses 
 and hogs. 
 
 Aunt Tilda preferred to accompany the Red Bull 
 and the others on their stroll, and declined the patio 
 and the flowers. She felt a call for practical informa 
 tion, not to say instruction, in this life of cattle upon 
 which they were about to commence, and said as 
 much. 
 
 "We are what you call tenderfeet, Captain," she 
 explained. 
 
 "We ll soon harden you, Madam; we ll soon have 
 you sophisticated. The cattle trade is as simple as 
 seven-up. Besides, the Bar-Z is but a small outfit, 
 with only about a thousand head, as shown by last 
 spring s branding, and that will make your work the 
 easier." 
 
 96 
 
DON ANTON AND DONA INEZ 
 
 The Red Bull led the way through the double doors 
 into the outward world beyond. Taking Robert by 
 the arm, he carried the little party from branding- 
 pen to blacksmith-shop, from the camp-house where 
 the Mexican riders slept to the corral where their 
 ponies were confined, laying bare every ranch mystery 
 as it arose. Robert listened with interest; embarked 
 with his whole fortune, his dangerous ignorance of the 
 cattle business had begun to oppress him, and he was 
 eager to go to school. 
 
 Professor Doremus, with Aunt Tilda upon his polite 
 old arm, brought up the rear. As they progressed, he 
 expounded learnedly, and Aunt Tilda was quite lost 
 in a cloud of admiration. 
 
 The Professor had just identified the cactus as "a 
 polypetalous plant of the dicotyledonous order, be 
 longing to the Indian fig family," when his eloquence 
 was broken in upon by the sharp bark of a six-shooter. 
 Aunt Tilda gave a half-suppressed scream. There 
 upon the Professor, both lover and warrior by nature, 
 arched his crest protectively. 
 
 "What was it?" queried Aunt Tilda faintly, yet 
 feeling somewhat put out with herself because of that 
 feminine scream. 
 
 The affair was quickly understood. A rattlesnake, 
 planted in their path, had protested the advance of 
 Robert and the Red Bull, and the latter had met the 
 protest with his six-shooter. In a region where a 
 Colt s pistol is as commonplace as a handkerchief and 
 forms an every-day element of a gentleman s attire, 
 the Red Bull had for the moment overlooked Aunt 
 Tilda s untrained nerves. Her quick cry brought him 
 to a realizing sense of this. 
 
 97 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "Pardon me, Madam!" he began. " Being used to 
 the Dona Inez, who is more ready with a pistol than a 
 needle, I forgot myself. It was a blunder. Coming, 
 as you do, straight from civilization, I should have re 
 membered that you were sure to be a bit gun-shy." 
 
 Aunt Tilda called up a smile. 
 
 "It was nothing!" she said. "Indeed, I m not 
 sorry it happened, since I must get inured to pistols 
 and rattlesnakes." She made an involuntary clutch 
 at the Professor. 
 
 That scientist was already pleasantly engaged with 
 the to him remarkable fact that the Red Bull s 
 bullet had blown off the rattlesnake s head. Giving 
 himself the air of an expert, he drew Robert s atten 
 tion to this; and Robert whose cheek at the sudden 
 flash of the pistol had become as white as Aunt Tilda s 
 gulped, and pretended admiration. 
 
 "Really, Captain!" cried Professor Doremus, sur 
 veying the headless reptile, now writhing out its re 
 luctant life, "really! a capital shot! I, myself, have 
 some art of powder and ball, and I never saw better! 
 You sighted for the creature s head." 
 
 "That s the curious part of it, Professor. You 
 should give all the credit to the snake. The snake 
 sighted its head for the gun. It s one of the queer 
 kinks in the make-up of a rattlesnake. Point your 
 pistol at him, and he will look squarely into the muz 
 zle, moving his head this way or that until he s brought 
 the sights to a line. Whoever shoots at a rattlesnake 
 inevitably shoots away its head." 
 
 " Most wondrous ! " exclaimed the Professor. "And 
 is a willingness to assist in its own destruction com 
 mon to all ophidians?" 
 
 98 
 
DON ANTON AND DONA INEZ 
 
 The Red Bull said it was, and the Professor made a 
 note. 
 
 By this time Robert had recovered his manhood, 
 and Aunt Tilda her balance, and the walk was re 
 sumed, Aunt Tilda skirts caught aside gingerly 
 giving the dying reptile a wide berth. 
 
 "They are not very dangerous," said the Professor, 
 encouragingly. "Being thick, clumsy creatures, they 
 are by no means sure of their blow. Nor are 
 they as poisonous as printed, just as Satan is not so 
 black as painted." 
 
 Aunt Tilda expressed relief to hear this. She had 
 cherished the theory that death ever waited on the 
 fangs of the rattlesnake. She would now feel easier 
 concerning Ethel. 
 
 "They are an interesting specimen of the reptilia," 
 observed the Professor, falling back into the natural 
 ist: "Family, crotalidse; it belongs with the soleno- 
 glyphic serpents or pit-vipers." 
 
 "Speaking of serpents," observed Robert carelessly, 
 and addressing their host, "who is this insolent young 
 fellow who, for all he s no older than myself, goes by 
 the name of Old Tom Moonlight?" 
 
 The Red Bull s shifty eyes took on an expression of 
 uneasiness. He waited a moment, as though to pick 
 his words. What a gentleman says may be repeated, 
 and a region of six-shooters is never a region of slan 
 der. Your neighbor may think things both black 
 and hard about you; but he keeps them the safe side 
 of his teeth. 
 
 "You have named a dangerous character," said the 
 cautious Red Bull at last. " It is my duty, as a friend 
 and neighbor, to warn you against him. At the same 
 
 99 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 time I must ask you not to repeat my words. This 
 Old Tom Moonlight is reputed to be as savage as a 
 wolf, and no more to be restrained. He would not 
 hesitate to ride up to my ranch at noon, and shoot me 
 down in the midst of my people." 
 
 The Professor s eyes sparkled; he did not regard 
 hardihood as a blemish. The Red Bull went on : 
 
 "To be frank, I personally know little or nothing 
 about him. He lived with the Kiowas for many 
 years. Since then he has roved, hither and yon, be 
 tween the Mohave Desert and the Panhandle. He 
 pretends to live by buffalo hunting and by cattle." 
 
 "Pretends?" repeated Robert. 
 
 "I say pretends/ because it is a shrewd suspicion 
 that his cattle interests are mainly confined to cattle 
 stealing, and his buffalo hunting only a cover for 
 stage robbing. Understand," concluded the Red Bull 
 earnestly "understand that personally I know of 
 nothing against this Old Tom Moonlight. I only give 
 you what I have heard." 
 
 "That prefix Old, " commented the Professor, 
 "seems out of place." 
 
 "A mere pet name of the Panhandle," returned 
 the Red Bull. "In a rough country, a desperado 
 will have admirers. The nickname Old is simply 
 a last note of popular admiration. When you settle 
 fairly down to the cattle trade, however, you must 
 watch this Old Tom Moonlight." 
 
 "And why?" This, from Robert. 
 
 "He ll steal your calves." 
 
 "But the law!" 
 
 "The law is always a long way off; you will have 
 to see to your own defense. This Moonlight is an 
 
 100 
 
DON ANTON AND DONA INEZ 
 
 inveterate cattle thief; he drove off full two hundred 
 head of Don Anton Baca s cattle Don Anton who 
 is to be here to-night." 
 
 "I have some skill in faces," observed the Pro 
 fessor doubtfully, "and I should not have called this 
 young man a thief. Violent, yes, and perhaps blood 
 thirsty; but not a rascal." 
 
 "You have seen him then?" 
 
 Professor Doremus related the meeting at the lodge 
 of Ironjacket, passing over that ocular duel. 
 
 "Professor Doremus," observed Robert, addressing 
 the Red Bull, "was quite taken with this fellow. For 
 myself, I knew him at once to be some desperate out 
 cast." 
 
 "And you were right. My word is to have an eye 
 for him." 
 
 "I shall," said Robert. "Tell me more about 
 him." 
 
 "There s nothing to add, save that he lives to the 
 south on the Palo Duro. He has two followers, Jeff 
 Home and Red River Bill, both as trustless as him 
 self. They yield themselves to his will like dogs, and 
 will kill at a nod from him." 
 
 "Has he been long in this region?" 
 
 "No," returned the Red Bull, thoughtfully, like 
 one reckoning the months; "I should say something 
 over a year. He took up an old deserted dobe, that 
 was once a trading-post with the Comanches, and had 
 been abandoned. It is a place well chosen, for it 
 commands the only water within ten miles." 
 
 "Of whom did he buy?" asked Robert. 
 
 "Buy? He bought of nobody. The place was de 
 serted, and he moved in. Legally, he is no more 
 
 101 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 than just a squatter. Of course no one complains, 
 as the state of Texas owns the land." 
 
 Robert made a mental note. Why would it not 
 be a thrifty bit of strategy to ride back to Austin and 
 purchase the patent to this ancient trading-post on 
 the Palo Duro? He did not voice the query. The; 
 Red Bull might take the hint, and act on it for him 
 self. Robert was enough of a lawyer to understand 
 how, once the title was his own, he might dispossess 
 his enemy. The programme appealed to him. It 
 would mean a profit in dollars; it would also spell 
 revenge. The latter was not to be lost sight of; for 
 Robert hated Moonlight as only a coward hates the 
 man before whom he has quailed. 
 
 "I may yet teach this fellow his place," he mut 
 tered under his breath. "He put his insult upon me. 
 Ethel despises me, even the old musty Doremus de 
 spises me, for not flying at his throat. I shall yet 
 show him, and show them, that, even though I have 
 my own methods of retaliation, I am not to be af 
 fronted with impunity." 
 
 Robert was warming his little soul, and fostering 
 his little vanity, with these reflections when the Red 
 Bull called attention to a party of horsemen approach 
 ing from the west. 
 
 "Don Anton and his people!" he explained. "Let 
 us return to the ranch-house. Don Anton would feel 
 ill-used if I did not greet him in the very doorway." 
 
 The Red Bull smiled as he said this, as though at 
 the childish humors of a spoiled boy, to whose petu 
 lant exactions he yielded in a spirit of patronizing 
 good nature. He and Robert turned back, picking up 
 Aunt Tilda and the Professor, who had fallen behind. 
 
 102 
 
DON ANTON AND DONA INEZ 
 
 While the others made the rounds of the ranch 
 buildings, Ethel and the Dona Inez were swapping 
 confidences. The talk was bound to pivot finally on 
 the coming Don Anton; and it did. 
 
 "And when will you marry him?" asked Ethel, 
 for whom, as for other girls, bridals possessed a burn 
 ing interest. 
 
 The Dona Inez spread out her little brown hands 
 in a deprecatory way. 
 
 "Not for a long time. There is no hurry." 
 
 Ethel was taken aback at the other s lack of ardor. 
 By every rule of love, as studied by her in the ro 
 mances of the day, the Dona Inez should have been 
 in a tremor of dulcet expectation. 
 
 "But but you love him?" she said tentatively. 
 
 "I love him well enough to marry him." To the 
 horror of Ethel, the Dona Inez almost yawned. 
 "That need not be much," she went on. "And as 
 for marriage, we can well wait. I already see that 
 we shall quarrel. We have bad tempers both of us. 
 Besides, he is eager to be jealous is Don Anton." 
 
 "Jealous? But you give him no cause?" 
 
 "No," returned the Dona Inez, ruefully; "as you 
 say, I give him no cause, for there are no men." She 
 waved a despairing hand above the flowers in the 
 patio, as though to invite attention to the manless 
 condition of the Panhandle. "But," she concluded, 
 "that will make no difference; Don Anton will just 
 the same be jealous. He will imagine the man." 
 
 "You do not seem to care for his jealousy." 
 
 Ethel could not solve the cool riddle of her be 
 witching friend. Never having gone deeper into love 
 than a theory, she had taken it for granted that, 
 
 103 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 given a jealous lover, the maiden in interest was at 
 once tearfully miserable. 
 
 The Dona Inez drew the yellow and black reboza 
 about her oval face, and looked more than ever like 
 an ingenuous small tigress. 
 
 "Yes, I care," she said; "I like it." Then, after a 
 moment: "Only I wish there was a man, so that Don 
 Anton should have cause." 
 
 " But they might quarrel," Ethel protested. "They 
 might even fight a duel." 
 
 "A duel? That would be nice why not! Fight? It 
 is the right of a man to fight. That is why he s a man." 
 
 The Dona Inez threw off this barbarous philosophy 
 as might one who states an axiom. 
 
 "It would be good," she added, "if Don Anton 
 would fight about me once twice many times. I 
 should love him a little and a little more each time. 
 At last I might love him a great deal who knows? 
 No, he should not go without reward." 
 
 She looked up archly at Ethel through her long 
 black lashes. 
 
 "Am I not worth fighting for?" she asked. 
 
 Ethel broke into a smile; the Dona Inez accepted 
 the smile affirmatively. 
 
 "Now you," she said, giving Ethel a queer, kitten 
 ish pat on the cheek, that would have been affectedly 
 silly in any other "now you are worth fighting for; 
 and worth dying for. That Robert! He is your 
 lover no?" 
 
 Ethel colored to the eyebrows. 
 
 "Assuredly not," she returned. "We are not 
 lovers at all. We were reared together; he is my 
 foster-brother." 
 
 104 
 
DON ANTON AND DONA INEZ 
 
 The Dona Inez shook her little head, as intimating 
 tremendous wisdom. 
 
 "For all that he is your lover." 
 
 Ethel looked denial. 
 
 "Yes, it is not that you love him; I do not say so. 
 But his love is yours. I know; because when I tried 
 to make him look at me he would not. I could not 
 even coax his eyes from you, to say naught of his 
 heart." 
 
 Ethel heard the chatter of the Dona Inez lightly, 
 yielding it not a second thought. She supposed 
 and was right it to be the other s way of paying 
 compliments. And yet it occurred to her as strange 
 that, while to name Robert as her lover filled her with 
 vague resentful anger, the word brought up not un 
 pleasantly the image of that gray-eyed one left stand 
 ing beneath the cottonwood. She could not drive 
 his picture from her thoughts; the failure shamed her 
 until a blush burned in her cheek. 
 
 "Ah!" cried the observant Dofia Inez, triumphing 
 in the blush, "your face is red! You are thinking of 
 your lover now!" 
 
 Ethel failed to interpose denial, as she did when 
 Robert was named. Perhaps she forgot. The wicked 
 Dona Inez seized on this weak silence for support. 
 
 "You do not say no, " she cried, as though clench 
 ing a victory. 
 
 There arose sounds of a welcoming confusion. The 
 next moment, followed by the others, the Red Bull 
 came into the patio with Don Anton. 
 
 Don Anton Baca was not an imposing figure. 
 Slight, dark, with little pointed beard, little pointed 
 mustaches, little, peevish, pointed arrogant face, 
 
 105 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 pointed Chihuahua hat weighted with bullion and set 
 round with little tinkling bells, velvet jacket and vel 
 vet trousers, slashed with silk and sewn thick with 
 little silver buttons, little boots of Cordova leather, 
 with spurs a-j ingle, Don Anton, to the mind of Ethel, 
 appeared the personification of all that was little. 
 She glanced at the Dona Inez, being curious as to 
 how the latter would greet her lover. According to 
 those guiding romances, it was a time for flying into 
 his arms. 
 
 Nothing of the sort took place; either the Dona 
 Inez had not read those romances, or she disregarded 
 them. She and the little peevish Don Anton greeted 
 one another briefly in monosyllabic Spanish, and the 
 warmth of the meeting was furnished wholly by the 
 worthy Red Bull, whose effulgent face to do him 
 justice shone like the sun. 
 
 Ethel could not avoid the conclusion that the man 
 ner of the lovers, careless to the point of cold, was due 
 to the presence of strangers. Doubtless, the Dona 
 Inez would sweetly thaw, and Don Anton s hard, 
 little eyes shiny and black like the eyes of a rat 
 soften into tenderness, under conditions more sweetly 
 lonesome. 
 
 However, throughout the evening there arose noth 
 ing to justify the thought. Ethel never once inter 
 cepted word or look or sigh that told of love. The 
 Dona Inez was the model of a superlative indiffer 
 ence ; and the only thing to mark the pair as lovers in 
 the least, was an occasional small sparkle of anger on 
 Don Anton s part at the aloofness of the Dona Inez. 
 
 In an extreme instance he even waxed thus acrid. 
 Says he in Spanish: 
 
 106 
 
DON ANTON AND DONA INEZ 
 
 "One might think us already married!" 
 
 "I shall remember that we are not!" says she. 
 
 The Dona Inez, yearning for further confidences, 
 drew Ethel aside, leaving Don Anton to such society 
 as Aunt Tilda, Robert, Professor Doremus and the 
 Red Bull afforded. 
 
 "You were cruel!" whispered Ethel, who felt some 
 slender sympathies for the rat-eyed Don Anton. 
 
 The Dona Inez shrugged her shoulders, and re 
 arranged the tigerish reboza. 
 
 "You do not understand!" she lisped, the specter 
 of a twinkle in her midnight eyes. "Men are like 
 antelope; the way to hunt them is to sit still." 
 
 107 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 UNLESS a feast or a dance be immediately afoot, a 
 community of Mexicans is not a theater of turmoil 
 and mad activities, and the day following our trav 
 elers advent at the Cross-8 was dull enough. Both 
 the Red Bull and the Dona Inez were so far well- 
 bred that they did not annoy their guests by too 
 much attention, but let them dispose of themselves 
 as best suited their fancy. The Dona Inez came ever 
 and anon for a word with Ethel, and to see that she 
 was not dying of solitude. Assured on that point, 
 she was presently back to her own apartments. 
 
 The latter young lady for a while pleased herself 
 with the flowers, and the clear spring gurgling in the 
 patio. Then she had Cato bring up Jet, and spring 
 ing to the saddle went for a little gallop. She flat 
 tered herself that the little gallop was only resorted 
 to as a means of breaking the slow monotony of the 
 afternoon. It is worth note, however, that in taking 
 it she also took the back-track along the river toward 
 the east. She even extended it to that hill which 
 shut in the Cross-8 from the cottonwood bottoms, 
 where stood the lodge of Iron jacket. Her courage or 
 her curiosity, or whatever attribute more romantic 
 had led her in that direction, carried her no farther. 
 
 108 
 
THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 What if he of the gray eyes were still there? She 
 would not care to come upon him; it might seem in 
 delicate! With these thoughts, which were highly 
 proper, Ethel turned back, her face and that was 
 the unaccountable thing a blushing red. 
 
 Aunt Tilda was more rationally employed. She 
 busied herself with a thorough investigation of Mex 
 ican housewifery as practiced at the Cross-8. The 
 recondite art of housekeeping is vastly at the mercy 
 of an environment, and Aunt Tilda was anxious to 
 study it, in all its length and breadth, under what 
 might be called Panhandle limitations. The lesson 
 was not without its several alarming sides; but Aunt 
 Tilda s courage was upheld by the promise, volun 
 teered by the urbane Red Bull, to give her three of 
 his best women servants as kitchen aides, until such 
 time as the housekeeping at the Bar-Z was founded 
 beyond chance of fall. 
 
 "They will not," explained the Red Bull apolo 
 getically, " equal as housemaids those to whom you 
 have been used. Moreover, you must drive them, 
 Madam; drive them like dogs!" 
 
 Aunt Tilda thanked him, although she feared that 
 in the matter of " driving" she would dismally fail. 
 
 Robert expressed himself as impatient to push for 
 ward to the Bar-Z. To quiet if not to comfort him, 
 the excellent Red Bull took him down to the ford. 
 
 "This is the only ford between here and Tascosa," 
 he explained; "and since the Bar-Z lies north of the 
 river, here you must cross." 
 
 The Red Bull ordered one of his Mexicans to take 
 his pony into the ford, and show the depth. Twenty 
 feet from the river s margin the pony slumped, head 
 
 109 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 and ears, into one of those basin-like holes which are 
 a feature of Western river-beds. The ruffling current 
 was running like a tail-race, and the Mexican who 
 went loyally under with his pony was swept from 
 the saddle. Spluttering and splashing, the pony and 
 the Mexican worked their several ways back to the 
 bank. 
 
 It was now that Robert was granted a disturbing 
 exhibition of the Red Bull s temper, and began to 
 understand his alias, which had theretofore struck 
 him as slanderous. As the Mexican, all a-drip with 
 water, rode up the slope from the river s edge, the 
 Red Bull, pouring forth a cataract of curses, rushed 
 upon him, and struck him from the saddle. The 
 Mexican rolled along the grass until out of harm s 
 reach and then scrambled to his feet, and fled howl 
 ing. The frightened pony fled after him, fearing lest 
 it should be his own turn next. For even the ponies 
 knew the Red Bull, and cared not for his company in 
 the hour of his anger. 
 
 "Clumsy scoundrel!" cried the indignant Red Bull. 
 "I ll teach him to stick closer to his saddle next time. 
 He might have lost the pony." 
 
 The Red Bull s visage, which had become apo 
 plectic, retreated to its normal hue of boiled lobster, 
 and Robert felt relieved. Still, it would have been 
 hard to say which had discouraged him most, the 
 tumultuous river or the even more tumultuous Red 
 Bull. Robert glanced at Don Anton, who was with 
 them, to observe how he viewed the fracas. 
 
 Don Anton delicately puffing a cigarette, his ex 
 pression one of inane arrogance prided himself as 
 of the pure blood of Spain. Being of the pure blood, 
 
 110 
 
THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 it did not become him to concern himself about a 
 peon, who is a clod. It mattered nothing to him 
 how violently his Red Bull father-in-law elect man 
 handled his servitors; and his looks evinced it. 
 
 "At any rate," said Robert, replying to the Red 
 Bull s indictment of the unseated one, "he made it 
 clear that the ford is out of the question for to-day." 
 
 "For to-day, to-morrow and the next day," re 
 turned the Red Bull, again the beaming host in every 
 lineament. "On the fourth day I shall have the 
 ponies brought down from the wire pasture, and 
 straighten up the crossing for you," 
 
 Professor Doremus did not go to the river. Since 
 the visual encounter between Moonlight and Robert, 
 he had displayed a diminished anxiety for Robert s 
 society. 
 
 "The boy s a coward!" mused the Professor sadly. 
 "He s half a Gordon, too! I wouldn t have believed 
 it!" 
 
 The Professor, early in the day, had tried to talk 
 with Don Anton. The inept and brainless young 
 rico disappointed him. 
 
 "A fop, my dear Madam; a witless wren-head!" 
 was what he told Aunt Tilda, in the wake of that 
 fragment of a conversation. "It is strange how a 
 brilliant girl like the Dona Inez can think twice of 
 such an ass. And yet" with a reminiscent sigh 
 "how frequently do the brightest and most beau 
 teous women marry fools!" 
 
 The Professor made a foot journey among "the 
 peasantry," for thus he styled the Mexicans of the 
 Cross-8. They bowed to the ground before him; for 
 was he not a "Don"? and hadn t the Red Bull him- 
 
 111 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 self rode forth to bid him welcome? This Mexican 
 deference uplifted the Professor, who was not insen 
 sible to flattery. 
 
 He found the Mexicans disposed to make much of 
 Cato in a friendly way. The two American mule- 
 skinners, who drove the six-mule teams for Robert, 
 were lying by their own fire, and managing their own 
 camp affairs. They made an unmuzzled specialty of 
 their contempt for Mexicans, and were at pains to let 
 it be known. The latter kept away from them, in a 
 mixture of hatred and fear. They drew no color 
 line, however, and would have taken Cato to their 
 social bosoms. Cato, for his part, turned a cold 
 shoulder to their polite attentions, and your true 
 darky never fails to copy the white man was as 
 surly and repellant as were the teamsters. 
 
 Observing this, the Professor was moved to rebuke 
 him. 
 
 "They are to be your neighbors, Cato," he said. 
 "You know you are commanded to love your neigh 
 bor as yourself." 
 
 "Yassir, Professah," returned Cato. "An* I says 
 d same thing. Love your neighbors! I says; an 
 then I adds out o d Christian caution of my heart: 
 But doan t take down your fence!" 
 
 The Dona Inez and Don Anton gave one another 
 not the least attention. This disturbed Ethel; it 
 subtracted from the romance of the thing. 
 
 "And I had supposed you a warm, ardent people!" 
 she said to the Dona Inez. 
 
 "Warm? Ardent? And so we are given right 
 
 occasion." 
 
 "And do you not call your betrothal such? The 
 112 
 
THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 more I see of you and Don Anton, the less I under 
 stand how you became engaged. " 
 
 " You mean betrothed? and the Dona Inez settled 
 her feathers demurely. "Ah, yes! That was settled 
 between Don Anton and my father. " 
 
 "You do not mean that you are compelled to wed 
 Don Anton?" 
 
 "Compelled? the Dona Inez?" The black eyes 
 blazed. "No; there is no one neither my father 
 nor Don Anton who would dare employ the word 
 compel 7 where I am concerned. But, my little sis 
 ter from the East" here the Dona Inez conferred 
 upon Ethel that queer kittenish tap "as she says, 
 cannot understand. Let it go; it amounts to naught. 
 Don Anton and I are betrothed, and will some day 
 marry; the padre will be paid a big fee; the people 
 will rejoice and dance; my father will be pleased; 
 and I I shall not care. There, that is enough!" 
 
 The Dona Inez tried her black and yellow reboza 
 on Ethel to see how it looked. 
 
 "Now," said the Dona Inez, with a milliner-like 
 cock to her pretty head, "all you need is a short 
 petticoat, a black velvet bodice, some lace about 
 your throat, and a tortoise-shell comb, to make you 
 a beauty of Old Madrid." 
 
 The Mexican is no one to permit his work to inter 
 fere with his festivals, and the second day at the 
 Cross-8 took on a livelier color. The projected mer 
 rymaking had been given wide-flung advertisement; 
 hospitable word of it had not alone gone up and down 
 the Canadian, but had traveled as far northward as 
 the Cimarron, and as far westward as the Pecos. 
 
 With the earliest streaks of dawn the guests began 
 113 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 to gather. Professor Doremus, remembering the 
 empty wilderness through which he had come, mar 
 veled at their numbers. The throng all day poured 
 into the cleared space about the ranch-house. They 
 were of every sort and condition; every rank had its 
 representative, and all were welcome. Some were on 
 ponies; some arrived in ancient carriages drawn by 
 sleek, sleepy mules; others came in leather-lined ox 
 carts, the wheels of which had never heard of wagon- 
 grease, and wailed and shrieked most dolorously; still 
 others rode in on little donkeys, legs dangling to the 
 ground. There were men, women, boys, girls, babes 
 in arms; and these, with the ponies, mules, donkeys, 
 and a legion of dogs made up a checkered spectacle. 
 
 The Red Bull was lifted to a topmost pinnacle of 
 satisfaction; for he was never so pleased as when 
 playing the host. He greeted one and all with a 
 cordiality that never wavered. Saint and sinner, high 
 and low, the greasy and the well-clad he made every 
 one welcome. 
 
 As fast as they put in an appearance, little clots 
 and family knots of folk pitched their respective 
 camps. In the end, full five hundred were gathered, 
 and all in their gayest colors. It looked as though 
 some fair or kermess were being held. 
 
 The Cross-8 herders drove in fat cattle, and the 
 guests fires going, kettles boiling drew their knives 
 for slaughter. They went to the ranch store, and, 
 without money and without price were given tobacco, 
 flour, molasses, coffee, sugar, and goods in tins. It 
 was a season of prodigality and plenty, one calcu 
 lated to spread abroad the Red Bull s name. 
 
 The sola, sixty feet by thirty, was to be the ball- 
 114 
 
THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 room. All about its whitewashed walls were placed 
 temporary tiers of seats, like those in an amphitheater. 
 These were for the good of ones who by reason of years 
 or gravity did not dance. In a smaller room were 
 wines and mescal and waters even stronger. There 
 were no restrictions; all who would went in and 
 helped themselves. This license was possible with 
 Mexicans, who are considerate drinkers, and tally up 
 their cups with caution. 
 
 One feature pleased Professor Doremus; the sola 
 and the dependent apartments were lighted by coal- 
 oil lamps. These he regarded as so many entering 
 wedges of civilization, destined at last to split the 
 savage desert and destroy it. He had expected pine- 
 knots and rude torches, or at the best candles of the 
 tallow-dip variety. Wherefore, those coal-oil lamps, 
 with their smoke-smudged chimneys, much upbuoyed 
 his spirits, and became to him as the shadow of a 
 great rock in a weary land. 
 
 The dancing began early; the oldsters with the 
 babies ranged themselves about the walls eating 
 sweetmeats and smoking cigarettes, while the beauty 
 and chivalry crowded the dancing space in the mid 
 dle. The orchestra two fiddles, two guitars, and a 
 tin can half-filled with pebbles wherewith to beat out 
 the tempo led by an aged Guitarero, had been given 
 honorable elevation on a platform raised at one end 
 of the room. The old Guitarero who for long had 
 been the poet laureate of the Canadian being stimu 
 lated of mescal, as the evening wore on, gave way to 
 vocal outbursts, recitative of the glories and the vir 
 tues of our four from old Somerset. Robert was a jav 
 elin a thunderbolt a very Hector for valor. Pro- 
 
 115 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 fessor Doremus was, for his wisdom, likened unto a 
 beaver or a bear. Aunt Tilda was exalted as t"ie 
 staid and virtuous matron, ruling all, providing for 
 all. Ethel found description as a song and a sun 
 beam the beautiful mother of flowers and dear 
 dreams. The old minstrel sang in Spanish; but 
 the Red Bull was so good as to interpret. There 
 upon Robert strutted, Aunt Tilda bridled, Ethel 
 blushed, while the Professor beamed. 
 
 The Professor said the old Guitarero was a man of 
 genius, and privily bestowed upon him largesse to 
 the extent of a double eagle yellow and fresh gleam 
 ing from the mint. At this the old Guitarero became 
 excited, and sang another song, devoted wholly to 
 the Professor, and so far amending mythology as to 
 describe that learned man as a demigod of erudition 
 and Minerva s eldest son. 
 
 Don Anton languidly walked the Dona Inez 
 through one dance, carrying her at his finger tips to 
 demonstrate the noble difference between himself 
 and a commoner clay that would have clasped so 
 lovely a partner to its bosom. After this exploit, 
 which was in the nature of a concession to popular 
 desire, Don Anton danced no more. Thereby he pre 
 served for himself, as he would have said, a haughty 
 separation from the dancing herd. As for the Dona 
 Inez, she was quite as well pleased, preferring to sit 
 by Ethel who did not dance. 
 
 The Professor did not go unaffected of the lively 
 scene. The pretty faces laid hold on his fancy. At 
 last, warmed by the music, and perhaps the mescal 
 which latter he tasted in a scientific spirit in order 
 to inform himself touching the drinks of the country 
 
 116 
 
THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 he outraged Aunt Tilda by uttering these wild 
 words : 
 
 "My dear Madam, I shall join in the next waltz." 
 
 "Professor!" 
 
 There was a frozen something in Aunt Tilda s 
 tones. 
 
 "Not if you object, my dear Madam/ murmured 
 the Professor abjectly. "I only thought of doing 
 honor to our worthy host." 
 
 "Honor! Dancing at your age, and with a slip of a 
 Mexican girl! Professor!" 
 
 Many a poor soul in moment of direst peril has been 
 saved by the unexpected, and so with the guilty Pro 
 fessor. Aunt Tilda was bending upon him a shocked, 
 corrective eye, and plainly meditating a more elabo 
 rate reproof, when the attention of both was drawn 
 to their host. A repellant looking Mexican had tip 
 toed across and whispered something to him in Span 
 ish, the only understandable word being Americanos. 
 
 The Red Bull arched his bald eyebrows with sur 
 prise and dismay. Hastily excusing himself to Aunt 
 Tilda, he left the sola. As he did so he gave a half- 
 apprehensive glance toward Don Anton, where that 
 young patrician, puffing a cigarette and looking in 
 effably bored, stood leaning against the wall. 
 
 The lax etiquette of the Panhandle in no wise pro 
 vided for any peculiar demonstration of either re 
 spect or welcome upon the coming of a guest. The 
 padre who was present and a holy man among 
 Mexicans is of much station had not been granted 
 especial notice. Folk were expected to attend the 
 baile without invitation, and leave without farewell; 
 in their coming and staying and going they were to 
 
 117 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 consult only their own pleasure. That a guest h^d 
 appeared, to whose reception the host himself must 
 personally attend, was decidedly beyond the common. 
 The wonder of it might be read in the whispered com 
 ments and queries that went buzzing from lip to lip. 
 
 Expectation was not kept waiting. The Red Bull 
 shortly returned; and with him came Moonlight, 
 followed by JefT Home and Red River Bill, the two 
 latter wearing what JefT would have called their 
 "gala expression." 
 
 The Red Bull showed ill at ease, while doing his 
 best to be polite. To relieve what was unmistakably 
 a strain, for all his cheerful fortitude, he made a signal 
 to the old Guitarero. That virtuoso replied with the 
 music for a quadrille, by which diplomacy public in 
 terest was again set flowing in channels normal. An 
 eager covey of dancers quickly filled the floor. 
 
 It required no deep diving beneath the surface to 
 see that the advent of Moonlight had not multiplied 
 the gayety of the company. There was an odd look 
 of timid uncertainty that almost amounted to alarm 
 in every Mexican face. Clearly the newcomers needed 
 no introduction; it stood apparent that they were 
 known and feared. Also, as one might tell by the 
 soft glances of the senoritas, they were objects of shy 
 admiration in certain blooming quarters. Having ad 
 vantage of this last, Red River at once led forth a 
 damsel to the dance. Thereupon, the damsel thus 
 distinguished waxed blushingly proud, while sundry 
 males among the Mexicans glowered. 
 
 Jeff Home, being above such frivolities as qua 
 drilles, made signs of amity to Professor Doremus, 
 whom he had quickly singled out. These friendly 
 
 118 
 
THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 signals so far won upon the Professor that he joined 
 the sociable Jeff, and presently the pair disappeared 
 in the direction of that room which held the refresh 
 ments. During the evening the Professor returned 
 to Aunt Tilda at unsteady intervals, and assured her 
 that his new friend was a remarkable man. 
 
 "Mosht remarkable, this Mr. Home, my dear 
 Madam; mosht remarkable man I ever met!" said 
 the Professor; after which he would again join that 
 interesting individual, and again they would disap 
 pear. 
 
 Moonlight would in no wise have reminded one of 
 that pensive youth who, self-accusatory and deplor 
 ing his barbaric manner of life, sat so gloomily on a 
 recent evening over the camp-fire of the Kiowa. So 
 far from regretting, he would seem to have returned 
 to a present existence, and returned with open 
 arms. 
 
 His costume was that of a Mexican rico, and for an 
 arrogance of splendor would have shamed a peacock. 
 There had been no laying aside of hats at the baile, 
 and Moonlight wore his. Its broad brim was even 
 more richly decked of bullion and hawk s bells than 
 was Don Anton s own. About it, in lieu of band, 
 coiled a rattlesnake done in gold filigree, head well 
 down on the hat-brim, two blazing rubies for eyes. 
 His jacket arid trousers were of moss-green velvet, 
 the latter slashed below the knee, Spanish fashion, 
 with wine-colored silk, the whole ornamented along 
 the outer seams and caught in at the belt, with clasps 
 and buttons of gold. The jacket, open in front, dis 
 played a ruffle of fine linen. The waist was girt about 
 by a Colt ; s-45 pistol, and a nine-inch bowie knife; 
 
 119 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the belt, scabbard, and holster that upheld knife and 
 pistol being of green leather to match the green velvet 
 of coat and trousers. Half covering the belt and the 
 cartridges which corrugated it, was a thick sash, wines- 
 color like the silk slashings of the trousers. On the 
 heels of the Mexican boots jingled great spurs of 
 silver and wrought steel. 
 
 Ethel regarded him with emotions sadly mixed. 
 The velvet costume set off his broad shoulders, deep 
 chest, slim waist and narrow hips to advantage, and 
 she felt rather than confessed that she had never be 
 held a handsomer figure. 
 
 And yet there was that about him which frightened 
 while it drew her forward. His attitude was one 
 of rudest challenge as though a cock had crowed. 
 There was nothing of refinement, nothing of vulgar 
 ity, as she understood the words. If anything there 
 was a super-refined savagery. It was like an in 
 sufferable but honest bragging. His defying glances 
 roved from face to face. There was no modesty; all 
 was aggression; he seemed to swell with a sublime 
 insolence that fairly filled the room. 
 
 Never once did he speak to a man; it was as 
 though they were below contempt. But he had 
 word and smile for every pretty face, and all with 
 the manner of a master. So dangerous was the 
 impression which he threw off that, wherever he 
 went and he was constantly moving about the 
 men shrunk away from him as though daunted. 
 And so he continued, a living, breathing, boasting 
 insult in green velvet, and studied to be so. His 
 glance taunted, his expression sneered. 
 
 Ethel sat in a daze of angry admiration. She felt 
 120 
 
THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 that if she were a man she would hate him, and war 
 with him to the death. And, while she was so fired 
 with anger in the subjunctive, her swimming eye and 
 quick beating heart told her that she was not a man 
 but a woman. She shot a resentful look at Robert. 
 His gaze was on the floor, and in his cheek she 
 thought it showed a pallor something beat like a 
 pulse. Over across, Don Anton was contemplating 
 his slim fingers, striving to seem at ease; and all the 
 while his beady eyes burned with a rat-anger of min 
 gled rage and fear. And so this savage in green 
 velvet swaggered and swelled and strutted and chal 
 lenged unchecked. No one stood forward; it was as 
 though he threw down a glove, and none lifted it. 
 
 Ethel was caught up in an eddy of desperation. 
 She tried many times to despise him; but it always 
 ended in contempt for those others. Every man 
 who owned one was wearing a pistol; and Ethel 
 who had slipped more into the spirit of the region 
 than she would have been ready to admit found 
 herself indignantly wondering, in view of a present 
 backwardness, by what masculine right they carried 
 such stern embellishments. Professor Doremus was 
 nowhere to be seen, being indeed in the refreshment 
 room in weighty confab over Panhandle questions 
 and things with the not to be too much admired 
 Jeff. Of all within reach, Ethel was driven to yield 
 most respect to their host; who, while in an evi 
 dent perspiration, seemed best to maintain erect his 
 manhood before this swash-buckler. 
 
 "They are all afraid! Bah!" 
 
 Ethel gave a start. It was the lisping voice of the 
 Dona Inez ; and yet, soft as were the tones, such was 
 
 121 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the tension of Ethel s drawn nerves that they struck 
 upon her ear like the booming of a great bell. 
 
 The Dona Inez arose, and stepped down among the 
 dancers. She said a sharp word in Spanish; the mu 
 sic ceased, and the dancers quitted the floor. 
 
 The orchestra now broke into a Spanish dance that 
 rose and fell and swelled and died away in an aban 
 don of passion. The Dona Inez appeared to melt 
 into the motion and the rhythm of that dance; it was 
 as though she became a part of the music. At first 
 slow and dreamy, soon her steps took on the spring 
 and fire of a panther. Ethel watched her in a rapt 
 way as if locked in a trance. 
 
 The Dona Inez whirled by Don Anton. As she 
 passed she whipped off his wide hat, and jauntily 
 fitted it to her own little head. She floated across 
 to the masterful one in green. Then she wooed him 
 with body and arms and languishing eyes. 
 
 The old Guitarero began to sing. Never had he 
 been so eloquent, never flowed his verse so free, 
 as now when he chanted the loveliness of the Doiia 
 Inez and the gallantry of her selected cavalier. The 
 company, with parted lips, looked on, while the 
 two swept through the dance. There were cries 
 of admiration, as the Dona Inez approached, re 
 treated, repelled or surrendered. There was a swirl 
 and a sway to it that swallowed up the senses of 
 the onlookers. When it was ended, one wondered 
 if it were not a vision that had come and gone. The 
 music closed with a crash that seemed to threaten 
 every string of the old Guitarero. And then, for a 
 last tableau, there was the green masterful one on his 
 knee, with the little hand of the Dona Inez to his 
 
 122 
 
THE UNINVITED GUEST 
 
 lips. Panting and fire-eyed, the Dona Inez spoke 
 a word or two in soft Spanish. He led her to her 
 seat, bowed low with hat sweeping the ground, 
 and backed from her as from a queen. 
 
 Flushed of cheek, and still breathing short and 
 deep, the Dona Inez turned to Ethel. 
 
 "Is he not magnificent!" she said. Then with a 
 comprehensive glance of scorn that took in the entire 
 sola: "They fear him! See how small they become 
 in his presence!" 
 
 Ethel made no reply. There was a soreness in her 
 heart to which she could have given no name, and 
 she had begun to hate the Dona Inez. She lifted 
 her eyes for another look at the arrogant one in green. 
 Something caught in her throat like a sob; he was 
 nowhere to be seen. While she listened to the Dona 
 Inez he had vanished. 
 
 The Dona Inez laughed a teasing little laugh. 
 
 "Ah!" she whispered, "it is he who is the lover! 
 Don t sigh; you shall see him to-morrow at the 
 roping. " 
 
 Ethel colored to her small ears; but somewhere, 
 somehow, there lurked comfort in the words of the 
 Dona Inez. 
 
 While the arrogant green one and the Dona Inez 
 went circling and swaying through the dance, Don 
 Anton, pale as paper in spite of his swarthy skin, 
 stood gnawing his mustache and wrathfully pluck 
 ing his little pointed beard. He beckoned to his side 
 a hang-dog murderous creature, whose ugly, half- 
 Indian face had been rendered uglier by a puckering 
 lance scar in the left cheek. Don Anton said some 
 thing under his breath that sounded like the hissing 
 
 123 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 of a serpent. The other shrugged his shoulders, and 
 turned his palms outward and upward in shuffling 
 remonstrance. 
 
 "What!" smiled Don Anton; "must I feed such 
 dogs as you a year to have you fail me for a day? 
 Is it now that you grow sick at a thought of blood 
 you who call yourself Pedro of the Knife?" 
 
 The murderous lance-scarred Pedro whined fero 
 ciously. 
 
 "To-morrow!" he pleaded. "It cannot be done 
 now! Is Don Anton blind?" 
 
 He gave a directing nod. There, squarely across, 
 stood Jeff Home and Red River Bill, watchful as fer 
 rets, guarding the perilous gallantries of their young 
 chief. Even as Don Anton looked their steady eyes 
 were upon him. 
 
 "Do you not see, Senor?" whispered Pedro of the 
 Knife. "Let us but move an eyelash, and we are 
 dead men. Those gringoes will slay us both." 
 
 124 
 
CHAPTER X 
 THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 THERE was a deal of riding and jubilant rushing 
 about at the Cross-8, on the day following the baile. 
 That roping and bronco riding tournament, for Don 
 Anton s Chihuahua saddle, was to occur, and the 
 contestants were making busy preparations. Since 
 the competitors did not number more than a dozen 
 there would be interested scores to look on. This 
 last argued a spirited exhibition. It is required that 
 men s vanity be addressed, if one would secure their 
 best effort, whether of business or play, and that is 
 done only through a full grandstand. Humanity be 
 comes exceeding listless when acting under no eye and 
 inspired of no approval save its own. 
 
 The riding and steer-throwing was to take place on 
 a flat grassy space of perhaps ten acres. The ground 
 was marked off by men on ponies, who busied them 
 selves in riding its boundaries, while those who were 
 to be onlookers fringed it about like a fence. Three 
 gray Mexicans, past-masters of rope and saddle when 
 the oldest among those who would compete was being 
 carried in his mother s arms, had been told off by the 
 Red Bull to serve as judges. 
 
 The tournament was not to begin until the judges 
 signaled; meanwhile the assembled Mexicans, afoot 
 with the first of the sun, lounged about after their 
 
 125 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 own private tastes and inclinations. The older ones 
 gave themselves up to talk; for Mexicans are as con 
 versational as bluejays. 
 
 Old crones, equipped of cooking kits, which the} r 
 carried packed upon burros, opened impromptu res 
 taurants, the basis being a little fire kindled upon the 
 grass, and proceeded to dispense frijoles, and tortillas, 
 and whatever else in the way of viands could be man 
 ufactured from such raw materials as green and red 
 peppers, beef, beans and cornmeal. The Mexican is 
 one to whom stated hours for meals is of as much unim 
 portance as they are to a blanket Indian, and like the; 
 Indian he is always hungry. 
 
 Professor Doremus was prominent among the 
 patrons of the old crone cooks. Pleased with every 
 thing, and beset by an anxiety for information that 
 cannot be too highly extolled, he became inde 
 fatigable in his attempts to acquire the recondite 
 art of using a tortilla as a spoon an art that in 
 cludes devouring the spoon together with the soupy 
 freight of frijoles which one has scooped up. 
 
 Aunt Tilda was not altogether pleased with these 
 amiable alacrities on the part of her old friend to 
 enter into the simple manners of the Mexicans, hold 
 ing such to be an unbending, and to one side of what 
 paths his years and dignity should tread. And yet 
 in general she permitted them unrebuked, only once 
 drawing the line. The last occurred when a cock 
 fight was on the carpet. 
 
 Many of the younger Mexicans, and others who 
 were not so young, with a forethoughtful eye to the 
 possibilities, had brought their game cocks. Matches 
 were made and wagers laid, and a breathless circle 
 
 126 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 ringed the quarrelsome birds about. As indicating 
 a certain advance in civilization, it should be ob 
 served that the steel gaffs wherewith the birds were 
 heeled were "drop-sockets 7 of the most modern pat 
 terns. Also, as the feathered fighters flew at one an 
 other, those who laid wagers a Mexican takes his 
 religion into everything told their beads and rat 
 tled off whispered prayers for the success of their 
 favorites. 
 
 It was when the Professor, whose faraway youth 
 had not gone uncomforted of cock-fighting, showed 
 signs of granting his personal countenance to one of 
 these duels, that Aunt Tilda set down her foot. 
 
 " You shall not do it, Professor !" she cried. " Really ! 
 you grow worse with time. Last night you would 
 have disgraced yourself by dancing, actually danc 
 ing with a chit of a girl; and now you seek to descend 
 still lower, and witness these brutal pastimes. You 
 shall not do it! 1 
 
 The Professor was sensibly abashed; but the 
 coming "buckle" was to be between a duck-wing 
 and a red shawl-neck, strains whereof the Professor 
 had for long maintained a mixed though high opin 
 ion. This moved him to mildly contest the point. 
 In a gingerly way he called Aunt Tilda s attention 
 to the reverend padre, who was not only prepared 
 to be a spectator of the battle, but, in sober truth, 
 was the owner of the duck-wing. Certainly, a lay 
 man could not go far astray while following so holy 
 an example. Moreover as the Professor ingen 
 iously suggested the cocks liked it. 
 
 "It is not, my dear Madam," urged the Professor 
 timidly, " the same as chasing a terrified fox or butch- 
 
 127 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 ering an unfortunate quail. The cocks are never more 
 happy. They but express their nature; and indeed 
 it has often been subject of doubt with me as to how 
 far we should go in stigmatizing as brutal anything 
 that is natural." 
 
 Aunt Tilda proved adamant. 
 
 "I refuse to disgrace myself by discussing it," she 
 said, and taking the Professor s reluctant arm, she led 
 him to a more innocent corner of the field. 
 
 The Dona Inez and Ethel moved slowly from one 
 group to another. Ethel could not understand the 
 chatter, but the liveliness of the scene and the many 
 colored dresses appealed to her. At times she could 
 not refrain from casting here and there a furtive 
 glance, as though looking for one not yet come. Once 
 she even sighed. 
 
 "He will come," whispered the Dona Inez, as 
 though replying to the sigh; "you need have no 
 fears. The contests are not yet ready." 
 
 Ethel appeared to understand. 
 
 "Had you met him before last evening?" Ethel 
 asked, trying to show unconcern. "Do you know 
 him?" 
 
 "I know of him," returned the Dona Inez com 
 posedly. "My father has often spoken of him. He 
 is no friend of ours, and has driven off Don Anton s 
 cattle." 
 
 "If that be so," returned Ethel, bewildered by 
 what the Dona Inez said and the remembrance of 
 that whirling, swaying, breath-stealing dance "if 
 that be so, I cannot understand how you would 
 dance with him." 
 
 "As to that," responded the Dona Inez carelessly, 
 128 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 "the coming of this ! Senor Moonlight to our house 
 was a challenge. He meant it to be such; and you, 
 yourself, beheld how they fell away before him like 
 sheep. Don Anton understood; I danced with him 
 to do him honor. He had braved our men; he was 
 entitled to our women. I could do no less than re 
 ward him with the submission of that dance. It was 
 his right." 
 
 Ethel made no reply; the queer social logic of the 
 dark, half-savage beauty in its bizarre fantasticism 
 was beyond the grasp of her more civilized compre 
 hension. The two were silent for a moment; then the 
 Dona Inez plucked Ethel by the sleeve. 
 
 11 There he is for whom you wait," she whispered, 
 with just the color of mockery in her manner. "He 
 comes early." 
 
 On the far side of the field, ponies at a walk, were 
 riding the enigmatical Moonlight and his adherents, 
 Jeff Home and Red River Bill. They swung to the 
 ground, and lifting the reins over their ponies heads, 
 left them to graze. Naturalists do not account for 
 it, but bridled and saddled a mustang will stand 
 for a week as though tied to a post, if the rider upon 
 dismounting but throw the bridle-reins upon the 
 ground. 
 
 Moonlight and his companions made no motion to 
 cross to where the Dona Inez and Ethel were stand 
 ing, full forty rods away. Near where they dis 
 mounted, Frosty, that Tascosa courtier of fortune 
 mentioned by Jeff, was offering to engage all comers 
 at the game, so fascinating to Mexicans, called monte. 
 
 "What s your limit?" asked Moonlight. 
 
 "The limit?" repeated Frosty "the limit, Cap- 
 129 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 tain, is the blue dome above." Then he added: 
 "I d be ashamed to talk of limits to this band of 
 Mexican pikers." 
 
 Moonlight did not take extravagant advantage of 
 the reckless Frosty s liberality, but restricted himself 
 in the measure of his bets. Red River Bill, with 
 whom gambling was a passion second only to that 
 of dancing, also put down a moderate stake or two. 
 Fortune ran evenly, and neither Moonlight nor Red 
 River at any time was far ahead or far behind. 
 
 While the two were thus engaged, Don Anton rode 
 up to the Dona Inez and Ethel. He was in a most 
 affable mood, and nothing could have been more 
 blandly courteous than were his greetings. The Dona 
 Inez, apparently, was willing to cloud his brow, for 
 she at once drew his attention with a word in Span 
 ish into which a taunt was flung to the hated Moon 
 light. 
 
 "The brave ever love the brave," said the Doiia 
 Inez mockingly, "and so, Don Anton, I show you 
 that Captain Moonlight. You saw him dance last 
 night. Was he not superb? Did lady ever have a 
 more gallant partner?" 
 
 This was said in Spanish, but Ethel gained a close 
 guess at its meaning, for there came a white, angry 
 flash of teeth behind Don Anton s inky mustache. 
 A frown like thunder darkened his brow. 
 
 "Yes," said the Dona Inez, "it is safe to scowl at 
 this distance." 
 
 Don Anton, with a gesture of rage, threw himself 
 on his pony and spurred away. 
 
 "He goes for his Pedro of the Knife," observed 
 the Dona Inez, looking after the disappearing figure 
 
 130 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 of her betrothed. Then, with a mixture of com 
 plaint and contempt, she continued: "Will he never 
 summon the manhood to do his own killing!" 
 
 The dark inference of the words would have 
 alarmed Ethel, if she had even in part understood; 
 but in what she said, as well as in what she did, the 
 Dona Inez was an unsolved enigma. If, however, 
 Don Anton had gone for Pedro of the Knife, there 
 arose no disturbing evidence of it. Perhaps the 
 Dona Inez was in error. 
 
 While Moonlight and Red River gave their ener 
 gies to monte, Jeff Home, although seemingly an 
 absorbed spectator of the play, maintained a close 
 watch upon the assembled Mexicans. Not that he 
 looked for trouble; but he was a careful man, and 
 had lived long on the sunset side of the Missouri. 
 
 "It would shore mortify me to death," said he, 
 explaining his vigilance to Frosty, "if I let a passel 
 of black an tans, like them Cross-8 Mexicans, open 
 a game on me onexpected." 
 
 No one attempted to open any game; and the 
 gossiping, the gambling, the cock-fighting, the gallop 
 ing of ponies and the consumption of tortillas and fri- 
 joles with a blue cloud of cigarette smoke over all 
 persisted undisturbed. 
 
 The three gray judges rode slowly into the center 
 of the field. One of them made brief proclamation 
 in Spanish. It was in effect a terse announcement of 
 the programme, coupled with an enumeration of the 
 prizes and an exhortation to the boundary riders to 
 keep the ground. The latter at this, feeling upon 
 them the eyes of the public, spurred furiously along 
 the lines. These demonstrations of zeal and horse- 
 
 131 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 manship added an eclat to the scene to be arrived at 
 in no other way. 
 
 The judges, having formally opened the lists, sum 
 moned the competitors, who came forward carrying 
 bridles and heavy double-cinch saddles on their arms. 
 The bridles were armed with cruel Spanish bits which, 
 under the pressure of a weakest hand, would break 
 the jaw of a pony. A band of unbroken mustangs, 
 creatures that had never tasted bit nor felt the strain 
 ing cinch, were driven up by the horse-hustlers. 
 
 The old chief judge called: " Maurice Miguel!" 
 
 At the word, a lithe, springy young fellow, legs 
 bowed like compasses, stepped quickly forth with 
 that waddling gait which professional riders affect. 
 Throwing his saddle on the ground, he unslung his 
 lariat. Whirling the loop about his head, he sent it 
 curling for the fore feet of a vicious clay bank, to 
 which the judges pointed. The pony was thrown 
 and blindfolded. As it lay sprawling, one Mexican 
 secured its head while another subdued the hind legs. 
 Bridle and saddle were fitted to the pony as it lay 
 stretched it was fairly rolled into the saddle and 
 eyes still bandaged, it was then allowed to scramble 
 to its feet. Once there it stood and shivered, over 
 come by novel and alarming sensations. 
 
 The dark young Mexican was in the saddle like a 
 flash. Picking up the bridle-reins, he shoved his 
 feet into the wooden stirrups as deeply as heel and 
 instep would allow. An attendant Mexican whipped 
 the bandage from the bronco s eyes, the rider drove 
 his spurs into its flanks, and the combat between 
 pony and man began. 
 
 It was the merest madness of tumult a whirlwind 
 132 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 of buck and pitch and toss. Then the pony suddenly 
 turned sullen, like a balky. mule, and no application 
 of bit or spur or quirt would budge him. At the end 
 of ten minutes, the judges ordered the rider from the 
 saddle. He had not been thrown, but his failure to 
 move the pony out of that stolid balk was marked 
 against him. 
 
 Affairs progressed rapidly. One after another the 
 ponies were roped, thrown, saddled and mounted. 
 The riders had varying luck, while the ponies dis 
 played a variety of antics, not to say tactics, con 
 tingent in each instance on the spirit and intelli 
 gence of the pony. Some sulked; while others sun- 
 fished about nose down, back arched hi a manner 
 to evoke wildest applause. Now and again the rider 
 was thrown or jolted off, and sent rolling clawing 
 and clutching at the short grass. In these mishaps 
 abode the comedy element; and, although one broke 
 his collar bone and another his arm, while all were 
 bruised, the spectators failed not to laugh uproar 
 iously. The discomfited ones arose to their feet with 
 grins some sickly, some sincere and he of the 
 broken arm even made it a point to laugh, as he was 
 supported from the field. 
 
 The Professor followed him, having some skill in 
 surgery, thinking to be of use. He opened his eyes 
 in amazement, almost in horror, when the splintered 
 arm was coolly set by the sufferer s mates of the cow- 
 camps, who supported their unauthorized splicings by 
 rude splints made from the staves of a flour barrel, 
 and bandages torn from a blanket. 
 
 "It s all right, Professor," said the Red Bull 
 cheerfully. The outraged Professor had expressed 
 
 133 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 doubts as to the upcome of such empiricism. "It s 
 all right! That arm will emerge from those barrel 
 staves as straight as a gun. " 
 
 The old Mexican who served as chief of the judges 
 rode up to the Red Bull, his face wearing a shocked 
 expression. With a courtly bow he began: 
 
 "The senor sees the young gringo," said he, 
 pointing his age-shaken finger at Moonlight. "He 
 is most insulting! He declares the riding a farce, 
 and says that an infant could have conquered the 
 worst among the ponies. More, senor, ne called us 
 sheep-herders!" The old Mexican s eyes flashed at 
 the outrage of such an epithet. "Also, he demands 
 that he be allowed to compete." 
 
 The Red Bull looked at Don Anton, who had ap 
 proached. 
 
 "By all means!" cried Don Anton. "Give him 
 Sathanthus the mad stallion that killed Juan. 
 It may be that Sathanthus will rid us of this fellow, 
 and make the errand upon which I ve dispatched 
 Pedro of the Knife a bootless one." 
 
 "Tell him," said the Red Bull to the old Mexican, 
 "that he shall have his way. Say that the Cross-8 
 men will be glad to learn horsemanship from so 
 finished a rider." 
 
 The old Mexican bowed, and paced soberly back 
 in quest of the insolent Moonlight. That young gen 
 tleman, mounted on President, had forced his way 
 into the open space, the patrolling boundary keepers 
 not caring to halt him. While waiting the return of 
 the old Mexican, he killed time by putting President 
 through certain astonishing paces, not the least mar 
 velous being to dash ahead at top-speed and then, 
 
 134 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 without checking, wheel squarely about and dash 
 the other way. It was a feat that required the seat of 
 a centaur, and, for President, the sure foot of a goat. 
 
 The personification of vanity, Moonlight rode by the 
 Dona Inez and Ethel with the swiftness of a thrown 
 lance. The Dona Inez applauded, while Ethel s eyes 
 shone. He had been graceful in the dance; he was 
 tenfold more carelessly graceful in the saddle. 
 
 The Dona Inez whisked off the handkerchief 
 thrown loosely about Ethel s throat, and tossed it 
 on the grass. As he flashed by, he bent from the 
 saddle, swept up the scrap of silk, and tied it about 
 his own throat. 
 
 Ethel s face burned at this piece of assurance. 
 How dare he appropriate her handkerchief! And yet 
 her anger did not seem unbounded; she even smiled 
 in a shadowy way. Perhaps he believed it the prop 
 erty of the Dona Inez ! Strange to relate, this thought 
 did not comfort her. He had done wrong in thus rid 
 ing away with her property; still, having done so, she 
 preferred that he understand it to be hers. 
 
 Observing the old Mexican returning, Moonlight 
 turned to meet him. 
 
 "You are, by favor of Don Anton and Senor Rug- 
 gles, to compete," said the old Mexican sourly. 
 
 Moonlight cantered down to where Jeff Home and 
 Red River Bill were standing by their saddled ponies. 
 Throwing himself from President, he fastened that 
 animal s fore fetlocks together with his rawhide hob 
 bles. This was not to keep President from straying 
 away, rather it was to prevent him from making his 
 way to the coming scene of contest, for he would fol 
 low his master about like a collie dog. Having hob- 
 
 135 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 bled President, he stripped off saddle and bridle, and 
 returned with them on foot to the trial grounds. 
 
 Red River Bill followed his young chief. A Mex 
 ican led up a buckskin stallion. It came tamely 
 enough; but the eye, like a coal of fire, and the evil 
 slant to the ears, showed the tameness to be a sham. 
 The buckskin was Sathanthus, the fiend of the Cross-8, 
 and in his present quietude he but bided his vicious 
 time. He had killed one man, he hoped to get a 
 chance to kill another; for Sathanthus was well- 
 named, being a born devil in his heart. 
 
 Sathanthus must have been sorely disturbed by 
 the rough rapidity with which events began to chase 
 each other through his destinies. Moonlight had 
 brought his lariat; he sent the loop tangling about 
 the ugly buckskin s feet. Then, planting his sharp 
 boot-heels deeply in the sod, he sent that astonished 
 animal crashing upon his side. In a moment Sathan 
 thus was blindfolded, bridled, bitted, saddled and 
 cinched; and next the confining loop about the fore 
 feet was thrown free. 
 
 As the buckskin struggled to his enraged feet, still 
 blindfolded, he was made aware of a man on his back. 
 At this, his wicked heart filled up for murder. He 
 made a savage snap for the rider s left leg, and was 
 caught up short by the Spanish bit. 
 
 In his rage, Sathanthus threw himself over back 
 ward. He hoped to catch and crush his rider; for it 
 was thus he had slain Juan. Moonlight, more active 
 or more watchful, was out of the saddle and safely 
 on his feet when the wrathful Sathanthus lay rolling. 
 A sharp jerk at the bits helped him to realize his de 
 feat, and brought him again to his four hoofs. 
 
 136 
 
Threw the bridle rein on Sat/iatitlnix neck, and rolled <ind lighted 
 a cigarette. 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 Instantly Moonlight was back in the stirrups for a 
 second time, while Sathanthus stood panting. That 
 fall had shaken his courage; he would defer further 
 hostilities until the bandage was removed from his 
 wicked red eyes. 
 
 Sathanthus, blind, feet planted, heart on fire, stood 
 like a statue. Moonlight held up two silver dollars 
 before those looking on. He placed them between 
 his knees and the saddle-flaps one under each knee. 
 Then the obscuring bandage was whipped off. 
 
 Sathanthus winked and blinked, and shook his sin 
 ful head. A stinging cut of the two-thonged quirt, 
 which Moonlight wore looped to his right wrist, and 
 a lancing dig of the spurs, brought him to his senses. 
 Following one wild skyward leap, the result of pain 
 rather than design, the buckskin devoted himself to 
 unseating his enemy. Once were he to have him on 
 the ground, he could strike with his fore feet, or crush 
 with his knees, or tear with his teeth! But first he 
 must hurl him from the saddle. 
 
 Sathanthus rushed straight forward like a shot; 
 then he stopped dead, as though he had met a stone 
 wall. Again a forward plunge, followed by a plunge 
 at right angles. These of no avail, and the foe still 
 firm in the saddle, he arched his back like a gray- 
 hound, put his muzzle between his knees, and broke 
 into a stiff-legged up and down see-saw, now to the 
 right, now to the left a paroxysm of old-fashioned 
 genuine, heartfelt, worm-fence bucking. Moonlight 
 threw the bridle-reins on Sathanthus neck and, 
 searching forth a cornhusk wrapper, rolled and lighted 
 a cigarette. At this feat the onlookers howled their 
 plaudits. 
 
 137 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 When Sathanthus, exhausted by his hard work, 
 began to falter, Moonlight cured his flagging ener 
 gies with quirt and spur. This treatment broke the 
 hard, wicked heart of Sathanthus. Head drooping, 
 flank quivering, shaking in knee and hock, he stood 
 the beaten figure of defeat. 
 
 Moonlight leaped from the saddle; as he did so the 
 two silver dollars fell clattering to the ground. At 
 this incontestable evidence of the sureness of his 
 riding, the crowd renewed its admiring tumult. With 
 a twist of the wrist he stripped bridle and saddle from 
 the broken-hearted mankiller, and gave them to Red 
 River Bill. 
 
 "He did not kill him!" said Don Anton, his tones 
 vibrant of disappointment. 
 
 "No," returned the Red Bull, disgusted rather 
 than disappointed, "he did not kill him, although 
 there were moments when I feared he would. There 
 has never been such riding on the Canadian!" 
 
 Don Anton and his father-in-law-to-be, misunder 
 stood one another; the former had hoped for the 
 death of Moonlight, while the Red Bull only feared 
 for the life of Sathanthus. 
 
 "I could love such a man!" whispered the Dona 
 Inez to Ethel. 
 
 Ethel shot a reproachful look. 
 
 "Have no fear," observed the Dona Inez, with a 
 teasing shrug; "I give you my promise the other way. 
 I do not fancy loving where I should not be loved." 
 
 Moonlight strolled across to Don Anton and the 
 Red Bull. His manner, brusque, supercilious, was 
 only saved from being impertinent by the respect 
 able danger that dwelt in him. For that same reason 
 
 138 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 of danger, while it escaped being impertinent, it was 
 doubly an insult. He began without salutation. 
 
 "The judges/ said he, addressing the Red Bull, 
 "have given the riding to me. I shall now compete 
 in the steer-tying; and, since I think them no better 
 at the roping than at the riding, I offer a handicap 
 in favor of your Cross-8 bunglers. Let the best 
 among them tie down his five steers; I will then 
 tie down my five in half the time, or lose. I think, 
 Amigo, I shall take your Chihuahua saddle back with 
 me to the Palo Duro." 
 
 The last was to Don Anton. 
 
 "You have set your heart on that saddle, Senor 
 Moonlight," returned Don Anton, with as nearly the 
 ghost of a sneer as he cared to risk. 
 
 "Not for myself; I would not disgrace the back of 
 my pony with a saddle from such a source. No, I 
 shall give it to my man, Red River. He takes care 
 of my cattle." 
 
 "Cattle?" repeated the Red Bull, pretending sur 
 prise. "I thought you a robe-hunter. I did not 
 know you were in the cattle trade; I ve never heard 
 of you in our Panhandle round-ups." 
 
 "Nor are you likely to," responded Moonlight, 
 giving his words the twist of sarcasm. "I am, as 
 you surmised a robe hunter; in the cattle trade, as 
 you call it, by accident, and merely to the extent of 
 two hundred head. Some thieving Mexicans stole 
 and destroyed two hundred of my robes, and I took 
 two hundred of their cattle" here he looked at Don 
 Anton who was twisting his mustache "to pay 
 for them." 
 
 The Red Bull hastened to cut short a conversation 
 139 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 that might graduate from the unpleasant into the dis 
 astrous. 
 
 "I am glad you will take part in the steer-tying/ 
 he said politely. "But, poor hands as the Cross-8 
 people are, the contest must be on even terms. " 
 
 "I do not see your pet assassin, Pedro of the 
 Knife," observed Moonlight, again turning to Don 
 Anton. "Have you sent him on some mission of 
 scalps?" 
 
 "Why?" returned Don Anton, growing a trifle 
 white. "Would you like to see my Pedro of the 
 Knife?" 
 
 "I should like better to see you." Then, with 
 a sudden cold frown: "You wear pistol and knife!" 
 
 The Red Bull took Don Anton by the arm and led 
 him aside, the latter, offering no mighty resistance. 
 Moonlight, with an evil smile that set his face like a 
 threat, wheeled on his heel, and returned to where 
 Jeff Home and Red River Bill had completed the 
 saddling and bridling of President for the roping. 
 
 The judges ordained that Moonlight should begin 
 the steer-tying. Ten wild-eyed longhorns were driven 
 upon the field, and held bunched by a couple of 
 herders. Moonlight sat in the saddle one hundred 
 feet away, that being the distance allowed the steers 
 at the start. President, on whom so much depended, 
 was ablaze with excitement; he knew the game as 
 thoroughly as any looking on. 
 
 The gray chief of the judges gave the signal to be 
 ready; Moonlight, rope in hand, nodded. 
 
 "Vamos!" cried the old judge. 
 
 President shot forward like an arrow; the herders 
 drew back, and the steers finding all free broke and 
 
 140 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 ran. President was instantly upon them! Out flew 
 the loop of the lariat, to settle about the spreading 
 horns of the hindmost steer. President stopped short, 
 set all four hoofs; the steer ran out on the rope. 
 President, trained to the work, met the shock braced 
 and leaning against it; and the steer, in Panhandle 
 parlance, " swapped ends with itself." It struck the 
 grass with a crash, and lay stunned. 
 
 In a twinkling, Moonlight was on the ground. 
 The next moment he had pulled a fore and a hind 
 foot of the prostrate steer together, whipped a "tie" 
 about them, and fastened it with three turns and a 
 knot, President meanwhile pulling on the taut rope, 
 as a reason for the steer lying quietly stretched. 
 
 The tie-down made, Moonlight whistled, and Presi 
 dent ran toward him, full speed. With a shake of 
 the left hand Moonlight freed the loop from the steer s 
 horns, and seizing the saddle-horn with the right 
 hand as President shot by, swung with one motion 
 to the saddle. Away went President in hot pursuit 
 of the flying ones, leaving the tied victim on the 
 ground. And the time of that first tying was just 
 twenty seconds by a stop-watch! 
 
 As President tore forward after the little band 
 of terrified steers, Moonlight gathered up his rope. 
 Again the wide loop went whirling; again it settled 
 over the flying horns; again the braced feet of Presi 
 dent; again the shock as the rope tightened; again 
 the stunning crash of the thrown steer! And so 
 the work of roping, throwing, tying, and recovering 
 went forward. As Moonlight arose from the fifth 
 steer, and held up his hand as showing his labors 
 done, the watch marked two minutes and twenty-five 
 
 141 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 seconds, being the whole time consumed an average 
 of twenty-nine seconds to a steer. 
 
 The wonder-smitten Mexicans drew a long breath; 
 it was the sharpest roping and tying they had ever 
 witnessed. Now it was over, they looked at man 
 and pony, and piously crossed themselves; they 
 thought it witchcraft. They had, too, as an argu 
 ment for their theory of witchcraft, that the quickest 
 of the twelve contestants who followed was five 
 minutes and ten seconds in tying down his fifth 
 steer. To the chagrin of Don Anton, that em 
 bossed, stamped-leather, Chihuahua saddle, with the 
 bridle that kept it company, became parcel of the 
 goods and chattels of Red River Bill. 
 
 It was two hours later; the field was nearly de 
 serted. Moonlight, who desired word with that esti 
 mable gambler, had lingered for a talk with Frosty, 
 before spurring finally away for the Palo Duro. Jeff 
 Home and Red River Bill, bearing with them the 
 Chihuahua saddle, had already departed. 
 
 It was while Moonlight talked with Frosty that the 
 unexpected occurred. It came in the guise of Don 
 Anton, who was seen sauntering toward them in a 
 matter-of-fact way. This of itself was enough to 
 arouse suspicion. 
 
 Moonlight saw him coming with the tail of his eye, 
 and while he continued to converse with Frosty he 
 watched Don Anton. For all that gentleman tried 
 to appear at ease, the young rico s face was troubled. 
 Also he was over-white, for rage lay at his heart s 
 roots. 
 
 "Have you said good-bye to Senor Moonlight?" 
 the Dofia Inez had whispered. "No?" Then, with 
 
 142 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 manner unmistakable: " You are negligent, Don An 
 ton, I should not let him go without good-bye. If 
 you do, I shall not care to see you again. Who would 
 have a husband so grossly impolite?" 
 
 There was a resolution as of ice in the steady gaze 
 of Dona Inez. Don Anton must redeem himself or 
 his hopes of her were lost. It did not suit him to lose 
 her. Stung by her air as much as by her words he 
 found courage to go in quest of the dangerous Moon 
 light. At that he owned no plan, possessed no least 
 inkling of what should be his course. 
 
 Of a sudden, when Don Anton had come within 
 talking distance of the hated one, he was flooded of a 
 great thought. It broke upon him like an inspira 
 tion; his way stood open. He might yet go back 
 to the Dona Inez with the redeeming blood of Moon 
 light on his hands. 
 
 As nearly as he could and he was no mean actor 
 Don Anton forced his tawny features to a pleasant 
 expression. 
 
 "Still here, Senor Moonlight?" he said, in a man 
 ner of affable surprise. Moonlight s gray eyes be 
 came jade as they looked squarely into the shifty rat- 
 eyes of Don Anton. The latter talked on hurriedly; 
 he must get through, or his nerve would fail him. 
 "There is something I should say to you, Senor Moon 
 light. You spoke of my wearing a pistol. I did not 
 answer, for it was no good time. Now may prove a 
 better. But before I reply, I should like to see you 
 shoot. You are not afraid to let me see you shoot?" 
 he concluded with a sneer. 
 
 Moonlight looked through and through him, as 
 though searching his uttermost corner of thought. 
 
 143 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Then, apparently satisfied, he took his rifle from its 
 saddle-scabbard it being part of the furniture of 
 President, now when he stood saddled for the trail. 
 The weapon was a heavy, eight-square single-shot 
 Sharp s a fifty-caliber buffalo gun. 
 
 Moonlight s glances roved about the scene. Two 
 hundred yards away, a huge raven went heavily 
 flapping down the wind. He brought the big rifle to 
 his shoulder. There was a moment s pause as his eye 
 traced the sights. Then came the roar of the gun. 
 A handful of black feathers floated to leeward, while 
 the great raven, shot through and through, went 
 plunging downward to strike the grass with a muffled 
 thump. 
 
 Don Anton licked his dry lips nervously. 
 
 "Wonderful!" he cried. "That one would be mad 
 who met you with rifles! And are you as sure with 
 the pistol?" 
 
 Still without word, Moonlight took six chips from 
 the monte paraphernalia of Frosty. Riffling the ivory 
 counters between thumb and finger, he flirted them 
 fifty feet in the air. They fell apart one from the 
 other, and hung for a moment six dull blue polka-dots, 
 as large as half-dollar pieces, against the brightness 
 of the sky. Like a flash his hand sought his pistol. 
 There came a series of sharp barking reports, so 
 closely set together that each seemed blended with 
 the one that went before. Five of the blue disks 
 were shattered; the sixth fell untouched. 
 
 When the fusilade began, Don Anton s tremulous 
 hand began to creep toward his own weapon. As 
 the last shot rang out he had half drawn it from the 
 scabbard murder showing in his black eyes. His 
 
 144 
 
THE KNIFE OF DON ANTON 
 
 plan lay all bare in a moment; it was his scheme to 
 empty the weapons of Moonlight. Then, when the 
 other was defenseless, he would slay him. 
 
 It was a brilliant plan, a hopeful plan; but it failed. 
 As the sixth unshattered chip fell to the ground, 
 Moonlight wheeled on Don Anton, the somber muzzle 
 covering his fluttering heart. 
 
 Don Anton gasped with terror ; that sixth cartridge, 
 all unexploded, still slept in its proper chamber. 
 Would this inveterate gray-eyed one slaughter him 
 where he stood! His life was forfeit by every rule; 
 his pistol, half out of its scabbard, convicted him! 
 
 " Caught with the goods!" cried Frosty. 
 
 Moonlight did not fire, but contented himself with 
 covering Don Anton with the muzzle that never 
 missed. It was a moment of terror for the latter; he 
 tasted death a hundred times. 
 
 Moonlight let down the hammer of his pistol, and 
 returned it to his belt. 
 
 "Get his gun!" he said to Frosty. 
 
 "Why didn t you bump him off, Captain?" asked 
 Frosty in an injured tone, as he gathered in Don 
 Anton s pistol. The poisonous little rico stood trans 
 fixed with fear, offering no resistance. "It s plumb 
 wrong! You ought to have beefed him!" 
 
 "The better revenge is to let him live. He will 
 now die each day through fear." 
 
 Suddenly, Don Anton, in a frenzy of fright and 
 rage, plucked his knife from its sheath, the care 
 less Frosty had overlooked the cutlery. Like some 
 sinister ray of light, the heavy blade came glancing 
 through the air! It whizzed by Moonlight s cheek 
 like a giant hornet. 
 
 145 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Then befell a miracle. As the knife flew by, 
 Moonlight caught it by the buckhorn haft. In one 
 motion he sent it point-blank at Don Anton with the 
 vengeful force of a javelin. It was done in so brief 
 a space that Frosty did not have time to sing cut. 
 The big knife buried itself to the guard in the shrink 
 ing shoulder of Don Anton. He plucked at it spas 
 modically; then with a shriek he sank fainting upon 
 the grass. 
 
 146 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MISSION OF PEDRO OP THE KNIFE 
 
 "GooD shot!" cried Frosty, in high approval. "Only 
 if you d held two inches higher an a lee tie more to 
 the right, it would have been a better one. Then 
 you d have nailed him through the neck." 
 
 Moonlight snapped a fresh cartridge into the big 
 Sharp s, and then busied himself with reloading those 
 five empty chambers of his six-shooter. 
 
 Two Mexicans, soberly timid, air deprecatory, and 
 with never word nor look, hurried up. They bore 
 Don Anton into the ranch-house; the latter, face the 
 color of tobacco ashes, still lay in a stupor. 
 
 Moonlight mounted President. 
 
 "Which you don t aim," remonstrated Frosty, "to 
 go challengin the whole Cross-8 outfit? I wouldn t 
 do it, Captain; some of them greasers inside might 
 pot you." 
 
 "There are no windows," replied Moonlight, "and 
 if one tried a shot from the roof, the chances are I d 
 pot him." 
 
 Disregarding the cautious Frosty s counsel, he can 
 tered around to the Cross-8 front door. The Red Bull 
 came out, almost obsequious in his politeness. His 
 face had lost something of its normal purple; the Red 
 Bull was not quite so red. 
 
 147 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "It was a fair exchange/ said he, forcing a smile. 
 Then, as though to settle his own position in favor 
 of peace, he added: "I never interfere where all 
 is fair." 
 
 "No one cares whether you interfere or no," re 
 torted Moonlight, with scant courtesy. "I come now 
 to leave word for your dog of a would-be son-in-law 
 that hereafter I shall kill him on sight. He and his 
 might better visit me on the Palo Duro. The more, 
 since if they do not and I get lonesome, I may come 
 hunting their company on the Concha. Tell him 
 that." 
 
 Ethel heard first of that thrown knife from the 
 Dona Inez. It set her heart a-flutter; her cheek was 
 stricken cold. The Dona Inez only readjusted her 
 reboza in a satisfied way. 
 
 "I am glad he has a little courage, " said she. "At 
 least he must have faced this Senor Moonlight. You, 
 my friend, are fortunate in loving a brave man!" 
 
 Ethel s face went from white to crimson. 
 
 "How can you say that? I ve never exchanged a 
 word with him." 
 
 The black eyes of the Dona Inez sparkled. 
 
 "That will come soon enough. And when it does 
 you must beware. What! With your Robert and 
 this knife-throwing cavalier both in love with you, do 
 you think there will be no clash?" 
 
 Ethel said nothing; she felt heart-convicted of a 
 feeling beyond what should become a modest maid 
 toward the gray-eyed overbearing one. Also, he had 
 worn away her handkerchief. 
 
 With face a trifle hot she came presently upon 
 Aunt Tilda and the Professor. The latter had just 
 
 148 
 
MISSION OF PEDRO OF THE KNIFE 
 
 been told of Don Anton s wounded shoulder; being 
 extremely tribal in his instincts, his soul took sides 
 with Moonlight. 
 
 "The young man has prodigious spirit," quoth the 
 Professor, voice elate and brisk. "His hand, too, 
 must be deft beyond imagination, to thus seize and 
 return a flying knife! Truly, I should like to have 
 witnessed the episode." 
 
 Aunt Tilda scolded, and said that Professor Dore- 
 mus was drifting into savagery. 
 
 Having delivered his defiance to the Red Bull who 
 received it without reply, Moonlight struck south 
 ward. The long, swinging stride of President would 
 soon overtake Jeff Home and Red River Bill, who 
 were to pitch camp for the night at the Hill of the 
 Cross. 
 
 Five miles had been covered, and Moonlight was 
 picking his way at a walk through a roughish stretch 
 of trail. As he reached a corner of the canon through 
 which the trail wound, from the flat ground above, 
 and about one hundred yards ahead, a rifle cracked. 
 The shot had been well aimed. Moonlight, after an 
 ineffectual effort to retain his seat, reeled and fell from 
 the saddle. He lay on the grass, face to the sky, 
 hands spread wide. President reared and plunged, 
 and then trotted off to a distance of twenty feet. He 
 wheeled to look at his master, blowing out his nostrils 
 and snorting. 
 
 The smoke drifted from the place where the rifle 
 was fired, and above the edge of the canon peered 
 Pedro of the Knife. A look of satisfaction over 
 spread his lance-scarred face, as he beheld his victim 
 lying prone and nerveless. With a cry of triumph, 
 
 149 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 he drew his knife and came scrambling down the side 
 of the canon. 
 
 "Don Anton will want his scalp," he muttered. 
 
 Pedro of the Knife approached the prostrate 
 Moonlight, who lay with set eyes and fingers clutched 
 as in the final death-pang. President began to toss 
 his head, and made as though to fly. Pedro of the 
 Knife was half Indian, and President found the breeze 
 poisoned of that Indian taint so alarming to a white 
 man s horse. 
 
 Pedro of the Knife paused to soothe the excited 
 President with pacific words; he did not want to 
 frighten away the best pony in the Panhandle. 
 The scalp should be Don Anton s; he designed Presi 
 dent for himself. The pony of the dreaded Moonlight 
 would be something to show and to brag of, when 
 back in the plazas on the Concha. It would brighten 
 the eyes of the sefioritas, and blacken with envy the 
 brows of the men, to look upon President, and hear 
 how he, Pedro of the Knife, had won him! With this 
 thought, he maneuvered until the uneasy President, 
 trotting and curveting but refusing to leave, had 
 taken position to windward. Missing that terrifying 
 Indian smell, he became quiet, and looked at Pedro 
 of the Knife in curious, non-understanding horse- 
 fashion. 
 
 Pedro of the Knife, being reassured as to the rest 
 less President, again turned to his labors of blood. 
 Blade in hand he bent above the prostrate form. An 
 evil smile wreathed his lips, for he liked the work. 
 
 Suddenly a grip of steel closed upon the wrist 
 of Pedro of the Knife. There was a twist, a sound 
 of bones snapping, and the knife fell from his useless 
 
 150 
 
MISSION OF PEDRO OF THE KNIFE 
 
 fingers. He screamed in surprise and pain! The 
 scream was like the screech of a wildcat in its death 
 agony. Then he was whirled face downward. The 
 next moment the knee of Moonlight was pressed 
 hard between his shoulders. 
 
 As swiftly as he had tied those Cross-8 steers, 
 Moonlight took the soft sash from about his middle, 
 and bound the elbows of Pedro of the Knife together 
 behind his back. That the right arm was broken in 
 no wise touched him with pity; he handled the help 
 less Pedro without ruth or mercy. The latter, after 
 that first screech, lay mute as a fox; his Indian blood 
 did that much for him. He made no struggle; the 
 strength of his conqueror was too prodigious, too mon 
 strous. From the first he felt himself in a grasp so 
 over-mastering that resistance was preposterous. It 
 would have been like throwing up one s arm to ward 
 away a landslide. 
 
 Moonlight took the would-be assassin s pistol from 
 his belt, and broke it across a bowlder. He splintered 
 the rifle which Pedro of the Knife had brought from 
 his ambush on the hill. Then he picked up the bound 
 Pedro s knife from the grass. It was heavy, with a 
 long blade, and balanced in the hand like a hatchet. 
 He tried the edge; its razor-like keenness justified 
 the name of its owner. 
 
 "And now," said Moonlight, relentless as granite, 
 tones cruelly ferocious, " while it is in my mind to 
 cut your throat, it is in my mind still more to send 
 you back to your master, Don Anton, as a best 
 method of showing my contempt for him and you 
 and every other dog of a Mexican. In your trade of 
 assassination, however, you should show more wit. 
 
 151 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Do not take it for sure that a man is dead just because 
 he falls from the saddle. It may be that he but does 
 it to tempt you into his hands." Then followed a 
 pause in which he seemed to be settling life and death 
 for Pedro of the Knife: "Yes, I shall send you back. 
 But first let me give you a new name, and furnish a 
 red baptism and the reason for it. " 
 
 There was a flash of the descending blade, and the 
 left ear of Pedro of the Knife was sheared smoothly 
 away. 
 
 " You have been Pedro of the Knife. You will now 
 be Pedro of the Ear." 
 
 The bleeding Pedro met the new pain without a 
 moan, but the sweat-drops mottled his skin. 
 
 Moonlight brought up the pony of Pedro of the 
 Knife, from the blind side-canon where it had stood, 
 hobbled and hidden, while its owner lay in mur 
 derous wait. He tossed the pinioned Pedro into the 
 saddle, as lightly and as carelessly as though he were 
 a sack of bran. 
 
 Detaining the pony by the bridle, Moonlight drove 
 the knife deep into the saddle-horn, and with a 
 sharp twist broke the brittle blade in two. Fitting 
 the two-inch remnant that remained with the knife- 
 haft into its proper sheath, he next replaced in 
 their respective scabbards the shattered rifle and 
 pistol. As he did so the brand on the pony s shoul 
 der caught his eye. It was "Cross-8." 
 
 "Tell the Red Bull I ll owe him one for that!" 
 he said, pointing to the brand. "Now you may go. 
 Should you faint before you reach the Cross-8, the 
 wolves will get you; wherefore I advise you to keep 
 both your head and your seat." 
 
 152 
 
MISSION OF PEDRO OF THE KNIFE 
 
 Moonlight turned the pony s nose down the canon. 
 
 "They ll reach the Canadian in an hour," he rumi 
 nated. "The pony knows the way, and the earless 
 one should stay in the saddle that space. Still, should 
 he roll off, it will mean no more than just a bad mouth 
 ful or two for the coyotes." 
 
 Moonlight gave his whistle and President, who 
 seemed relieved in a ponyish way to behold his mas 
 ter again on his feet, trotted up. Across the pommel 
 of the saddle, the badly directed bullet of Pedro of 
 the Knife had plowed a furrow in the leather. Moon 
 light shook his head in critical disapproval. 
 
 "It s strange," mused he, as he fitted his foot to 
 the stirrup, "that no Mexican is ever a good 
 shot." 
 
 Jeff Home and Red River Bill were sitting down 
 to antelope steaks and baking-powder biscuit when 
 Moonlight rode up. 
 
 "An at that," said Jeff, "we only beat you by half 
 an hour. We had to go round to the cottonwoods 
 an pick up our old camp." 
 
 Red River, the taciturn, tendered a bake-kettle full 
 of hot biscuit. They were of his own construction, 
 those biscuit, the same being a refreshment for which 
 he had fame. Biscuit, like gambling and dancing, 
 were among Red River s weaknesses. Tell him he 
 was a great roper or rider, or handled a six-shooter 
 like an angel, and he remained glumly indifferent. 
 Mention his biscuit for their light, white, superior sort, 
 and he straightway shone like the sun. Also, in his 
 gratitude, he would give you anything he possessed. 
 Moonlight, who believed in humoring every innocent 
 foible, spoke in warm terms of the biscuit. Likewise 
 
 153 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 of the antelope steak wherewith the attentive Jeff 
 loaded his tin plate. This put everybody in spirits. 
 
 In the midst of the feast, Red River s glance was 
 caught by the furrow across the horn of Moonlight s 
 saddle, which latter lay near him on the grass. He 
 came to a dead point on the bullet mark, like a setter 
 on a bird. 
 
 " Pedro of the Knife!" explained Moonlight tersely. 
 "He bushwhacked me in Mitchell s Arroya." 
 
 "Where s his h ar?" This expectantly. 
 
 Moonlight shook his head as indicating a paucity of 
 Mexican scalps. At this sign that Pedro of the Knife 
 still roamed the earth, Red River was on his feet in 
 a moment, his face working cloudily with anticipated 
 vengeance. 
 
 "Which I ll nacherally ride back to the Cross-8," he 
 said. 
 
 " Stay where you are, " said Moonlight. Red River 
 slowly resumed his place by the camp fire. " I marked 
 him, and sent him back with a message to Don Anton. 
 You ll find his ear in one of my warbags." 
 
 Red River drew the saddle toward him, and rum 
 maging in the bearskin warbag unpouched the grue 
 some token. This seemed to move him pleasantly; 
 the frown cleared from his face in a measure, and was 
 succeeded by a look of partial peace. 
 
 "An yet, Cap n," he said wistfully, "if you don t 
 mind none, I d a heap sooner had his skelp." 
 
 At this Moonlight laughed. 
 
 "That may come later," he responded. 
 
 There were cigarettes and silence for a space. It 
 was Moonlight who spoke; stretching himself like 
 some panther about to rest, he said lazily: 
 
 164 
 
MISSION OF PEDRO OF THE KNIFE 
 
 "I want to get an early start; we should be at the 
 Dove s Nest by noon." 
 
 The Dove s Nest was the name given the Palo Duro 
 home of Moonlight by the romantic Jeff. 
 
 "Said name bein seelected," he explained, "as 
 commem rative of the tranquillity which thar pre 
 vails thar bein no ladies. " 
 
 155 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 THE PLOTTING OF ROBERT AND DON ANTON 
 
 FOUR days had done much to subdue the temper 
 of the Canadian; the river was visibly lower. It 
 doesn t take long for water to run away where the 
 country slants seaward seven feet to the mile. The 
 current was no longer strong; the surface no longer 
 tossed and billowed. Robert was for having his teams 
 into the ford at once, but the Red Bull stopped him. 
 
 "Wait!" he said, "until we level off the river bot 
 tom. A freshet, such as we ve had, leaves it rough 
 beyond description. If it didn t bog down your 
 wagons, it would upset them." 
 
 The Cross-8 riders, four of them, brought down a 
 band of three hundred ponies from the wire pasture. 
 For the space of an hour the ponies were crossed and 
 re-crossed at the ford. Splashing and dancing, mane 
 tossing, eyes flashing with the sport of it, the wild 
 mustangs made the journey back and forth a score of 
 times. In the end the quicksand bottom was beaten 
 out as flat and as hard as a threshing floor. 
 
 The two mule-skinners brought up the wagons and 
 put them safely over, the water just touching the 
 hubs. Then came old Cato with the surrey, and 
 Ethel on Jet. The latter took to the water like a New 
 foundland, for the Canadian was not Jet s first ford. 
 At last all were safely on the north bank, and off for 
 
 156 
 
THE PLOTTING 
 
 the Bar-Z, the Red Bull, like a good neighbor, going 
 with them. The amiable Red Bull went to show the 
 way; besides, those three serving damsels drafted from 
 the Cross-8 required convoy. They were not wholly 
 in favor of their translation to the Bar-Z, and the Red 
 Bull feared a stampede. All went safely, and the sun 
 was an hour high in the west when the caravan halted 
 at the new home. 
 
 The Bar-Z was made up of a half-dozen adobe 
 buildings, including a camp-house for the riders. 
 The ranch-building proper was not unlike the Cross-8 
 structure, only smaller. The mud fireplaces, too, 
 were on the sides, instead of in the corners of the 
 rooms, which showed that an American had planned 
 it. 
 
 "Here you are!" quoth the Red Bull, waving a 
 bland hand by way of inviting admiring attention to 
 the arid desolation of the scene " here you are in the 
 center of as sweet a stretch of country as the Pan 
 handle presents!" 
 
 Aunt Tilda, to whom the remark was more particu 
 larly addressed, made no response. Her heart in 
 truth was a bit heavy as she compared the sand-blown 
 waste with its coarse vegetation to the rich banks of 
 the Chesapeake. She was no one to complain, how 
 ever; so she smiled back at the enthusiastic Red Bull 
 who, after seeing the family installed and saying a 
 few fierce words in Spanish to the three conscript 
 maid-servants, rode heavily away next morning for 
 his own beloved Cross-8. 
 
 Aunt Tilda, now when she went upon setting the 
 Bar-Z to rights, found the Professor invaluable. He 
 was her major domo. Also, true to his instincts as a 
 
 157 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 teacher, our scientist expounded every natural mys 
 tery as fast as it arose. Did a badger sourly survey 
 Aunt Tilda from its burrow in a hill to the rear, and 
 alarm her with its striped face, the wise Professor 
 made all clear. 
 
 "A solitary animal, my dear Madam!" he would 
 say. "And absolutely harmless unless seized with 
 the hands." Aunt Tilda had no thought of seizing 
 badgers with her hands. The Professor ran on. 
 
 "It is a fossorial, plantigrade, carnivorous mammal 
 of the family mustetidce, and sub-family melince." 
 
 Following which the excellent Professor would de 
 vote himself to tacking up strips of calico, to serve as 
 wainscoting for the mud-walled rooms; or to super 
 intending the sloppy energies of the Cross-8 conscript 
 maidens as they whitewashed the building inside and 
 out with native gypsum and water, which they applied 
 with a sheepskin. The good Professor declared that 
 he was never more happy. He said that he was 
 charmed with the Bar-Z, the Panhandle, the cattle 
 business and whatever thereunto appertained. It is 
 a shrewd guess, however, that he found his sunshine 
 in Aunt Tilda, and would have thought any place para 
 dise where she made her home. 
 
 The fourth day at the Bar-Z was rendered lum 
 inous by a visit from the Dona Inez, who came with 
 an armed retinue at her pony s tail. 
 
 "No," said she, explaining her escort armed to the 
 teeth, "I do not need them; but I take them. The 
 Indians are at peace, yes; but who knows! An In 
 dian is uncertain." 
 
 The Dona Inez said that Don Anton kept to his 
 room with the slashed shoulder. 
 
 158 
 
THE PLOTTING 
 
 "He makes threats, too," she said gayly. "The 
 knife was a good thing; it was needed to arouse his 
 manhood. I begin a little to love him." 
 
 The Dona Inez told of the sash-bound Pedro of the 
 Knife. 
 
 "When he came," she exclaimed, "from his broken 
 arm and from the agony of his ear, he fell out of the 
 saddle as though dead. Oh, your Senor Moonlight" 
 to Ethel "is a terrible adversary! He breaks 
 arms, and crops ears, and then sends his victims back 
 with a mouth full of insults." 
 
 Aunt Tilda and Ethel were shocked. The Dona 
 Inez, in no wise affected, went forward composedly. 
 
 "Pedro shot at him from ambush, which was good; 
 but he missed, which was bad. And so he caught 
 Pedro, and broke his arm, and cut off his ear. Then 
 he told him to call Don Anton a dog. But it will 
 not end there; Don Anton had in the padre, and 
 took a vow of vengeance." 
 
 "Of vengeance!" exclaimed Ethel. 
 
 "Why not? What is more manly than revenge?" 
 
 Robert was not greatly taken up by the cares of 
 the Bar-Z. That was well; since his ignorance would 
 have found itself helpless. The ranch was in charge 
 of Mr. Peacock, manager, and a quartette of cow 
 boys, who were so much an improvement over those 
 of the Cross-8 as to be one and all Americans. They 
 lived by themselves in the camp-house, a solitary 
 community of five, and transacted their own house 
 keeping. 
 
 There was little to do at the Bar-Z, since the 
 Canadian made the southern boundary of its range; 
 and as the cattle, however hard might blow the bliz- 
 
 159 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 zard, would not cross so wide a stream, the labor of 
 sign-camps and line-riding disappeared. At brief in 
 tervals the riders would bunch up what Bar-Z cattle 
 had collected at the river, and throw them back on the 
 pastures to the north. The two hundred head of 
 beef, which was the slender output of the Bar-Z, had 
 been sold and sent to the eastern yards the month 
 before. 
 
 Having nothing to occupy him, Robert was given 
 fullest opportunity to ponder the offensive Moon 
 light. The offensive one had planted fear in his 
 heart; and because he feared he hated him. Be 
 yond that fear and that hatred, however, the picture 
 of the gray-eyed one, as he stood, dangerous and 
 threatening before the lodge of Ironjacket, filled him 
 with vague uneasiness. The memory rode him like a 
 nightmare. 
 
 Robert, aside from talents of stealth and a native 
 preference for creeping upon an enemy, was not 
 without qualifications that belong with the detective. 
 His memory for faces was photographic, a frequent 
 ear-mark of timid souls. Robert not only recalled 
 the gray-eyed one as though the latter s portrait had 
 been etched upon his memory, but he was ghost- 
 haunted by the feeling that the face was not new to 
 him. 
 
 One day it was that luminous day of the Dona 
 Inez s visit a thought struck him. The wonder 
 and the terror of it set him a- totter on his feet. 
 Recovering, he got out an old-fashioned album chief 
 among the dear possessions of Aunt Tilda. Hurry 
 ing over those earlier leaves that showed the Professor 
 as a gay youth, the elder Alan Gordon, who had faced 
 
 160 
 
THE PLOTTING 
 
 the camera, as he would have faced an enemy, with 
 a most portentous scowl, and Aunt Tilda in curls and 
 crinoline, he went straight to the picture of young 
 Alan. It was not the first time he had seen the pic 
 ture. Often, since the death of old Alan Gordon, he 
 had pored upon it as upon the face of a rival. He 
 now gazed at it long and fixedly. There was no mis 
 take; the sudden thought that had gripped him was 
 right. Taken when the lad Alan was no older than 
 twelve, it was none the less, as plain as ink and sun 
 could make it, the picture of the gray-eyed Moonlight. 
 
 Robert drew a deep apprehensive breath. That 
 young Alan, whose return to Somerset would rob him 
 of the Gordon estate, is none other than his enemy! 
 He had come to the Panhandle to obviate the last 
 possibility of his discovery, and lo! he blunders upon 
 him! Captain Moonlight Old Tom Moonlight are 
 but aliases! The gray-eyed one is Alan, heir to old 
 Alan Gordon, and Robert s cousin ! What if he should 
 learn of the death of his father, and the fortune which 
 waits for him to claim it? What if his identity were 
 to become known to Aunt Tilda? The dread surmise 
 shakes the album in Robert s hands. And yet what 
 is more certain? certain to the point inevitable! 
 Soon or late, with no more than two days ride be 
 tween them, the fact must out. The gray-eyed one 
 himself will guess the relationship between them so 
 soon as he hears Aunt Tilda s name, and is told that 
 she has come from old Somerset! 
 
 Robert thanked his stars for the feud and the en 
 mity that had broken out between them, and served 
 to keep the Professor and Aunt Tilda from any ac 
 quaintance with the gray-eyed one. 
 
 161 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "Two minutes talk," thought Robert," with that 
 gossip-mongering Professor, and he would have learned 
 all, even if he d failed to guess it on hearing our names." 
 
 Robert knit his brows over the formulation of a 
 plan. His avarice had no intention of letting the 
 Gordon fortune slip through his fingers, without 
 making an effort to clutch and hold it fast. 
 
 He began by slipping the picture of young Alan out 
 of the album. His first impulse was to destroy it. 
 The day was cool, and a cedar fire blazed in the mud 
 fireplace. For one moment he thought of burning it. 
 Then he changed his mind, and put the picture in his 
 pocket. 
 
 As he did so, Ethel came into the room. Robert 
 closed the album and laid it unobserved upon the 
 table. 
 
 "The Dona Inez will only stay one day," said 
 Ethel. "She wants me to return with her to her 
 home. Aunt Tilda says that if I can prevail on 
 the Professor to go with us, I may accept the invita 
 tion." 
 
 Instantly, a new idea struck Robert. Don Anton 
 was as much the foe of the gray-eyed Alan as him 
 self. Why not make an ally of the young ricof 
 
 "The Cross-8?" said Robert, replying to Ethel. "I, 
 myself, shall go with you." 
 
 "We ll take the Professor, too," said Ethel. 
 
 Since the Dona Inez had spoken so surely of Rob 
 ert s love, Ethel had begun to avoid him. And at 
 that she did not altogether believe the Dona Inez, for 
 she, herself, had never been given any hint of it. Still 
 she shrunk from the lonesome twenty miles return 
 ride in his company. 
 
 162 
 
THE PLOTTING 
 
 Robert did not want the Professor. He might be 
 in the way when he got to Don Anton. Whatever 
 was resolved upon between himself and the young 
 rico must be kept hidden from Ethel and Aunt Tilda. 
 It would be better to leave the talkative Professor at 
 the Bar-Z. Besides the backward, bashful love of 
 Robert kept cheering itself with the hope that it 
 might one day be brave enough to speak. That day 
 of courage might come on this very visit to the 
 Cross-8. It made another reason for the Professor 
 remaining behind. 
 
 "Why drag the Professor along?" said Robert. 
 "Besides Aunt Tilda needs him here." 
 
 "No;" and Ethel shook her pretty head with de 
 cision "she says that now the calico is tacked up, 
 and that awful whitewashing over, she can do without 
 him." 
 
 When Aunt Tilda was sounded, she amplified the 
 statement of Ethel. She said she could do without all 
 of them. Having brought her house-settling down to 
 what might be called the finer touches, Aunt Tilda 
 for a day or two would prefer the field to herself. 
 
 "But how about your return?" said Aunt Tilda, 
 dubiously. "I m afraid of Indians." 
 
 The Dona Inez interfered; they should have her 
 armed guard. The armed guard had nothing to do 
 in life but travel up and down, a menace to trustless 
 savages. 
 
 The Professor cared nothing for the "armed guard, " 
 but Robert felt relieved. He shared Aunt Tilda s ap 
 prehensions. For the heart of Robert was a hare s 
 heart, and his tremulous courage the courage of an 
 antelope. It was settled; the trio should return to the 
 
 163 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Cross-8 with the Dona Inez, and the "armed guard" 
 should protect their journey back. 
 
 The twenty-mile run from the Bar-Z to the Cross-8, 
 with the splash through the Canadian at the finish, 
 made the delightful scramble of an afternoon. The 
 Professor and Robert had mounted themselves from 
 the Bar-Z livestock, the latter on a pony, the Profes 
 sor on a mule chosen for its air of wisdom. At one 
 crisis, as a plover flew up, the Professor halted his long- 
 eared charger to descant on that species of fowl. No 
 one stayed to listen. 
 
 "It is of the family charadriidce." His audience 
 getting further and further away, he raised his voice : 
 "Its eggs are piriform in shape drab heavily 
 blotched with brown!" Robert who was nearest was 
 now one hundred yards off. The Professor, in his 
 passion to disseminate learning, began to shout. "It 
 is distinguished by its axillars, which are ashen gray." 
 
 The Professor was quite alone now, since both his 
 companions and the plover had left him far behind. 
 Perceiving which, and the lecture being ended, he 
 stirred up Socrates for so he had named the mule 
 and came powdering along in pursuit. 
 
 Robert was much closeted with Don Anton, during 
 the stay at the Cross-8; he and that bilious young 
 grandee his shoulder in double bandages had much 
 to say to one another. The Professor, for company, 
 was driven to vibrate between the Red Bull and Cato, 
 the latter having attended the party with the surrey 
 in the role of baggage-master. Aunt Tilda had also 
 commissioned him to look after the sartorial welfare 
 of the Professor; for old Cato s genius was many sided, 
 and ran all the way from coachman to valet. 
 
 164 
 
THE PLOTTING 
 
 The Professor, strolling about, found Cato busy 
 with curry-comb and brush, putting a bottle-gloss on 
 Socrates. There was a sympathetic tenderness as he 
 rubbed the mule s sleek, mouse-colored coat. 
 
 " Socrates is a noble animal!" ejaculated the Pro 
 fessor, pausing to consider the long-eared one. 
 
 "You doan t nevah want to praise your own mule 
 or your own whiskey, Professah," said Cato, still 
 busy with comb and brush. 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "Kase, if you-all do, dar ll allers come folks aroun 
 to steal d one or borry d yuther, shore!" 
 
 "But you seem to like Socrates, Cato," said the 
 Professor. 
 
 "Yassir, I love him. He jes nacherally kicks 
 d daylight outen one of dem Mexicans a minute ago. " 
 
 The Professor was contemplating the deep, thought 
 ful eye of Socrates, and Cato s reason for loving him 
 missed fire. 
 
 "He is a magnificent beast," said the Professor, at 
 last, "or I know nothing of quadrupeds." 
 
 "He s shore a dead shot," said Cato approvingly, 
 "with that off hind hoof. He plants it on d buckle 
 of dat Mexican s belt as plumb center as you could 
 put your finger." 
 
 "Did Socrates hurt the man?" asked the Pro 
 fessor, rousing to the tenor of Cato s remarks. 
 
 " Sho, Professah ! returned Cato disgustedly ; "you- 
 all cain t hurt a Mexican. He ain t got sense enough." 
 
 "Speaking of Mexicans," observed the Professor, 
 who was fond of collecting the wisdom of Cato, "the 
 young Don Anton, with whom Robert is so suddenly 
 taken, seems a fine fellow." 
 
 165 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "I dunno, I dunno, Professah! Of co se, if young 
 Marse Robert like him, I reckon dar s some reason 
 for it. But I dunno." 
 
 "What do you mean with your eternal dunno ?" 
 
 "Well, Professah," and Cato looked up quizzically, 
 "you knows d niggahs has a sayin that you can t 
 tell nuthin about a man by d way he looks on Sun 
 day. Now I sort o allows that dis yere Don Anton, 
 seein as he s done come to d Cross-8 co tin his gal, 
 has got on his Sunday bes . So, speakin of d kin of 
 man he is, I says, says I, I dunno." 
 
 Don Anton and Robert had a final talk the morn 
 ing that the Professor and his party, guarded by the 
 "armed guard," who looked upon a close inspection 
 not a little like Falstaff s soldiery done in Mexican, 
 started back for the Bar-Z. 
 
 "Then we understand one another," said Robert. 
 The two stood alone outside the ranch-house. "I 
 shall go to Austin at once, and take out a patent to 
 the land. Once the title is in me, I ll sue out the 
 writ and bring it back to serve on him here." 
 
 " Exactly ! " cried Don Anton. " Bring the writ, and 
 I ll have Pedro of the Knife play sheriff. His arm 
 will be well, but his ear will still smart! Ah, yes, the 
 earless Pedro of the Knife will like to serve that writ! 
 He shall have with him a force; we ll make it an oc 
 casion for wiping this gringo out." 
 
 "What force will you get? Your Mexicans?" 
 
 "Yes: only I shall send with them a handful of 
 Kiowas. They will do the work as I want it done; 
 my Mexicans might fail. You need not fear!" con 
 tinued Don Anton. He noticed Robert s lip twitch, 
 and his shifty eyes begin to rove as though the pros- 
 
 166 
 
THE PLOTTING 
 
 pect frightened him. "You need not fear! Your 
 title to the land will protect you. If the people whom 
 you send to get possession overstep their instructions 
 and blood be shed, what then? That is not your fault. 
 The state must seek the murderers among the Kio- 
 was." 
 
 "Will they kill him?" asked Robert, a little husk 
 ily. He desired death for the gray-eyed one; but 
 the bald thought of it when set face to face with him, 
 was calculated to stagger. "And you think they ll 
 kill him?" he repeated mistily. 
 
 "Kill him!" and the young rico gritted out the 
 words, while his black eyes sparkled. "They will kill 
 him throughout a whole day those Kiowas! It was 
 he who slew Sun Boy, who was of this very band. 
 Kill him! They will torture him! Which" he 
 patted the bandaged shoulder tenderly "is what my 
 vengeance craves!" 
 
 167 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ROBERT S TONGUE-TIED LOVE 
 
 THE Dona Inez rode with the Bar-Z party to the ford. 
 Don Anton, in a gush of unusual condescension, would 
 have done the same, but his knife-wounded shoulder 
 declared against the rough motion of a mustang. As 
 they neared the river, the Dona Inez drew up for one 
 moment by the side of Robert. 
 
 "So you and Don Anton have pooled your hates," 
 she whispered. "Has neither the courage to follow 
 his foe alone? And yet you, as well as he, expect the 
 love of a woman!" 
 
 Robert was somewhat taken aback. He cast a 
 frightened glance at the hectoring Dona Inez. Her 
 remarks, aside from the soreness of the taunts, struck 
 him the more nervously since they fell at a moment 
 when he had Ethel most upon his slope of thought. 
 He could manage no reply. His dullness was of the 
 less consequence, however, for the sprightly Dona 
 Inez, having fired her shaft of sarcasm, spurred for 
 ward without waiting for his return. 
 
 Robert rode back to the Bar-Z, vibrating like a pen 
 dulum between hate and love thoughts of the gray- 
 eyed one and thoughts of Ethel. More than once he 
 resolved to show Ethel his heart; but each time when 
 he would have made the attempt the words refused 
 
 168 
 
ROBERT S TONGUE-TIED LOVE 
 
 to come. He would lag in the rear alone to collect 
 himself. Then when, as he imagined, he had suc 
 ceeded, he would press forward with the full purpose 
 of plunging, sink or swim, into that momentous dec 
 laration. But his heart would thump, his throat turn 
 dry and harsh, while his cheek was ice one moment 
 and fire the next. Do all he might he could make no 
 start. 
 
 This dumbness, not to say numbness, was not all 
 Robert s fault. Ethel herself was so far telepathic 
 as to half-way read his thought. Of late, and particu 
 larly since the raillery of the unconventional Dona 
 Inez, she had bestowed upon him a closer and more 
 interested attention. Not that she had any love to 
 give hirn; but what woman is without a careful curios 
 ity, when the impression begins to gather that she 
 herself is loved? 
 
 Not since the days of Eve has any woman shrunk 
 from being loved. Nor are women without a pretty 
 cruelty in coils of this blushing sort. They are like 
 your dishonest trader, willing to receive without mak 
 ing any return. For one thing, they like flattery; and 
 love is the soul of flattery. 
 
 Ethel was in warmest truth a woman. Therefore 
 she scanned Robert s face, as sailors scan the sky, to 
 discover what storms or calms of sentiment his bosom 
 caged. Even to her untaught inexperience the verity 
 of those half merry, half earnest jestings of the Dona 
 Inez began to be revealed. She had never observed 
 it before; but then she was young, and moreover, she 
 had never before searched for it. 
 
 Love is as difficult to hide as smoke ; and that Rob 
 ert had not betrayed himself sooner, not only to Ethel 
 
 169 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 but to Aunt Tilda and the Professor, speaks tomes in 
 favor of his genius for concealment. For all that 
 Ethel s eyes were being opened to it. And, being 
 opened, she found his love amusing rather than alarm 
 ing, and in its way a compliment. However, since 
 she had no mind to have him go beyond the stage of 
 compliment, she now began to put obstacles in his way. 
 It was a kind of pleasant sport at that. To avoid 
 Robert s avowal of a heart made desolate with love 
 for her, Ethel held Jet close by the sedate side of Soc 
 rates, and kept up a never-flagging talk with the Pro 
 fessor. 
 
 The latter savant was amazed, delighted! The fair 
 Ethel had never before exhibited such a thirst for 
 exact information. Commonly, she fled like quick 
 silver from his disquisitions; or, when flight would 
 have been impolite, listened with an absent, ennuied 
 air as though her wits were far away. Now she was 
 all eagerness; a ceaseless rivulet of inquiry rippled 
 from her rosebud lips. 
 
 The Professor was put upon his mettle. At her ex 
 cited request, he explained a prairie dog that squeaked 
 at them, as a " Sciuromorphic rodent, genus Cynomys, 
 species Ludovicianus," and next, being exhaustively 
 probed as to those vegetables, flourished with equally 
 long unearthly Latin terms concerning the cactus and 
 the Spanish bayonet. It was a field day for the Pro 
 fessor, who rode into the Bar-Z radiant, and took 
 prompt occasion to inform Aunt Tilda of Ethel s pre 
 ternatural appetite for learning. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear Madam," he said, "she will 
 one day eclipse Voltaire s Emilie, who spoke Latin 
 and Greek, as well as every modern tongue, and was 
 
 170 
 
ROBERT S TONGUE-TIED LOVE 
 
 besides the only soul in Europe who understood New 
 ton. When, however," added the Professor defen 
 sively "when, however, I speak of eclipsing Vol 
 taire s Emilie I would be understood as meaning only 
 in erudition; for in certain social respects the lady 
 alluded to was not I fear a happy example. 7 
 
 If Ethel s sudden hunger for scientific knowledge 
 pleased the Professor, the story ran the other way 
 with Robert. And yet, if that had been all, he 
 would have invented some method of making her 
 hear his love. But there arose another and even more 
 baffling reason why he could not speak. This latter, 
 when it broke upon him, surprised him vastly; the 
 more since, while it seemed wholly within himself, he 
 had had no hint of its existence. 
 
 It is a singular truth that a man may become 
 so well acquainted with a woman, or she with him, 
 as to put him in peril of being laughed at should 
 he turn passionately tender toward her. The man 
 and woman who were strangers yesterday may burn 
 with mutual love. They may feel it, tell it, believe 
 it, and yet be unembarrassed. Their hearts put away 
 bashfulness; their sighs brim to lips that know no 
 hesitation and overflow unchecked! All is natural, 
 and beautifully fearless! 
 
 The unhappy opposite of this freedom and unre 
 straint exists to render mute the pair who have been 
 reared together from their cradle days, and grown up 
 side by side. They can talk and tell one another of 
 everything but love ; they can be to each other every 
 thing save lovers. There is a quieter intimacy, an 
 intimacy as it were of brother and sister, that has 
 come between them to reject, with a kind of shame, 
 
 171 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the nearer intimacy of man and wife. That quieter, 
 cooler intimacy has produced a paradox, and when 
 the question makes toward orange blooms and wed 
 ding bells they are held at bay by the dampening dis 
 covery that they know each other too well. 
 
 Robert felt this element of separation rise up like 
 a wall between himself and Ethel. They had abode 
 beneath the same roof since their earliest years; and 
 now that fraternal closeness asserted itself to paralyze 
 expression of a warmer love. As has been said, the 
 knowledge was new to him; but its newness made it 
 none the less a check. 
 
 The discovery astounded, while it dismayed him 
 coming like some hateful dawn to dissipate a dear 
 est dream. For months he had held before him the 
 thought of one day telling his love to Ethel; now, 
 when the occasion and the will were his, he found him 
 self in fetters unsuspected. He was the more fretted, 
 the more angrily impatient with himself, since those 
 fetters that restrained him appeared as fetters forged 
 of his own bashfulness. 
 
 Time and again Robert called up all his resolution. 
 He bound himself and made a vow to speak. He 
 would trample that bashfulness beneath his feet! He 
 would forget himself forget Ethel forget every 
 thing but his love! Now surely he could speak. 
 
 These doughty decisions, made and unmade a score 
 of times, were one and all in vain. Those binding 
 resolutions refused to bind, and proved themselves 
 but ropes of sand that fell away as fast as they 
 were formed. At last, reluctant, shame-faced, silent, 
 inwardly raging, he fell back self-defeated. He could 
 not talk of love to Ethel. He had fought a battle 
 
 172 
 
ROBERT S TONGUE-TIED LOVE 
 
 with his own nature; he had been worsted, and his 
 defeat showed in the troubled glance, and the red 
 shadow that sat upon his brow. 
 
 These signs and signal smokes of baffled sentiment 
 went not unnoted by the sly Ethel. As she plied the 
 Professor with queries calculated to unlock his elo 
 quence, she gave Robert slantwise looks, and so got 
 ever a glimmering guess of the progress or rather the 
 lack of it he was making. Even the rapt Professor 
 might have been given some picture of the business, 
 had he not been so swept away on the profound tides 
 of his own learned settings forth of what natural mar 
 vels, botanical and zoological, fell in their path. At 
 last the Bar-Z was reached, with Robert s love un 
 said. 
 
 Ethel, being home, breathed freer. Not that she 
 had been troubled or oppressed, or indeed had found 
 her late experience other than an exhilarating albeit 
 novel form of hide and seek. Still, her soul was easier. 
 She could now lay aside the Professor for Aunt Tilda. 
 The latter would be a pleasanter refuge, a more agree 
 able defense; for, however admirable she found the 
 Professor as a shield, his wisdom had begun to pall 
 upon her. 
 
 It was the next day when Robert announced for the 
 first time the necessity of his going to Austin. He 
 gave divers reasons, and was at considerable care to 
 make them foggy and deep. They were all business 
 reasons, and all false; he never for a moment hinted 
 at his secret purpose of buying the title to that coveted 
 tract on the Palo Duro. 
 
 Aunt Tilda, who loved Robert with a mother s love, 
 was worried. Austin lay hundreds of miles away. 
 
 173 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 The difficult journey must be made by stage-coach. 
 There were road agents bank-full rivers Aunt Tilda 
 saw countless lions in the way. 
 
 " Can t you do your business by letter?" she asked. 
 
 Robert explained that it was impossible. For one 
 principal thing he had resolved to give up "Bar-Z" as 
 a cattle brand, and register a new one. That, of it 
 self, he said, required a visit to Austin. He wanted 
 to be legally ready, by the spring round-up, to mark 
 his calves with the initial letters of his own name. If 
 for nothing beyond the pride of it, he preferred "R. B." 
 to "Bar-Z." 
 
 With Aunt Tilda, who never wearied herself with 
 a too deep digging into causes, this last from Robert 
 seemed to have the force of argument, and it was 
 settled then that two days later he should start for 
 Tascosa to take the stage. 
 
 There are two conditions which a right-hearted 
 man will ever confront for himself. These be con 
 ditions of war and love. In neither do the proprieties 
 permit of a proxy. A true man, a brave man, one 
 worthy foe s feud or woman s heart, will do his own 
 fighting and his own courting, and never dream of 
 substitutes. 
 
 Robert was neither true man nor brave. Were 
 it war he would have skulked, and at the best sent 
 some one braver than himself to serve in his timid 
 stead. It being love, he followed a parallel course, 
 and resolved to enlist Aunt Tilda. 
 
 In coming to this decision he had pride enough 
 to find fault with himself. He even gave himself 
 hard names, and waxed denunciatory concerning 
 his cowardice and want of virile fiber. But here he 
 
 174 
 
ROBERT S TONGUE-TIED LOVE 
 
 spread out his hands in a self-excusing way what 
 was he to do? He had tried to speak and found him 
 self too weak. There was nothing for it but Aunt 
 Tilda. 
 
 Robert, by skillful maneuverings, got Aunt Tilda 
 alone. To his joy, those verbal difficulties which had 
 closed his lips when he would have talked with Ethel 
 vanished. Having Aunt Tilda for an auditor was a 
 helpful change; where before he had been silent 
 he became eloquent now. All his later life he had 
 gone to Aunt Tilda with his woes and needs, and this 
 doubtless was a present assistance. 
 
 Robert, not without a whimper, besought the help 
 of Aunt Tilda. He worshiped Ethel! She was 
 necessary to his happiness! He even said that he 
 could not live without her, although this was hyper 
 bole. He closed with a flood of sentiment that re 
 sulted in tears. As he wiped away the drops from his 
 cheek, he said: 
 
 "Will you speak to her while I m away?" 
 
 The request was preferred in a most pleading 
 tone. Aunt Tilda heard him without interrupting. 
 Her silence arose from a feeling of astonishment to 
 find herself thus distinguished. She had considered 
 many contingencies, but her imagination never pic 
 tured this one. Here was Robert, thrusting his love- 
 racked heart upon her as a sacred trust! Aunt Tilda 
 gasped; it was all excessively disconcerting. 
 
 Insensibly, Aunt Tilda had grown to regard Robert 
 and Ethel as her own personal children, and the 
 chance that they might one day marry had not en 
 tered her thoughts. Robert s love-confessions, there 
 fore, gave her a kind of start. She was by no means 
 
 175 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 sure for a moment that she liked the idea. Moved 
 by Robert s tears, however, Aunt Tilda suppressed 
 any first expression of disapproval. Collecting her 
 self, and molded by her love for Robert, her ready 
 nature even began to ask itself, Why not? 
 
 To be sure, in order to answer this, she had also 
 to conquer the feeling that the pair were not still in 
 their small childhood. They had grown into matur 
 ity without her becoming awake to it, and it now re 
 quired a distinct effort on her part to see that they 
 were no longer boy and girl, but man and woman. 
 Poor Aunt Tilda sighed! The realization brought 
 with it an atmosphere of sadness. 
 
 There came a long wait, in which she put and re-put 
 to herself that query: Why not? The answering re 
 flection began to cheer her. After all it might be a 
 change for the good. They would continue to live 
 with her. There would be no breaking up of house 
 hold ties. More, it would close the door on such dis 
 heartening possibilities. 
 
 Indubitably, if Robert and Ethel failed to marry 
 each other, it was not to be expected that they 
 would continue to remain mateless for the balance of 
 their days. Ethel would find a husband in some one 
 else; and he would take her away. Robert would 
 lead to church some blushing damsel, with whom 
 when the damsel was done blushing she, Aunt Tilda, 
 might not find herself in concord. Here she had a 
 vision of herself living in loneliness! This made her 
 gulp. She began to hope that Robert and Ethel 
 would wed. Yes, indeed! then would they three be 
 together. And there would come children but here 
 Aunt Tilda checked herself. It was such an absolute 
 
 176 
 
ROBERT S TONGUE-TIED LOVE 
 
 case of counting one s chickens before they were 
 hatched! 
 
 These ruminations, as they ran to and fro in Aunt 
 Tilda s head, took up no little time. During this 
 space she sat gazing at Robert somewhat wildly. 
 Her silence began to frighten him; he ceased mopping 
 away his tears to question her with his eyes. 
 
 Getting hold of her voice, Aunt Tilda began very 
 naturally. 
 
 "Why don t you ask Ethel yourself?" 
 
 Robert, with a kind of sob, shook his helpless 
 head. 
 
 "I fear to ask her," he said. 
 
 Then he told all how he had attempted to speak, 
 and couldn t. It was beyond his strength, above 
 his powers; his one hope was Aunt Tilda! 
 
 These abject avowals did nothing toward strength 
 ening Aunt Tilda s respect for Robert. 
 
 Women revere force; they like men to carry them 
 off hi the teeth of protest; their deepest admiration 
 is reserved for Sabines who wed them vi et armis. 
 Nothing is more alarming to your true woman than a 
 masculine weakness greater than her own. Once she 
 places herself at a safe distance from it, she settles 
 her feathers to a comfortable contempt for the man 
 who has frightened her with its display. 
 
 Aunt Tilda, in spite of her maternal attitude toward 
 Robert, was set on edge when he admitted that he 
 was afraid to speak to Ethel. He saw a corner of 
 her contempt sticking out, and sought to protect 
 himself with an explanation. 
 
 "It isn t fear," said he, "it s diffidence." 
 
 Aunt Tilda drew partial relief from this substitu- 
 177 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 tion of terms, although she vaguely felt that it marked 
 a distinction rather than a difference. 
 
 She and Robert settled themselves to what one 
 might describe as a passionless review of the situa 
 tion. The idea of a wedding waxed in favor with 
 Aunt Tilda. By the time they had talked ten min 
 utes, she was as ardently anxious for it as Robert 
 himself. 
 
 " Remember that it means my happiness/ pleaded 
 Robert. 
 
 The next day, as Robert was making ready for his 
 journey, something occurred to set Aunt Tilda think 
 ing. Robert must ride alone as far as the Cross-8 
 ranch, and from the plenitude of her wisdom she had 
 come out to endow him with a few cautions. From 
 the Cross-8 he would be guarded to Tascosa by those 
 swarthy janizaries, the " armed guard" of the Dona 
 Inez. As to what previous perils might lie in wait, 
 however, Aunt Tilda felt compelled to have a final 
 word. Ethel was with her to say good-bye. 
 
 Robert, who was standing by his pony, which 
 Cato had just brought up, paused, foot in stirrup, 
 to look at Ethel. 
 
 "Why not ride with me for a mile?" he asked 
 wistfully. "Cato will saddle Jet in a moment." 
 
 Robert s tone fell almost to the plaintive. Ethel s, 
 as she responded, was brightly gay. It was as if 
 one sorrowed over a coming separation while the 
 other felt relieved. Aunt Tilda, in her new enlighten 
 ment, observed this, and found therein much that 
 was unsatisfactory. 
 
 Then came worse. 
 
 "Poor Jet!" said Ethel. "I had him out yesterday, 
 178 
 
ROBERT S TONGUE-TIED LOVE 
 
 and I think he lamed himself. At any rate he came 
 in utterly fagged. I couldn t ride him to-day; it 
 would be too much for him. " 
 
 As though these cheerful prevarications were his 
 cue, and he would make profert of himself in their 
 disproof, Jet at this pinch came tearing round the 
 corner of the dobe, curveting and buck-jumping, a 
 thorough example of a pony in spirits. He ran to 
 Ethel on a theory of sugar; for it was her habit to 
 regale him with stray lumps of that confection. 
 
 This prompt refutation of Ethel s reasons for not 
 riding that mile with Robert disquieted Aunt Tilda. 
 The more, because while Robert changed color and 
 looked as though he had received a blow, Ethel, 
 unabashed, continued as merry as a lark. 
 
 "A merciful girl is merciful unto her beast!" said 
 Ethel lightly. " Isn t she, Jet?" 
 
 Jet gave a whinnying squeal. But whether the 
 squeal were a squeal of assent to Ethel s preach 
 ments on mercy, or a squeal of protest at her failure 
 to give him any sugar, did not appear. 
 
 Aunt Tilda beheld in this affair that which filled 
 her soul with distrust. The thought had never 
 taken form with her that Ethel might refuse Robert. 
 She had considered only Robert; and took some 
 what for granted the sure willingness of Ethel. 
 
 "Perhaps," thought Aunt Tilda, to whom opti 
 mism was easy, "she has already fathomed Robert s 
 feeling, and is inclined to be coy. Girls are fond of 
 coquetry, and Ethel is a girl. " 
 
 This sage solution of that contradiction which 
 Ethel s words and Jet s high-flown spirits presented 
 quieted Aunt Tilda s momentary uneasiness. But 
 
 179 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 it did not present itself to Robert, or if it did he 
 rejected it. Following an appealing glance at Aunt 
 Tilda, he rode away visibly cast down. 
 
 The Indian fears of Aunt Tilda were groundless, 
 and, with nothing more threatening than a coyote to 
 cross his path, Robert arrived in due season at the 
 Cross-8. Don Anton was still there, shoulder slowly 
 mending, rancor gathering heat. 
 
 "Do your mission to Austin/ said he, as the next 
 morning Robert made ready to go, "and return as 
 speedily as you may. All shall be ready. Our ven 
 geance must not be starved by too long a wait. " 
 
 "And those Kiowas! There will be no hitch in 
 that quarter?" 
 
 "Pedro of the Knife is already among them. 
 They will listen. His mother was a squaw of their 
 tribe. I tell you there will come no failure/ con 
 cluded Don Anton fiercely, his white teeth showing. 
 "I am sure of nothing if not of this Moonlight s 
 insolent blood. " 
 
 180 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 JEFF HORNE TURNS MINER 
 
 WHILE those sand-buried rubies were never out of 
 the mind of Moonlight, it struck him for he was 
 not without powers of self-observation as curious 
 that they always came coupled with thoughts of the 
 "Beautiful One. 7 He did not know Ethel s name, 
 and was angry with himself for being ignorant of it. 
 This darkness seemed criminal, and in atonement he 
 called her the " Beautiful One." The handkerchief 
 thrown him by the Dona Inez was the "Beautiful 
 One s"; he had seen the Dona Inez whip it from her 
 neck. There was a silk embroidered "E" in one 
 corner. What should that stand for? Plainly, it was 
 the initial of a name. And that name! was it Edith? 
 or Emily? or Eunice? or what? He could recall many 
 names that commenced with E. He wasted much 
 time over that square of dainty cloth. It seemed 
 odorous of the beautiful throat that had worn it. 
 And all the time there arose never the thought that 
 he had no right to its possession. 
 
 Once, indeed, he had said to himself that he ought 
 to have returned it. 
 
 "In that way," he argued, "I might have learned 
 her name" for he put this contemplated act of jus 
 tice on no higher ground. "Yes, if I d returned it I 
 might have found out her name. " Then, after reflec 
 tion : " But I should have lost the handkerchief. " 
 
 IS! 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Moonlight did not suspect himself of being in love 
 with the " Beautiful One." Nor was he; but the 
 ground was plowed, and another meeting would 
 have sown the seed of it. 
 
 As he gazed at the gay handkerchief and its in- 
 translatable "E," his anger with his present existence, 
 and a longing that was wonderfully like sadness 
 for something else, increased within him. As 
 though their possession would repair all, his reflec 
 tions wandered off to those inevitable rubies, hidden 
 by the monk so long ago. 
 
 It evinced the gothic character of his sensibilities, 
 that at no time did he feel shame or any modest 
 touch of it, when remembering his vainglorious strut- 
 tings and vaporings his open contempt of Robert 
 under the cottonwoods, and his subsequent swagger- 
 ings at the Cross-8 baile. So crudely of a farthest 
 heretofore was his inborn sense of every social pro 
 priety, so roughly bad had he been formed by his so 
 journ with the Kiowas, that he felt secure concerning 
 his conduct on those occasions. Also, he was well 
 content with that knife-throwing; and with the later 
 encounter, in which the bad marksmanship of Pedro 
 of the Knife cost that Mexican an ear. 
 
 All these he embraced as natural, while at the same 
 time he dismissed them as trivial. They, being slight 
 matters of inferior moment, could have no effect 
 in forming the " Beautiful One s" opinions of him. 
 She would forget them as he did. So far, however, 
 as they possessed weight with her, they should incline 
 judgment in his favor. 
 
 Thus, with unconscious savagery, flowed the rea 
 sonings of the gray-eyed one. At the bottom, how- 
 
 182 
 
JEFF HORNE TURNS MINER 
 
 ever, of his musings and dreamings, his conjecturings 
 and regrettings, lay two resolves, like two unhewn 
 stones at the bottom of a deep well. They were as 
 yet without shape, since thus far he had fashioned 
 them into no plan. He was resolved to again see the 
 " Beautiful One"; likewise, his determination had 
 become fixed to have in some fashion a try for those 
 rubies. He would be unhappy else; and he was 
 much too primal to accept grief without a struggle. 
 
 Once came a glimmer, like some forgotten ray of 
 the conventional. He wished he had not danced 
 with the Dona Inez. True, he had thought only of 
 insulting Don Anton, and letting his own hardihood 
 stand carelessly out at the young n co s expense. And 
 yet, he may have offended her the "Beautiful One/ 
 whose name began with E. This momentarily dis 
 turbed him, and made him melancholy. However, 
 as he couldn t see why it should, the feeling was pres 
 ently dismissed. His presence at the Cross-8 baile 
 was intended only as a defiance of Don Anton, whose 
 peons devastated his buffalo camp and whose cattle he 
 had lifted in reprisal. That whirling dance with the 
 Dona Inez had been superadded to his original plan, 
 by way of emphasis to that defiance. 
 
 " Surely," considered our hopeful young bar 
 barian, "the Beautiful One" whose handkerchief 
 he pressed to his lips, and whose sweet name began 
 with E "must have understood these things. Every 
 dull, unlettered maid of Mexico, at the ball that 
 night, understood. There could have been no chance, 
 then, that the Beautiful One wise, and brightened 
 by education was ignorant." 
 
 Having settled these things so as to give himself 
 183 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the most ease, he again lowered his brows to the 
 problem of those rubies. How to move that sand- 
 mountain? how to find that treasure-hiding spring 
 and bring it to the light? those were the questions 
 he proposed to himself. 
 
 One evening he turned on Jeff Home; that good 
 man and tried companion was oiling a six-shooter. 
 
 "Didn t you tell me that you were once a miner?" 
 
 Jeff looked up from the six-shooter. 
 
 "Why, I reckon I did let fly some such 
 bluff," he said. "Still, between us, I wouldn t ad 
 vise you to gamble much on what I know about 
 mining. " 
 
 "But you have worked as a miner?" 
 
 "Thar s nothing" said Jeff, laying aside the six- 
 shooter "thar s nothin I esteems so much as frank 
 ness among pards. The trooth is, Cap n, my minin 
 op rations was confined to sal tin one claim, an 
 sawin it off on a ragin an enfettered tenderfoot, 
 who d come pirootin into the boundless West to 
 spend money." 
 
 "You could drift into the bosom of a hill?" 
 
 "Shore! Any fool who saveys pick from shovel 
 could do that." 
 
 Moonlight regarded Jeff with a quizzical eye. 
 
 "Uncle Jeff," said he, after a moment, "I ve a 
 mining job for you." 
 
 At the extended title Jeff had thrown up his hands 
 with a gesture of despair. 
 
 "Which I knowed the worst was on its way, the 
 minute you says Uncle Jeff. The only other time 
 you ever honors me in that manner, was when I was 
 preevailed on to ford the Pecos, doorin the Joone 
 
 184 
 
JEFF HORNE TURNS MINER 
 
 rise; an I comes within an ace of drowning. But, go 
 on!" The last, desperately. 
 
 "This isn t going to kill you," laughed Moonlight; 
 "and there should be a fortune in it for all of us 
 you and Red River, as well as myself." 
 
 "Proceed!" observed Jeff, heroically. "Thar s 
 nothin so gilds toil as riches. Besides" and here 
 his manner became apologetic "I m not one of 
 them effete ristocrats who holds that manyooal labor 
 is degradin . No, sir, not me; I only claims it s dis- 
 gustin which is a heap worse." 
 
 Moonlight, disregarding the observations of his 
 companion concerning labor, gave him an inkling 
 of what was in his mind. He said nothing definite 
 about rubies or treasure of any sort. The plan was 
 this: Jeff must employ a half dozen Mexicans 
 they might be picked up in Tascosa. Then, with 
 their aid, he was to tunnel the sand-mountain, follow 
 ing as his guide the thin stream that flowed from 
 the buried spring. It would take time, doubtless; 
 for not only would the tunneling move slowly, and 
 still more slowly, the farther he drifted into the hill, 
 but the tunnel must be "timbered" to keep it from 
 caving in. 
 
 "My notion," explained Moonlight, "is that you 
 will need five Mexicans; two to dig and wheel out 
 the sand; two to chop and fashion the timbers to 
 secure the tunnel; and a fifth to keep camp and 
 cook for you." 
 
 "An me, personal?" demanded Jeff, with a look of 
 concern. 
 
 "You re to superintend the Mexicans." 
 
 "Good scheme!" exclaimed Jeff, in evident relief. 
 185 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "All I has to do then is keep them Castilians 
 digging an 7 bend an occasional but stimyoolatin 
 gun over their heads, by way of cheerin on the 
 work?" 
 
 "That s the programme. Meanwhile, Red River 
 and I will stick close to the buffaloes, killing and 
 skinning, to earn the money to keep you and your 
 Mexicans going." 
 
 "Well," said Jeff, after a pause, "I sees nothin 
 in the prospect that a proud an 7 haughty paleface 
 need shrink from. When do you-all allow I d better 
 round-up them pleebians, an plunge into this yere 
 enterprise?" 
 
 "At once! We ll go over and take a look at the 
 sand-mountain to-morrow; you ll then get a clearer 
 notion of what s to be done." 
 
 Jeff Home went down to Tascosa, and, by a stran 
 gest of best fortunes, picked up a wheelbarrow and 
 two shovels. They were in the possession of Kimball 
 the blacksmith. That artisan explained the mystery 
 of their presence in the Panhandle, by telling how 
 they arrived with a stray Irishman, who considered 
 them his lares and penates. Getting his bearings, 
 however, he abandoned them in favor of the strange 
 gods which belonged with the region, and in the last 
 of it had been drawn into joining a cow-outfit where, 
 having a genius for the culinary, he was made cook. 
 The shovels and wheelbarrow had become the goods 
 and chattels of Blacksmith Kimball by right of pur 
 chase, he having given a pair of red blankets for them. 
 He sold them to Jeff, who augmented the outfit with 
 a pair of chopping axes from Howard s store. 
 
 Later, by keeping a careful eye on the monte tables 
 186 
 
JEFF HORNE TURNS MINER 
 
 which abounded in Tascosa, Jeff enlisted the services 
 of five Mexicans whom the games had bankrupted. 
 
 "What are you going to set them at?" asked 
 Blacksmith Kimball, who was a gossip. 
 
 "Which I m goin to set them to diggin down an 
 offensive sand-hill/ returned Jeff. 
 
 "They won t stay with you," said Blacksmith 
 Kimball, for he had no faith in the stability of the 
 Mexican character. "They ll quit with the first 
 blister on their hands." 
 
 Jeff thought not. He had schemes for retaining the 
 affections of that quintette. For one thing he would 
 not pay them until the digging was over with and 
 done. Also, he proposed to inaugurate a reign of 
 terror, and hold them loyally to their tasks through 
 the controlling power of fear. 
 
 "An as a last resort," explained Jeff, "I ll nacher- 
 ally fall back on my faithful old buffalo gun. The 
 first one of them greasers that really tries to quit, 
 will shore quit in the smoke; an , from what I ve 
 seen of Mexicans, I don t reckon as how I ll have to 
 bump off more n one, before the balance 11 begin to 
 see things in their troo light. " 
 
 Blacksmith Kimball nodded approval; the system 
 outlined by Jeff should without doubt accomplish 
 much. The pair went over to the dance hall, and 
 drank to each other s health. 
 
 The Mexicans, in disproof of the slanderous appre 
 hensions of Jeff and Blacksmith Kimball, behaved 
 extremely well for Mexicans. The sand was easy to 
 dig, for one encouraging matter, and that was fortu 
 nate. Under the compelling thumb of Jeff the bur 
 rowing began; at the end of a week the hill had been 
 
 187 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 pierced to a distance of one hundred feet. As nearly 
 as might be guessed, it would require three months 
 to reach the spring. The deeper the drift, the longer 
 it would take to wheel out the sand; and that had to 
 be considered in making a calculation. 
 
 As fast as the tunnel was pushed forward, the 
 sides and roof were " timbered" with split pine slabs, 
 cut from the side of the monk s hill. There arose a 
 single trouble: the sand, being as fine and as dry as 
 snuff, would seek out every crack and crevice between 
 the slabs to come sifting through. This made tedious 
 work of the timbering, since the joints must be as 
 tight as though meant to hold water, in order to keep 
 back the sand, which else would stream in to fill the 
 tunnel. 
 
 Moonlight remained with Jeff a day or two at the 
 start. He was mightily cheered by the rapidity with 
 which the work was driven forward, and the deft ac 
 curacy of Jeff s engineering for the latter followed 
 the little stream of water into the sandy labyrinth of 
 the hill, as surely as ever Theseus followed Ariadne s 
 clue of silk. 
 
 Being satisfied on the score of Jeff and his moiling 
 Mexicans, Moonlight made ready to return to the 
 Dove s Nest. He would visit Jeff from time to time 
 to note how the work came on. Meanwhile, the robe- 
 hunting season was in full blast; there were buffaloes 
 that must be killed. 
 
 " Suppose some of them Cross-8 people come nosin 
 round?" questioned Jeff, as Moonlight was about 
 to ride away. 
 
 " You ve got your Sharp s and your six-shooters. 
 Stand them off!" 
 
 188 
 
JEFF HORNE TURNS MINER 
 
 Jeff received these instructions with a serene face; 
 they appeared to dovetail with his inclinations. What 
 he said might indicate as much. 
 
 " Right you be!" he exclaimed. "Your orders, 
 Cap n, are in strict line with what I d have suggested 
 myse f. Which/ he concluded, with the manner of 
 one who pays himself a compliment, "is only another 
 an most convincin proof of how great minds allers 
 thinks alike. " 
 
 The buffaloes came drifting slowly in from the 
 northern pastures in vast droves, and Moonlight and 
 Red River were kept busy from dawn till dark. It is 
 no light task to kill and skin thirty buffaloes thirty 
 was the number to which they limited themselves 
 as being a fair day s work. Besides, they must peg 
 out and scrape the hides for curing. 
 
 The killing grounds, an hour s ride from the Dove s 
 Nest, were the gentle eastern slope of a low hill. 
 The hill offered a natural bed-ground for the buffaloes, 
 and each morning one was sure of finding there a 
 hundred or more of old full-robed bulls, luxuriating 
 in the first rays of the morning sun as they dried the 
 frost from their shaggy backs. The killing of the 
 day before in no wise seemed to warn them. Every 
 morning saw the hill a slaughtering ground; that 
 evening a fresh contingent, unalarmed, would come 
 drifting in and choose it for a resting place. Moon 
 light was given no unusual work; he bowled over his 
 daily thirty and might have made it three hundred 
 had he cared to without stirring from his tracks. 
 After the first bull was down, it was the merest case 
 of load and fire, as fast as cartridges could be snapped 
 into the rifle and the rifle brought to the shoulder. 
 
 189 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 When thirty were stretched, Red River drove 
 out from the Dove s Nest in a big wagon; the buf 
 faloes were skinned, and the robes carted back to 
 the camp. Then came the pegging out and scraping; 
 for the drying grounds lay close under the lee of the 
 Dove s Nest, there being coyotes and Indians and 
 Mexicans all thievish perils in the order named 
 from whose larcenies the robes must be defended. 
 There were the hide-bugs, too ; but a sprinkling of 
 poisoned water did for them just what a sprinkling of 
 rifle bullets was expected to do for the others. 
 
 Three weeks, replete of rifle smoke and buffalo 
 robes, went by at the Dove s Nest, and Moonlight 
 and the indefatigable Red River had stretched, cured 
 and piled up six hundred robes. 
 
 "At least three thousand dollars worth," was the 
 comment of Moonlight, as he considered the harvest. 
 "I shall leave you" this to Red River "to bale 
 them up, while I ride down to the Dobe Walls, and 
 arrange their sale. It s about time that Uncle Jeff 
 encouraged his Mexicans with a pay-day. " 
 
 Moonlight stopped one night with Jeff, at his 
 camp by the monk s hill. That sterling man was 
 having unusual worry, because of the sand sifting 
 through the timbering of his tunnel. Upon that very 
 day, one of his Mexicans had carelessly struck an up 
 right with his shovel. He knocked it loose, and the 
 dry, snuff-like sand, fine as flour, came pouring in 
 through the opened crack. It was the work of the 
 afternoon to repair damages and wheel out the in- 
 rushing sand. By dark, however, Jeff, with his assist 
 ants, had restored the situation to what he termed 
 "normal." 
 
 190 
 
JEFF HORNE TURNS MINER 
 
 "Also," he added, as he recounted the mishap, 
 "I d have shore massacred that Mexican, only he s 
 by nacher so plumb industrious that I hated to lose 
 him. As it was I repressed my passions, merely 
 p intin out how all that yereafter lay between his 
 skelp an my bowie knife was him not doin it ag in." 
 
 Moonlight, two days later, rode President in to the 
 Dobe Walls. The latter picket post of civilization 
 consisted of a blacksmith shop, a barroom, and a great 
 outfitting store all of sun-dried bricks. 
 
 In the hour following his arrival, Moonlight man 
 aged the disposal of those three thousand robes, and 
 Merchant Wright their purchaser who kept the 
 outfitting store, had given orders to his mule-skinners 
 to hook up their teams and bring them in. 
 
 "Only you needn t bring em here," said he. 
 "When you ve got them into your wagons, head 
 straight for Dodge. I ll take the word of Old Tom 
 Moonlight for the count." 
 
 Our young friend, thus complimented, could do no 
 less than show his appreciation in strong waters all 
 round. 
 
 While Moonlight stood at the rum-sloppy counter 
 with Mr. Wright, drinking, and considering buffaloes 
 in every tense, past, present and future, a young cow- 
 puncher, leggings rustling, spurs jingling, approached. 
 He had been sitting to the rear, and it was a word 
 from the barkeeper that started him. As he came 
 up, those features most to be noticed in him were a 
 lean, pleasant face and a rumpled letter, which latter 
 he bore in his hand. 
 
 "Hanrahan says that you re my man," he re 
 marked. "An I was plenty pleased to hear it, 
 
 191 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 cause it saves me three days ride. It s from Frosty, " 
 
 he concluded, putting the letter into Moonlight s 
 
 fingers. 
 
 Moonlight looked at the superscription. It read : 
 "Old Tom Moonlight, Dove s Nest on the Palo 
 
 Duro, via Dobe Walls, Tascosa and the Cross-8." 
 "I guess it s mine," he said, and tore it open. 
 
 The letter ran thus : 
 
 Dere frend: 
 
 This leaves me feelin gay an trusts to findin you likewise. 
 I m in Austin turnin farobank for the statesmen. I ve been here 
 three days, an have already caught the Attorney Gen ral for a 
 thousand. I m now ropin at the State Treasurer, an if I tie 
 him down I expect to own Texas by the time I m again on the 
 Canadian. However, this ain t what I went trackin out to tell. 
 
 You remember the young tenderfoot who was pervadin round 
 the Cross-8 on the day of the steer-thro win ? He s the maverick 
 who bought the Bar-Z outfit. Well, the story s too long, but 
 he s now in Austin with a scheme to do you up. The Register 
 at the Land Office told me about it he d just called the turn 
 for the limit, an was feelin friendly. He says this party has 
 took out a patent bought the title, you understand to the 
 section on which the Dove s Nest stands. That not only gives 
 him your camp, but every spring an water-hole for an hour s ride 
 around. 
 
 He s also staked a law-wolf, an the two of em s got a paper 
 from the court the judge is a pard of mine, an plumb locoed 
 to play monte an he s now p intin out to stampede you off the 
 Palo Duro. 
 
 I ll say no more, as I m offerin two to one, an go as far as they 
 like, that when you get this you ll savey what to do. I send 
 per hand of Joe Gatlin of the Frying Pan Ranch, who belongs 
 up your way. The hoss-thief tenderfoot, bearin said papers, 
 will be comin up on the next stage after this reaches you. What 
 better should you want than that? To me it looks like a push 
 over. Yours trooly, 
 
 FROSTY. 
 
 P. S. Things is down to a fine pass, if stray tenderfeet can 
 come squanderin into Texas unrebooked, to play the law on us. 
 If that s the freedom for which our fathers fought and bled, 
 I for one am ready to turn my box up, cash what chips is out, 
 an quit. F. 
 
 192 
 
JEFF HORNE TURNS MINER 
 
 Moonlight read and re-read Frosty s singular letter; 
 at the second reading a look, grim and set, began 
 to mantle his face. He put a question to Mr. Wright. 
 
 "When is the next stage due from the East?" 
 
 "It ain t a reg lar stage-coach," Mr. Wright ex 
 plained; "it s a buckboard two mules. It belongs 
 to Scotty who s got the mail contract, but Locoed 
 Charlie drives it. It goes once a week. When will it 
 be in? Bar accidents, it s due to-morrow noon. 
 What s the matter? Somebody you want to see com 
 ing up?" 
 
 "Yes; somebody I want to see very much." 
 There was a dangerous dry ness in the tone. "I 
 think I ll ride out a mile or so and meet him. How 
 ever, that s not until to-morrow. Meanwhile, let s 
 go over to your store. There will be five thousand 
 rounds of 50-caliber Sharp s cartridges to go out to 
 the Dove s Nest with your mule teams, besides one 
 thousand rounds of Colt s-45s." 
 
 193 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE RESCUE IN THE SNOW 
 
 THE next morning about ten by Mr. Hanrahan s 
 barroom clock, or as that merchant in rum would 
 have phrased it, "at fourth drink time," Moonlight 
 mounted President and turned his nose toward the 
 East. That incoming buckboard, according, to the 
 veracious Frosty, should carry Robert Robert, who 
 was coming to drive him from the Dove s Nest! It 
 was Robert whom Moonlight wanted to meet. 
 
 To one who, like himself, made an aggressive 
 specialty of force, the situation was simple enough. 
 Robert was his enemy by choice, seeking his harm 
 in sly, unmanly ways. That Robert had the law on 
 his side in no wise improved his position, but made it 
 worse. The sentiment of the Panhandle sustained 
 only the strong hand. The law was a trap a gin 
 a snare, resorted to only by weak, scheming, criminal 
 men, who possessed a vicious willingness to filch the 
 goods of their neighbors, while wanting the stark 
 hardihood to go personally about the villainy. By 
 every custom of the region the Dove s Nest was his. 
 To skulk to Austin and patent the title in himself was, 
 on Robert s part, the trick of a caitiff. In its way, 
 too, it was a tacit declaration of war. He, therefore, 
 should not hesitate to confront the situation as be 
 came a man. He would shoot down Robert, or any 
 
 194 
 
THE RESCUE IN THE SNOW 
 
 who stood in that wrongdoer s place, in defense of 
 what were his rights. That one who would claim the 
 Dove s Nest must come armed with something besides 
 mere law. It would take more than a paper, bearing 
 the seal of the land office, to wrest it from him. He 
 was grateful for Frosty s warning. It came pat to the 
 occasion. He could now deal with the invasion half 
 way, and sharply settle the Dove s Nest ownership. 
 
 In brief the lowering determination of Moonlight 
 was to stop the buckboard, and charge Robert with 
 the treacherous enterprise that had taken him to 
 Austin and was now bringing him back. The casus 
 belli being outlined so that the whole world, includ 
 ing Locoed Charlie, would understand, Robert must 
 fight. It should be war to the death. There should 
 come a sure adjustment of the controversy. If he fell, 
 Robert s path to the Dove s Nest would lie compara 
 tively open. Were the fortunes of war to declare 
 otherwise, then this hopeful scoundrel now coming up 
 the trail would be too dead to press his claims. It 
 was the old-time trial by battle, and Moonlight re 
 verted to it as readily and as naturally as though he 
 were living in the thirteenth century. The only dif 
 ference would be a difference in weapons; it should 
 be six-shooters instead of swords, knives instead of 
 battle axes. But, since arms would be equal in the 
 hands of each, this improving modern difference didn t 
 count. These were Moonlight s ruminations as he 
 paced slowly eastward in quest of his enemy or 
 should one say his prey? 
 
 About two miles out from the Dobe Walls grew a 
 clump of plum bushes. Moonlight would wait there. 
 The buckboard should be along now in half an hour. 
 
 195 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 To the south, a half mile away, a ragged rank of 
 cottonwoods marked the course of the Canadian. 
 To the east, for a distance of three miles, the trail 
 proper lay open to the eye. Moonlight, in savage 
 wait by the clump of plum bushes, would foresee 
 the advent of the buckboard by fifteen minutes. As 
 he stepped from the saddle, and loosened the bridle 
 of President by way of permission to crop the grass, 
 he ran his gaze along that three-mile yellow thread 
 of trail. There was no moving thing in sight; the 
 looked-for buckboard was still a creature of the future. 
 
 He let his mind rest casually on Locoed Charlie. 
 He could have wished it had been Scotty himself, 
 rather than his half-witted assistant. He wanted 
 the impending war and its causes to be hereafter 
 thoroughly understood by the Panhandle public; 
 and he rightly feared that Locoed Charlie did not 
 own enough intelligence to grasp the story. For all 
 that he would go on: he was not to be balked because 
 of the brainless sort of Locoed Charlie, and the Pan 
 handle public, as it later gathered the details, would 
 have to take the risk. 
 
 Gloomy, hard as iron, with never a relenting doubt 
 to stay his hand, Moonlight waited by the plum bushes, 
 his soul set on blood. He did not think once on the 
 "Beautiful One/ 7 or consider what might be her feel 
 ings. Doubtless, Robert was in some sort near to her. 
 Still, life in all its phases, was only one grand risk, and 
 the "Beautiful One" for either joy or grief, was not 
 exempt from the common chances of existence. The 
 "Beautiful One" might be plunged in black mourning 
 as the result of what he was so bloodily about! He 
 never considered that, nor would it have held him if 
 
 196 
 
THE RESCUE IN THE SNOW 
 
 he had. It was Robert who should have thought on 
 those things. That scoundrel should have protected 
 the sensibilities of the "Beautiful One" assuming 
 that she might care by a frank, honorable, manly 
 course of life. Those women folk that belonged with 
 malefactors who would skulk to Austin to steal the 
 house over a neighbor s head, lay, in all chance, wide 
 open to grief. That, however, was the fault of the 
 skulking one. Those at whom he aimed his wicked 
 ness should not sit quiet for that reason. Thus read 
 Panhandle doctrine; and thus would have coursed 
 the reflections of the sullen Moonlight had the con 
 tingency quoted occurred which it didn t to his 
 mind. 
 
 The somber resolution visible in Moonlight s face, 
 while he paused by those plum bushes, was only 
 once relieved. The ghost of a smile chased across 
 it to be gone in a moment; that was when his rumina 
 tions glanced for an instant on Jeff Home and Red 
 River BiU. 
 
 "If he should win over me," thought Moonlight 
 who possessed not a least intention of losing 
 "if he should win over me, I wish him joy of Red 
 River and Uncle Jeff. Even with me gone, there 
 would be blood on the Dove s Nest threshold and 
 worse inside, before ever he took possession." 
 
 The day, for so late in the season, had been still 
 and warm. Suddenly, a chill puff of wind struck 
 Moonlight s cheek like ice. The puff came from the 
 north. He looked quickly in that direction; a band 
 of cloud, black as ink, belted the northern horizon. 
 Aside from this cloudy strip of blackness the sky was 
 as clear as a bell, with the sun beating vertically down. 
 
 197 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 There came a second icy puff; it was doubly chill by 
 contrast with the warm dullness of the day. He kept 
 his eye on the black strip to the north, which now be 
 gan racing up the sky with the swiftness of a drawn 
 curtain. 
 
 President came up nickering, ears pointed in 
 quisitively. 
 
 "It s a norther sure enough, old boy," remarked 
 Moonlight, as he readjusted the bridle. "But we ve 
 seen other blizzards in our time, and this bunch 
 of plum bushes will stand our friend." 
 
 He glanced along the dusty yellow streak of trail. 
 Excellent! There was what he sought the buck- 
 board just pushing into view, its lethargic mules 
 at a sleepy trot. Even at a distance of three miles 
 he made out two persons, no more. 
 
 "Two!" said he to himself. "The man I m after 
 is the only passenger." 
 
 While his eyes were following the approaching 
 buckboard, the wind came in stronger puffs and 
 there fell a flurry of snowflakes. The snowflakes 
 were the white skirmish line thrown out by the on- 
 rushing norther, each as large and clinging as a pinch 
 of wool. More flakes, and faster; with the wind on 
 the increase. Moonlight took another look at the 
 far-off buckboard; he could just make it out, a dim 
 spot in the whirling, drifting whiteness of the storm. 
 While his eyes were upon it, the snow thickened and 
 shut it out. 
 
 The wild snow now came down in a cloud of cling 
 ing whiteness. The grass about the plum bushes 
 was covered as with a blanket. The blanket grew 
 visibly deeper one inch, two inches, three! Moon- 
 
 198 
 
THE RESCUE IN THE SNOW 
 
 light led President close against the leeward side of 
 the clump of bushes, into which that profound beast 
 ground and pushed his way to save himself from the 
 drifting snow. 
 
 "This is the thickest I ve ever seen it come down," 
 was the mental comment of Moonlight. 
 
 The wind rose, and with it the cold! It was arctic, 
 that cold a thermometer, had one hung in those 
 plum bushes, would have registered a fall of fifty 
 points. 
 
 "I hope those buckboard mules," he muttered, 
 "will be able to hold the trail. The storm is a trifle 
 in their front, which is bad. However, they can t 
 drift far to one side; the river and that fringe of 
 cottonwoods will stop them." 
 
 There came a loud, astonished snort. He peered 
 forth through the thick, dancing flakes. Dimly 
 he made out the unwieldy bulk of a giant buffalo 
 bull, who had headed for the shelter of the plum 
 bushes, and was now greatly disconcerted to find 
 them occupied by others. With the storm and the 
 flakes that clung to his shaggy frontlet and blinded 
 him, the buffalo bull might have mistaken Moonlight 
 and President for members of his herd. But the wind 
 brought him an enlightening whiff, and with a pro 
 digious final snort he trotted off toward the river. 
 
 Five minutes, ten, fifteen, a half hour went by ! the 
 wind and the snow continued. Moonlight stepped 
 into the open, and found the drift piled midway to 
 his knee. 
 
 "And yet they ought to make it!" he considered, 
 turning his flake-blinded eyes in the direction of the 
 hidden buckboard. "We could settle the question 
 
 199 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 of the Dove s Nest in a blizzard as readily as though 
 the sun were shining. We d only have to go a little 
 closer." 
 
 An hour passed, and never a creaking sign of the 
 buckboard, although Moonlight kept his ear on the 
 strain. He looked at President doubtfully; the big 
 bay pony was wrapped in a coat of white. At last, 
 with the manner of a man whose decision is made, he 
 led President out of the bushes. Brushing the snow 
 from the deep saddle he mounted. 
 
 "We ll have to go after them," he said to Presi 
 dent. "From the looks of things they re stalled. 
 To let him freeze would be one way; but it s not 
 the way I want this man to die. " 
 
 President gave a plunge as he felt the unusual 
 spur. Then off through the blinding, blocking tum 
 ble of drifts went man and pony. Sometimes the 
 snow was girth deep, but they broke through. The 
 snow and the wind whipped them, but they pressed 
 on. They were in all things a match for the storm 
 this man and horse, framed of blood and fire and iron! 
 
 Moonlight had to feel his way. He guided himself 
 somewhat by the storm, which he kept to his left. 
 The lay of the land helped him, for it sloped gently 
 upward to the north side of the trail. Still, in such 
 a tempest, thick and white and freezing, it would have 
 been easy to miss so small a thing as the buckboard. 
 He might go within a rod of it and never be the wiser. 
 
 President, not he, discovered it at last. Of a sud 
 den, President pulled up and fronted to the north. 
 The snow whipped into his eyes; but he stood fac 
 ing it none the less firmly, pawing with one fore- 
 hoof, and tossing his head. 
 
THE RESCUE IN THE SNOW 
 
 "Ah, old boy! you smell them!" cried Moonlight. 
 
 He urged President to advance in the teeth of the 
 blast. They made progress, foot by foot, head down 
 to escape the snow as much as might be. They hadn t 
 far to go; the buckboard was not one hundred feet 
 away when the keen nose of President gave notice. 
 It was just as well it did; a moment later and the 
 buckboard would have been left hopelessly behind. 
 
 The buckboard mules were standing, noses lowered, 
 trace-deep in the snow, Locoed Charlie and Robert 
 motionless in the single seat. The reins, and the 
 long shotted mule whip were still in Locoed Charlie s 
 ringers. The whole made a bulky mound of snow; 
 for the drift reached half way to the mules backs, 
 and fell across and overflowed the side of the buck- 
 board, covering the knees and the laps of the 
 men. 
 
 Moonlight, President bounding and buck-jumping 
 in the snow depths, rode round to the side of Locoed 
 Charlie. He leaned from the saddle and shook him 
 by the arm. Between snow flurries, he struck him 
 and shouted in his ear. It was labor thrown away; 
 Locoed Charlie and Robert were in the first dull 
 sleep of death by freezing, and the only response to 
 the shoutings and the shakings was a murmur of quer 
 ulous protest by Locoed Charlie at having his dreams 
 disturbed. 
 
 Moonlight reached out and took the heavy lead- 
 filled whip from the benumbed hand of Locoed Charlie. 
 Reining President back on his hocks, to get the 
 distance, he sent the lash biting like the point of a 
 knife into the sides and flanks of the snow-buried 
 mules. There was more life in the mules than in 
 
 201 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the men. The cruel lash, cracking like a pistol 
 and taking off a piece of hide as big as a two-bit 
 piece with every stroke, woke up the team as with 
 a coal of fire. They made a scrambling start, and 
 began to move. 
 
 Once free of the drift that had formed about them, 
 the mules did better. Warmed by exercise, and 
 maddened into highest life by the inveterate lash, 
 they did better still. That thunderbolt of a man on 
 the thunderbolt of a pony was so much more terrible 
 than the storm, that the mules, afire from the pistol- 
 cracking lash, forgot snow and wind, and fled before 
 Moonlight at a gallop. 
 
 Sure of the mules, Moonlight fell back and, with 
 energy scarcely modified, sent the lash curling about 
 the half -frozen forms of Robert and Locoed Charlie. 
 They proved duller cattle than the mules; but he 
 stirred them. Locoed Charlie was the first to come 
 around, and he cursed feebly as the lash fell across 
 his shoulders like a live wire. At this, Moonlight 
 returned upon the profane Charlie ten curses for 
 his one, and fairly slashed the coats from the backs 
 of both Robert and him. It was fierce work. He 
 would charge forward and pour a storm of leather 
 into the mules; then he would fall back and cut up 
 Robert and Locoed Charlie as though they were a 
 pair of convicts. 
 
 The most wonderful thing was that the flying 
 mules never varied a rod to left or right of the trail. 
 They were full four miles from the Dobe Walls 
 when the lashing Moonlight unlocked them from 
 that death-trance. Once started, he sent them over 
 those four miles rather faster than the fat, lazy 
 
 202 
 
THE RESCUE IN THE SNOW 
 
 mules were wont to cover it even in the best of 
 weather. 
 
 Up through the swirl of the storm rose the black 
 loom of the big outfitting store. Moonlight saw it, 
 and launched a broadside of leather at mules and 
 men by way of valedictory. He brought them 
 into the Dobe Walls, reeling and plunging, reins 
 under the galloping hoofs of the mules the mules 
 themselves a-drip with blood and perspiration^ the 
 men bruised and stung and cut to tatters. 
 
 Like one acknowledging defeat, the blizzard now 
 began to abate. As the buckboard came to a halt in 
 front of Mr. Hanrahan s saloon, the winds fell, the 
 snow ceased, the air cleared, while the sun burst forth 
 in a flood of brightness and showed the beaten storm 
 in full retreat to the south. 
 
 Aunt Tilda, in her new responsibility as Robert s 
 love-deputy, did not find her task a graceful one. 
 It was less pleasant to speak to Ethel than she had 
 supposed it would be. She was beginning to feel for 
 one thing far from sure that Robert s proffer of a 
 heart would be generously received. Those doubts 
 which were aroused by Ethel s mendacious avoidance 
 of Robert s request to bear him company for a short 
 mile that day he left for Austin, had returned with 
 double force. Her kindness had explained them 
 away at the time by an argument of girlish coyness 
 on Ethel s part. Aunt Tilda s earliest theory was 
 that Ethel had refused to ride with Robert in a spirit 
 of teasing coquetry. 
 
 But the subsequent jocund conduct of that baffling 
 damsel did not bear out this assumption of coyness. 
 
 203 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 By every law of love, as remembered by Aunt Tilda, 
 Ethel, following Robert s departure, should have 
 moped and gloomed. That is she should have 
 gloomed and moped, assuming for her a tenderness 
 toward the departed one. Ethel did nothing of 
 that dull and mournful sort. Her face was wreathed 
 with all the smiles of May. She went joyously up 
 and down, a laugh on her lips and a song in her 
 throat. In the most shameless fashion, too, she 
 had had the saddle on Jet before Robert was gone 
 an hour, and the headlong manner in which she 
 sent that ambitious mustang skurrying across the 
 landscape rendered the story of her having wearied 
 him to a panting standstill the day before an abject 
 farce. All these symptoms were considered by Aunt 
 Tilda, and in no one of them could she discern hope 
 for Robert. 
 
 In her troubles she took counsel with the Professor. 
 
 "It will break Robert s heart," she concluded, "if 
 Ethel should not return his love. Really, he wept 
 as he spoke of her." 
 
 The good Professor found himself in a dilemma, 
 out of which he crawled as best he might. He could 
 pretend to no impressions concerning Ethel s love or 
 lack of it for Robert. He was scientific, and had been 
 thinking on other things. Now that the business was 
 mentioned, however, he could not dodge the hope 
 that Ethel despised Robert, as he did. For he held 
 her, with her heart of gold and that wisdom which had 
 so lately bewildered him, as much too good for Robert. 
 
 "The boy s not worthy of her!" thought the Pro 
 fessor, while Aunt Tilda talked. "He isn t fit to 
 touch her fingers, for all he s half a Gordon ! It would 
 
 204 
 
THE RESCUE IN THE SNOW 
 
 be a manifest wrong to waste so brilliant a mind on 
 such a palterer." 
 
 The Professor would have perished where he stood 
 rather than give Aunt Tilda a guess at these views. 
 He was too careful of her feelings for that. She loved 
 Robert, if Ethel did not, and the Professor wouldn t 
 have wounded that love for the world. Moreover, 
 he had his own standing with Aunt Tilda to think 
 about. 
 
 Being wily in an old-school, gentlemanly way, the 
 Professor went to one side, and lectured on tears. Aunt 
 Tilda had said that Robert wept ; the wary Professor, 
 seeking to avoid the issue of Ethel s love, took those 
 lamentations as his text. Tears proved nothing, he 
 said, when one undertook to measure feeling. Tears 
 were a matter of temperament. The deepest grief 
 was oft times dry of eye. Also, the Professor had 
 known grief to be a question of digestion; tears might 
 find their sources in cheese or suet pudding. 
 
 "Beyond that, my dear Madam," quoth the Pro 
 fessor, "I myself attach but little instructive impor 
 tance to tears. They prove nothing but themselves. 
 For, even granting them an origin above mince pies 
 and cheese, they are generally the result of selfishness. 
 Folk weep at a grave, not for the dead but for them 
 selves. It is their loss, not his, which they mourn." 
 
 Aunt Tilda listened in sincere impatience to the 
 word-ramblings of the astute Professor. She said 
 they were beside the point, and in nowise met her 
 question. She must tell Ethel of Robert s love; she 
 had asked the Professor how to set about it. And 
 all she received in response was a lecture on digestion, 
 and the grievous possibilities that rankled in pies and 
 
 205 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 puddings, to close with a dissertation on the hypocrisy 
 of graveyard tears. She thought the Professor dis 
 ingenuous, and was surprised by it. Perhaps he did 
 not care to talk on love, as a topic trivial and beneath 
 him! 
 
 The Professor cast upon Aunt Tilda a shy, wistful 
 look. 
 
 "Talk on love, my dear Madam!" he cried, while 
 his cheek flushed like a boy s. "Now there is one 
 love I could talk on forever! one heart that I should 
 like to put in your charge through all eternity!" 
 
 It was Aunt Tilda s turn to color. Still, she dis 
 played not a little address at this crisis. 
 
 "Now I," she replied, lifting her hand to warn 
 the Professor, who seemed to be coming too close 
 "now I am like a lawyer who will take but one case 
 at a time. I shall refuse to hear a second love story 
 until I ve disposed of poor Robert s. Of course," 
 she concluded, letting her softened glance rest kindly 
 on the Professor, "once that is off my hands, I will 
 not say but what I might listen to another." 
 
 "My dear Madam!" began the Professor, in a 
 state of exclamatory ecstasy. 
 
 The fat little hand went up. 
 
 "There!" she said, "I ve no more time now." 
 
 With this Aunt Tilda left the room, while the 
 Professor, seizing his hat, issued forth in the greatest 
 excitement to call the stars his brothers and to walk 
 the air 
 
 206 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AUNT TILDA TRIES A STAMPEDE 
 
 AUNT TILDA waited for an opportunity to speak with 
 Ethel alone. She would have said before she sought 
 the chance, that a score of openings would present 
 themselves in the course of any afternoon. It im 
 pressed her to find, when now she went looking for 
 them, that not one arose. Ethel was either abroad 
 with Jet or, if indoors, close by the sheltering side of 
 the worthy Professor. 
 
 "I really believe she knows," thought Aunt Tilda, 
 and the thought disconcerted her. 
 
 At last, through an exercise of strategy that should 
 have led an army to a successful field and back, she 
 got Ethel by herself. Even then she was for the 
 moment baffled. Ethel did all the talking. Aunt 
 Tilda could no more bring her to bay than she could 
 have brought a partridge to bay. 
 
 Aunt Tilda s wits were by no means the dullest in 
 the Panhandle. She fully appreciated those shifts 
 of Ethel to keep the upper hand in the conversation 
 and select the subjects. To be sure, as to the latter, 
 Ethel offered a generous range; but she never pre 
 sented one that by any chance should lead the talk 
 within a verbal mile of love. Aunt Tilda might have 
 admired Ethel s sly skill in avoiding what was upper 
 most on her own tongue, if she had been less sensi- 
 
 207 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 lively earnest in the cause of Robert. As it was, 
 she did not fail of drawing certain discouraging in 
 ferences. 
 
 "She plainly understands," thought Aunt Tilda, 
 "and it s also quite as plain that she wishes to es 
 cape." 
 
 Again Aunt Tilda fell to marveling that Ethel 
 should seem so well aware of what was in her heart. 
 Being herself a woman, she should not have fallen a 
 prey to such astonishment. Women are by instinct 
 love-wise, and to put questions concerning that love- 
 wisdom, and the reasons thereof, would be like ques 
 tioning the robins as to why they fly southward in 
 the fall. 
 
 Ethel gave a new slant to Aunt Tilda s amazement. 
 Abruptly and of her own motion she began to talk 
 of love. Only she spoke apparently with uncon 
 scious innocence, and altogether in the abstract. 
 
 "I ve been reading a book," began Ethel "a book 
 full of love heresies; or, I should say, marriage here 
 sies. Actually, the author says that marriage has 
 nothing to do with love or love with marriage! Now 
 did you ever hear anything more preposterously cold 
 blooded, aunt? How could one marry where one 
 didn t love?" 
 
 "What was the story?" returned Aunt Tilda 
 craftily. 
 
 She thought she saw an opening in the conversa 
 tional distance through which she might later squeeze 
 Robert and his bleeding heart. 
 
 "Oh, the story," replied Ethel, "is hardly worth 
 retelling. But you cannot conceive, aunt, of its stu 
 pidity concerning marriage! Now to me, for one to 
 
 208 
 
AUNT TILDA TRIES A STAMPEDE 
 
 marry where one didn t love, would be the grossest 
 sin. Don t you think so, Aunt?" 
 
 Ethel made the appeal with round, confident vir 
 gin eyes, sure that her good Aunt Tilda must perforce 
 entertain an equally virtuous view. She ran on with 
 out waiting for an answer. 
 
 "I know I should die if I were made to give my 
 hand where I hadn t given my heart." 
 
 While Ethel, the unaccountable, thus went preach 
 ing on love and wedlock, Aunt Tilda was not 
 free from disquieting meditations. This sudden, not 
 to say phenomenal frankness on the maiden s part 
 bothered her. Aunt Tilda did not recall any prior 
 occasion when she had so much as named the name 
 of love. That she should now speak of it, all things 
 considered, was of itself enough to teach Aunt Tilda 
 that this unexpected candor concealed a purpose; 
 and, as she read the stars, that purpose could be noth 
 ing other than just to stifle every first suggestion of 
 the love-worn Robert. 
 
 "If she loved him," sighed Aunt Tilda, who felt all 
 the pain that Robert might have felt had he been 
 present and pleading his cause in person, "she would 
 be ready and eager to hear." 
 
 Aunt Tilda s sense of duty was among her most 
 formidable characteristics. Also, her diplomacy, be 
 ing by nature direct, leaned heavily on the axiom 
 that a straight line is the shortest distance between 
 two points. She had been saddled with the weight 
 of Robert s lovesick destinies, and she determined, 
 come what would, to put them to the test. Also, 
 when all was in, she must not forget that Ethel s 
 happiness should be and was as dear to her as Rob- 
 
 209 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 ert s. This final reflection brought a ray of com 
 fort. 
 
 Having resolved to unveil the love-future of Rob 
 ert, either for black or for white, she began di 
 rectly: 
 
 "This is the first time you ever spoke of love." 
 
 There was a rising inflection, like a question. 
 
 Ethel looked askance. The attack was coming, 
 and she felt a little frightened. 
 
 "It wasn t very delicate," she returned apologeti 
 cally. 
 
 Aunt Tilda began measuring in her own mind the 
 value of surprise. Should she set a trap? At the 
 Cross-8 she had heard a stampede described. Would 
 it not be well to stampede Ethel with some produc 
 tion of the unexpected? In that way the stampeded 
 one might be made to disclose her true feeling. 
 
 "Do you know what I think?" 
 
 Aunt Tilda bent a softly meaning glance on Ethel. 
 The glance alarmed the young lady. In the uncer 
 tainty bred of that look she could not avoid a flut 
 ter. What could be her good Aunt Tilda s aim? 
 
 The good but disconcerting Aunt Tilda went on : 
 
 "You are in love!" 
 
 Aunt Tilda got this off in tones of confident moth 
 erly complacency; and, since she was not at all con 
 fident or complacent, it was the more to her credit 
 as an actress. Not that she would mislead Ethel; 
 she was only striving to surprise her, hoping, as has 
 been stated, many favorable things from a senti 
 mental stampede on that evanescent damsel s part. 
 
 There arose much in the immediate sequence to 
 flatter Aunt Tilda s hopes. Upon that direct accu- 
 
 210 
 
AUNT TILDA TRIES A STAMPEDE 
 
 sation of love, coupled with the soft stare, Ethel 
 reddened to the roots of her hair. 
 
 "Now," thinks the gentle promoter of stampedes, 
 "I shall get at her heart." 
 
 It may be that she did. For, even as she gazed, 
 the young convicted face took fire; Ethel s eyes sud 
 denly filled up, and she began to sob. 
 
 "What makes you say that?" she cried. "It s of 
 Robert you ve been thinking from the first. I don t 
 love him! I shall never love him my heart won t 
 let me! Why should you say I m in love?" 
 
 Ethel, all tears and blushes, buried her glowing 
 face in Aunt Tilda s lap. 
 
 The good Aunt Tilda was now the puzzled one. 
 The surprise had succeeded, the stampede was 
 complete! The mystery, however, only deepened. 
 Surely, there was nothing in what she had said to 
 justify such a blushing breaking down! Aunt Tilda 
 could see the crimson spread and spread until lost in 
 the roots of Ethel s dark hair. What did it mean? 
 Aunt Tilda couldn t tell. The question went too deep 
 for her. If there were any solution, it must be that 
 Ethel loved, not Robert, but some one else. And 
 what could be a wilder assumption? The thing was 
 impossible. Who was there for her to love? 
 
 Ethel sobbed on with hidden face, nor did the crim 
 son fade from her neck. Aunt Tilda uttered no com 
 ment, offered no question. She only stroked with 
 both gentle hands Ethel s glossy braids. 
 
 The sobs ceased; the stampede was over. Still 
 Ethel did not lift her face. 
 
 Aunt Tilda was musing sympathetically, and some 
 what sadly, on the heart-problem unfolded, when, as 
 
 211 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 a quail scuttles for covert, Ethel arose and left the 
 room. Aunt Tilda did not detain her nor call her 
 back. Why should she? Robert had received his 
 answer. Ethel would never marry Robert. She 
 could not help grieving as the conviction entered her 
 soul, and she reflected upon Robert s sorrow. 
 
 "None the less," thought the astute Aunt Tilda, 
 "she loves; and that is the wonderful part." 
 
 Aunt Tilda was so much the woman that she told 
 the Professor. 
 
 "Poor Robert!" concluded Aunt Tilda. "But 
 there s no help she doesn t love him; that was 
 evident from the beginning." 
 
 The Professor grew incautiously radiant. Aunt 
 Tilda detected the radiance, and her brows descended 
 with a falcon trick they had when she was about to 
 rebuke her old admirer. 
 
 "You seem pleased, Professor Doremus." 
 
 "Not at all, my dear Madam!" hastily returned the 
 guilty savant, frightened to the core that Aunt Tilda 
 should give him his name. Experience had taught 
 him to look on that as a most baleful portent. "Not 
 at all, I assure you! What you saw was surprise." 
 
 Aunt Tilda passed over the radiance without further 
 reproof. She was too full of the mystery of Ethel s 
 heart to be deflected by little things. Besides, she 
 could take up the punishment of the pleased Pro 
 fessor later, 
 
 "The strange thing," resinned Aunt Tilda, "is that 
 she is none the less in love." 
 
 This was said slowly, and with an air of reflective 
 introspection, as though Aunt Tilda were mentally 
 calling the roll of what males might furnish the name 
 
 212 
 
AUNT TILDA TRIES A STAMPEDE 
 
 of that fortunate one who had found the way to 
 Ethel s affections. It was clear by her manner that 
 the list was short. Following a moment s reflection, 
 Aunt Tilda refastened her questioning gaze on the 
 Professor. 
 
 " Absolutely, I can think of no one!" she said, with 
 a sort of kindly despair. 
 
 The Professor made no response, but maintained a 
 politely receptive, albeit non-committal manner. 
 
 "What would you advise?" asked Aunt Tilda, 
 finally. 
 
 "What should I advise?" repeated the Professor, 
 driven to say something. "I think, my dear Madam, 
 that all things considered I should advise a still hunt. 
 Say nothing to Ethel. She is young, sensitive as 
 indeed are all brilliant intellects. Rest secure that 
 when she does speak, she will come first to you 
 you who have ever been her nearest friend." 
 
 "But, Professor, isn t it my duty to question her?" 
 
 "I think not." This gravely: "There is, my dear 
 Madam, a class of people ever ready to inflict pain, 
 and call it duty. I might add that I never knew any 
 of them to inflict pleasure and call it duty. Believe 
 me, you are not of that class. It would not be like 
 your good heart to say anything that made Ethel 
 uneasy. More than that, she won t show you her 
 secret until she is ready. Questioning wouldn t wring 
 it from her; for, as I read faces, Ethel can be ex 
 ceeding obstinate if she will. You ve learned what 
 was after all the object of your search: She doesn t 
 love Robert. For a space at least I should let the 
 matter rest there." 
 
 Aunt Tilda was much led by the Professor s long 
 213 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 speech. His words never failed of weight with her, 
 and she accepted them now. She made no further at 
 tempt to sound the depths of Ethel s feeling. Those 
 blushes must go untranslated, until Ethel herself saw 
 fit to hand her the key to them. 
 
 When Aunt Tilda next met Ethel, she made no 
 reference to that discussion on love so sobbingly 
 broken off. Neither did she again bring up the cause 
 of Robert. 
 
 Ethel was notably silent for a day or two, but gave 
 no other sign of embarrassment. True, her eyes did 
 turn furtively defensive on one or two occasions when 
 her aroused suspicions, from some act or word of Aunt 
 Tilda, led her to fear a return to that talk on love 
 and Robert; and the red, full lips lined themselves in 
 bitter firmness, awaiting the assault. 
 
 Aunt Tilda observed these symptoms, even while 
 she skillfully pretended otherwise. 
 
 "The Professor was right," she thought. " Ethel 
 could be decisively stubborn." 
 
 214 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 MR. HANRAHAN DELIVERS A MESSAGE 
 
 THE Panhandle cultivates action at the expense of 
 words, and ever does more than it says. When the 
 buckboard mules pulled up short in front of Mr. 
 Hanrahan s saloon, a dozen ready hands seized Rob 
 ert and Locoed Charlie, and bore them not tenderly 
 but promptly which was of more consequence 
 into the barroom. No one exclaimed; no one ques 
 tioned. So far as any overt expression of wonder or 
 curiosity went, one might have supposed that the 
 advent of two half-frozen, half-senseless gentlemen, 
 with coats cut to rags, who made their appearance on 
 a galloping buckboard, was an every-day experience 
 at the Dobe Walls. Once inside, the ready-handed 
 ones applied rum. 
 
 Local belief held by a theory that, whatever the 
 malady, from gunshot wounds to a cold in the head, 
 the sovereign remedy was rum. Robert and Locoed 
 Charlie, therefore, were copiously subjected to that 
 restorative. 
 
 Locoed Charlie, inured to the weather as well as 
 the cures of the Panhandle, rapidly revived under 
 this treatment, and was shortly his former old-time 
 addle-pated self. 
 
 "He s the same hopeless eediot he was," said Mr. 
 Hanrahan, who had borne a foremost part and in 
 
 215 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 truth donated the rum. "Wherefore I pronounces him 
 out o danger." 
 
 Robert, of lesser stamina and a constitution never 
 robust, did not display Locoed Charlie s recuperative 
 powers. It took double the time and rum called for 
 by his fellow-sufferer to bring him about. At that, 
 he no sooner emerged from the lethargy of the snow 
 than he fell before the awful power of the medicine. 
 But with this difference: whereas it took but two 
 hours to save him from the snow, it was long into the 
 next day before he was rescued from the rum. 
 
 The morning following that rescue in the snow 
 Moonlight saddled and mounted President. The 
 trails were bad and the ford perilous, but neither 
 Merchant Wright nor Mr. Hanrahan tendered any 
 opinions against his westward departure for the 
 Dove s Nest. When a man has attained to full Pan 
 handle standing, it isn t good form to give him ad 
 vice, and Mr. Hanrahan and Merchant Wright, in the 
 thorough paced instance of Moonlight, wouldn t have 
 dreamed of such a vulgarity. 
 
 As Moonlight made ready to give President his 
 head, Mr. Hanrahan brought up the name of Robert. 
 He, as well as Merchant Wright, had not failed to ob 
 serve that Moonlight neither spoke of Robert nor 
 sought to see him, after bestowing upon him and 
 Locoed Charlie a final cut of that saving mule-whip. 
 Wearing this in his mind, and being one whose native 
 politeness had been polished and intensified in a region 
 that went armed to the teeth, Mr. Hanrahan men 
 tioned Robert with a world of prudence. It was safe 
 to assume that since Moonlight hadn t spoken of 
 Robert, he might not care to hear another name him. 
 
 216 
 
MR. HANRAHAN S MESSAGE 
 
 "As to the gent inside/ observed Mr. Hanrahan 
 carelessly. "Any word for him, Cap n? Nacherally, 
 when he s come to from that rum we lavishes on him, 
 he ll ast who rounds him up." 
 
 "If he asks," replied Moonlight, as though ready 
 with his answer, "tell him that it was I who brought 
 him in. You might as well; if you don t, some one 
 else will." 
 
 "Which he shore owes you his gratitoode!" ex 
 claimed Mr. Hanrahan. 
 
 "That s the point," went on Moonlight grimly. 
 "Tell him he need feel no gratitude give me no 
 thanks. Say to him that I once killed a Cheyenne 
 who was about to kill a buffalo, and then killed the 
 buffalo myself." 
 
 "I ll shore say it," returned Mr. Hanrahan, "so 
 that every word 11 trickle into him, an not a one be 
 lost." 
 
 "What do you reckon he means by that parable, 
 Ned?" asked Merchant Wright when Mr. Hanrahan, 
 in confidence over a couple of rums, repeated the 
 Moonlight message. "I don t see any trail through, 
 myself." 
 
 "Nor me neither," responded Mr. Hanrahan, sip 
 ping his rum and getting no enlightenment therefrom. 
 "To my mind, Bob, that message is one of them 
 nigmas, an I quits it." 
 
 "I ll gamble Old Tom Moonlight knew what it 
 meant when he framed it up," said Merchant Wright, 
 replacing his empty glass on the bar. "As you give 
 it to this tenderfoot, Ned, watch his face sharp." 
 
 "Good idee!" returned Mr. Hanrahan heartily, be 
 ing as full of curiositv as caution, "good idee, Bob! 
 
 217 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Shove that bottle, an let s take another drink on 
 it." 
 
 When Robert was able to see and hear and talk 
 lucidly, he complained of pains in his chest and head. 
 The pains in the head alarmed no one, it being re 
 membered that he was a tenderfoot, fresh from a 
 feeble East, and unused to the liquors of a buffalo 
 country. The pain in the chest might have a darker 
 meaning. The local conclusion was fairly voiced by 
 Mr. Hanrahan. 
 
 "You see, boys," said that publican, addressing the 
 citizenry of the Dobe Wall, in all seven souls includ 
 ing Merchant Wright, "you see, boys, my rum has 
 considerable body, and most likely the headache is 
 doo to them libations. Now as to said aches in his 
 lungs I ain t so shore. He s a mighty puny substi- 
 toote for a man, an it s plumb inside the bettin that 
 he ups an has pnoomonia as the f roots of this. Which 
 he looks plenty pulmonary, that-away this Bar-Z 
 person does!" 
 
 "That s whatever!" said Joe Gatling. 
 
 Robert was not present when his condition was thus 
 discussed. Although his wits and his blood had re 
 sumed their wonted activities, he felt weak and dizzy, 
 and had gone back to the blanket couch prepared for 
 him in Mr. Hanrahan s back room. He went the 
 more readily, since he was assured by a no less ex 
 pert opinion than Merchant Wright s that the snow, 
 which was now melting almost as rapidly as it had 
 fallen, would so swell the river that to talk of trying 
 the Tascosa ford was merest madness. 
 
 "Stop right here with Ned Hanrahan and me," 
 said Mr. Wright emphatically. "It s the best you 
 
 218 " 
 
MR. HANRAHAN S MESSAGE 
 
 can do. If you were to blunder into the ford in its 
 present shape, you wouldn t last as long as a dollar 
 at roulette." 
 
 "But what am I to do?" complained Robert. 
 "I ve pressing business at the Cross-8 ranch." 
 
 " It 11 have to wait," returned Mr. Wright. " Here 
 you must stay until Scotty arrives. That ought to 
 be only a matter of days. When Scotty shows up, 
 he ll rig you out with something, and put you as far 
 as the Cross-8." 
 
 "Where is the driver with whom I came?" 
 
 "Locoed Charlie? Oh, he lost so much time foolin 
 round in that norther, he had to start east again this 
 morning." 
 
 Robert groaned. 
 
 "You might as well take it easy," counseled Mr. 
 Wright, who had been so long in the West that he ac 
 cepted with philosophy such exigencies as blizzards, 
 swollen fords, broken axletrees, rum and other in 
 terruptions to travel. "That s my word; take it 
 easy!" 
 
 Moonlight had been gone four hours, and, despite 
 the snow that still obstructed the trail in many melt 
 ing drifts, was already half way to Tascosa. 
 
 "I have a foggy recollection," said Robert feebly 
 to the attentive Mr. Hanrahan, "of some one lashing 
 us through the storm." 
 
 "Which it s a heap nacheral you-all should," said 
 Mr. Hanrahan encouragingly, "seein that Old Tom 
 Moonlight wore out a twelve-foot blacksnake on you 
 an Locoed Charlie." 
 
 "Was it this man Moonlight?" asked Robert, a bit 
 huskily. "Did he save my life?" 
 
 219 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 " That s what they d call it, I reckon, back in the 
 East." 
 
 "Where is he?" asked Robert, after a dubious wait. 
 
 "Which he s gone. But he leaves a word for you 
 in case you takes to expressin gratitood an thanks 
 him savin your life that-away." 
 
 "A word?" 
 
 "He lays a heap of stress on the impropri ty of 
 feelin grateful. Looks like he s kind o sot ag in you, 
 an so he declines in advance to be cumbered with 
 your thanks. Likewise I m to say that once, havin 
 fixed his heart on killin a partic lar buffalo, he ups an 
 stretches an Injun who s goin to down it; after 
 which, said savage bein rubbed out, he bowls over 
 the bull himse f." 
 
 This latter conversation took place in the half-dark 
 of Mr. Hanrahan s rear room. In spite of the half- 
 dark, however, and the added drawback of Robert s 
 native paleness, Mr. Hanrahan declared later that he 
 lost color. 
 
 "Which of course, Bob," observed Mr. Hanrahan, 
 who made a specialty of candor, "he don t lose much 
 because he ain t got much to lose. Still, I reemarks 
 some additional whiteness about the gills." 
 
 "And he don t say anything?" asked Merchant 
 Wright. 
 
 "Never peeped! Jest turns over on his blankets so 
 s to hide his face, an goes to thinkin it over." 
 
 Moonlight s message, obscure and yet ominous, 
 troubled Robert. He twisted the tangle of it in his 
 thoughts. It was as Greek; none the less he could 
 smell a threat in it. 
 
 And yet," thought Robert, "it isn t possible that 
 220 
 
MR. HANRAHAN S MESSAGE 
 
 he should know! Unless" and here he broke into 
 a cold sweat "unless Don Anton has let the secret 
 out. But no; that is beyond belief! He hates the 
 man, and would keep our plans close. As for Pedro 
 of the Knife, that pet assassin of Don Anton is with 
 the Kiowas." 
 
 Robert strove to reassure himself; but do what he 
 would a chill fear, like a snake, coiled itself about his 
 heart. There was menace in that message. Either 
 it meant nothing, or it threatened his life. It fore 
 stalled his gratitude and refused it. The man who had 
 saved his life wanted none of his thanks, and told him 
 so. This aided the theory that mischief was afoot 
 in that otherwise foolish allegory of the buffalo. He 
 had saved Robert s life, that he himself might later 
 have the joy of taking it! What else? 
 
 Robert frightened himself with these surmises, until 
 his coward heart was sick with them. However, he 
 must go forward as he and Don Anton had planned. 
 It was now too late to withdraw. Besides, weak as 
 he was and craven, Robert would dare much rather 
 than lose the Gordon fortune. If this Moonlight, 
 who was young Alan, had learned of the fortune that 
 waited for his coming in old Somerset, it made the 
 greater reason for acting swiftly. He must get back 
 to Don Anton; get back to the Bar-Z with speed. 
 By discovering what Don Anton knew, as well as what 
 Aunt Tilda and the others knew, he might gain some 
 half -clear knowledge of the present trend of events. 
 He could then guess as to what new facts had come 
 into the possession of that hated one who stood so 
 much in his way. 
 
 "And to think," groaned Robert, "that I, who left 
 221 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the Chesapeake to avoid him, should by that move 
 bring him to light ! Was ever man so cursed? Unless 
 removed, this savage Alan will wrest from me the 
 Gordon fortune! He has but to discover himself, and 
 I am lost unless unless Don Anton and his Kiowas 
 
 can save me." 
 
 222 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE PROFESSOR ENCOUNTERS JEFF 
 
 IT was only a matter of days, as Merchant Wright had 
 foretold, when Scotty, the government mail contrac 
 tor, came down from Tascosa. The days had seemed 
 as so many ages to Robert, who was nervously eager 
 to see Don Anton. He felt surrounded by dark un 
 certainties, the mildest of them a deadly peril. 
 
 "Would Scotty take him to the Cross-8?" 
 
 Scotty was in no sort hard to deal with. He would 
 convey Robert as far as Tascosa, and leave it to an 
 underling to take him from Tascosa to the Cross-8. 
 
 "You see/ explained Scotty, "the Red Bull an 
 me ain t what you-all might term thick as thieves. 
 For which reason I don t care, personal, to introode 
 on his privacy. However, one of my drivers will 
 freight you over, so it s all the same." 
 
 Scotty, in elaboration, stated that the coolness be 
 tween himself and the Red Bull dated from that 
 time long before when he, Scotty, criticised the 
 beauty of the Red Bull s Mexican wife. 
 
 "Which he never likes them remarks," said Scotty; 
 "an while the Red Bull ain t much on revenge, pre- 
 ferrin a quiet life, he s a gent who never forgets nor 
 forgives. I says all this, as I thinks it doo you to 
 explain why I quits your company at Tascosa. I 
 don t want you-all to regyard the swap of drivers as 
 invidious." 
 
 223 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "I shall understand/ 7 returned Robert, who would 
 have willingly missed the talkative Scotty s apolo 
 gies. "In fact, I m the last to ask any gentleman 
 to go where he might get into trouble. 7 
 
 "Me? Trouble? The Red Bull?" Scotty blew 
 through his warlike nose ferociously. "Now I shore 
 like that! Why, stranger, if I thought my goin to 
 the Cross-8 would get a rise outen the Red Bull, I d 
 hook up an start now! No; you ve got him guessed 
 wrong. The Red Bull buffaloes them Mexicans of 
 his; but if a clean strain white man was to show up 
 in front of him, he d take water like a mink." 
 
 "But I thought," interrupted Robert hurriedly, 
 not a trifle disconcerted at the thought that he had 
 offended the important Scotty, "that you said you 
 didn t want to meet Captain Ruggles." 
 
 "Not through fear," observed Scotty in a high key 
 of correction; "delicacy! Which I m too delicate 
 to go pirootin round where the sight of me breeds 
 disagreeable mem ries. If the Red Bull gets a glimpse 
 of me, it s bound to make him think of that former 
 Mexican wife; and, while no one that I knows of 
 fears him, I m too much of a Christian gent myse f 
 to make even an enemy suffer onreasonable." 
 
 Robert said nothing to this, and the differences 
 subsisting between Scotty and the Red Bull were 
 permitted to fall to the floor. 
 
 "Be ready to-morry mornin ," said Scotty, as he 
 turned into Mr. Hanrahan s bar. "Which we ll pull 
 out about second drink time." 
 
 "Eight o clock, he means," said Merchant Wright 
 interpreting. The colloquy took place in his em 
 porium, and he understood Robert s look of fog. 
 
 224, 
 
THE PROFESSOR MEETS JEFF 
 
 " You ll start at eight; and that should land you in 
 Tascosa by dark. The next day will set you down 
 at the Cross-8." 
 
 Robert was by no means a hale man. That pain 
 in the chest increased, or rather it held its aching own 
 in a sullen, stubborn way, and the learned Mr. Han- 
 rahan still feared a worst result. 
 
 "It may not come off for a month yet/ he said to 
 Merchant Wright; "that pnoomonia I means. But, 
 you hear me, Bob! that blizzard puts a crimp 
 into this Blainey party what s goin to carry him 
 off." 
 
 As the buckboard made ready for a start, Mr. Han- 
 rahan appeared with a gallon jug of rum. 
 
 "You may need it," said the kindly Mr. Hanra- 
 han to Robert. 
 
 Robert thanked Mr. Hanrahan, but remonstrated 
 against the rum. He said it made him ill. 
 
 "Chuck it aboard, Ned!" interposed Scotty, gath 
 ering up the reins. He was no one to leave a jug of 
 rum behind. "Chuck it aboard! You can gamble 
 I ll see that he takes it at proper intervals." 
 
 Scotty did not keep this compact with Mr. Han 
 rahan, who, relying on it, sent the rum along. In 
 stead, Scotty saw that he, himself, took that remedy 
 at highly improper intervals, and as an upcome, drove 
 into Tascosa about sundown, singing of liberty and 
 the glories of a republic. 
 
 The next afternoon saw Robert at the Cross-8. 
 He drew a long, albeit painful breath of relief, for 
 those aches held by him with malignant loyalty, and 
 he felt as might Magellan when he had circumnavi 
 gated the globe, 
 
 225 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Robert found Don Anton waiting, his shoulder out 
 of its bandages. There is such a commodity hi na 
 ture as the law of compensation. The Panhandle 
 may be quick at inflicting wounds; it is just as quick 
 at healing them, and Don Anton s knife-pierced 
 shoulder was now as good as new. Also, he was 
 fumingly impatient to go upon that congenial busi 
 ness of vengeance. 
 
 "Did you bring the paper ?" queried Don Anton, 
 the moment he could get Robert alone. 
 
 "It is here," replied Robert, putting into the dark, 
 slim hands of Don Anton a document which he took 
 from his pocket. "There it is in black and white: 
 Blainey against Moonlight. Here, too, is the patent 
 for the land. It covers the square mile a full sec 
 tion La fact on which the Dove s Nest stands." 
 
 "You re sure?" 
 
 "I have the word of the best lawyer in Austin. 
 Besides, they knew in the land office the section that 
 had held the old trading post." 
 
 "Bueno!" cried Don Anton, running over the 
 papers. "They are very necessary. That fool Pedro 
 of the Knife would be willing to play sheriff, or as 
 sassin, or anything we please without the papers. 
 But for myself, and particularly since we are in Texas 
 and not in New Mexico where I live, I prefer to have 
 them. Then when this Moonlight is blotted out, 
 we can show that he was in the wrong and we in the 
 right." 
 
 "I thought you said," observed Robert tremu 
 lously, "that the work would be done by Kiowas, 
 and later be laid at their door." 
 
 "So I did! So it will! However, Indians some- 
 226 
 
THE PROFESSOR MEETS JEFF 
 
 times tell their agents, and it is best to be ready 
 with explanations." 
 
 "The Kiowas will do the work?" 
 
 "They were not so ready as I could wish. I had 
 thought they would be headlong to revenge Sun Boy, 
 whom this Moonlight knifed. But no; the scoundrels 
 said that Sun Boy died a long time ago, and their 
 hearts had forgotten him. Besides, they pointed out 
 that his death was fair. It took a wagon-load of 
 calico and blankets and tobacco and rum, and all 
 the eloquence of Pedro of the Knife, to bring them 
 to terms." 
 
 "But they have agreed?" 
 
 "It is settled! I have had word from him, and 
 Pedro of the Knife will bring a band of the young 
 fighting bucks across the Canadian whenever we are 
 ready." 
 
 "And that will be when?" 
 
 "One week from to-day. I shall send a messen 
 ger to-night, and tell Pedro of the Knife." 
 
 "You are sure we can rely on them?" asked Rob 
 ert, whose heart could ever be depended upon to 
 turn weak at a crisis. 
 
 "Have courage, Amigo!" returned Don Anton, not 
 without the suggestion of a sneer. "Those who will 
 follow Pedro of the Knife across the Canadian are 
 one and all his blood relatives. They are brothers, 
 nephews, and cousins of his mother. Rest sure, he 
 would never start unless he were as certain of them 
 as he is of himself." 
 
 Robert planned to go on to the Bar-Z. The week 
 that would intervene before Pedro of the Knife, in 
 his unusual role of peace-officer, together with his 
 
 227 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 unique posse comitatus of Kiowas, descended upon 
 the Dove s Nest, gave him ample time. 
 
 Don Anton was inclined to oppose his going to the 
 Bar-Z. 
 
 "It would be better if you stayed here until it is 
 over," he argued. 
 
 Robert, however, wouldn t listen. He must see 
 Aunt Tilda, and discover whether anything had been 
 uncovered during his absence that should have taught 
 either her or "the runagate Alan" as Robert in 
 variably dubbed Moonlight in his thoughts their 
 blood relationship to one another, and per conse 
 quence the estate in old Somerset waiting so patiently 
 the coming of the heir. He must be clear on that 
 point. That word of obscure menace, delivered by 
 the mouth of Mr. Hanrahan, continued to haunt him. 
 Therefore, he must go to the Bar-Z. He pledged 
 his word with Don Anton to return by the fourth 
 day. 
 
 "About Captain Ruggles!" suddenly exclaimed 
 Robert. He had not thought of the Red Bull, and 
 the attitude of that person was important. "Does 
 he know of our design?" 
 
 "He has purposely kept himself in ignorance. It 
 is all right! He will not help; neither will he hurt 
 our enterprise. So that none of his people are in 
 volved, and the skirts of the Cross-8 are kept clear, 
 he does not care." 
 
 "Did you speak to him?" 
 
 "I attempted to, but he begged me to desist. I 
 don t want to hear, said he. You know my motto: 
 Let every man kill his own snakes! But he s with 
 us passively; for you must know that the pony Pedro 
 
 228 
 
THE PROFESSOR MEETS JEFF 
 
 of the Knife was riding, when he became Pedro of 
 the Ear, wore the Cross-8 brand; and this Moon 
 light, on seeing it, said some things about the Red 
 Bull that struck the latter gray." 
 
 Robert proposed an early morning start for the 
 Bar-Z; but as events befell he didn t make it. That 
 night the pains in his lungs were multiplied by ten; 
 he choked, and drew his breath with difficulty, A 
 fever set furiously in, and there were moments when 
 his mind wandered. 
 
 The Red Bull was in deep concern. Like Mr. 
 Hanrahan and those practitioners of the Dobe Walls, 
 he pinned his faith to rum. The solicitous Red Bull 
 gave Robert unlimited rum, detailed a brace of serv 
 itors to keep watch and watch over his ravings, and 
 sent word to the Bar-Z. In the morning, instead of 
 Robert riding away to Aunt Tilda, the Red Bull s 
 courier, who had spurred a pony to a standstill 
 carrying the word, was telling her of his dangerous 
 plight. 
 
 Aunt Tilda, her heart in her throat at the thought 
 of Robert s peril, began at once to make ready for 
 the journey to the Cross-8. Any sickness was in its 
 way a challenge to the sympathetic Aunt Tilda, 
 which she invariably accepted. That it was her be 
 loved Robert who lay stricken, made the challenge 
 peremptory. Within the half-hour after receiving 
 the Red Bull s word of Robert s illness, Aunt Tilda 
 and the Professor in the surrey, with Cato to drive, 
 and Ethel on Jet, were on their way to the Cross-8. 
 Once arrived, Aunt Tilda was quickly at the pillow 
 of the smitten one, and thereafter she hardly left it 
 night or day. 
 
 229 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "I m sorry," explained the Red Bull to the Pro 
 fessor, for he felt as though he wanted to report to 
 somebody, "but I had nothing but rum to give him. 
 As for a doctor, there isn t one nearer than Dodge, 
 and the round trip would take a month." 
 
 "Rum!" repeated the Professor. "I have ever 
 heard it spoken of as matchless for maladies that 
 touch the lungs." 
 
 The Red Bull felt easier. He looked for Robert s 
 death; and, being a sensitive spirit, he did not want 
 it thought that he, with his prescriptions of rum, had 
 contributed to bring it about. 
 
 "Rum is what we use on the Canadian," re 
 turned the Red Bull doubtfully; "but I confess it 
 doesn t always cure. However, we must hope for 
 the best." 
 
 Ethel and the Professor rendered what aid they 
 might to Aunt Tilda, in her self-appointed duties as 
 Robert s nurse. However, there was little they could 
 do; they must wait the climax of the disease, dis 
 posing of their hours meanwhile as they best might. 
 Ethel, while distressed as much for Aunt Tilda as for 
 Robert, put in the time very well with the sprightly 
 Dona Inez. 
 
 The lonely Professor, between whom and the Red 
 Bull there was little in common, and who cared for 
 Don Anton nothing at all, didn t fare so happily. 
 He wandered about the Cross-8 like an uneasy ghost, 
 and in the end saddled Socrates who performed 
 not only as the Professor s charger, but as the off 
 mule in the surrey team and began to roam the 
 region round about. 
 
 It was the third day at the Cross-8, when the Pro- 
 230 
 
THE PROFESSOR MEETS JEFF 
 
 fessor decided to push his explorations to the east 
 ward. Mounted on the faithful Socrates, he followed 
 the Canadian until, passing the first point of rocks, he 
 found himself in that grove of cottonwoods wherein 
 had stood the lodge of Ironjacket. The Professor 
 recognized his surroundings, and remembered the 
 grove s former inhabitants. He resolved upon a 
 morning call on Ironjacket. 
 
 "Perchance, I might find him more communica 
 tive," thought the Professor, recalling the wooden 
 taciturnity of Ironjacket on the only occasion when 
 he beheld him. "In any event, there are the wife 
 and daughter Firewind and Southlight, I believe 
 Mr. Home called them! The daughter Southlight 
 was extremely pleasing." 
 
 The Professor crossed the cottonwood grove and, 
 after a little search, found the dead ashes of Iron- 
 jacket s camp-fire. 
 
 "These ashes are very old," observed the Pro 
 fessor, whose habit it was when alone to hold long 
 talks with himself. "Those interesting savages have 
 evidently been gone from this spot for months. Yes" 
 here the Professor looked about him "even the 
 last trace of their skin house has been obliterated." 
 
 The Professor sighed, and mounting Socrates kept 
 on toward the Monk s Hill, the phlegmatic Socrates 
 at a walk. He was on that stretch of the trail that 
 lay between the toe of the Monk s Hill and the river. 
 His thoughts were running sadly; for the Professor 
 had social instincts, and a chat with the Ironjacket 
 family would have pleased him vastly. 
 
 "They were such children of nature," mused the 
 Professor. "So artless, so simple, so unconventional! 
 
 231 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 And the daughter, Southlight! I thought her a 
 pleasing girl!" 
 
 Something scuttered through the grass and knocked 
 the bark from the root of a cottonwood, just where 
 it entered the ground. Almost at the same moment 
 came the crack of a rifle. 
 
 "Ah!" said the Professor, "some hunter gunning. 
 He shot rather close to Socrates and myself! An 
 accident of course! I do not, however, discern the 
 animal at which he aimed." 
 
 Since the Professor was domiciled at the Bar-Z, 
 he had so far yielded to the customs of the Panhandle 
 as to don a wide-spreading cow hat and carry a rifle 
 on those jaunts which he took in company with the 
 invaluable Socrates. Once or twice he had brought 
 home an antelope, and his bosom swelled with prim 
 itive pride as he presented it to Aunt Tilda. 
 
 "A little trophy of the chase, my dear Madam," 
 he would say. "Permit me to lay it at your feet." 
 
 Aunt Tilda was wont on those gallant occasions to 
 thank the Professor, say he was a perfect Nimrod, 
 and close the incident by requesting him, instead of 
 laying his trophy at her feet, to take it to the 
 kitchen and deliver it into the hands of the Mexi 
 can cook. 
 
 The Professor, now when his ears were gladdened 
 by the report of the rifle, brought his own Winchester 
 briskly to the fore, cocked it with a resounding 
 " kluck-kluck ! " and peered about him. If the hunter 
 who fired the shot had missed, then he, the Professor, 
 would remedy the mishap with his Winchester. The 
 difficulty was that, peer about as he might, he could 
 see no moving wild creature at which to shoot. 
 
 232 
 
THE PROFESSOR MEETS JEFF 
 
 "Strange!" he exclaimed. "Certainly the person, 
 whoever he is, shot at something." 
 
 Even as he spoke a second bullet scuttered through 
 the grass not ten feet from the learned nose of Soc 
 rates, and chipped another piece of bark from a sec 
 ond cottonwood. The Professor s eyes followed the 
 line of the bullet to the south and east. There, about 
 six hundred yards away, in a halo of blue smoke, 
 stood Jeff Home. 
 
 " Bless me ! " cried the Professor. " It s Mr. Home ! 
 How interesting! I shall find company after all." 
 
 The Professor drove his heels into the flanks of 
 Socrates, and, to the scandal of that sleepy animal, 
 urged him to a canter. He made straight for Jeff, 
 who was so overcome at the spectacle that he even 
 forgot to reload his buffalo gun, and now stood gaz 
 ing at the oncoming scientist with hand-shaded 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well, I m a Siwash," exclaimed Jeff in profound 
 amazement, "if it ain t the Professor! You must 
 pardon me, my dear sir. I shore took you for a 
 Mexican, or I d never gone to cuttin up the grass 
 permiscus about the hoofs of your mule." 
 
 "Then you were shooting at Socrates and me!" 
 returned the astonished Professor. "May I crave 
 the reason of this outrage, sir?" 
 
 The Professor s eye flashed, and the muzzle of the 
 Winchester began to cover Jeff Home. That gen 
 tleman, so far from being discouraged by these symp 
 toms, viewed them with the utmost delight. 
 
 "Babes an sucklings!" shouted Jeff. "He s as 
 game as a trant ler, I do believe!" he cried, with a 
 kind of ecstasy; "he d drill me if I so much as 
 
 233 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 bats an eye or wags a y ear! Professor, I m proud 
 I knows you! You re shorely four kings an an 
 ace!" 
 
 "Whether I m the hand of cards you describe or 
 no," responded the Professor, severely, "I must con 
 tinue to insist on your reasons for aiming at Socrates 
 and me." 
 
 "Which I didn t really aim at you none, Professor," 
 said Jeff, making an effort to curb his exuberance. 
 "If I had, d ye see, I d nacherally emptied you out o 
 that saddle a whole lot. No, I takes you for one of 
 the Red Bull s Mexicans, an was merely givin notice 
 that it wasn t my day to receive. Bein it s you, 
 however, of course that s different. An I tells you 
 ag in, Professor, I m plumb glad to see you. Come 
 up to camp." 
 
 Jeff had no trouble in convincing the Professor of 
 his friendly intentions. 
 
 "Only an instance of mistaken identity, then," 
 said the Professor, pleasantly. 
 
 "Preecisely," agreed Jeff. "I shorely never knew 
 my learned friend in that hat." 
 
 Jeff had pitched a big wall tent, at a little distance 
 from the mouth of what he termed his mine. He 
 didn t care for the tent, as he assured the Professor, 
 but it gave him standing with his Mexicans. 
 
 "Which I does it," vouchsafed Jeff, "to mark a 
 social sep ration between me an them greasers. To 
 be shore I could draw the line with my gun, but I 
 prefers the tent as less toomultuous." 
 
 At noon the cook dished up a wild gobbler, which 
 the fatal Jeff had killed by moonlight on the Monk s 
 Hill the night before. 
 
 234 
 
THE PROFESSOR MEETS JEFF 
 
 "Plenty of pine nuts!" explained Jeff. "Thar ll 
 be no end of turkeys this fall an winter." 
 
 Jeff showed the Professor his tunnel, while the 
 Mexicans took a nooning. 
 
 "It s Old Tom Moonlight s idee/ said Jeff. "He 
 says thar s treasure enough, in the bowels of that 
 sand-hill, to make us all as rich as Creosote." 
 
 "Croesus!" corrected the Professor. "Old Tom 
 Moonlight is that young gentleman who returned 
 Don Anton his knife, sending it through his shoulder?" 
 
 "He d have stuck it through his neck," said Jeff, 
 who felt as though the inaccuracy of his young chief 
 called for defense, "only he was savin the rico to 
 play with." 
 
 "But the treasure?" 
 
 "You know as much as I do, Professor. As I 
 saveys the layout, the treasure, whatever it is, lays 
 buried in the hill proper. Now I ve got to tunnel 
 through this sand, folio win , d ye see, the little water 
 
 course." 
 
 Jeff pointed to the thin, clear thread of water 
 that trickled from the mouth of his tunnel. 
 
 "The diffukelty lies yere," resumed Jeff, with a 
 great air of judgment. "Bein she s wind-formed 
 that-away, the sand in the hill s as fine as snuff, an 
 it keeps perkolatin through the cracks of my timber- 
 in . Four times, Professor, it s choked up on me. 
 Some day it may all cave in, an then I ll have to 
 call for a new deck an begin the game afresh." 
 
 Even as Jeff spoke, and as though his words were 
 a signal, there came a soft, pouring, muffled roar. 
 A cloud of sand as fine as flour arose and hung over 
 the face of the hill like a cloud, hiding from view the 
 
 235 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 mouth of the tunnel. The pouring roar continued 
 for the space of five minutes, during which Jeff pointed 
 toward the yellow cloud with despairing finger. 
 
 "Thar!" he cried. "She s gone an done it! The 
 whole binged tunnel s filled up from r ar to front, 
 an yere s Jeff Home where he started!" 
 
 "Shall you give it up?" asked the Professor anx 
 iously, for he sympathized with the angry despair 
 of Jeff. 
 
 " Give up nothin ! " retorted Jeff viciously. " Which 
 I ll find that treasure, you bet! if I has to pack this 
 hill away in my hat!" 
 
 236 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 THREE days after Robert was taken down Don 
 Anton s courier to Pedro of the Knife returned. He 
 came in, weary and heavy-eyed from long riding 
 without sleep. He had delivered Don Anton s mes 
 sage to Pedro of the Knife; that reliable assassin 
 with his Kiowas would be on hand. 
 
 "Pedro of the Knife," said the courier, "sends word 
 that he and his Kiowas will be only a day behind 
 me. They will come with sharp knives and full 
 cartridge belts, and their faces will be colored for 
 war." 
 
 "That is well, " responded Don Anton. " You have 
 reported to me, Juan; see now that you do not make 
 a second report to somebody else. Too many re 
 ports are bad for the messenger"; and the young 
 rico gave a warning scowl. 
 
 "Don Anton need have no fears," returned Juan. 
 "I have now no memory of what word Pedro of the 
 Knife sent back. I recall nothing; neither why I 
 went nor why I returned." 
 
 "That is as it should be, Juan. A short memory 
 lengthens life, the padres say. Here is money for 
 your hard riding." 
 
 Don Anton clinked down a handful of silver into 
 237 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Juan s expectant claw. It had the effect of wiping 
 away much of the weariness from that faithful in 
 dividual s face. 
 
 "With a little luck from the saints," quoth Don 
 Anton, "you may now play a week at monte before 
 you are again poor." 
 
 Robert s illness did not disable Don Anton s plans. 
 He resolved to send Pedro of the Knife upon his 
 Dove s Nest mission of murder, without reference to 
 Robert. 
 
 "I have the papers," reflected Don Anton. " What 
 more should I require that this Robert could furnish? 
 Also, I shall be careful to have Pedro of the Knife 
 remember that he goes for this gringo, Robert, and 
 not for me. His being ill will be all the better. 
 Besides, he could do nothing if he were well. He has 
 no courage, no force. His heart would fail him; he 
 would only be in the way." 
 
 Pedro of the Knife was as good as his message. 
 The evening following the day that witnessed the 
 arrival of Juan, Pedro of the Knife rode into the 
 Cross-8. He came alone, and to the two or three 
 Mexicans with whom he passed a word, he said that 
 he had been to Tascosa. Not one hint did he breathe 
 concerning those Rabbit Ear Kiowas who, a mile 
 to the west, splashed across the Canadian in his com 
 pany that very afternoon. He reserved those tidings 
 for Don Anton. 
 
 "Where are they?" asked the young rico, when 
 Pedro of the Knife had told him how all things 
 were in readiness for the red work he contemplated. 
 
 "I left them camped in Chico Canon ten miles 
 away. No one goes there: they will not be seen. 
 
 238 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 If they are, they will say they have come to hunt 
 the buffalo." 
 
 Don Anton considered. 
 
 "How far are they from the Dove s Nest?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Four hours." 
 
 "Here, then, are the papers," and Don Anton gave 
 Pedro of the Knife the documents which Robert 
 had brought up from Austin. "Give heed to their 
 safety, for they must not be lost. By these papers 
 this Moonlight is a robber, and has stolen the 
 Dove s Nest. It is now for you to take it from 
 him. He will fight; but you and your Kiowas must 
 not mind that. Remember, he has wronged me!" 
 
 "Also I shall not forget," replied Pedro of the 
 Knife, "that I myself have but one ear. But you 
 speak only of my Kiowas. Are none of our people 
 from the Concha to go?" 
 
 "None! I have reflected and it is better that they 
 do not. Besides, you will deal with but two men: 
 this Moonlight and the one whom he calls Red 
 River. " 
 
 "But that Home? who is a fiend to fight!" 
 
 "He is digging in the sand-hill that lies against 
 that second point of rocks to the east. I do not 
 know why he digs; but when I heard, I did not let 
 the Cross-8 people disturb him. He is less in our 
 way where he is. When you have finished at the 
 Dove s Nest, you shall send your Kiowas to ask why 
 he digs. A Kiowa does not object to a scalp because 
 it is streaked with gray hairs." 
 
 Pedro of the Knife licked his lips. The prospective 
 taking off of Jeff appealed to his sense of humor. 
 
 239 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "He will be so amazed," said Pedro of the Knife, 
 "to be shot down in that prairie-dog burrow he is 
 digging." 
 
 Don Anton fell to thinking. 
 
 "About the Dove s Nest," said he: "Your best 
 time should be at daybreak. No, not to-morrow; 
 the morning of the day after. It should be a sur 
 prise, you understand?" 
 
 Pedro of the Knife replied that he thoroughly un 
 derstood. He seemed hurt at the intimation that, 
 by any stress of noonday gallantry, he might be found 
 so weakly brave as to give the hated Moonlight 
 notice of his coming. 
 
 "No; we shall knock them on their heads as they 
 lie snoring," he said. 
 
 "I think," remarked Don Anton, "that I ll ride 
 over to your Kiowas to-morrow night. This Moon 
 light deserves the fire, and I should like to see that." 
 
 "They shall take him alive!" cried Pedro of the 
 Knife, in ecstasy at the notion. "They step like cats, 
 my Kiowas; they may easily make him captive. 
 Then it shall be the fire, as you say. That should 
 much rejoice my Kiowas, for most of them are young, 
 and never saw a man burned at the stake." 
 
 "I shall come, " observed Don Anton, who appeared 
 to relish the thought of Moonlight among the crack 
 ling fagots. 
 
 "If we attack at daybreak and my Kiowas, as 
 you know, will not fight in the night we shall start 
 for the Dove s Nest an hour after midnight." 
 
 "If I should not appear," said Don Anton, as Pedro 
 of the Knife mounted his pony for the Kiowa camp, 
 "do not wait for me." 
 
 240 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 " I understand," returned the other as he spurred 
 away. 
 
 Robert s illness reached its climax, and he safely 
 passed what Aunt Tilda regarded as the danger 
 point. 
 
 "Now/ she thought, "care and good nursing should 
 bring my boy around." 
 
 Aunt Tilda felt as though a stone had been rolled 
 from her heart. 
 
 It was the day after the conference between Don 
 Anton and Pedro of the Knife. Aunt Tilda, worn 
 with her almost ceaseless vigils, and reassured as to 
 Robert s condition, withdrew from the sick-room to 
 steal a little sleep. She left an old Mexican crone, 
 Juanita, to look after the wants of Robert. The invalid 
 was in a fitful slumber, full of starts and waken 
 ings; but there would at the worst be nothing re 
 quired beyond pouring an occasional cup of water, 
 and old Juanita could attend to that. 
 
 Don Anton, with Aunt Tilda gone, thought it a fair 
 time to have a talk with Robert. 
 
 "You may go," said Don Anton to Juanita, as he 
 entered the sick-room. 
 
 Juanita was slow in starting, not being settled in 
 her own aged mind as to whether she should go or no. 
 
 "Tamos/" cried Don Anton, with such a ferocious 
 emphasis that it sent old Juanita whirling through 
 the door, and into the patio, as though she had re 
 ceived a shove. 
 
 That "Famos/" not only expelled old Juanita, but 
 it aroused Robert. His hollow eyes opened wide at 
 sight of Don Anton. 
 
 "It is nothing," said the young rico. "I came 
 241 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 to tell you that all is arranged, and our vengeance 
 
 sure." 
 
 Don Anton related in detail his instructions to 
 Pedro of the Knife. 
 
 "They will burn this gray-eyed rascal!" cried he. 
 "It is a pity that you are not able to go with us; 
 it will be a revenge worth having and seeing." 
 
 Robert was thin to emaciation, and very weak. 
 The tidings of Don Anton, however, aroused him 
 deeply, and even brought a shade of color into his 
 sallow face. 
 
 Don Anton saw this, for the sick-room was well 
 lighted with its two open windows, it being in the 
 middle of the day and broad sunlight. 
 
 It was by no means certain that Robert s wan 
 cheek had flushed with joy. Don Anton himself re 
 garded the color that his news had summoned to 
 Robert s face as an evidence of trepidation, for he 
 muttered: 
 
 "It is as I thought. This sickness is for the good. 
 He is already afraid, and if he were up, he would 
 ruin our design." 
 
 Robert made no direct response to Don Anton, 
 but remained silent. The prospect of that bloody 
 programme, prepared for the coming daybreak at 
 the Dove s Nest, had shaken him. His eyes, big and 
 hollow with sickness, were seen to waver; they roved 
 hither and yon in a troubled way. At last he asked : 
 
 "Is Professor Doremus here?" 
 
 Don Anton s black mustache twitched like the 
 whiskers of a cat; a smile half parted his thin lips. 
 
 "He has business every day and all day long, your 
 Professor Doremus, that carries him an hour s ride 
 
 242 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 away. He and this fellow of Moonlight s the man 
 Home are busy about a sand-hill. No, I don t 
 know what they do; maybe they dig for treasures. 
 However, it is good; it removes your inquisitive 
 Professor at the time I wish him absent." 
 
 "And Captain Ruggles?" 
 
 Robert put the query in an alarmed whisper. His 
 weak anxiety to bring about a halt in those Kiowa 
 arrangements was evident. It caused Don Anton 
 to laugh outright being so evident, and yet so futile! 
 It was a condition calculated to amuse the young 
 rico. The pain, mental or physical, of another was 
 always pleasant to him; and he did not like Robert. 
 
 "The Red Bull," said Don Anton, "is also away. 
 He started for the Dobe Walls this morning, and 
 will be gone a fortnight. No, Amigo" this sooth 
 ingly "you need have no alarms. Neither the Red 
 Bull nor your busybody Professor can interrupt." 
 
 It was a joy to Don Anton thus to tantalize Robert. 
 However, what he told of the Red Bull was true. 
 That astute owner of the Cross-8 no sooner heard 
 how Pedro of the Knife had returned than he re 
 membered a deal of urgent business between himself 
 and Merchant Wright. In case anything, upon which 
 the fretful temper of a Panhandle public might 
 thereafter found complaint, should come to pass 
 within questioning distance of the Cross-8, the pru 
 dent Red Bull proposed an alibi. 
 
 With the Red Bull and Professor Doremus both 
 absent Robert was helpless. He couldn t tell Aunt 
 Tilda, couldn t tell Ethel. To do so would accom 
 plish nothing. Bedfast, weak, cut off from counsel, 
 Robert sank back on his pillow with a groan. 
 
 243 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "I will go," said Don Anton, imitating sympathetic 
 concern. "You are not strong enough to, bear good 
 tidings; and even joy can injure the sick. Think as 
 little as possible. But if thoughts will come, why 
 then cheer your heart by reflecting that nothing now 
 can save that Moonlight. He will throw no more 
 knives when the fire is done with him." 
 
 Don Anton left Robert frightened at what was 
 afoot, and burning with fever. Outside in the patio 
 he met old Juanita; her bleared eyes followed him 
 as he walked away. When he was out of sight old 
 Juanita did not return to Robert; she went straight 
 to the Dona Inez. 
 
 Later, by an hour, Aunt Tilda came in to Robert. 
 She found him, to her dismay, weaker and worse off 
 than at any time since he had been taken ill. At 
 this she could not blame herself too much. 
 
 Ethel, at the Cross-8, found herself much alone. 
 The Dona Inez commonly was not available for social 
 purposes until late in the afternoon. Not that the 
 Dona Inez was busy over household affairs. The 
 Cross-8 would have fared but dismally had the Dona 
 Inez undertaken the direction of its domestic desti 
 nies; for our blooming senorita made a specialty of 
 ignorance on matters of housewifely concern. Her 
 brown little hands, the size and almost the color of 
 October leaves, would have managed badly at any 
 thing more recondite than making chocolate or rolling 
 cigarettes. 
 
 It was a radical difference in the habits of the two 
 girls that led them to see so little of each other in 
 the earlier hours. Ethel s inclinations taught her 
 not alone to rise but almost to retire with the lark. 
 
 244 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 The Dona Inez on the other hand possessed certain 
 cat-like characteristics that, with least encourage 
 ment, kept her awake and moving for the greater 
 part of the night. Making up for these nocturnal 
 activities, she was no one to turn out if "turn out" 
 be not too rude a phrase with the sun. Moreover, 
 after she did turn out, it was her languid pleasure 
 to sit for long hours, wrapped in her reboza of black 
 and yellow, sipping chocolate and blowing fragrant 
 rings from her cigarette. She was no conversation 
 ist at such times, and would be dreamily silent unless 
 directly addressed. In case she were spoken to, the 
 Dona Inez purred assent to everything. Decidedly 
 pleasant, she was decidedly passive until the day 
 was well on its way to the west. 
 
 It was just after Don Anton paid Robert that 
 disturbing visit. Ethel had ordered Cato to saddle 
 Jet; she was in for a gallop, the weather being bright 
 and crisp. 
 
 As she stood waiting, whipping her riding-skirt 
 with the rawhide quirt, she was more than a trifle 
 astonished to observe one of the Cross-8 retainers 
 leading up Muchachito, the bay pony that was the 
 particular pet of the Dona Inez. Muchachito was 
 saddled and bridled and fully equipped. This made 
 Ethel wonder. Could it be that the Dona Inez, 
 defying precedent, contemplated a ride at that 
 hour? She should now be but half through her 
 chocolate, her cigarettes, and her wordless, feline 
 musings! 
 
 The two ponies, Jet and Muchachito, were brought 
 up together, for those orders to saddle had been issued 
 about the same time. Ethel resolved to find the Dona 
 
 245 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Inez. If she were for a canter, she should have 
 Ethel s company. 
 
 Just as Ethel reached the door of the Dona Inez s 
 room, that young lady came out. Like Ethel, she 
 was arrayed for the saddle. Unlike Ethel, there was 
 in her face a look of activity, and a daring energy 
 suppressed and held in check. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the Dona Inez at sight of Ethel, 
 "this is better than I hoped. I sent Juanita for you. 
 You are ready? Come!" 
 
 The Dona Inez brushed by, and the next moment 
 was on Muchachito. Ethel was scarcely an instant 
 behind with Jet. She could see that the Dona Inez 
 was moved of no ordinary reason in what she was 
 about; that, for the nonce, was enough. Once free 
 of the Cross-8, Ethel made no doubt the explanation 
 would be forthcoming. 
 
 The Dona Inez, taking the lead at a canter, headed 
 Muchachito for the south. There was no trail, nothing 
 save the grass under foot. 
 
 The two girls were a mile from the ranch, when 
 Ethel spoke. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. 
 
 It surprised Ethel to discover that her own nerves 
 had become as tense as a strung bow. The excite 
 ment that had taken possession of the Dona Inez was 
 contagious; and Ethel, while not knowing its origin, 
 was beginning to feel it. 
 
 "Don t ask me now," returned the Dona Inez. 
 "A little further, and you shall know." 
 
 The girls rode on. Now and then a shadowy jack- 
 rabbit, startled from beneath a mesquite, fled away 
 to one side, looking in its arrow-swift flight like a 
 
 246 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 brown streak drawn across the gray face of the dust- 
 colored plain. An occasional coyote peered at them 
 from a respectful distance, and tried to settle in its 
 narrow wolf-wits whether or no this sortie of two 
 maidens might mean a hunting, whereof the sequel 
 would be a meal. 
 
 The ponies kept steadily to work for thirty minutes, 
 the Dona Inez, with Muchachito keeping the advance. 
 They were five miles from the Cross-8 when a broad 
 trail was reached. The Dona Inez pulled short up, 
 Muchachito breathing deeply, for the pace had been 
 faster and the distance longer than he liked. Jet, 
 who was more in form, had stood the journey better. 
 
 "You see the trail? " The Dona Inez pointed with 
 her little hand. "It holds to the south through that 
 canon. You could travel for one hundred miles, and 
 never lose it." 
 
 " What is this mystery? " asked Ethel. " You have 
 not brought me here to show me this trail." 
 
 "I have brought you here," returned the Dona 
 Inez, with a gravity and a vigor strange enough to 
 Ethel, "that you might save a life that you love." 
 
 Ethel s heart beat quickly; her breathing became 
 deep and long. 
 
 "See now!" cried the Dona Inez, lapsing into her 
 manner of spiteful sarcasm, "my Don Anton is a 
 fool ! He is so great a fool that, having driven Juanita 
 from the room so that she may not hear, he then 
 goes shouting his affairs so loud that when, like a 
 true woman, she sits down beneath the open window, 
 she can hear nothing else. This is what you should 
 know: Don Anton makes a plot with Robert who 
 is less of a man, with even less courage, than Don 
 
 247 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Anton. They talked together not an hour back. 
 To-morrow at break of day Pedro of the Knife, with 
 a horde of Kiowas, will fall upon him whom you love 
 upon your Sefior Moonlight ! Would you save him? 
 Good! That trail leads direct to his home on the 
 Palo Duro his Dove s Nest! It is a good name; 
 for the dove is on her way." 
 
 Ethel understood the Dona Inez, and accepted 
 every word without challenge, comment, question or 
 doubt. The dread import of what she heard over 
 mastered all else. She never thought of denying 
 that charge of love, or asking how or when or where 
 the Dona Inez became informed of the plot. She 
 thought of but one thing. As though it were pictured 
 before her in a mirror, there rose the peril that over 
 shadowed her insolent gray-eyed one. Instead of 
 weak, she grew strong to the occasion. Her splendid 
 courage, like the courage of a thoroughbred horse, 
 mounted in her veins and flamed in her face. Her 
 eyes shone and glanced like diamonds. 
 
 The Dona Inez beheld the flaming cheek and 
 brightening eye. She misunderstood those signals, 
 and read in them the symptoms of a profound attack 
 of modesty and maidenly reserve. At this her wrath 
 kindled. 
 
 "This is no time," she cried, hotly rebuking that 
 misplaced maidenly reserve and virginal modesty 
 which she thought she had discovered "this is no 
 time for fine ladyisms! It is now that you must be 
 a woman!" 
 
 "I shall go," said Ethel simply. 
 
 "And I should go with you," went on the Dona 
 Inez, softening as she saw her error, "but there are 
 
 248 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 many reasons against it. One is that I m Don An 
 ton s betrothed wife." 
 
 "You will not marry him now!" exclaimed Ethel, 
 with a thrill of horror "marry him, a murderer! 
 who sets his savage bravos to assassinate an innocent 
 man!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, but I shall," returned the Dona Inez, 
 with cynical sweetness. "Neither is your Senor 
 Moonlight such a paragon of peace and innocence! 
 I should not send you to warn him, only I love you. 
 Besides, I do not favor creeping upon folk in their 
 sleep, to drive knives through their hearts." 
 
 The Dona Inez spoke now in a manner more com 
 posed. 
 
 "You have plenty of time," she explained to 
 Ethel. " Pedro of the Knife and his Kiowas will not 
 attack until dawn. You should be at the Dove s 
 Nest by dark. You have but to give your Senor 
 Moonlight the word, and, my heart for it, he will 
 know what to do!" 
 
 The Dona Inez explained that no one but Ethel 
 could have been entrusted to carry a warning to the 
 Dove s Nest. 
 
 "My father s people," she cried, "are all on the 
 side of Don Anton. A hint to one of them, and 
 instead of going to your Senor Moonlight, he would 
 have sought Don Anton. As for the sick Robert, 
 he is deep for this death plot. It was that which 
 took him to Austin; he brought back papers to make 
 the murder safe. The old gray man the old Pro 
 fessor was nowhere to be found when Juanita^had 
 told me of Don Anton and the sick Robert. No, 
 chiquita, it is you who must save him!" The Dona 
 
 249 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Inez pushed Muchachito up close, and leaning from 
 the saddle abruptly kissed Ethel. "Ah! I envy you! 
 To love one like him! To be granted the privilege 
 of saving him! Ah, that were bliss! Yes, I envy 
 you!" 
 
 With the last word, the Dona Inez wheeled Mucha 
 chito and was off like a bird for the Cross-8 before 
 Ethel could collect herself. She dropped out of sight 
 in a dry arroya, and Ethel was alone. 
 
 Ethel turned Jet to the south along that broad 
 brown strip of trail the trail to the Dove s Nest, 
 where dwelt the insolent gray-eyed one! There was 
 nothing of faltering, nothing of hesitation, nothing 
 save a great resolution. She must save him! With 
 this thought holding fast by her heart, what other 
 considerations obtruded themselves were made petty 
 by comparison. 
 
 Jet was strong and young and fleet, and good to 
 carry the girlish weight of Ethel through springy, 
 tireless hours. The Dona Inez had foretold her ad 
 vent at the Dove s Nest for dusk. Ethel, learned 
 in saddle-craft, slowed down the swinging lope of 
 Jet to a gait that should last the distance. 
 
 As Jet swept southward, Ethel tried to analyze 
 her own feelings. It set her to profound study that 
 she felt elate, uplifted, happy. Why should she re 
 joice? Did she love this insolent gray-eyed one? 
 She would have died before confessing it, even to 
 herself! No, of course she did not love him! How 
 should she? a man unknown to her! a man of not 
 altogether unequivocal repute! And yet he must be 
 saved! Here her heart spoke. But then that utter 
 ance was no more than the voice of a common human- 
 
 250 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 ity. Who would sit by while murderous savages 
 surprised a fellow-creature in his sleep and slew 
 him? Ethel gave Jet his head, and encouraged a 
 rounder stride. 
 
 One thing that invited her wonder was that she 
 had no apprehensions. Had not the Dona Inez said 
 that once he were warned, the insolent gray-eyed 
 one would know what to do? Ethel, too, was filled 
 with a shoreless confidence in the powers of that 
 insolent one. She had but to tell him! He would 
 take instant and unfailing steps toward his own as 
 well as her protection. She never once thought of 
 Aunt Tilda; and that was a mark of selfishness. 
 Neither did the question of how she herself was to 
 be extricated from the trap reputational and other 
 wise into which she was so steadily riding, present 
 itself; and that was a generous mark of a spirit and 
 self-sacrifice greater than that selfishness. 
 
 What grew in strangeness, and kept presenting 
 itself for Ethel s ever fresh amazement, was a sensa 
 tion of tenderness and joy in what she was about. 
 A soft glow swept over her a glow that had no 
 lawful place in what sensations belong merely with 
 saving human life. Also, she felt herself blushing; 
 and the blush deepened when she discovered that she 
 didn t care. 
 
 The sun was an hour above the harsh western 
 sky line, and the long, fleet shadows of Ethel and Jet 
 danced far out to the left. It was roundly three 
 hours since the Dona Inez had given her that fare 
 well kiss, and wheeled off for the Cross-8. 
 
 The trail was crossing a rolling stretch of country, 
 made up of gray grassy billows with shallow wide 
 
 251 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 valleys between. Jet was going easily, and never a 
 sign of weariness or loss of spirit. 
 
 Suddenly, with a zipp! something like a yellow 
 pencil of light flew by, and splintered on the flinty 
 ground ahead. It was an Indian s arrow. 
 
 Ethel s heart seemed to stop beating; she was 
 seized with a choking sense of terror! Instinctively 
 she struck Jet with her quirt; the cut raised a welt 
 on the black glossy shoulder. At this unusual at 
 tention Jet shot forward at racing speed. 
 
 Another arrow, and still another, zipped right and 
 left, to go driving and splintering into the baked 
 earth beyond. Ethel bent lower, and patted and 
 soothed Jet to conciliate and make amends for that 
 instinctive cut of the quirt. 
 
 She glanced backward along the trail. A shiver 
 cold as snow passed over her; next she was caught 
 up in a hot swirl of fear. Behind, not two hundred 
 yards away, were two Indians, their quick little 
 mustangs coming on at top bent. As the mustangs 
 flew toward her, their riders bows went twanging 
 like harp-strings, while arrow after arrow streamed 
 from each. 
 
 Even in her terror Ethel grasped the whole hor 
 rible nightmare of paint-streaked hideous faces, 
 dancing war-bonnets, winged arrows that sang and 
 hummed like bees, and little ponies, nostrils wide, 
 rushing on like comets. Burning one moment, she 
 froze the next; and yet, through it all, she kept her 
 seat firmly, and encouraged Jet with pretty plead 
 ing words and pats of the little hand to do his 
 best. 
 
 And all this in a handful of seconds! 
 252 
 
Behind, not tiro hundred i/anlx (uray, were two Ind unix. 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 Even in the grasp of awful fear such is the power 
 of a master thought Ethel found herself exulting 
 to think that the Indians had come up from the rear. 
 She was not cut off from the Dove s Nest! If she 
 escaped the arrows, and Jet s speed held up, she would 
 yet find that gray-eyed insolent one! He would pro 
 tect her! And now she fled toward him as some shal 
 lop, gale-driven, flies for the sheltering port beneath 
 its lee. 
 
 Jet was racing like the wind, breathing even, 
 muscles working like spring steel. The arrows no 
 longer zipped, but were supplanted by blood-curdling 
 yells. The effect on Jet was good; the yells served 
 to stiffen his pace. 
 
 Ethel cast another glance rearward. A feeling of 
 hope and high relief started up. Jet was widening 
 the distance; those murderers, howling in their paint 
 and feathers, were falling behind. Still, they clung 
 to the chase doggedly and would not give it up. 
 
 The foremost jabbed his mustang with his knife. 
 Stung with pain, the knife-tortured pony rushed out 
 ahead of his fellow, and for a space raced even with 
 the pace of Jet. The rider plied his knife, and kept 
 the frenzied mustang to its spasm of speed. That 
 couldn t last! When the mustang was exhausted, 
 and the knife-point could no more rouse it, Jet would 
 pull away. 
 
 On swept the chase; the foremost pursuer four 
 hundred yards behind Ethel, the other two hundred 
 yards further to the rear. Feeling that Jet was hold 
 ing his own and a little better, and no more arrows 
 humming, Ethel began to get back her confidence. 
 Those first fears somewhat abated, she settled her- 
 
 253 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 self to nurse Jet through the nerve-wasting con 
 test. 
 
 Then came disaster, sudden and swift! In a 
 moment all was terror and fresh horror! As Jet 
 recovered from a leap, a stone rolled under his off 
 fore hoof. He went down on one knee; then caught 
 himself like a flash. But there had been a strain! 
 Some tendon had been injured! EthePs blood again 
 ran cold, as she felt Jet growing lame and slow 
 beneath her. 
 
 The Indians saw the stumble, and were sharp to 
 gauge its effects. They urged their own blown ponies 
 to a final rally. On they came like tired meteors. 
 The yells grew louder. The arrows again began to 
 glance and zipp to left and right. The feathers on 
 one shaft flicked Ethel s cheek. She could feel a 
 whirl and a confusion. And yet, through the mists 
 of it all and that was the horror of it she knew 
 that Jet was going slower and still more slow, while 
 the fiends behind were drawing closer. 
 
 Suddenly she was aware of a stinging smart, as 
 though her shoulder had been touched with white- 
 hot iron. A fearful thing of feathered terror seemed 
 fastened in her flesh. 
 
 With a shriek Ethel turned her head. An arrow 
 had pierced the muscle high up on her left arm. It 
 had passed two-thirds through and held fast, the steel 
 head, red with blood, down-drooping toward her 
 hand. She got a horrified glimpse of the three 
 feathers that had guided the wicked thing, jutting 
 up above her shoulder. 
 
 Ethel felt herself sicken. Jet s lameness increased. 
 It was as though he now blundered forward on three 
 
 254 
 
ETHEL THE UNMAIDENLY 
 
 legs, pace no faster than a stumbling walk. With 
 that the arrows ceased while the yells increased. 
 Her pursuers felt secure of their prey. 
 
 Ethel s eyes were swimming, her ears ringing; she 
 could feel her senses giving way. She knew that 
 the Indians were drawing nearer and ever nearer. 
 Now they were closing down upon her with the rush 
 of a storm. She was in the clutch of death. Her 
 white lips tried to pray. Then, without pain or 
 warning shock, she ceased to hear or see or feel. At 
 one stroke everything was swallowed up in a vast, 
 pitying blank. 
 
 255 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 LET us go back a pace. Moonlight came back 
 from the Dobe Walls to the Dove s Nest by way of 
 Jeff and the Monk s Hill. He found Jeff crowding his 
 Mexicans to their sand-digging and tunnel-timbering 
 like a true taskmaster. The work seemed to be pro 
 gressing hopefully. Moonlight was cheered; he might 
 yet finger those rubies of the dead Don Lopez, and 
 the grasp of the desert upon his destinies would be 
 broken. 
 
 "How are you making out?" he asked. 
 
 "Famous, Cap n," returned the amateur engineer; 
 "plumb famous!" 
 
 "You seem to be feeling good?" 
 
 "Shore! Keep busy, Cap n, an you ll keep happy! 
 Flies don t bother a b ilin pot." 
 
 Moonlight gave Jeff a bag of silver money, being 
 part of what was paid by Merchant Wright for those 
 buffalo skins. The bag clinked musically. As Jeff 
 tossed it and caught it in his hands, he sang exultantly : 
 
 "Nothin but money 
 Is sweeter than honey!" 
 
 "That s to pay off your Mexicans," explained 
 Moonlight. "Also, when Wright s wagons come up 
 the trail on their way to the Dove s Nest, they ll roll 
 
 256 
 
THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 you out a cask of rum. Your Mexicans seem a faith 
 ful lot. Better let them have a mouthful now and 
 then, to lighten their hearts." 
 
 That evening Jeff paid his retainers, and gave them 
 each a pint of rum. They said that Jeff would yet be 
 Governor of Texas. Then they sat up the entire 
 night, and gambled at monte, singing meanwhile the 
 serenades of old Spain until the coyotes came very 
 close to listen. 
 
 Jeff also heard, but declined to be interested. 
 
 "Let em drink; let em sing; let em gamble," 
 quoth Jeff. "The morals of them greasers is nothin 
 to me. In the mornin they dig; or I ll fix up trouble 
 for em in hunks." 
 
 When Moonlight arrived at the Dove s Nest he 
 found that Red River Bill had baled up the hides and 
 was ready for the coming of the teams. By evening 
 next day the Wright outfits had arrived and departed, 
 bringing the cartridges and receiving the hides; and 
 thereafter, with Moonlight and Red River as its sole 
 inhabitants, the Dove s Nest returned to the even 
 tenor of its ways. The buffalo killing and skinning 
 were resumed; again the hides accumulated on the 
 curing grounds. 
 
 Two nights later Joe Gatling of the Frying Pan 
 rode up. 
 
 "You see," he explained, addressing Moonlight, 
 "I thought, when I give you Frosty s letter, I d saved 
 myself this trip; but it was written otherwise. This 
 time it s Ned Hanrahan." 
 
 As Joe spoke he gave Moonlight a long envelope. 
 Besides the letter which it contained, the latter could 
 feel a stiff four-cornered piece of pasteboard. 
 
 257 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "If I go on packin the mails this-away," vouch 
 safed Joe, "Scotty 11 shore begin to kick." Then to 
 Red River: "How about the food supply? I m as 
 lean as a lynx." 
 
 Red River swung a huge bake-kettle from the open 
 fire. In it were simmering and frying a dozen huge 
 buffalo steaks. These, bake-kettle and all, he placed 
 before Joe, and supplemented them with a wooden 
 bowl heaped high with saleratus biscuit of his best 
 baking. 
 
 " Cut in ! " said Red River, the sententious. " Thar s 
 coffee in that pot by the fire." 
 
 Joe went to the rude shelves that did for a cupboard 
 at the Dove s Nest. No one waits on you in the 
 Panhandle, so Joe waited on himself. He returned 
 equipped of a tin plate and cup, and sat himself 
 firmly down before that steak-filled bake-kettle. 
 
 For a full half hour Joe spoke no word, but acted. 
 At the end of that time he had reduced the buffalo 
 steaks by one-third and made a visible impression on 
 the heaped-up biscuit. Neither was there so much 
 danger of the coffee boiling over as when he began. 
 
 "That s what I call a reestorative, " said Joe, as he 
 leaned back after his banquet and rolled a cigarette. 
 
 "Which your appetite shore don t seem to be losin 
 ground none," observed Red River cynically, review 
 ing the ravages wrought by Joe. 
 
 Moonlight opened Mr. Hanrahan s letter. It read : 
 
 DEAR CAPTAIN: 
 
 The picture I enclose I finds in the room lately ockepied by 
 that pulmonary party you drug in outen the snow. In the jedg- 
 ment of me an Bob, it s the picture of you, took, say, when you 
 was a yearlin . Wherefore we sends it, per hand of Joe who s 
 headin r this mornin for his Fryin Pan home. If the picture 
 
 258 
 
THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 ain t yours, why then it s simply a stack down wrong, an no 
 harm done. In sech case give it to the pulmonary party at your 
 convenience an much oblige 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 NED HANRAHAN. 
 
 P. S. Said pulmonary party looked too dead to skin when 
 he leaves with Scotty, an I offered Bob two to one in bloos he 
 wouldn t last till the spring round-ups. Bob refoosed to take 
 it, an swung an rattled for four to one, which in the present 
 state of my information I didn t feel jestified in givin . If you 
 cross up with this pulmonary party, an notice any change for 
 the worse, try an get me word. I d shore like to skin Bob outen 
 a stack or two. 
 
 N. H. 
 
 Moonlight glanced at the photograph. He remem 
 bered well the day in Baltimore when it was struck off. 
 It had been taken no more than a handful of months 
 prior to that far-off night when he left old Somerset 
 without saying "Good-by!" It brought up a multi 
 tude of memories memories clothed with sadness. 
 
 Most, however, it brought up the question of how 
 it came to be in the hands of his enemy. What should 
 one, whom he had never met, whose very name was 
 unknown to him, be doing with this photograph of 
 himself? 
 
 "And yet," mused Moonlight, "the explanation 
 will be simple enough, I ll wager, when it gets to me. " 
 
 That Robert would seek possession of the Dove s 
 Nest, Moonlight confidently expected. There would 
 otherwise be no wit in that long journey to Austin. 
 His own course, too, had been settled upon. Rifle 
 and knife, he would hold the Dove s Nest against all 
 comers. 
 
 When the blizzard overthrew his first plan, Moon 
 light made another. He would not now seek Robert ; 
 he would let his foe seek him. It would do just as 
 
 259 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 well to meet the latter at the Dove s Nest. Indeed, 
 since killing was resolved upon, Moonlight preferred 
 the Dove s Nest. It would then, as a transaction in 
 red, be more quickly understood and accounted for 
 by the Panhandle intelligence. 
 
 Certainly, this last was far and away an improve 
 ment on an earlier impulse, which had come to him 
 after he left the Dobe Walls, urging him to find out 
 Robert at the Bar-Z and compel him to a bloody un 
 derstanding. The " Beautiful One" would be at the 
 Bar-Z. Moonlight hesitated at carrying his war into 
 her tender vicinity. Since it was the earliest instance 
 of any such delicacy on his part he was struck with it 
 as strange. He would not, with the thought of the 
 " Beautiful One" before him, go to the Bar-Z. No, 
 he would wait for Robert to come to the Dove s Nest. 
 They might then try out their differences to a close. 
 
 Moonlight, having taken that individual s timid 
 measure, argued that Robert would come backed 
 with a force. He was certain that no Americans 
 would be of it. Sure as to the feeling of the Pan 
 handle, he knew that the enlistment of an American 
 in Robert s interest would be out of the question. No 
 such solecism was possible. 
 
 No; Robert would surround himself with a dingy 
 bevy of Mexicans. Moonlight was shrewd enough to 
 argue that in such a coil, wherein smoke would doubt 
 less curl and rifles crack, Robert would have the help 
 of the revengeful Don Anton. Also that he would 
 not have the prudent Red Bull s. 
 
 "Not," he considered, "but what my friend who 
 wants the Dove s Nest will have the Red Bull s best 
 wishes. Those wishes, however, will be silently ex- 
 
 260 
 
THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 pressed, and at no time take the shape of lending him 
 any help from the Cross-8. With Don Anton it is 
 different. He would give him every Baca peon on 
 the Concha. Don Anton will depopulate Chaparita, 
 if it be necessary to make the campaign a success, 
 stipulating only for my destruction." He spoke to 
 Red River. 
 
 "We are going to have a fight," he observed care 
 lessly. 
 
 " Greasers?" 
 
 "Don Anton s greasers." 
 
 "Yere?" 
 
 "Yes, at the Dove s Nest." 
 
 "Let her roll!" was the final comment of the ac 
 quiescent Red River, who fought as part of the day s 
 work. 
 
 "They should be here inside of the month," Moon 
 light went on. "There may be as many as thirty. " 
 
 "Thirty or three hundred!" responded Red River, 
 "what s the odds? A greaser can t fight." 
 
 Red River had all of that contempt for a Mexican 
 which the American ever entertains. When the enemy 
 is Mexican it has been the Texas habit to ask, not 
 "How many?" but "Where are they?" and Red 
 River was of an unmixed Lone Star strain. 
 
 "They will try for a surprise, " remarked Moonlight, 
 running the probabilities over in his mind. "They 
 should come in the night." 
 
 "Good!" returned the undisturbed Red River. 
 "Night or day, we ll be yere." 
 
 Neither Moonlight nor Red River thought of send 
 ing for Jeff. Nothing so humiliating as asking rein 
 forcements against a parcel of Mexicans would be 
 
 261 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 entertained by either. Not that Jeff was wholly over 
 looked. A remark of Red River showed as much. 
 
 "Jeff will be fightin mad," he said with a grin, as 
 though the jest appealed to him, "when we pulls off 
 this play, an him left out. " 
 
 That picture, and the letter from Mr. Hanrahan 
 had come to disturb the reflections of Moonlight. 
 And yet they did not reshape his plan of awaiting 
 Robert at the Dove s Nest. Still it would relieve him 
 to have the puzzle of it cleared up. In defending the 
 Dove s Nest he would else feel like one shooting in the 
 dark. He reasoned from that picture that his foe 
 knew more of him than he knew of the foe; and while 
 when it came to lead and steel he could perceive 
 in that no advantage to the enemy, it was an igno 
 rance on his part which he preferred to have removed. 
 
 That photograph was more upon Moonlight s cogi 
 tations than his pride would have cared to admit. 
 At last a conclusion was reached. He himself would 
 visit the Bar-Z, not for conflict but for information. 
 He would show the photograph, and ask Robert to 
 explain. The explanation might mean war or peace; 
 he would be ready for either. Meanwhile, a sly hope 
 set his pulse to a faster pace that his call at the Bar-Z 
 might result in a glimpse of the "Beautiful One" 
 whose handkerchief was even then about his throat! 
 He might learn her name, and settle the meaning of 
 that embroidered "E." These latter meditations 
 were gently pleasant. 
 
 It was a few evenings later. Moonlight and Red 
 River were over their final buffalo steaks. 
 
 "To-morrow," spoke up Moonlight, "when I ve 
 killed for the day, I think I ll ride over and take a 
 
 2Q2 
 
THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 look in on Jeff. I shall be gone four days. You ll 
 find plenty to do with what robes are on hand." 
 
 Moonlight said no word as to what should be the 
 course of Red River in case Robert and his Mexicans 
 descended on the Dove s Nest during his absence. 
 Such a contingency might happen; but if it did, Red 
 River could be relied upon. 
 
 With the first slant rays of the eastern sun Moon 
 light was in the saddle. President quickly put be 
 hind him the huddle of miles which lay between the 
 Dove s Nest and the killing grounds. The work 
 would not be hard that morning. 
 
 As Moonlight came within sight of the usual bed- 
 ground of the buffaloes, his eyes were gratified by the 
 spectacle of a shaggy herd of bulls lying or grazing 
 on the gentle slope. The frost on their rough shoul 
 ders glittered like jewels in the early rays of the sun. 
 
 When about a mile from the bulls, being carefully 
 down the wind from their easily excited nostrils, 
 Moonlight dismounted, and putting President between 
 himself and the quarry used that sagacious animal as 
 a stalking horse. The bulls were not afraid of Presi 
 dent wearing an empty saddle. With Moonlight on 
 his back, they would have shambled off. 
 
 Making two hundred yard tacks, Moonlight see 
 sawed President from left to right, like a vessel beat 
 ing up against the wind, he himself keeping ever on 
 the blind side from the bulls. In this zigzag fashion 
 he approached within shooting distance of the heavy 
 brutes. At this they began to turn restless, and one 
 or two walked a threatening step toward President, 
 tossing their horns, being disposed to bully. Why 
 should this foolish and unmannerly horse be per- 
 
 263 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 mitted to disturb their repose? The thought raised 
 their dander strangely, and they paused to paw the 
 sod and cover their shoulders with warlike dust, 
 thrown up by indignant hoofs. 
 
 Moonlight took the range with his eye, and notched 
 up his rear sight a buckhorn to meet it. Then he 
 fell on one knee, just under the nose of President. 
 For that one shot he would need a cover. Afterward 
 he could throw off concealment; the work would be 
 certain and never a chance of failure. 
 
 He brought the heavy Sharp s to his shoulder. The 
 fresh morning breeze blew squarely in his face. He 
 picked out a dignified patriarch, that stood up the 
 wind from the herd, and aimed at a place back of the 
 fore-shoulder. 
 
 "Bang!" 
 
 The big Sharp s roared; the puff of smoke went 
 drifting down the wind. Shot through the lungs, with 
 fore feet planted wide, nostrils gushing blood, the 
 wounded bull stood fighting for breath. A moment 
 passed. He crippled slowly forward, stumbled, 
 pitched heavily upon his shoulder, and then rolled 
 over on his side. Moonlight flicked out the empty 
 shell and snapped in a fresh cartridge. 
 
 With the roar of the big gun the buffaloes started 
 to fly, stampede at their hearts and heels. Instantly 
 their mood changed. The scent of the streaming 
 blood from the stricken one swept down upon them 
 with the breeze, and changed fear to madness. They 
 forgot to fly, became blind to danger, thought only in 
 their frenzy of destroying their wounded mate. They 
 charged upon him with lowered horns and hoarse in 
 sane bellowings. The wounded buffalo had fallen be- 
 
 264 
 
THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 fore the nearest bull reached him. That made no 
 change. They gored and trampled the recumbent 
 form. Dying or dead, it mattered not to those un- 
 curried lunatics, whose reason had been overthrown 
 by the smell of blood. 
 
 "Bang!" spoke the buffalo gun. 
 
 And now a second bull stands tottering and bleed 
 ing out his life. With a rush his crazed comrades are 
 upon him. 
 
 "Bang!" 
 
 More blood, and the shaggy mob attack the third. 
 It is like a battle. The bulls fight blindly, madly, 
 feeling nothing save that senseless blood-rage. And 
 all the time the big buffalo gun is booming, sending 
 on its leaden messengers of slaughter. 
 
 The riot proceeds for fifteen minutes. Moonlight 
 counts thirty victims, some quiet in death, some fee 
 bly struggling, stretched upon the slope. It is enough ; 
 he remounts the unconcerned President, who has 
 been nibbling grass throughout the carnage, buffa 
 loes and their destinies being nothing to him. 
 
 At sight of Moonlight on President the bulls be 
 came instantly sobered. They left off their lunatic 
 bellowing and the goring of dead friends, and took 
 to flight lumberingly. Moonlight paid no heed to 
 them. At that their scare wore off, and after running 
 a half-mile they slowed down, and began grazing as 
 calmly as though no such death-trinket as a Sharp s 
 rifle had as yet found invention. 
 
 Moonlight rode across the intervening four hundred 
 yards, and contemplated his work. Had one fenced 
 in the thirty dead buffaloes as they lay, one wouldn t 
 have enclosed an acre of land. He raised his eyes in 
 
 265 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the direction of the Dove s Nest. In the distance, 
 turning a rise of ground, he made out Red River with 
 team and wagon on his way to the skinning. 
 
 "And now," thought Moonlight, "for my friend of 
 the Bar-Z! With this photograph over which to be 
 gin a conversation, and with our six-shooters to punc 
 tuate it, we ought to know more or know less of one 
 another before we part." 
 
 Moonlight, without waiting for Red River to come 
 up, struck across country as the crow flies for the 
 Monk s Hill. He would stay one night with Jeff, and 
 be off for the Bar-Z in the morning. 
 
 The pace of President would not have been called 
 headlong, and yet the steady stride ate up the miles 
 like a vulture. They seemed to melt beneath the 
 flying hoofs, as snow melts in the hot face of the sun. 
 
 "At this gait," thought Moonlight, "there should 
 be plenty of daylight left when I make Jeff s camp." 
 
 Two hours went by. Suddenly he pulled up with 
 an ejaculation of disgust. He put his hand to his 
 pocket, and then brought it away baffled. The 
 thought had come to him that the photograph was 
 left behind; the moment s search confirmed it. 
 
 "There s wisdom!" exclaimed Moonlight, in mighty 
 dudgeon with himself. "It s like the act of a boy! 
 The worst is that President will be punished most; 
 it means extra miles and extra hours for him." 
 
 Around came the velvet muzzle of President; again 
 he was urged to that long, unbuckled distance-devour 
 ing gallop. Only now he was pointing for the Dove s 
 Nest, and not for the Monk s Hill. 
 
 Moonlight was in no good humor with himself. Not 
 being clairvoyant, he failed to foresee how important 
 
 266 
 
THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 for his heart and his hopes the disaster of that for 
 gotten photograph would prove. One should not 
 condemn a cause until the result is known. Being 
 human, however, and wholly unwedded to the above 
 philosophy, Moonlight berated himself as though he 
 were the worst of felons. 
 
 Red River was still absent at the buffalo skinning, 
 and Moonlight had the Dove s Nest to himself. He 
 took advantage of his return to make a coarse repast 
 on coffee, biscuit and cold boiled buffalo tongue. Pend 
 ing a fresh start, he unloosened the double cinches of 
 his saddle. President, at this relief, breathed deeply, 
 and then, emulating the example of his master, set 
 about refreshing himself on the short grass. 
 
 Moonlight now was in no hurry; he had lost the 
 morning, he would not try to save the afternoon. 
 President, on a pinch, was capable of putting one hun 
 dred miles between feed and feed; but there abode 
 no present occasion for such heart-breaking haste, 
 and the day was well along before Moonlight made a 
 fresh start. 
 
 "If it hadn t been," said he, as he swung into the 
 saddle, "for this foolish lapse of memory, I d be at 
 Jeff s camp by this time." 
 
 Again he struck out, adopting now that open trail 
 which ran away to the north. Ten miles out from 
 the Cross-8 he would break to the right for the Monk s 
 Hill. 
 
 The sun was swinging low in the west, and Presi 
 dent had entered a narrowish part of that same canon 
 which had aforetime beheld the discomfiture of Pedro 
 of the Knife. Moonlight was thinking on that ear 
 less one, and his thoughts made for his disparagement. 
 
 267 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 "It doesn t speak well/ he was saying to himself, 
 "for the Mexican s reputation as a fighting man, that 
 he has not come for his revenge. Surely, if the loss 
 of an ear won t rouse him, he must be exceeding 
 tame." 
 
 Moonlight was turning in his mind the tameness of 
 Pedro of the Knife, to the steady lowering of that 
 assassin in his good esteem, when he was brought up 
 short by a ringing volley of yells. In a moment he 
 was out of the saddle, and making for a huge bowlder 
 that topped the canon s side. Once there he might 
 see without being seen. 
 
 It cost but the splinter of a moment, and he was 
 behind the bowlder. From this vantage point he 
 commanded the trail for the distance of a furlong. 
 Then it dipped out of sight into the low ground be 
 yond. 
 
 It was from this low stretch came the cries. They 
 grew louder as their source drew nearer. As yet the 
 authors of those yells were hidden by the lay of the 
 ground. 
 
 Moonlight recognized those shouts as readily as a 
 sophomore recognizes his college cry. 
 
 "Kiowas!" he ruminated. "They are chasing 
 some one! If he ll only last until he is over yonder 
 crest, I may do something to his advantage." 
 
 The yells, throughout which ran a note of savage 
 triumph, waxed in volume as the chase came on. 
 
 "Kluck! kluck!" said the Sharp s. 
 
 The sound was oily and full of unctuous anticipa 
 tion, as though the rifle were licking its lips. Per 
 haps it was; since rifles feed on slaughter, surely they 
 should be pleased with slaughter. 
 
 268 
 
THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 Moonlight s gaze was fastened on the bare, gray, 
 grassless spot where the well-worn trail broke over 
 the hill. What he expected was a Mexican herder 
 flying, hand and heel, from a party of Kiowas, who 
 had left off buffalo hunting for the more engaging 
 pastime of hunting the Mexican. 
 
 "Yes," he went on, as though apologizing to him 
 self for some meditated piece of misconduct, "I think 
 I ll stop them. Not on the Mexican s account, of 
 course; for as between Kiowas and greasers, I ve 
 little or no choice. But I don t care to encourage the 
 coming of Kiowas to the south side of the Canadian. 
 Their range lies to the north; over here they d get 
 in my way and spoil my hunting." 
 
 These reasons appeared convincing and satisfac 
 tory, and Moonlight crouched rifle to the fore as 
 sharply set as a rattlesnake coiled to strike. 
 
 " Suppose now it turns out to be my friend Pedro 
 of the Knife." 
 
 The notion caused a puckering about the corners 
 of Moonlight s mouth. It was out of place, however, 
 and wondrously at variance with what transpired. 
 Even as he entertained the fancy a foam-flaked pony, 
 lame and stumbling, came halting over the crest to 
 stagger forward a pace or two, and stop. The rider, 
 a girl, pale and senseless, slipped from the saddle as 
 a snow wreath slips from a hillside. There on the 
 grass she lay, dead or fainting, while the spent, foam- 
 dabbled pony stood with drooping head and quiver 
 ing flank. 
 
 Moonlight, the immovable, could not restrain a 
 cry. 
 
 "The Beautiful One!" he exclaimed. 
 269 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 The next moment, eye agate, jaw iron, he became 
 as steady as a tree. 
 
 There was no long wait; events crowded hard upon 
 events. Coincident with the appearance of Ethel a 
 painted savage showed his ocher-streaked features 
 above the ridge. His beaten pony, worse shaken even 
 than Jet, fell on its knees as with a last effort it scram 
 bled onto the level ground. The yelling rider never 
 paused. Knife in hand, he was instantly off the 
 pony, bending over Ethel. 
 
 That marked his end. Like a flash he was covered 
 by a muzzle that never erred. The great Sharp s 
 boomed and a bullet eight to the pound went crash 
 ing through his brain. Throwing up his hands, the 
 painted one died without a cry, his knife tinkling on 
 the hard ground. As he went down Moonlight ran 
 forward like a deer, slipping in another cartridge as 
 he sped. 
 
 Kiowa number two, if he heard the report of the 
 buffalo gun, failed to understand. Perhaps he lost 
 all notice of it, drowning its reverberations in his own 
 yelling uproar. 
 
 Moonlight ran to the crest of the hill, holding it a 
 first duty to consider that yell-maker, not yet in 
 view. There he was, fifty yards below, pony at a 
 walk. He had thrown himself from its back, think 
 ing to make better speed on foot, and was pressing up 
 the slope. 
 
 "Dog of a Kiowa," cried Moonlight, "look up!" 
 
 The astonished savage lifted his face. As he did 
 so, the bullet planted itself between his eyes. Over 
 he rolled, to perish like his fellow without moan or 
 quiver, dead before he struck the ground. 
 
 270 
 
THE POISONED ARROW 
 
 Moonlight was by Ethel s side almost before the 
 Kiowa had fallen. Her cheek was as pale as a lily. 
 He gently seized the arrow, intending to break off 
 the head and draw the Osage-orange shaft from the 
 shoulder. The arrow-head steel and of a rusty 
 brown was loose, and came off in his fingers. The 
 loose arrow-head caused him to start with a kind of 
 dismay. 
 
 "What!" he cried. "A war arrow! Now heaven 
 forbid it be poisoned!" 
 
 From the gray eyes there looked out a great alarm. 
 Quick as thought he drew his knife, and with swift 
 deftness ripped wide the dress sleeve from wrist to 
 throat. The wound itself was slight; the arrow had 
 pierced no more flesh than might have been taken 
 between thumb and finger. He removed the head 
 less shaft, and wiped away the oozing blood which 
 showed like crimson on ivory against the snow-white 
 skin. The steel had made a double wound, the cuts 
 no more than a half-inch apart. 
 
 Ethel s face was the hue of marble. Moonlight 
 wasted no precious time. Speculation as to whether 
 or no the arrow had been dipped in poison would be 
 fruitless, and could decide nothing. Also, he was too 
 well versed in Kiowa methods touching war arrows 
 to accept the chance. There was no hesitation, no 
 diffidence. The moment he drew out the shaft, he 
 laid his lips to the wounds. If there were poison he 
 would draw it forth. It was the best remedy; under 
 the circumstances it was the only remedy. 
 
 Whether it were the unusual treatment, or just her 
 young, strong life returning of itself, is hard to say. 
 After a moment, however, Ethel s eyes opened and 
 
 271 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 stared skyward in a dimmed way. Her wits were 
 still abroad; the past as well as the present was in a 
 mist. Then of a sudden her glance fell on Moonlight. 
 Instantly she seemed to know and understand; at 
 that, face and neck and milk-white wounded shoulder 
 went from snow to rose-red. 
 
 272 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 APPLIED SCIENCE AND THE MONK S HILL 
 
 FOR full fifteen lurid minutes, following the disaster 
 at the Monk s Hill, Jeff expressed himself concerning 
 what he called his "luck." He was a finished rhetor 
 ician of the Panhandle variety, and good judges, such 
 as Mr. Hanrahan and Merchant Wright, would have 
 said that he did the situation justice. In the end, Jeff 
 ran down and turned to the Professor, who was stand 
 ing by full of sympathy and science. 
 
 "What do you-all think yourse f, Professor?" asked 
 Jeff. 
 
 "Friend Jeff," the Professor returned, "I will not 
 pretend that the rougher outlines of a plan have not 
 occurred to me. Let me revolve this matter in my 
 mind, and I may have a suggestion to make. " 
 
 The Professor walked away toward the river, leav 
 ing Jeff surrounded by his Mexicans, contemplating 
 the sand-choked mouth of the tunnel. The Mexicans 
 crossed themselves resignedly after the manner of 
 their church, as showing that in their estimation all 
 was lost. 
 
 Jeff set them with shovel and wheelbarrow to clear 
 ing out the invading sand. It was a hopeless labor; 
 the sand poured in as fast as it was cleared away. 
 Evidently Jeff s timbering had been more or less dis 
 turbed, for every crack leaked a sandy stream. Jeff, 
 however, held his retainers to their task. Until he 
 
 273 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 had formulated some fresh programme he might bet 
 ter keep them engaged; and, although they knew 
 their work to be useless, the docile Mexicans made no 
 remonstrance. They were used to act without con 
 sideration and upon suggestion of the superior mind. 
 
 The Professor as he strolled away had one thought 
 ful eye upon the giant sand-hill. At times he paused, 
 and cast a sagacious glance toward the Monk s Hill 
 proper. After several minutes of rumination, he came 
 back to Jeff. 
 
 "As you ve already told me, Friend Jeff," observed 
 the Professor, "this hill was formed by the winds." 
 
 "Shore!" returned Jeff. "Such breeze-built emi 
 nences is plumb common. Which I wish they d been 
 compiled some other way. Now if this yere was what 
 a gent might call a nacheral born hill, the tunnelin 
 tharof would be a cinch." 
 
 "Yes," continued the Professor, not heeding Jeff, 
 "it was formed by the winds. They were from the 
 north or northwest, and came driving down the river 
 bottoms, picking up their freight of sand on the way. 
 Striking the wooded crest, they sifted down their 
 freight of sand on the same principle that underlies 
 the formation of snowdrifts." 
 
 "That s c rrect," coincided Jeff, breaking in on the 
 Professor s exposition, which had been delivered to 
 himself rather than Jeff, and was in the nature of a 
 scientific soliloquy; "it s as you lays it down. Them 
 sand-freighted winds comes cavortin down the river 
 from the northwest. Which I might add that the 
 wind puts in most of its time along the Canadian 
 blowin from the north arid northwest. " 
 
 "Precisely," interrupted the Professor. "And 
 274 
 
THE MONK S HILL 
 
 since this sand-hill is wind-formed, doesn t it occur to 
 you that it might be as readily removed by the wind?" 
 
 "Why, yes, Professor," assented Jeff, "it might, 
 if only a gale would set in from the right direction, 
 say from the south or southeast. " 
 
 "It wouldn t have to come from so opposite a quar 
 ter. Here, I have an idea! How much canvas have 
 you, canvas such as that of which your tent is con 
 structed?" 
 
 "The tent s about all, " replied Jeff, looking puzzled, 
 but expectant. Then he added: "However, if it s 
 canvas you want, the Red Bull ought to have bolt on 
 bolt of the best 16-ounce duck in the Cross-8 store." 
 
 The Professor brightened up. 
 
 " Peradventure he has," he said. "This then 
 would be my suggestion: let us erect a canvas fence 
 or screen, carrying it out beyond the toe of the hill 
 toward the river. It will then catch the breeze, and 
 deflect it against the sand-hill. Also, if your Mexicans 
 would but clear away the small trees and shrubs from 
 the crest just above, it should doubtless assist in the 
 experiment." 
 
 Jeff did not instantly comprehend. At last, how 
 ever, the scientific Professor succeeded in making him 
 self plain. Once he grasped the matter, Jeff gave it 
 his heartiest adoption; for he was a radical, and went 
 easily to new things. 
 
 The Professor marked a rough line from a point 
 where the breeze-constructed sand-hill joined with the 
 rocky Monk s Hill proper, on the side nearest the 
 river. The line marked was twenty rods long, and 
 the river end overlapped the point of rocks in which 
 the Monk s Hill terminated by sixty feet. Along this 
 
 275 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 line he would build a canvas fence, assuming that so 
 much canvas could be found in the ranch store at the 
 Cross-8. On this latter point Jeff was confident. 
 
 "Thar s plenty of canvas at the Red Bull s," said 
 Jeff. " You can put a bet on it!" 
 
 The Professor observed that he would see to the 
 matter of that Cross-8 canvas. If it wasn t to be had 
 from the Red Bull s outfit, it might still be found 
 somewhere else, Tascosa or the Dobe Walls perhaps. 
 Meanwhile, a first step would be to set the Mexicans 
 to cutting smallish trees, from among the many taper 
 ing pines and aspens growing on the thither slope of 
 the Monk s Hill. These must be trimmed of their 
 boughs, and shaped into twenty-foot fence posts, to 
 form a framework for the canvas. 
 
 "If there s duck sufficient," observed the Profes 
 sor, "we should make it twenty feet high. It will 
 control the breeze just as a conduit does water, and 
 throw it against the base of the hill. If my experi 
 ment works faithfully out, the effect will be to cut a 
 path between the sand-hill and the hill of rocks against 
 which it rests." 
 
 "The same bein ," added Jeff, "calc lated, in the 
 nacher of things, to unkiver said spring which I ve 
 been tryin to track to its lair by means of that tun 
 nel. Professor, you re a wonder! Shake!" Here Jeff 
 possessed himself of the hand of his scientific ally. 
 "Which I ve allers held you to be a eddicated gent; 
 but never to sech extremes as now." 
 
 The Professor modestly repressed Jeff s enthusiasm. 
 He advised that congratulations be withheld until 
 triumph had been achieved. 
 
 The Professor elaborated his plan in detail. With 
 276 
 
THE MONK S HILL 
 
 Jeff, he walked over the line of the proposed canvas 
 wind-break, and drove pegs where the posts were to 
 be set. Then the pair climbed the Monk s Hill, and 
 marked two score and more of slim young trees for 
 the axes of the Mexicans. They would need not only 
 the posts, but a tree equally as large must be felled 
 to serve as brace for each post. At this tree-marking 
 the pair were busy until the sun had traveled half way 
 down the western sky. 
 
 The Professor took his leave, promising to go into 
 the subject of duck the moment he reached the Cross-8. 
 When he had departed, Jeff withdrew his patient re 
 tainers from their dust-shoveling, and set them, axe 
 in hand, to felling the trees. Green pine chops easily, 
 and the post-cutting was not so hard as the sand- 
 shoveling. As the Professor mounted Socrates for 
 his return journey, he could hear the cheerful " chip- 
 chop" of the keen-bitted axes, busy in the business 
 of his fence posts. Also he was gratified, as he rode 
 away, to feel on his right cheek a steady wind from 
 the northwest. 
 
 "Only," considered the Professor, "the breeze will 
 have to show a greater velocity than this. Now a 
 wind traveling say forty miles an hour, properly de 
 flected, ought to gnaw through such a snuff-like ob 
 struction as that sand-hill in a very brief space. How 
 ever, we shall see." 
 
 As Jeff declared, the Professor found the Red Bull s 
 ranch store rich in bolts of canvas. He was in favor 
 of taking them all. 
 
 The Red Bull, personally, was already on his way 
 to the Dobe Walls in quest of that alibi for which he 
 yearned, but the old Mexican major domo acted po- 
 
 277 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 litely in his stead. Certainly, the urbane major domo 
 would give the honorable Don Doremus anything in 
 his power! Also, pack mules three would be enough 
 should be ready in the morning, to carry those bolts 
 of duck wherever the honorable Don Doremus wished. 
 The old, gray major domo beamed and shrugged his 
 shoulders and spread his hands as he said these things. 
 He was only too happy to be of use to the Red Bull s 
 friend. 
 
 "He is locoed!" murmured the major domo, sor 
 rowfully tapping his wrinkled forehead, as the Pro 
 fessor left the ranch store to hunt up Aunt Tilda, and 
 ask concerning Robert. 
 
 " Locoed" is Mexican for crazy; but the old major 
 domo was no less pleasantly ready to turn out the 
 Red Bull s bolts of duck for all that. The honorable 
 Don Doremus was undoubtedly insane; he was also, 
 however, the friend of the Red Bull. Wherefore, 
 sticking only to the latter consideration, the old major 
 domo was prepared next morning with that trio of 
 promised mules, packed to the ears with bolts of 
 canvas. 
 
 "Is it for a long journey?" the major domo asked. 
 " If it is, I will send also a camp outfit with the packer, 
 who is to drive the laden mules for the honorable Don 
 Doremus." 
 
 The Professor explained that the journey would 
 mean no more than a couple of hours. Mounted on 
 Socrates, he himself would prod forward the laden 
 mules, and the packer offered by the generous polite 
 ness of the major domo might be dispensed with. 
 
 "Then," acquiesced the major domo, "if the jour 
 ney be only two hours, the honorable Don Doremus has 
 
 278 
 
THE MONK S HILL 
 
 but to turn the three mules loose when he is done with 
 them. They will return of themselves. " 
 
 When the Professor reached the scene of his pro 
 posed operations, he found that the indefatigable Jeff, 
 with two of the Mexicans, was already setting up the 
 tall posts for the canvas fence. So fast did the enter 
 prise go forward, with two Mexicans chopping and 
 two setting up and bracing the posts, that by sun 
 down the close-set rank of poles was almost completed. 
 Jeff squinted along them with approving eyes. 
 
 " Looks like a fine-tooth comb," he remarked. 
 
 The Professor, fertile in invention, had brought 
 with him from the Cross-8 store divers packages of 
 those small iron cleats wherewith wire fences are con 
 structed. These were used to hold fast the stretched 
 canvas to the posts. The work went on happily. 
 
 When the chopping Mexicans had cut what poles 
 were needed, Jeff next set them to shoveling into the 
 base of the sand-hill at its juncture with the Monk s 
 Hill, where the canvas wind-break would end. This 
 was to encourage the deflected breeze to take hold. 
 
 "An 7 it 11 shore take hold, you bet," said Jeff con 
 fidently, " once it gets started. An you hear me, Pro 
 fessor! once one of them Canadian zephyrs sinks its 
 teeth into that sand-hill, it 11 go through it like the 
 grace of heaven through a camp meetin . That s 
 straight! Which it 11 unravel it like an old lady un 
 ravels a stocking. This yere sand-hill s goin to be a 
 thing of the past, said alteration bein doo to occur 
 with the first stiff gale that comes pirootin down the 
 creek." 
 
 It was the evening, and the canvas wind-break had 
 been finished. Twenty feet high, and extending like 
 
 279 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the wing of a fish-net almost to the river s edge, it 
 looked from a distance not unlike the one side of an 
 enormous circus tent. Being stiffly braced and se 
 cured, and the twenty-foot posts having been solidly 
 planted, there was small chance of its coming down. 
 
 Jeff gazed upon the work complacently, and pro 
 nounced it good. The breeze was very slight, weather 
 cold and clear. Even with the present slow pace of 
 the wind, however, a little incessant demon-dance of 
 snuff-colored dust was constantly going on at the end 
 of the canvas chute. Jeff gave it as his opinion, and 
 the Professor agreed, that much might be hoped from 
 their unique device. 
 
 "This late in the year," said Jeff judgmatically, 
 "of course sech a thing as snow or rain is likely. 
 And yet I don t reckon now that neither of em or 
 both would make much difference. The sand s bound 
 to be dry underneath, d ye see, an that s where our 
 wind-break gets action. No, sir," he went on con 
 fidently, as though replying to a question, "you hear 
 my gentle voice ! The fust time, wet or dry, the wind 
 teches anything like a storm-gait, it 11 nacherally 
 swipe said offensive protooberance plumb off the map. 
 Once the topography of this yere region has been so 
 far improved, our locatin of Old Tom Moonlight s 
 spring ought to be easy. " 
 
 "I think as you do, friend Jeff," returned the Pro 
 fessor, rubbing his satisfied hands. "Yes, I really 
 think we may congratulate ourselves. All we have 
 to do now is wait for a wind of sufficient volume, con 
 fident of reaping from our arrangements a happiest 
 possible result. " 
 
 The Professor set out for the Cross-8. Robert s 
 280 
 
THE MONK S HILL 
 
 condition was very low, and Aunt Tilda being cor 
 respondingly worried, the Professor thought it the 
 part of friendship to be near at hand. He could do 
 nothing; but his presence might comfort Aunt Tilda. 
 
 Jeff, pipe in mouth, was seated by his camp fire, 
 enjoying his ease and dignity; for the weather was 
 not severe, and one as hardy as Jeff might easily be 
 comfortable out under the stars. 
 
 At a distance of twenty yards, about a fire of their 
 own for Jeff held that two fires were required to pre 
 serve a caste the quintette of Mexicans sat jabbering 
 exuberantly over a game of monte. Out on the dusky 
 plains a staccato coyote was yelping in many keys at 
 once, and the fluttering cascade of yelps sounded like 
 a dozen coyotes. 
 
 Suddenly, as Jeff ruminated and puffed at his Fruits 
 and Flowers, a dull muttering sound was heard, which 
 merged finally into the "thump-thump!" of hoofs. 
 A moment later the Professor mounted upon Socrates 
 burst into the circle of light thrown abroad by the 
 camp fire. The Professor wore an unusual look of 
 anxiety which almost trenched upon alarm, while 
 Socrates puffed and wheezed as though he had been 
 put to a brisker pace than common. 
 
 " Friend Jeff," cried the Professor breathlessly, 
 "I ve hurried to you for advice." 
 
 "To me for advice!" repeated the astonished Jeff, 
 letting fall his pipe. "Which I shore like that! An 
 you the best eddicated sharp that ever made a moc 
 casin track along the Canadian, too ! Howsumdever," 
 he concluded, regaining his pipe, "proceed! One 
 thing you can gamble the limit on, I ll give you the 
 best in the shop. " 
 
 281 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 The Professor in an agitated voice related how 
 Ethel, about midday or a little later, left the Cross-8 
 with the Dona Inez, and had not returned. The Dona 
 Inez explained, he said, that she had parted with 
 Ethel several miles out to the south, leaving her to 
 continue her afternoon ride alone. 
 
 " An that is all the Red Bull s daughter could tell?" 
 asked Jeff gravely, as though summing up. "How 
 about Don Anton?" 
 
 "He wasn t at the Cross-8/ 1 returned the Professor. 
 "They said that he rode away about an hour before 
 sundown." 
 
 "Thar bein ," said Jeff, thoughtfully, "no one but 
 them Cross-8 Mexicans about, of course you could 
 learn nothin . Did you send any of em out to make 
 a round-up for the lost girl?" 
 
 The Professor explained that he tried to make up 
 a party, and had failed. That was the feature of the 
 case which caused him the most agitation. Not a 
 Mexican of them all would throw saddle on pony. 
 
 "They looked frightened," said the Professor, his 
 thin face paler than ever in the flickering light of the 
 camp fire. "I asked the major domo to explain. He 
 only shrugged his shoulders and said, In the morning 
 they will go. Now they are afraid. 
 
 " Afraid of what? I asked. 
 
 " Of Kiowas. 
 
 "That was all I could get from him, " concluded the 
 Professor, "and as a last resort I came to you." 
 
 "Of Kiowas!" repeated Jeff, who had been struck 
 by the fears of the Mexicans, and the old major domo s 
 elucidation of them. "Professor, them greasers must 
 have seen something. This is their own country; 
 
 2S2 
 
THE MONK S HILL 
 
 they re at home yere; and if they re frightened and 
 say Kiowas, it s a pony to a prairie dog thar s a passel 
 of hostile Injuns hoverin about. Oh, I don t mean/ 
 he went on, as he observed the heightened look of con 
 cern in the Professor s face, "that the little girl has 
 been picked up by Injuns. Thar s more likely ways 
 than that of accountin for her not showin up at the 
 Cross-8. Her pony may have lamed himself by 
 steppin into a prairie-dog hole or by stickin a cactus 
 thorn in his hoof. Either way the little girl would be 
 put afoot, an it would then take her hours to find her 
 way back to the Red Bull s." Then, getting to his 
 feet with an air of resolution, " Professor, let s ride to 
 the Cross-8, an begin our hunt from thar." 
 
 It was only a matter of minutes when Jeff had his 
 pony up and saddled. As they pushed along under 
 the cottonwoods, the Professor deplored Socrates. 
 
 "When I reach the ranch I ll get a pony," said he. 
 "Socrates is faithful, but sluggish." 
 
 "Stick to the mule, Professor," advised Jeff. "In 
 a long pull, he ll go farther than any pony. To be 
 shore, he ain t no jackrabbit for speed; but he s a 
 laster, an that s what counts." 
 
 There was a long silence, which the Professor broke 
 fiercely: 
 
 "If the savages, whosoever they may be, touch but 
 a hair of her head, I shall devote myself to their de 
 struction! I shall hunt them day and night!" 
 
 "An I ll go with you for that huntin , Professor," 
 enjoined Jeff, who through the unfailing instinct of 
 a man for a man had detected beneath the mild man 
 ner of his thin, gray friend the sterner elements of 
 which he was composed. All silk and granite was the 
 
 283 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 good Professor; and Jeff, who had found it out, would 
 have followed him through fire and flood. " Yes, sir, " 
 concluded Jeff, "count me in on the play. Likewise, 
 when it cornes to Kiowas or any other form of savage, 
 I m a heap more than what you d call a neeophyte." 
 
 Jeff rolled the last word under his tongue like a 
 sweet morsel, for he dearly loved long words. 
 
 The Professor, encouraged by Jeff, began to hope 
 that Ethel might have found her way to the Cross-8 
 during his absence. If she hadn t, why, then, he and 
 Jeff would ride southward on her tracks, as indicated 
 by the Dona Inez, and seek some vital sign of her and 
 Jet. He resolved, also, to say nothing of Ethel s ab 
 sence to Aunt Tilda. As yet the latter had heard 
 nothing, being employed with all her faculties over 
 Robert, who was raving with delirium, spouting in- 
 coherencies about Don Anton, the Dove s Nest, Kio 
 was and Pedro of the Knife. 
 
 When the Professor and Jeff reached the Cross-8, 
 they learned that no Ethel had returned. Not a 
 whisper of tidings concerning her had floated in. Jeff 
 declared for one word with the Dona Inez. 
 
 " Your Ethel was going south/ said the Dona Inez 
 coolly. " I am sure she will come back safe one day. " 
 
 And that was all they received from the haughty 
 heiress of the Red Bull. 
 
 It was creeping on toward midnight when the Pro 
 fessor and Jeff found themselves fairly started upon 
 their search for Ethel. The night was dark, but the 
 darkness offered no obstacle to so old a plainsman as 
 Jeff. Taking the lead, the Professor close at his heels 
 with Socrates, he held his course as straight as the 
 flight of an arrow. Not until they reached the trail 
 
 284 
 
THE MONK S HILL 
 
 that led to the Dove s Nest was word spoken; for 
 Jeff had been deep in thought, and the Professor 
 found himself borne down by fears that tied his tongue 
 and stifled conversation. 
 
 It was Jeff who spoke. 
 
 " The moon will be up in an hour," he said. " That 11 
 give us a better light." 
 
 The Professor made no reply; his thoughts were 
 sorrowfully running on the lost Ethel, and what Aunt 
 Tilda s feelings must be when she discovered her 
 absence in the morning. 
 
 "Did you notice," observed Jeff after a pause, 
 "how the Red Bull s daughter wasn t in the least 
 stampeded about the little girl not comin home?" 
 
 "No," responded the poor Professor absently, "I 
 was considering something else, I fear. I can t say 
 that I gave much attention to her manner." 
 
 "All the same, she was as cool as a cucumber an as 
 steady as a church. What do you make of that?" 
 
 "I m sure I can t tell," replied the Professor. "It 
 could not have been heartlessness or cold indifference, 
 for she loves Ethel dearly." 
 
 "Exactly! Then, since she was cool, an it wasn t 
 as you say from heartlessness, it must have been be 
 cause she had no fears for the little girl s safety. Pro 
 fessor" here Jeff became gravely emphatic "that 
 Dona Inez knows where your Ethel girl is, an knows 
 she s safe." 
 
 "I don t understand," rejoined the Professor, rous 
 ing up. "Explain yourself, friend Jeff." 
 
 "I wish I could," said Jeff; "but the diffukelty is 
 that I m as deep in the mud as you are in the mire. 
 All I can say is that the Dona Inez, for all the talk of 
 
 285 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Kiowas, wasn t skeered; an , Professor, I draws a 
 heap of hope from that." 
 
 They were already upon the north and south trail, 
 and jogging briskly along toward the Dove s Nest. 
 The moon had cleared itself in the eastern heavens, 
 and the rough landscape stood out bold and obvious 
 in the silvery light. Jeff had not told the Professor 
 his whole mind, and as he rode on the problem of 
 Ethel s disappearance was being turned upon his busy 
 wheel of thought with this result : 
 
 "That Dona Inez," ruminated Jeff, "allows she 
 parts with the Ethel girl out miles from the Cross-8, 
 an that on partin with her the Ethel girl continues 
 to the south. If that statement means anything, it s 
 this: Neither of em was ridin for reelaxation; thar 
 was something serious afoot. When the Dona Inez 
 wheeled, it was to come back to the Cross-8; an when 
 the little Ethel girl keeps on to the south, it s shore 
 she has some other destination in her eye. An yet 
 thar s nothin to the south but the Dove s Nest. " At 
 this point Jeff balked a bit in his deductions. After 
 a pause, however, his lucubrations took on a renewed 
 and vigorous emphasis. "Yes, sir," he went on to 
 himself, "that s it, simply because it can t be nothin 
 else. That Ethel girl was p intin out for the Dove s 
 Nest. Shore, I can t say why; but I can see that sech 
 is the fact jest the same. Bar Kiowas, it s bloo chips 
 to white right now that we finds her with the Cap n. 
 I wonder what lays at the bottom of this yere romance. 
 I s pose I ll find out by sun-up; but as the game 
 stands it s a heap too many for me." 
 
 Not being conventional, and having been reared 
 to those broad social freedoms which flourish in the 
 
 286 
 
THE MONK S HILL 
 
 southwest, Jeff beheld no daunting impropriety in the 
 surmise that Ethel had gone upon a night gallop to 
 the Dove s Nest. He thought it odd, for he could 
 guess no purpose on her part. Also, he could not ex 
 plain to his own satisfaction why she should leave the 
 Cross-8 without word or sign of her intentions. 
 
 "Still, I reckon," he considered resignedly, "that 
 after all it s only one of them things that women does, 
 of which the reason is past findin out." 
 
 "Professor," observed Jeff, at last waxing audible, 
 "that Dona Inez saveys a mighty sight more about 
 what s become of your little Ethel girl than she s told. 
 For all that, you ll remember how she says the little 
 one is safe; an while as a roole I don t bank none on 
 what any greaser, he or she, gives out, I inclines to 
 believe the word of that Dona Inez person in this yere 
 partic lar instance." 
 
 287 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IRONJACKET PAYS A PATERNAL VISIT 
 
 WHEN Ethel raised her eyes to those of Moonlight, 
 they had in them a timid look of appeal. It was as 
 though she feared some hasty or adverse judgment, 
 and would offer against it her gentle protest. Such 
 a look was beyond the wisdom, as being beyond the 
 experience, of Moonlight; had he truly read its mean 
 ing of half apology, it would have mystified him 
 vastly. With nothing to instruct him, however, save 
 his own rudely meager past, he beheld only a beau 
 tiful girl, wounded, and just taken by a miracle from 
 between the very teeth of death. Also he felt guiltily 
 abashed concerning the unamended freedom of that 
 surgery. 
 
 This latter feeling was somewhat accentuated, when 
 Ethel, as if by an instinct latent in her fingers, brought 
 the slashed sleeve together, so as to hide again the 
 wounded, naked shoulder, the red deepening mean 
 while in her cheek and on her brow. As screening 
 his own feeling of confusion Moonlight, for his side, 
 resorted not only to words but actions. He whipped 
 the handkerchief from his neck, the one upon which 
 was that embroidered "E," and bound it with a tight 
 neatness about Ethel s wounded arm. As he did so 
 he said: 
 
 "It was I who cut your frock. I feared that the 
 arrow might have been poisoned." 
 
 288 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 Moonlight spoke in steady level tones, as though 
 arrow-pierced maidens were many in his life, and not 
 to be particularly remarked. That outward calm 
 ness, however, was wholly of the surface; within, he 
 burned like a volcano. The feel of that snow and 
 velvet shoulder on his lips had been as a torch to tow. 
 Dull and thick as he was to any emotion which should 
 touch the heart, even he had begun to know that he 
 would give his soul for one look of love from this girl. 
 Loyal to his savage schooling, however, his face re 
 mained as expressionless as the face of a statue. 
 
 When Moonlight spoke of possible poison, he was 
 quick to catch the terror that came struggling up 
 through the red in Ethel s face, to whiten anew the 
 rose-leaf lips. At this sinister sign, he made haste 
 to modify his bluntness. 
 
 "To be sure," he said, "the chance of poison is so 
 slight that it can t be measured. Indeed, it is not 
 worth mentioning. Still, I thought it better to pro 
 vide against it." Then, as drawing attention from 
 a subject that even his untaught sensibilities recog 
 nized as delicate, he asked : "Can you stand? Is that 
 scratch on the shoulder your only injury?" 
 
 Ethel, for all that healthful red, was far from being 
 restored. What she had passed through had shaken 
 her woefully. She could still hear the yells and see 
 the painted demon-faces pursuing her. The memory 
 was close and overpowering, and hung about her like 
 a vision of horror. It was that even more than the 
 words of Moonlight, which stole the color from her 
 lips and pinched the corners of her pretty mouth. 
 Over and beyond that mere feeling of passive horror, 
 Ethel also remained mentally vague and weak. Moon- 
 
 289 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 light himself performed with a fortunate thoughtful- 
 ness in keeping between her and that dead, first 
 Kiowa who, stiff and stark, glassy eyes staring up 
 to the blue above, lay stretched not a dozen feet away. 
 With nerves a-quake and her whole nature over 
 strung by that recent hideous peril, such a bloody 
 spectacle of death would have meant collapse. 
 
 Moonlight repeated his question, holding out his 
 hand as though to aid her. 
 
 "Can you stand?" 
 
 "I think I can," she replied. 
 
 The words came falteringly, but there was a sub 
 lime struggle to be brave. He gently lifted her to her 
 feet. The effort was too much; her knees shook, the 
 color again fled from her face. Her eyes swam; she 
 seemed to grope for support with her hands; and next 
 she would have fallen, had he not caught her up. 
 
 Moonlight held Ethel, fainting and limp, in the hol 
 low of his arm, as a mother might a child, making 
 little or nothing of her rounded one hundred and thirty 
 pounds. At his whistle President trotted up. The 
 sweet situation was a mighty enigma to the sagacity 
 of President, as one might know from his sharpened 
 ear and questioning eye. 
 
 In a moment Moonlight was in the saddle, his dear 
 burden safe in the sure cradle of his arms. 
 
 "And now for the Dove s Nest!" he cried. 
 
 President appeared to understand, for with bridle 
 reins loose upon his neck, he struck out gallantly 
 toward the south. There was, too, an elastic fresh 
 ness to his stride. It seemed to tell of a knowledge 
 on his part of a present necessity for speed, if he cared 
 to keep his standing with his master. He rolled up 
 
 290 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 the miles beneath him, as though he had been saddled 
 for the first time that day. 
 
 When President broke south for the Dove s Nest, 
 poor Jet, hobbling on three legs, entered a squeal of 
 remonstrance against being left alone. Protest dis 
 regarded, Jet, the gregarious, looked about for the 
 Indian ponies. Stiff and sore, they too were a mile 
 away, making painfully for their own home camp, 
 which lay beyond the western ridge. Like President, 
 they had turned their unsympathetic tails on poor 
 Jet. Being thus abandoned, the latter, gazing first 
 at the flying President and then at the two Indian 
 ponies, decided in favor of the former. Jet s pursuit, 
 however, was but a poor and limping one; such a 
 snail s crawl should bring him late to the Dove s 
 Nest. 
 
 The Dove s Nest, in the ground-plan of its architec 
 ture, in no wise bore resemblance to the defensive 
 Cross-8. The purpose of its construction had been 
 trade with the Indians, and your fur traders had 
 nothing to fear. The Indian has never been a com- 
 mercialist, and what traffic he from time to time em 
 barked upon was ever a failure and a fizzle; which 
 militates against those theories advanced in certain 
 learned quarters that he is a descendant of a lost 
 Israel. And yet, unwise in barter as the Indian was, 
 he knew enough not to molest his traders. These 
 latter adventurous gentry were his one market. To 
 them he disposed of his robes and furs; through them 
 he received his lead and powder and rifles and calico 
 and beads and iron arrow-heads, to say nothing of that 
 awful pine-top whiskey which so warmed and satis 
 fied the cockles of his aboriginal heart. For all of 
 
 291 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 which he became never so blindly blood-hungry as 
 to bend arrow or lift war axe against the traders. And 
 because of this safety, what ones tossed up the Dove s 
 Nest, in its building had thought only of a store house 
 and those few rude buildings called for by their com 
 fort. 
 
 The main structure was a long dobe building put 
 up Mexican fashion. It possessed two rooms, in one 
 of which the traders had lived, while in the other they 
 stored their goods. About the dobe house, and en 
 closing a quarter of an acre of ground, had been 
 thrown a dobe fence, well toward six feet in height. 
 In one corner of this huge yard or corral bubbled the 
 spring from which the Dove s Nest drew its water sup 
 ply. In the corner opposite stood a camp house, the 
 latter edifice having but one room, and being of a 
 later construction than the main building. One wide 
 gateway in the north wall of the dobe fence was the 
 sole opening to the outer world. For a quarter of a 
 mile or more in all directions about the Dove s Nest 
 the ground, except for a coverlet of harsh grass, lay 
 bare and open. No one could come near the place 
 without being seen, unless he called to his aid the 
 cover of night. 
 
 This latter stratagem no Indian would resort to, 
 since your Indian is so much the Parthian that it is 
 against his religion to fight in the night. When the 
 sun goes down begins the daytime of the ghosts; and 
 your Indian, during the hours of night, lies close, so as 
 to leave an uninterrupted earth for the spirits of his 
 forefathers to roam upon. It is one of his points of 
 theology. 
 
 Moonlight rode in through the open gateway of the 
 292 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 Dove s Nest, Ethel folded close in his arms. The long 
 run and the double burden had told but slightly on 
 the tireless President. Moonlight stepped gently from 
 the saddle, carefully guarding the wounded shoulder 
 against a pang. 
 
 Ethel throughout that sweeping journey had dis 
 played no sign of life. Her eyes were closed; not a 
 word had come from her lips. Only a returning color, 
 and now and then a sigh, had been offered as a sup 
 port to Moonlight s courage. These he had marked 
 with gratitude, since otherwise he might have believed 
 her dead. 
 
 " She is in a swoon, " he thought, for in the poverty 
 of his knowledge he supposed that a lady might faint 
 indefinitely. 
 
 Descending from the saddle, with a firm conviction 
 of Ethel s unconsciousness, it was as much a shock as 
 a relief to Moonlight when she said : 
 
 " Put me down, please ! I m sure I can walk now. " 
 
 The blushing truth was that the springy lope of 
 President had not left the hobbling, squealing Jet a 
 mile behind when Ethel s wits came back to her. At 
 first but dimly, and only in partial fashion. She could 
 feel herself borne along at a pace whereof, for all her 
 many excursions upon Jet, she had hitherto no more 
 than dreamed. The motion was easy, secure, like 
 that of a rocking chair or a hammock. She experi 
 enced a trifling pain in the wounded shoulder; but 
 her position was such, and she was held so fondly safe 
 from jar or jolt, that it was in no wise aggravated ; and 
 indeed she hardly felt it. 
 
 Little by little the mists cleared from her memory. 
 She recalled the dangers that had threatened, and her 
 
 293 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 sudden rescue from them. Then there rose up a pic 
 ture of Moonlight, as he bound her wounded shoulder 
 with that "E" embroidered handkerchief. It was at 
 this crisis that Moonlight s hopes were uplifted by a 
 reassuring scarlet breaking forth on brow and throat 
 and cheek; for Ethel, in this new brightness of her 
 intelligence, recalled the unique if charming surgery 
 wherewith her arrow-pierced shoulder had been 
 treated. 
 
 On recovering herself fully Ethel s natural impulse 
 was to speak. There came to her, however, divers 
 reasons against it. The swift motion, and the muffled 
 drumming of President s hoofs, all but made talk im 
 possible. Besides, being borne as she was like a child 
 in the powerful arms of Moonlight, conversation would 
 be embarrassing. Nor could the situation be mended ; 
 in his arms she must continue until they reached their 
 destination. Such being the circumstance, silence 
 and the semblance of insensibility offered a best refuge. 
 Once she were released she might explain her gratitude 
 and give that warning which had brought her so far 
 from the conventional and the Cross-8, at one and the 
 same time. 
 
 As Ethel mapped out this satisfactory programme, 
 she lay with closed eyes, her head on the strong 
 shoulder of him who had saved her from beneath 
 the very paw of destruction. She could feel the meas 
 ured beating of his heart. Also she realized, being 
 a maiden well brought up, that the proprieties de 
 manded she be more or less beset of a maidenly con 
 fusion; and she was not a trifle dismayed to discover 
 that she experienced only a great, serene, heart-filling 
 joy instead. 
 
 294 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 "Yes," repeated Ethel, as Moonlight did not at 
 once reply, "I m certain I can walk." 
 
 Moonlight released her, and to be sure she did stand 
 on her own two little feet quite steadily. Fearing, 
 however, that she might fall if she moved, the anxious 
 Moonlight hung over her, ready to again seize her in 
 his arms. This gave him the attitude of some ten 
 derly solicitous hawk about to swoop. 
 
 "You re sure," he observed at last, "you re quite 
 sure, Miss " 
 
 " Pryce, " said Ethel with much calmness. She had 
 noted his hesitation, and deemed it the fitting time to 
 put him in possession of her name. Also her instincts 
 told her that, for all his iron steadiness, he was privily 
 afraid of her, and that gave her the confidence of a 
 conqueror. "Pryce," she continued, "Ethel Pryce." 
 
 Ethel! Then that embroidered "E" stood for 
 Ethel ! It was a beautiful name ! Moonlight repeated 
 it softly to himself : 
 
 "Ethel!" 
 
 It was in the first twilight fringes of the night, as the 
 pair stood thus facing one another in the Dove s Nest 
 corral. As though to relieve them from a situation 
 that was not without its Difficulties, Red River at this 
 crisis threw open the door of the dobe house. Doubt 
 less Red River was amazed at the unexpected return 
 of Moonlight. Likewise the noble company he had 
 brought home with him must have proved confusing. 
 For all that, the imperturbable Red River showed no 
 surprise; being, like Moonlight, too much a creature 
 of his times and breeding to display astonishment, 
 however grave the provocation. In fact, the words 
 of Red River would have led up to a belief that he had 
 
 295 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 fully expected the coming of both Ethel and Moon 
 light. 
 
 " Howdy, folks, " quoth Red River, coolly. " Grub s 
 ready." 
 
 Then flourishing on high an empty bucket he struck 
 across the corral to the spring. 
 
 Moonlight stepped forward as though to assist 
 Ethel into the house, through the open door of which 
 the fire sent a rosy flood of light. Ethel, however, 
 forestalled his aid, and herself led the way. 
 
 Moonlight, once she was across the threshold, set 
 himself to do the honors of the place. He gave her 
 a seat near the fire, for the night was cool enough to 
 warrant it. Then for he still carried a possibility 
 of poisoned arrows on his mind he went about re 
 moving that handkerchief of the embroidered "E," 
 with which he had bound the injured shoulder. Eth 
 el s impulse was to object; but instantly she appreci 
 ated the spurious modesty of such objection, and sub 
 mitted. 
 
 Red River came in, and stood watching. The little 
 blood to flow, since the handkerchief was applied, had 
 dried and made the silk stiff and harsh. Red River, 
 at this, poured water into a basin, and was for soaking 
 the handkerchief so that it might be removed without 
 reopening the wounds. 
 
 Moonlight intercepted the excellent Red River just 
 as he was about to apply the water. Sternly he waved 
 him aside, and took the basin from him with an awful 
 air of reproof. There was jealousy, ownership, rever 
 ence for the fair patient, all blended together in that 
 air. Ethel observed it, and was fain to smile a little 
 in a covert way. The smile deepened pleasantly, 
 
 296 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 when she saw how carefully he put that embroidered 
 handkerchief in his pocket, once he had recovered it. 
 
 The wronged shoulder appeared swollen a trifle, but 
 not much; and this latter was a hopeful indication. 
 Upon Moonlight s recommendation, however, and to 
 make assurance sure, the wound was again bound up 
 in a mild application of crushed onions and salt. 
 
 " It will settle every question of poison, Miss Miss 
 Ethel," he explained, blundering a bit on the name. 
 
 Ethel gave way with grace; for she could see that 
 Moonlight s concern was real. 
 
 Being repulsed from the surgery, Red River bent his 
 energies to setting a table for supper. With so much 
 good company, he was disposed, as he would have 
 phrased it, "to go the limit," and proceeded to sup 
 plement the buffalo steaks, biscuits and coffee, which 
 had formed his original supper-scheme, with preserves 
 and tomatoes and sweet-corn and other delicacies 
 which he took from certain tin cans. Continuing the 
 good work, he spread the table with an alarming array 
 of tin ware in the guise of plates and cups and basins, 
 and enforced these with a profusion of knives, forks 
 and spoons. Altogether Red River laid the founda 
 tions of a most recklessly gorgeous repast; for he 
 meant that the entertainment should do credit to the 
 Dove s Nest and its master. 
 
 While about these labors, Red River stole now and 
 then a questioning glance at Ethel and Moonlight, 
 whistling softly the meditative while, as one who is 
 preyed upon by thoughts. Ethel, acting on those 
 hints in costume offered aforetime by the example of 
 the Dona Inez, wore a reboza about her head like a 
 hood. Now she unfastened it and drew it over her 
 
 297 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 shoulders, which made her more beautiful than before. 
 Red River had by this time spread his table with 
 what he would have thought to be a feast for kings 
 and emperors; but before Ethel would partake of it, 
 she insisted on telling the purpose upon which she came. 
 
 " For you must know, " said she to Moonlight, " that 
 I was trying to reach the Dove s Nest when those sav 
 ages" here she shuddered "discovered me." 
 
 " The Dove s Nest?" 
 
 Moonlight arched his brows inquiringly. Ethel 
 went straight ahead, and related how the Kiowas, led 
 by Pedro of the Knife, planned to attack him that 
 very night. 
 
 " To-night?" repeated Moonlight, while Red River 
 gave interested heed. "The attack then will occur 
 as day is breaking." Red River nodded agreement 
 to this. "Yes," continued Moonlight, "we must look 
 for them with the first streaks of morning." Then, 
 addressing Ethel: "You speak of Pedro of the Knife; 
 has Don Anton Baca, or that young gentleman I met 
 in front of the lodge of Ironjacket, no hand in this?" 
 
 Ethel had failed to mention Don Anton. In thus 
 hiding his name she was thinking only on the Dona 
 Inez. Robert she had not brought into her story for 
 obvious reasons. Pedro of the Knife, and those Kio 
 was, were the only active forces, as she understood 
 the design; wherefore she saw no necessity for going 
 beyond their number. Both Don Anton and Robert 
 might with safety to those most concerned be left 
 out of the narrative, and this course would save per 
 haps some later heartaches. Now, when Moonlight 
 put the query, Ethel became artful. She skipped all 
 mention of Don Anton and went on to Robert. 
 
 298 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 "The gentleman to whom you refer/ 7 she said, "as 
 being at the lodge of the Indian, is lying ill. He is 
 not strong, and a recent exposure to a fearful snow 
 storm has brought him to the door of death." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Moonlight. He could under 
 stand the last. 
 
 Ethel offered no particulars as to how she came by 
 her information; she had brought them warning, that 
 was all. 
 
 Nor did Moonlight press for details or sources. He 
 had but to add that warning to what he was already 
 aware of, to know the whole intrigue. He realized 
 Robert s part therein, for all he was lying ill. Pedro 
 of the Knife and the Kiowas, set on and perhaps ac 
 companied by Don Anton, would make the attack; 
 but it was Robert s work in Austin, and those papers 
 he brought back, which were to furnish the basis of 
 it. It must be admitted, however, that Moonlight 
 concerned himself but little with these reflections, 
 which hardly wandered beyond a heartfelt hope that 
 Don Anton, in his own dandified person, might make 
 one for the assault. 
 
 "I could then settle accounts with the scoundrel," 
 thought Moonlight. 
 
 When she had told the object of her coming, Ethel 
 stretched out her little hand to Moonlight, while her 
 dark eyes shone softly. 
 
 "And now," she said, "I want to tell you my grat 
 itude my more than gratitude! You saved my life 
 to-day." 
 
 "Gratitude!" cried Moonlight, half in wonder, half 
 in tender rebuke. "Gratitude! And pray, let me 
 ask, what do I not owe you for all you have dared and 
 
 299 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 suffered in our behalf? No, say no more of gratitude. 
 Some day, some near day, I hope to tell you all I now 
 feel." 
 
 Red River cast upon his young leader a sidelong 
 look of astonishment. Could this individual, whose 
 voice broke, whose tongue stammered, whose agita 
 tion was almost aspen could this be the unshakable 
 Captain Moonlight? Red River began to distrust his 
 ears and eyes. He went out into the darkness of the 
 night to meditate upon the strangeness of things. As 
 he stepped across the threshold, he heard behind him 
 the voice of Ethel asking: 
 
 "And your name, please?" 
 
 "Moonlight," was the reply. "You may call me 
 Moonlight, if you will." 
 
 Following the retreat of Red River, Moonlight set 
 himself to explain her surroundings to Ethel. 
 
 "You will have this house to yourself, of course," 
 he said. "Red River and I will find quarters else 
 where." 
 
 Then he showed her how she had but to let down a 
 great oaken bar, and the heavy door would be closed 
 against any outside force. 
 
 "It s the only door," he explained, "and since the 
 three windows are defended by bars too closely set to 
 admit even a cat, you may make yourself as safe as 
 you please. Also, that couch of bear skins and Na- 
 vajo blankets will offer you a fairly soft sleeping 
 place." 
 
 Having said this much, and possessing no genius 
 for small talk, Moonlight lapsed into silence. He 
 would have liked well to converse with Ethel about 
 her people, but he knew so much of Robert, and his 
 
 300 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 meditated villainy toward himself, that he was obliged 
 to forbear. He remembered the photograph in his 
 pocket, and was for showing it to her. That, too, he 
 put off for a better occasion, on the same argu 
 ment that kept him silent concerning Ethel s home 
 surroundings. What wore upon him not a little was 
 a besetting consciousness of being awkwardly unfin 
 ished and uncouth. The fineness of Ethel affected 
 him like a criticism; he was proud of it, in love with 
 it, and afraid of it all in one. It made him know him 
 self to be as rudely, crudely savage as a cinnamon 
 bear; and yet he would not have had that fineness 
 diminished by one least fraction. It might set her 
 above and beyond his love; but she would still be 
 within reach of his worship. In this connection, he 
 remarked as wondrous, and not without some sense 
 of loss on his own part, that all of the bragging self- 
 confidence which had carried him so insolently until 
 now, was oozed away completely. In her presence 
 he felt that everything about him, his dress, his man 
 ner, his looks, his speech, even his admiration, not to 
 say adoration, needed apology. 
 
 Ethel could almost read what was passing in his 
 thoughts. She settled herself more confidently among 
 the bear skins upon which she was seated, as the re 
 sult of it. And yet she herself could think of little 
 or nothing to say. Certainly, it was no time for the 
 commonplace. She caught herself stealing a glance 
 at the chiseled outlines of his face. Those marvelous 
 eyes, that had frozen Robert, were a study of never 
 flagging interest, as they deepened and softened in 
 the firelight, or lighted up with concern when some 
 thought for her comfort or safety occurred to him. 
 
 301 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 She could see that he was woefully fearful of offend 
 ing her or gaining a poor place in her esteem; and 
 this of itself was like a compliment. The compliment 
 likewise was granted edge and flavor, because all the 
 time she could feel and find safety for herself in that 
 atmosphere of the invincible which was parcel of him. 
 
 "It is true, " thought Ethel, "he fears me, but there 
 his fear ends. Yes" she smiled softly "I am quite 
 sure, and therein lies the flattery of it, that I am his 
 only weakness." 
 
 Ethel could not avoid reflecting on the steady as 
 surance wherewith both Moonlight and Red River 
 had received her news of the intended descent upon 
 the Dove s Nest. They accepted it as they might 
 any most careless piece of information, while evincing 
 every turgid intention to be ferociously prepared. 
 Therein abode the marvel of these men; and the very 
 thought of it would shorten her breath, and quicken 
 her pulse, to prove her admiration. She found her 
 self placing implicit confidence in these dauntless ones, 
 and by the light of their courage discovered her own. 
 
 "It isn t hard, I find, " she thought, "for the woman 
 to be brave when the man is brave. His heart is her 
 heart in a peril such as this, and she is strong as he is 
 strong." 
 
 While Ethel was pleasing herself with these scraps 
 of psychical philosophy, Moonlight said diffidently 
 that he would now go. 
 
 "You must be extremely tired," he argued, apol 
 ogetically, "and ought to rest. Be sure and let me 
 hear you drop that bar in place, when I have closed 
 the door behind me." He paused a moment on the 
 threshold "You are very brave," he went on, "and 
 
 302 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 so I shall say a further word. Pedro of the Knife, 
 with his Kiowas, should be here about break of day. 
 No matter what occurs, don t unbar the door. Lie 
 close on those bear skins, and avoid the windows. 
 An arrow, or a bullet gone astray, might else find you 
 out by accident. " 
 
 "Tell me," she said wistfully, "are we in great dan 
 ger?" 
 
 He laughed with a hardy coolness wherein Ethel 
 found comfort. 
 
 "Miss Ethel, I give you my honor," he returned, 
 "that Pedro of the Knife, and his Kiowas, are the 
 ones who should talk of danger. Whatever is our risk, 
 theirs is ten-fold greater. No, I pledge you my word 
 that you shall see your friends again; and that within 
 forty-eight hours, though all the Kiowas that ever 
 yelped along the Canadian stood in the way." 
 
 When Moonlight was gone, Ethel lay down upon the 
 bear skins. She did not expect to sleep; what she 
 had encountered, and what was still to come, should 
 be sufficient to scare away slumber from eyelids less 
 nervous than were hers. The sequel disappointed 
 her. She was thinking on Aunt Tilda, and Robert, 
 and a score more matters, each a reason for sadness, 
 when the sweet release came that sent her away to a 
 world of dreams. Nor were they dreams of horror 
 and of sudden death; but ran on altars, and priests, 
 and orange flowers, and to one with gray eyes who 
 was standing by her side. 
 
 "What s your little game, Cap n?" asked Red 
 River, when he was joined by Moonlight. 
 
 "My game is this. Now observe: the fire in the 
 house will die out and leave it dark. We shall build 
 
 303 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 one in the camp house, and have it attractively burn 
 ing when Pedro of the Knife and his Indians arrive. 
 They will count on a surprise. I shall leave the great 
 gate open as it usually is, and the camp-house door 
 ajar to show the flickering light of the fire. We ll 
 let them creep up without interference, and enter the 
 corral. The camp house will draw them like a mag 
 net; they will, on seeing the fire, think to find us 
 there. That should take them all on tiptoe across 
 the corral. When they are crowded about the camp 
 house, some inside, others at the door, will be our 
 time. Have your rifle, your six-shooters and your 
 knife. With twenty-six shots, and our bowies to fall 
 back upon, we shall show ourselves as both slow and 
 clumsy, if many escape." 
 
 "Good!" ejaculated the pleased Red River, in high 
 indorsement of Moonlight s sentiments and intentions. 
 Then to himself : "He may be timid of that little girl, 
 but, touchin Kiowas an similar varmints, them ap 
 prehensions has in no wise knocked his horns off. " 
 
 Moonlight stationed Red River under the lee of the 
 north wall. His instructions were, when the enemy 
 had come well within the corral, to close and lock the 
 gate behind them, against their getting out. Moon 
 light would take position in the deep shadows near 
 the spring. 
 
 "When them Kiowas is hoverin about the camp- 
 house door," said Red River, repeating his instruc 
 tions, "I m to slam-to the gate. Then I m to wheel, 
 an go to shootin into the flock permiscus. " 
 
 "Also, you are not to waste a cartridge." 
 
 It was toward two o clock in the morning, and day 
 break a round four hours away. A silence like the 
 
 304 
 
IRONJACKET PAYS A VISIT 
 
 silence of death lay on the Dove s Nest. The moon 
 was just showing above the eastern skyline, and served 
 to intensify the darkness which prevailed within the 
 corral. Suddenly a slight rasping sound was heard, 
 and the next moment a tall Indian bounded over the 
 wall and dropped to the ground like a cat. Before 
 he could gather himself together, two cable-like arms 
 were thrown about him, and with a crunching hug 
 that all but cracked his bones, he was torn from his 
 feet and hurled to the ground with a crash. 
 
 "Waugh!" he cried, gurgling and choking. "Does 
 my son not know his father, Ironjacket?" 
 
 305 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST 
 
 IRONJACKET, on being released, arose to his feet, and 
 began rubbing his arms and ribs in a manner of pro 
 found thought and circumspection. It was as though 
 he were a horse, and he about to fix a value. His 
 self-investigation over, he turned to Moonlight. 
 
 "My son hugs like a bear! Yes, his arms are the 
 arms of a grizzly!" 
 
 " I did not know my father. Also, my father spoke 
 just in time." 
 
 As Moonlight said this, he slipped his nine-inch 
 bowie back into its sheath with a click. 
 
 " Yes; Iron jacket came near joining Sun Boy," re 
 sponded the Kiowa placidly. "Now," he continued, 
 dismissing his reception as an incident ended with and 
 done, "I shall tell my son why I am here. It is be 
 cause I gave a promise when my medicine came back 
 to be ever near him when blows were struck." 
 
 Ironjacket told how he had heard of the work of 
 Pedro of the Knife among the Kiowas. 
 
 "I was with another band," he said, "but my ear 
 was to the ground. I am not sorry; for these are bad 
 Kiowas, whom it is good to kill." 
 
 Ironjacket related how he had followed in the wake 
 of Pedro of the Knife and his cohorts. Also, he said 
 
 306 
 
BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST 
 
 that at sun-down they had moved their camp to 
 within a mile of the Dove s Nest. 
 
 "They want to be near my son when the time comes 
 to strike," he explained. 
 
 "Did my father count them?" 
 
 "There were so many," returned Iron jacket, open 
 ing and closing his ten fingers three times, after the 
 fashion of aboriginal mathematicians. 
 
 "Thirty!" 
 
 " But now there are two less. Black Antelope and 
 Dull Lance were slain by my son at the Red Deer 
 Ridge." 
 
 "That is true," assented Moonlight, who under 
 stood in the Indians named those two from whom he 
 had rescued Ethel. "They made war on a girl, as 
 Sun Boy did." 
 
 "My son always defends the squaws," observed 
 Ironjacket admiringly. " It is a good sign. " 
 
 Moonlight told how he had already received word 
 of the designs of Pedro of the Knife, and what plans 
 he, with Red River, had laid to meet them. Iron- 
 jacket was so complacent as to approve the plans. He 
 believed with Moonlight as to the hour of attack. 
 
 " They should come at daybreak, " said he. " They 
 think to surprise my son in his blankets. I lay in 
 their camp last night when it was dark, and heard this. 
 But they will be fooled, for my son is wide awake like 
 a lynx. When we shall have killed as many as we 
 can, and driven off the rest, I have a gift for my son. " 
 
 Moonlight paid no heed to the mention of a gift, 
 although later he was led to remember it. 
 
 The talk between Moonlight and Ironjacket had 
 been conducted in whispers. Red River, who had 
 
 307 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 come across from his concealment, took no part in it. 
 Now, when an understanding had been reached, he 
 returned to his post, and the silent waiting was re 
 sumed. 
 
 The hours wore slowly on. Pencils of bluish-gray 
 began to shoot upward in the east, and the air became 
 heavy with the smell of morning. Red River was 
 lying in the shadow of the dobe fence, to the left of 
 the great gateway, which stood open temptingly. 
 Through a spy-hole between two dobe bricks, he 
 could see the expanse of moonlighted plain to the 
 north. Moonlight, on his side, by a similar device, 
 could also keep watch. It was on Red River s front, 
 however, that the enemy were expected. 
 
 Suddenly Red River lighted a match, holding it 
 close to the ground where it could not be seen from 
 the outside. It burned for a moment, and then was 
 extinguished. Moonlight understood; it was the sig 
 nal arranged between Red River and himself, and it 
 meant that the foe were in sight. A moment later a 
 shadowy crouching form, on all fours like a wolf, 
 showed in the open gateway, and paused as though 
 surveying the scene inside. Presently the dim form 
 disappeared. 
 
 Moonlight cast a glance at the camp house. The 
 blaze which had been started in the fireplace by him 
 self and Red River for strategic purposes was visible 
 in intermittent flickerings through the partially closed 
 door. The main building, in which reposed the sleep 
 ing Ethel, with her happy visions of orange flowers 
 and wedding marches, had become utterly dark. 
 Moonlight could not refrain from creeping along in the 
 shadow, and softly trying the door. It was securely 
 
 308 
 
BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST 
 
 barred, as he had directed. Relieved on that head, 
 he returned noiselessly to Ironjacket. 
 
 Ten minutes passed; evidently that scout was 
 making his report of Dove s Nest conditions to Pedro 
 of the Knife. Abruptly, a half dozen ghostly figures 
 appeared in the gateway, while others crowded at 
 their backs. One and all they moved with the wool- 
 foot stillness of cats; as many specters would not 
 have been more nearly soundless. 
 
 There was a momentary pause. Then, like shad 
 ows they passed into the corral, and crossed to the 
 camp house. Softly a foremost one pushed open the 
 door; with that, a silent half dozen seemed to melt 
 away into the dark interior. The moment for which 
 Moonlight had planned and waited was at hand. 
 
 It was the big buffalo gun that broke the spell. 
 With the flash and the crash of it a Kiowa went down. 
 As he dropped with a shriek, Red River s rifle spoke 
 from across the corral, and a second savage fell a-top 
 the first. Then Red River slammed to the big gate, 
 and the splitting voices of the six-shooters took up 
 the music of that death dance. 
 
 Not the least disconcerting element, to the invad 
 ing Kiowas, was the ringing yell wherewith Ironjacket 
 proclaimed his presence, and began his fierce partici 
 pation in the bloody work. The followers of Pedro 
 of the Knife had not counted on that yell. They had 
 been told only of two white men, who were to be seized 
 in their blankets. To be stormed at by unexpected 
 buffalo guns, and then raked and re-raked by six- 
 shooters from two directions at once, had been dis 
 couraging. When, however, as capping that sleet of 
 low-flying lead, the hoarse war-shouts of Ironjacket 
 
 309 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 were heard, fear claimed their hearts, and a stampede 
 set in. 
 
 As one man, those Kiowas who could broke back 
 for the gateway. To their dismay it had been closed. 
 The movement, none the less, brought their whole 
 force like an avalanche upon Red River, who his 
 pistols being now empty met the shock with his 
 knife. Not that he was to be left to fight the red mob 
 alone; Moonlight and Iron jacket were there as soon 
 almost as the Kiowas. It was a charge of two : Moon 
 light with his bowie, Ironjacket flourishing a war 
 axe, which glanced and shimmered in the light of 
 the breaking day most vengefully. 
 
 Moonlight and Ironjacket were separated by a 
 dozen feet, when they struck the struggling mass of 
 savages about the gate. The former s purpose was 
 to reach the stubborn Red River. The lives of all the 
 Kiowas on the Rabbit Ear would not pay the debt if 
 he were slain! 
 
 Grasping the nearest savage by the shoulder, Moon 
 light bore him over backward with enormous strength, 
 and drove his knife into his side to the steel guard. 
 Pushing his victim off the dripping blade, he fairly 
 cut and killed his way to Red River, already down 
 beneath a heap of yelling, struggling Kiowas. Right 
 and left Moonlight stabbed and slashed. Only one 
 owned the hardihood to offer battle; and he was 
 Pedro of the Knife. His knife clashed for one mo 
 ment on that of Moonlight s, when by a fencing trick, 
 which the latter s measureless strength of wrist made 
 possible, the blade of Pedro of the Knife was swept 
 from his hand. Almost with the same motion Moon 
 light sheathed his own knife in the Mexican s heart. 
 
 310 
 
BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST 
 
 " Pedro of the Ear," cried Moonlight, "I owed you 
 that!" 
 
 As he stepped across the writhing form, he became 
 aware of some one at his elbow. He wheeled like a 
 flash with ready blade; then he staggered back in 
 astonishment. That one at his elbow was Ethel. 
 Eyes bright, bosom heaving, she stood like one in a 
 trance. One would have said that the look of Moon 
 light fascinated her. There was reason that it should. 
 Coming upon him as she did in a climax of battle, his 
 face read like a page torn from some book of doom. 
 The expression froze while it drew her to him. 
 
 "You here!" cried Moonlight. 
 
 The next moment he whipped her up and bore her 
 inside. 
 
 "I watched from the window," she panted, "until 
 I felt that I must go to you! It was awful; and yet 
 it was grand!" 
 
 Moonlight gazed upon her with a sharp narrowness. 
 Even in the darkness of the room, he saw with a glow 
 that she was neither shaken nor hysterical. Exalted, 
 and carried beyond herself by the sight and the sound 
 of war, she had come forth to be near him; and yet, 
 in that whirl of those emotions which tossed her, 
 terror possessed no place. Rather it was a blind, un 
 thinking worship of her hero. Live or die, she must 
 be by his side! Now she stood with parted lips and 
 burning eyes, breathing adoration. She had slipped 
 off her civilization as though it were a garment, and 
 was as primitively savage as himself. 
 
 His eyes met hers, and their souls surveyed each 
 other. The war raged outside; they minded it not. 
 Without word, and as one who but claims his right, 
 
 311 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 he drew her close to his bosom and kissed her lips. 
 There was no struggle, no remonstrance; she lay in 
 his arms as passively as any netted bird. He kissed 
 her again and again; and those kisses were as bonds 
 between them, holding each to each till death. 
 
 It was Ironjacket who at last shattered this pretty 
 picture. Tall and somber, he strode suddenly in at 
 the open doorway. Naked to the waist, daubed with 
 his war colors of black and red, tall feathers waving 
 upward from his scalplock, hatchet running blood, the 
 fierce Kiowa made a figure of fear. And yet Ethel 
 looked upon him steadily. 
 
 "And wherefore no?" said her warmly beating 
 heart. "Is he not here?" 
 
 "Waugh!" said Ironjacket, composedly. "I did 
 not know my son had a wife." Then, pointing with 
 his sanguinary war axe toward the scene of recent 
 strife: "They are gone! all save those who are dead. 
 Yes, the others so feared my son that they became 
 as deer. There was no gate, but they jumped like 
 mule-eared deer. Like water down hill they ran 
 away! But so many" here, with the fingers of his 
 disengaged hand, Ironjacket counted off seventeen 
 "did not run. No, they were too dead." 
 
 Moonlight stood with one arm about Ethel, as Iron- 
 jacket made his report. Submerged hi that new sen 
 sation of victorious love, he hardly heard this story 
 of a victory of another sort. 
 
 It was the thought of Red River that restored him 
 to his old-time self. He took Ethel s hands in his, 
 and kissed first one and then the other. 
 
 "Dear one," he said, "stay here!" 
 
 Moonlight brushed by Ironjacket, while Ethel sank 
 312 
 
BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST 
 
 upon the couch of bear skins, flushed, beautiful, all 
 else forgotten and swallowed up in a fathomless 
 happiness that was hers. 
 
 Ironjacket followed Moonlight. 
 
 "Is it my son s friend?" he called after him. "Is 
 it the Red River one? I pulled him from beneath the 
 Kiowas; and, although he stood straight and strong 
 like a pine tree in his moccasins, he had been hurt by 
 a knife." 
 
 Moonlight found Red River leaning against the 
 corral gate. His senses were in that daze of battle 
 a sort of fog of fighting which seizes on some na 
 tures when the war is hand to hand and long drawn 
 out. It is a fashion of self-hypnotism, and comes of 
 a too much concentration of courage. Those who 
 have been upon a battle field when the fight was at its 
 height have seen it! a drunkenness of the heart, it 
 is brought about by quaffing too deeply the cup of 
 one s own valor. 
 
 As Moonlight hurried across, Red River bent upon 
 him a blurred, unseeing eye. Then he stretched out 
 his hand, as if to invoke encomium upon the stark 
 work that had been done. 
 
 "Cap n," he murmured, in thick, exultant tones, 
 "we re shore what I call dandies at our business!" 
 
 Having paid himself and the others this tribute, 
 the doughty Red River sank to the ground. 
 
 Moonlight bent over him; a moment s search served 
 to show that he had received a serious though not 
 fatal knife thrust in the side. Moonlight carried the 
 fainting Red River into the camp house, and laid him 
 on a piled-up blanket bed. Ironjacket, who like all 
 Indians, was almost as much surgeon as warrior, with 
 
 313 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 cold water and bandages proceeded to dress the 
 wound. At the feel of the cold water Red River 
 opened his eyes; a word or two showed him weak 
 from loss of blood, but with wits restored. 
 
 Leaving him to the care of Ironjacket, Moonlight 
 went back to Ethel. 
 
 "Ethel," said he. Then, pausing, he faltered, "I 
 may call you Ethel, may I not?" Her look gave 
 assent, and her glowing cheek confirmed it. " Ethel, " 
 he resumed, and now he spoke with the ring of con 
 fidence, while his tones took on that color of blended 
 love, ownership and command so dear to a woman s 
 heart when coming from him she loves, "you must 
 promise! You are not to so much as look into the 
 corral, until I say you may. No, you shall not be 
 captive to these horrors long; and meanwhile here is 
 an outside window from which you may safely review 
 the world." 
 
 Moonlight spoke with cheerful composure. He felt 
 it incumbent upon his manhood to protect in every 
 way the sensibilities of this lady of his heart. It 
 pleased his vanity and puffed him up a trifle that 
 Ethel should so readily acquiesce. At this he could 
 not refrain from strutting once or twice across the 
 room, in a way which brought back that almost for 
 gotten baile how long ago it seemed! at the Cross-8. 
 Only now it pleased and did not vex her. 
 
 Of a sudden a new thought came to him. He 
 groped in the inner pocket of his coat and brought 
 forth the photograph which Mr. Hanrahan s kindness 
 had furnished. It was a brilliant idea, he argued; for 
 it would occupy Ethel, to the exclusion of the grew- 
 some panorama just beyond the door. 
 
 314 
 
BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST 
 
 "See!" he said, extending the photograph, "here is 
 a puzzle that baffles me; and yet you may solve it." 
 
 Ethel took the picture wonderingly. 
 
 "Do you recognize it?" he asked. 
 
 "Recognize it?" she repeated. "Why, it is from 
 Aunt Tilda s book of photographs! It is the picture 
 of her nephew Alan Gordon." 
 
 "And of no one else?" 
 
 The voice was so strange that it drew her eyes to 
 his face. In an instant the truth overwhelmed her. 
 She came a step closer, her gaze crossing his. Then 
 in a whisper of amazement, with a note of gladness 
 running through, she cried: 
 
 "You you are Alan Gordon!" 
 
 There followed a cataract of explanation. Before 
 it ceased, Moonlight and Ethel had all things made 
 clear to them. 
 
 It was he who said at the finish : 
 
 "And, dear one, whatever comes, your Aunt Tilda 
 for as yet I can hardly call her mine must not 
 know of this plot of Robert s. Remember, she must 
 never know." 
 
 Ethel nodded assent. 
 
 "She loves Robert," she said, "as though he were 
 her own. She will love you, too; but it would break 
 her heart to hear the truth of Robert." 
 
 Ethel went to the window from which the prospect 
 was innocent, to cool her hot cheeks in the fresh 
 breeze. Instantly she uttered an exclamation of joy. 
 "Jet!" she cried. "Here comes my own Jet! And 
 two men are with him! Yes" her excitement 
 mounting "and one is dear, good Professor Dore- 
 mus!" 
 
 315 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 True enough! As Ethel had proclaimed, the Pro 
 fessor and Jeff, having with them the abandoned 
 Jet, picked up by the way, rode in to the Dove s 
 Nest. 
 
 At sight of the hideous tokens of strife that, twisted 
 and pang-distorted, marred the scene, the Professor 
 looked grave. The case-hardened Jeff could not re 
 press his applause. 
 
 " Looks like you d been havin stirrin times, Cap n!" 
 cried he, as Moonlight came up. 
 
 "I am the more glad to see you, Uncle Jeff," re 
 turned Moonlight dryly, "since the Dove s Nest 
 would be the better for a little house-cleaning. I feel 
 sure that, now you are here, you can be relied upon 
 to attend to it." 
 
 " Uncle Jeff/" repeated that worthy, disgustedly. 
 "As I says, whenever you hails me as Uncle Jeff/ it s 
 preeliminary to something disagreeable." 
 
 Moonlight led the Professor inside to Ethel. Then 
 he said he would go and see to Red River, and so left 
 the two alone. 
 
 He returned after half an hour, to find the good 
 Professor among his warmest partisans. 
 
 "And you are the son of Alan Gordon!" cried the 
 old man, taking his hand. "Well! well! It illus 
 trates the strangeness of truth!" Moonlight s hand 
 closed on the Professor s slim fingers like a vise; but 
 that scientist, in the tumult of his feelings, never 
 flinched. "And you are the young Alan Gordon!" 
 he went on. "Believe me, it rejoices my old heart. 
 It doubly rejoices me; for Ethel has done me the honor 
 to tell me all. " 
 
 The good Professor went outside, and found Jeff 
 316 
 
BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST 
 
 coolly tossing the dead Kiowas into the big ranch 
 wagon, which on other days Red River devoted to 
 buffalo hides. The indurated Jeff had just thrown 
 in all that was mortal of Pedro of the Knife, and ap 
 peared to enjoy a cocky sense of satisfaction hi so 
 doing. 
 
 "As big an assassin, Professor," he vouchsafed, 
 referring to Pedro of the Knife, "as ever cocks a gun!" 
 Then he added with a deep sigh, "You an me missed 
 a heap in not bein yere." 
 
 "Are you going to bury them, friend Jeff?" asked 
 the Professor. 
 
 "Which I m goin to kyart em over beyond that 
 swell a mile away, an then dump em out a whole lot. 
 J shall leave buryin em to the Panhandle firm of 
 Raven & Coyote, Undertakers & Fooneral Directors. 
 Thar," he concluded, pointing to a huge raven sailing 
 overhead, as though already scenting a prey "thar s 
 the head of the firm right now." 
 
 "Ah, I see," remarked the Professor, surveying the 
 black repulsive bird, "a raven! Scientifically, of the 
 genus corvus. A striking specimen, too, I should say," 
 he concluded, as he watched the huge fowl slant its 
 wings to the wind. 
 
 Ironjacket came up, and said that now he had 
 made the wounded Red River easy, he would bring 
 in the gift which he designed for his son. 
 
 "Where is it?" asked Moonlight, who, in the hurry 
 of the morning s many events, had forgotten the 
 promised benevolence. 
 
 "I shall be gone until the sun is there," responded 
 Ironjacket, pointing to what should mean the hour 
 of three, if the sky were a clock and the sun its hour 
 
 317 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 hand. "Southwind and the Firelight are watching 
 over my gift, to see that it does not run away." 
 
 Ironjacket returned sharp to the hour. Behind 
 him, on their ponies, rode the meek Southwind and 
 the lovely Firelight. The Professor at sight of them 
 radiated a welcome. 
 
 Something like a long sack lay across the pony of 
 Ironjacket in front of the rider. Before the latter 
 dismounted, he tumbled this object off with as little 
 ceremony as though it were a pack of beaver pelts. 
 
 "Waugh!" he observed, with an urbane gesture; 
 "there is the gift I bring my son." 
 
 "The gift" groaned and opened its eyes, as it lay 
 bound and helpless on the grass. A closer look 
 showed nothing other than Don Anton Baca him 
 self. 
 
 "He talked with Pedro of the Knife last night," 
 explained Ironjacket, "as I listened. He said that 
 my son was to be burned at the stake. But he was 
 too big a coward to come for my son with the others, 
 so he left Pedro of the Knife and went away to hide. 
 I followed, and caught and tied him. Then I carried 
 him to Southwind, that she might watch while I came 
 to fight for my son. The battle is over and won ; now 
 my son may burn this man who would have burned 
 him." 
 
 The brow of Moonlight grew dark; the old remorse 
 less savage in him began to struggle to the surface. 
 He was all for hanging Don Anton to the big center 
 beam at the gable end of the camp house. 
 
 Ethel gently interposed. 
 
 "For the sake of the Dona Inez, " she pleaded, "who 
 sent you warning." 
 
 318 
 
BATTLE AT THE DOVE S NEST 
 
 "You need not go further than your own wish, 
 little sweetheart," said Moonlight. 
 
 Don Anton was given a pony and a warning. He 
 was advised to put himself back on the Concha with 
 out delay. 
 
 Ironjacket looked discouraged at this untoward 
 softening on the part of Moonlight. When Don An 
 ton, sore and battered, had vanished with the pony 
 granted him, he drew Moonlight aside. 
 
 "My son," said he solemnly, with the reproachful 
 tail of his eye on Ethel, "remember! The breath of 
 a squaw will dull the warrior s knife." 
 
 When Jeff drove in from what he called the "ob 
 sequies, " he brought with him a bandit-seeming Mex 
 ican who he said belonged at the Cross-8. 
 
 "Which I nacherally thought," explained Jeff, the 
 sagacious, "that most likely, Professor, you d want 
 to send word how the little Ethel girl is safe, that- 
 away. This yere greaser is one of the Red Bull s rid 
 ers, an he s on his way in to the home ranch at this 
 writin . What s easier than sendin a message by 
 him?" 
 
 The thought was timely. The good Professor 
 scribbled one line, "Ethel is safe!" and, signing it 
 "Your devoted P. D.," dispatched it to Aunt Tilda. 
 
 "Nor can I thank you too heartily, friend Jeff, " said 
 he, when the Mexican had gone his northward way. 
 "It will cut short a flood of torturing anxieties." 
 
 That night was the happiest ever seen at the Dove s 
 Nest. With the thousand and one matters, romantic 
 and commonplace, to be threshed out among them, 
 Ethel, the Professor and Moonlight were in animated 
 converse until far into the hours. 
 
 319 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Jeff would have retired early, but the sight of Fire 
 light, in the role of nurse to the wounded Red River, 
 operated to disturb him. He called Moonlight into 
 the corral for consultation. 
 
 "For, d ye see, Cap n," he explained, "Red River, 
 bein slashed up that-away, an plumb weak, is likely 
 to turn sentimental; an once he gets sentimental, 
 thar s no figgerin on what eediocy he ll commit. 
 Which, unless we cuts in between him an this yere 
 little squaw, it wouldn t amaze me none if the next 
 thing we hears he s old Ironjacket s son-in-law." 
 
 Moonlight declined to interfere. 
 
 "All right, Cap n," returned Jeff, turning both 
 high and virtuous, "at least I ve done my dooty. I 
 yereby washes my hands of the business, an shall 
 now roll in for a much-needed snooze." 
 
 320 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 LOVE GREW AND TREASURE CAME 
 
 AT the suggestion of Ethel, who was thinking on Aunt 
 Tilda and her anxieties, an early morning start was 
 made for the Cross-8. Ironjacket said that he would 
 remain and keep house at the Dove s Nest. He ex 
 plained that, after so fatiguing a battle, he must smoke 
 many days to recover himself. Meanwhile, Red River 
 would be watched over by the dusky Firelight. The 
 arrangement was in a high degree satisfactory to all 
 involved, not least among whom was Red River, who 
 approved feebly but with emphasis. 
 
 Jet, by a miracle of equine recuperation, presented 
 four good legs for the journey. This was fortunate, 
 since any other pony about the Dove s Nest would 
 have died outright, if subjected to the awful ordeal 
 of side saddle and skirts. The party set out betimes, 
 the Professor and Jeff riding ahead in scientific con 
 ference, while the lovers brought up the lagging rear. 
 The latter had eyes only for one another; and, remem 
 bering the broken character of the trail, it was just 
 as well that Jet and President were not so purblind. 
 
 Jeff and the Professor had much to feed the flame 
 of conversation. About four of that very morning 
 a keen, dry, driving wind had started up from the 
 exact quarter of the compass that should best test 
 the sand-removing value of their wind-break. Jeff 
 routed the Professor from beneath his blankets at 
 
 321 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 the unearthly hour of five, to consider that favoring 
 gale and its effects. The hopeful pair had been up 
 ever since. 
 
 "An , Professor," observed Jeff, "this yere breeze, 
 which is only a good, headlong sort of gale back 
 yere on the Palo Duro, will be blowin a simoon on 
 the Canadian; sech bein the nacher of Panhandle 
 weather." 
 
 Jeff declared that from a certain highest point in 
 the trail, ten miles north of the Dove s Nest, some 
 dusty evidences of their experiment s success might 
 be visible. 
 
 "For," he explained, "from that p int, Professor, 
 we can see plumb to the river. If this wind is tossin 
 our sand-hill on its horns that-away, it looks like it 
 should shorely kick up dust enough to be visible thar- 
 from to the naked eye." 
 
 So eager were our engineers, that they lashed for 
 ward at a pace which not only left Ethel and Moon 
 light behind, but rendered Socrates quite breathless. 
 Their haste was repaid, however, when, upon mount 
 ing to that tableland which threw open before them 
 a partial view of the far-off valley of the Canadian, 
 their vision was refreshed by the sight of a gigantic 
 dust-banner, which appeared to rise from the ground 
 before them like a huge smoke. It stretched away 
 to the east in a dun-colored cloud, as opaque as a wall 
 of rock, all across the entire horizon. If their knowl 
 edge had not furnished the explanation, our scientific 
 ones might have feared that a volcano had suddenly 
 set up business in the Panhandle. 
 
 As they gazed, they all but tore each other from the 
 saddle in a whirlwind of mutual congratulation. 
 
 322 
 
LOVE GREW, TREASURE CAME 
 
 " Which the trick is ours, Professor/ 7 cried the 
 ebullient Jeff, "or I m no jedge of eucher!" 
 
 The Professor, in equal ecstasy, looked with rapt 
 eyes upon that snuff-hued banner which the winds 
 were flinging aloft. 
 
 "A pillar of fire by night," he murmured rather 
 irrelevantly "a pillar of fire by night and a cloud 
 by day! Friend Jeff, I verily believe that our de 
 ductions are about to be justified." 
 
 The Professor and Jeff could talk of naught save their 
 dust-cloud. In their zeal to witness results, they con 
 tinued to drive forward with all possible speed. They 
 had told nothing of their canvas arrangements to 
 Moonlight ; and since he owned thoughts only for the 
 beautiful Ethel, it would have been a waste of time 
 and frankness if they had. Concerning that dust- 
 banner, festooned against the northern sky line, they 
 had their hopes and their fears altogether to them 
 selves. 
 
 "And yet, friend Jeff," observed the Professor 
 ruefully, as a thought of duty seized him, "I will not 
 be able to go with you this evening. I must first 
 restore Ethel to the arms of her aunt. I fear I shall 
 not be free to join you at the theater of our experi 
 ment until to-morrow." 
 
 The Professor spoke sadly, for the heat of scientific 
 interest was high in his veins. 
 
 "Never mind, Professor," observed Jeff generously, 
 "we won t move a wheel until you show up." 
 
 Much that was sweet and true and tender did Ethel 
 and Moonlight say to one another, during the long 
 ride to the Cross-8. President and Jet behaved like 
 lifelong friends; and this concession permitted the 
 
 323 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 lovers to ride so close to each other as to take hold 
 of hands an inestimable privilege under the circum 
 stances. They made no plans beyond that one matter 
 already resolved upon, that no word of Robert s per 
 fidy should be given to either Aunt Tilda or the Pro 
 fessor. 
 
 "It shall be our secret, sweetheart," covenanted 
 Moonlight " ours and his. " 
 
 "It is all so strange, " said Ethel; "my finding you! 
 And yet, since I know you to be Alan Gordon, it seems 
 as though I had been with you always." 
 
 Ethel re-told how, broken-hearted, old Alan Gor 
 don had drooped into his grave when he found that 
 his son was gone. 
 
 "How could you remain away?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "I believed that he hated me," returned Moonlight 
 mournfully. "My whole childhood had been a battle 
 a daily war with him. He seemed hard and hate 
 ful to me. I believed him, too, when he described me 
 as a Throwback/ and declared that I would be his 
 disgrace, and the disgrace of his house. That was 
 why I left. And then I tried only to forget that there 
 was such a name as Gordon, or such a place as old 
 Somerset." 
 
 Ethel, unconsciously, became Moonlight s precep 
 tress in civilization, and it was marvelous what strides 
 he made. 
 
 "And to think," ran his self-condemnations, "what 
 have been my ideals! I have looked upon bloodshed 
 as upon a virtue, and was flattered to be thought a 
 butcher. And my father loved me after all! God! 
 how we mislead each other! how we mislead our 
 selves!" 
 
 324 
 
LOVE GREW, TREASURE CAME 
 
 Ethel watched the sadness on his brow, and the mel 
 ancholy in those eyes of gray. He caught her glance , 
 instantly the cloud vanished, and love, like a sunrise, 
 supplanted that gray-eyed melancholy. 
 
 The quartette rode together until within sight of 
 the mud walls of the Cross-8. Here Moonlight and 
 Jeff bore off to the right for the Monk s Hill, while 
 Ethel with the Professor went forward. 
 
 "To-morrow, sweetheart," whispered Moonlight. 
 
 As Moonlight and Jeff rounded the toe of the Monk s 
 Hill, the former, for the earliest time, became aware 
 of that mighty dust-banner. Even then he did not 
 link it with those engineering operations of the worthy 
 Jeff. 
 
 "What!" he cried, "a sand storm? Queer, too," 
 he continued. " Seems to start all in one place. " 
 
 The pair rounded the wooded promontory, and 
 came upon the Professor s wind-break, whimpering 
 and cracking in the gale like the sails of a ship. Moon 
 light was amazed; Jeff, the voluble, hastily but en 
 thusiastically explained. 
 
 "An see thar!" cried Jeff excitedly; "I m a Si- 
 wash if it ain t worked!" 
 
 Sure enough, the canvas wind-break was now an 
 isolated creature a thing by itself. As its promoter 
 had prophesied, the wind, by its guidance, had 
 brought about the disappearance of the sand-hill. The 
 last of that breeze-constructed elevation was still visi 
 ble, in the shape of a single cone of sand, which stood 
 out on the flat full one hundred yards from the base 
 of the Monk s Hill. The winds still held their dance 
 about it, like morrice players round a maypole, and 
 from its snuffy apex a dusty column was constantly 
 
 325 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 rising like smoke. Clearly, its future was written ; the 
 last of that sand-hill, the tunneling whereof had given 
 Jeff so much trouble, would be wiped out within the 
 limits of another day. 
 
 The intervening stretch between the wind-whipped 
 cone and the base of the Monk s Hill lay as clean and 
 swept as a brickyard floor. Not a spear of vegetation 
 showed; it was the raw hard-pan, dead and desolate. 
 Across it meandered the ribbon-like stream which 
 Jeff had attempted in his tunneling to trace. Moved 
 of one thought, Moonlight and Jeff spurred for the 
 point at the base of the Monk s Hill, from which the 
 stream flowed forth. As they reached it one of Jeff s 
 Mexicans rushed up; he was almost in tears. 
 
 "By the machinations of the devil," cried the 
 lachrymose one, "our hill has been made to take its 
 flight. Now there can be no more tunneling, no 
 more timbering! All our digging and our chopping 
 go for naught!" 
 
 He explained that for the safety of the lull he and 
 his comrades had prayed and told their beads all 
 night. Prayers were useless, however; the hill had 
 gone its windy way. 
 
 The little stream had its origin in a cave, as the 
 monk s note described. The cave was choked of sand, 
 but that should mean no more than an hour s work for 
 Jeff s shovel brigade. Strong as was the impulse in 
 the bosoms of both Moonlight and Jeff to set to dig 
 ging at once, they fought it down, and deferred oper 
 ations until the Professor should join them on the 
 morrow. 
 
 " Which I told him we would, " explained Jeff. " Be- 
 in a scientist that-away, an this yere canvas con- 
 
 326 
 
LOVE GREW, TREASURE CAME 
 
 traption his excloosive idee, nacherally he s plumb 
 eager to be present when we makes the final turn." 
 
 With the gray of dawn the Professor with Socrates 
 joined Moonlight and Jeff. His face was white and 
 worn. 
 
 "Alan/ said he, addressing Moonlight gravely, "I 
 bring bad news. Your cousin Robert is dead. It 
 was a strange deathbed," continued the Professor, 
 after a moment of silence. Sinking his voice mys 
 teriously, he went on. "There was that about his 
 going which might almost prove a power of second 
 sight as the near precedent of death. Robert died 
 at daybreak, yesterday morning; his Aunt Tilda was 
 bending over him. Suddenly, starting up he cried: 
 
 " What time is it? 
 
 " The day is breaking, she said. 
 
 " Daybreak! he shrieked, tossing his arms. Day 
 break! And they are killing Cousin Alan at the 
 Dove s Nest! " 
 
 "Those were his last words," concluded the Pro 
 fessor, still with lowered, dubious voice. "As he 
 uttered them blood gushed from his mouth, and he 
 fell back dead." 
 
 Jeff, for what seemed to him a proper space, re 
 strained his impatience out of respect for the Pro 
 fessor and the death message he bore. When he 
 deemed the proprieties protected, he suggested shovels 
 and an investigation of the spring. The good Pro 
 fessor approved the motion. 
 
 "Friend Jeff," he said, "I think, as you do, that we 
 might better complete our work here. Afterward 
 we will repair to the Cross-8, where the coming of one 
 of us is anxiously awaited. Yes," he continued, ad- 
 
 327 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 dressing Moonlight, " Ethel and I have told the miracle 
 of our discovery of you to your Aunt Tilda. She 
 could hardly train her senses to believe the news. So 
 deep was her joy that, even in her hour of sorrow, 
 our story so took possession of her she could hardly 
 think or talk of aught but you." 
 
 Moonlight made no reply; he would not trust him 
 self with any topic that was to bring Robert s name 
 to his lips. He listened to the Professor, and then, 
 murmuring something that sounded like acquiescence, 
 motioned to Jeff to get the Mexicans to work. 
 
 There was an hour s hard digging before the cave 
 was freed from the choking sand. While the shovel- 
 men moiled, the Professor cast about him admiring 
 and self-gratulatory glances. He exchanged whis 
 pered compliments with Jeff. For there is no victory 
 like a scientific victory; no Alexander like your Alex 
 ander of invention who, on the battlefield of some ex 
 periment, finds himself a conqueror. Wherefore, the 
 good Professor, who now laid bare to Moonlight even 
 unto each minutest angle, that theory of the canvas 
 wind-break upon which he and Jeff had gone to work, 
 found much to pleasantly hold him, while the Mex 
 icans scattered the sand. 
 
 After the cave had been cleared, Moonlight set the 
 Mexicans to digging out the spring itself. When the 
 water in the spring showed about three feet in depth, 
 he dismissed the Mexicans and took a spade himself. 
 If the dead Don Lopez s treasure were found, he did 
 not propose that it be made part of Panhandle gossip; 
 he, with the Professor and Jeff, should be the only 
 ones to know. As promoting the end in view, Jeff 
 marshaled the Mexicans back to camp, gave them 
 
 328 
 
LOVE GREW, TREASURE CAME 
 
 a gallon of rum to induce forgetfulness, and bade 
 them regard the occasion as a picnic; a command 
 which, with the help of light hearts and the parapher 
 nalia required by a game of monte, they obeyed in 
 spirit and letter. 
 
 Moonlight drove his spade straight downward into 
 what seemed the natural heart of the spring. By 
 working it to and fro he forced it deeper and deeper, 
 until not only had the handle of the spade disappeared, 
 but his arm was immersed to the elbow. 
 
 Luck was with him; at last the spade grated against 
 some substance that gave forth a metallic sound. He 
 had expected to find the flat stone written of by the 
 monk Jose, but the water made sand of that long 
 years ago. Thus, the spade went home without pause 
 to that desirable Don Lopez casket. 
 
 Feeling his way with the spade, Moonlight suc 
 ceeded in working under the drowned treasure, and 
 with a steady, prying motion began slowly to loosen it 
 in its sandy resting place. At that Jeff, whose excite 
 ment was climbing fast, plunged into the spring bodily, 
 with no more hesitation than would have been mani 
 fested by a Newfoundland dog, and going head and 
 ears under, seized upon the casket with two hands 
 and brought it dripping to the surface. Giving a 
 great, victorious heave, he pitched it out upon the 
 flat, dry ground. 
 
 The steel outer box, being rust-rotten, cracked and 
 cliipped as it struck the hard ground. A blow or two 
 with the flat of the heavy spade, and it fell all away in 
 pieces, leaving a dullish yellow oblong cube, some 
 what less in size than a common cigar box. This 
 yellow cube, stained and discolored by certain traces 
 
 329 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 of mineral which the waters of the spring contained, 
 was that inner golden casket, described by the dead 
 Jose as enclosing those Don Lopez rubies, of which 
 Moonlight had so often dreamed. 
 
 Moonlight picked up the casket and dried it. Gold 
 though it was, it possessed no great weight. In one 
 side was bored a small round hole, that might have 
 once received a key. On what should be the top, was 
 a cross carved in raised gold. There was no tracing, 
 no inscription; except for the discoloration, the box, 
 a plain, pale yellow, was unadorned. 
 
 "Smash it open!" cried Jeff. 
 
 But Moonlight spake otherwise. "Not now," said 
 he. " We shall open it later. " Then, observing Jeff s 
 disappointment, "you shall be present; I promise you 
 that." 
 
 Two months have come and gone, and our friends 
 are at the Bar-Z. They buried Robert on the crest of 
 the Monk s Hill, at the base of the huge rock whereon 
 the dying Jose carved his cross. Aunt Tilda felt 
 the going of Robert; but if she had lost one nephew, 
 she had found another, and her grief was offset by as 
 great a joy. 
 
 One bright spring-like afternoon who should ride 
 up to the Bar-Z but the Red Bull and the fair Dona 
 Inez. The Red Bull explained his mission. There 
 was to be a festival at the Cross-8; the brave Don 
 Anton would wed the glowing Dona Inez. The Red 
 Bull hoped that his neighbors of the Bar-Z would 
 grant the ceremony the honor of their presence. 
 
 "My daughter," whispered the Red Bull to Aunt 
 Tilda, "loves your Ethel; and besides I want the 
 
 330 
 
LOVE GREW, TREASURE CAME 
 
 wedding to bring peace between Captain Moonlight 
 and Don Anton." 
 
 Aunt Tilda urged the recent death of Robert. To 
 plunge into weddings seemed to her improper. The 
 question of friendship between her new-found nephew 
 and Don Anton was the less important, she said, since 
 they were one and all about to quit the Panhandle 
 and return to old Somerset. Besides, she was by no 
 means sure of her new nephew s reception of those 
 peace proposals. Aunt Tilda loved him with her 
 whole motherly heart as one who, being lost, was 
 found again; but she by no means felt sure of his in 
 clinations. He still had somber half-savage moments 
 when he was hard to understand. 
 
 The diplomatic Red Bull met Aunt Tilda s objec 
 tions in detail, and confuted them like a Christian. 
 As to the last, he gave it as his belief that Moonlight 
 would do whatever Ethel desired. 
 
 "And, of course," said the Red Bull, "one so good 
 and gentle will favor forgiveness, forgetfulness and 
 peace." 
 
 The Dona Inez talked with Ethel and Moonlight. 
 
 "I have to thank you for a warning," observed 
 Moonlight. "I wonder sometimes what I did to de 
 serve your interest." 
 
 "Bah!" returned the Dona Inez, snapping her fin 
 gers like castanets; "you danced well. Besides, I 
 didn t warn you; I warned your Ethel." 
 
 "And Don Anton?" asked Ethel. 
 
 "He is at Chaparita," responded the Dona Inez 
 lightly, "coaxing back his vanity, and forgetting 
 many things. However, I shall marry him; and you 
 
 must be present." 
 
 331 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 The weight of public opinion, as represented by 
 Ethel, the Professor and Jeff, was against Aunt Tilda. 
 As for Moonlight, he was mere clay in the hands of 
 potter Ethel. Personally, with that callous indiffer 
 ence to feuds which is characteristic of the Southwest, 
 he was content to be at peace with Don Anton. The 
 more, since he might at any moment turn that peace 
 into war, if it pleased him so to do. 
 
 Beyond all, however, the news of that impending 
 Cross-8 wedding had put a wondrous notion into his 
 head. He confided the brilliant thought to Ethel, 
 who blushed, tried to look annoyed, and failed. She 
 squabbled a little in opposition, but permitted Moon 
 light to defeat her at that squabbling; which last, 
 being unique and without example, showed that Ethel 
 was not in earnest. 
 
 On the back of his victory, Moonlight dispatched 
 Jeff with word to Mr. Hanrahan and Merchant Wright. 
 These good gentlemen were thrown into vast excite 
 ment as the result of that word, and the same night 
 sent a fleet messenger to Frosty in Austin. The lat 
 ter personage closed his gambling den temporarily, 
 and took the trail of a preacher who had been pointed 
 out as having come west for his health, and possess 
 ing no present pulpit. 
 
 Following a conference with the churchman, Frosty 
 wrote a hasty line to Merchant Wright. It was in 
 these words: 
 
 DEER BOB : 
 
 I send a sky-pilot to you an Ned by next buckboard. I told 
 him you wanted to open a game for him a church, I mean at 
 the Dobe Walls. Please make my bluff good, as I hate to lie 
 to a preacher for fear of bad luck. You can fake him up a pulpit 
 in your storeroom or Ned s bar; an perhaps he can pound a little 
 religion into Locoed Charlie. It might do Charlie a heap of good; 
 
 332 
 
LOVE GREW, TREASURE CAME 
 
 who can say? Give my regards to Old Tom Moonlight, an tell 
 him that, while I usually "copper" a weddin , havin Tost heavily 
 at the game myse f, I am playin his comin nuptials to win, for 
 the limit. Yours truly, FROSTY. 
 
 As though marriage were in the very air, Red River 
 cantered in from the Dove s Nest, and informed Moon 
 light that he meant to marry the Firelight. 
 
 "Which I m simply honin for her," said the plain 
 tive Red River. 
 
 Moonlight, quite naturally, asked what he had to 
 do with the matrimonial designs of Red River, he, 
 Moonlight, having troubles of his own. The faithful 
 Red River explained that he was as yet weak from 
 the knife thrust in his side, and did not feel equal to 
 beating out the question with Ironjacket to a success 
 ful issue. It was in his thoughts that Moonlight 
 would be proud to act as his friend with Ironjacket 
 still smoking in celebration of that battle at the 
 Dove s Nest. 
 
 Moonlight kissed Ethel, and said he must ride 
 southward, briefly, to the Palo Duro. She replied 
 that she was glad, having much to do in a millinery 
 way, and the time short. 
 
 Moonlight found Ironjacket enveloped in medita 
 tion and tobacco smoke. He related to that chief 
 tain the loves of the Firelight and the sighing Red 
 River. 
 
 "What is my father s price ?" asked Moonlight, 
 who was versed in Kiowa customs. 
 
 Ironjacket smoked and thought with abysmal 
 gravity for five minutes, while Moonlight rolled a 
 patient cigarette. Then he took his pipe from his 
 mouth, and spoke as follows: 
 
 "I would give the Firelight to my son without a 
 333 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 price/ But he is a bear/ and she is a bear/ and 
 bears cannot marry. The Red River one, however, 
 is different." 
 
 Ironjacket then explained that a certain disagree 
 able savage, surnamed Big Turtle, was a member of 
 that particular band of Kiowas which he, Ironjacket, 
 honored with his citizenship. The despicable Turtle 
 owned a fleety roan; and the speed of that roan gave 
 him prominence beyond his due. Red River must 
 get Ironjacket a pony that should beat the miserable 
 Turtle s roan; that was the "price" for the Firelight. 
 
 Away, for a second time, flew a messenger to the 
 invaluable Frosty. Having a wide sporting experi 
 ence, it was among things sure that Frosty would be 
 able, in or about Austin, to pick up a racing pony, 
 capable of turning the vainglorious Turtle s roan into 
 a jest. 
 
 Frosty showed himself worthy the trust reposed 
 in him. There came presently to the Panhandle, at 
 the tail of one of Scotty s mail wagons, an ox-eyed, 
 gentle little bay, nostril like a tiger-lily, coat of satin. 
 Frosty sent private word that the satin bay could 
 "turn down an antelope in a quarter-mile dash for 
 money, marbles or chalk." 
 
 However that might have been, with Red River in 
 the saddle, it went by the roan of the boastful Turtle 
 as though that ignoble mustang were tied to a tree. 
 Ironjacket went up above the contemptible Turtle, 
 as a social consequence, in Rabbit Ear first circles. 
 Also Red River took the Firelight to wife, the feat 
 being accomplished by the simple rite of eating off the 
 same dish with that maiden, after the custom of the 
 Firelight s ancestors for all time. 
 
 334 
 
LOVE GREW, TREASURE CAME 
 
 It was evening at the Bar-Z. The next morning 
 the household would ride down the Canadian to the 
 Red Bull s, since the wedding of Don Anton and the 
 Dona Inez was now but two days away. Moonlight 
 brought out the yellow Don Lopez casket, and placed 
 it on the table. Jeff was called in from the camp 
 house, where he had been exchanging mendacities 
 with the Bar-Z riders, one of whom was reckoned the 
 Ananias of the Panhandle. 
 
 When all were gathered about the little golden box, 
 Moonlight spoke up. 
 
 "What is inside," said he, "is to be Ethel s. One 
 day she will be a wife, I trust" there was a glimmer 
 of humor about the gray eyes "and this is her mar 
 riage gift from me. The three several interests be 
 sides my own I shall meet in money." 
 
 "And what interests are they?" asked the Pro 
 fessor innocently. 
 
 "Yours, Jeff s and Red River s," returned Moon 
 light. "However," he continued, interrupting the 
 Professor, who was evidently about to enter a protest 
 so far as he was mentioned, "let s defer argument 
 until we see what we have." 
 
 "Shore!" interjected Jeff, whose curiosity was as 
 the curiosity of a girl; "let s see the inside." 
 
 Moonlight insinuated the blade of his bowie be 
 tween the lid and the body of the yellow casket. It 
 hung fire a moment, and then suddenly burst open all 
 at once. There were several water-soaked withered 
 scraps of parchment, of which nothing might now be 
 made, rotted and defaced as they were by time and 
 the elements. The balance of the contents Moon 
 light spilled out upon the table. 
 
 335 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 The tale was easily made; they counted a score 
 of diamonds, most of them running from one karat 
 to as heavy as three, and all of admirable purity. 
 Among them as distinguished from the others were 
 three immense lozenge-shaped stones of a first water. 
 The emeralds numbered no more than five, one being 
 a great tallow-drop that would have ransomed a 
 rajah. As the Monk s memorandum set forth, the 
 bulk of the Don Lopez treasure was made up of rubies. 
 Of these there seemed to be an endless store, more 
 than Ethel might have held in both small hands. They 
 burned and sparkled on the white table-cloth like 
 fragments of blood-red fire. The queen of the collec 
 tion was a mighty ruby, purest pigeon blood for color, 
 big as a pigeon s egg for size. 
 
 "No monarch," declared the expert, to whom they 
 were afterward submitted "no monarch has such 
 a ruby! There is no other on earth! Value? It is 
 beyond a value, being water and color and size 
 in a class by itself." 
 
 It was a study in expression to observe the five 
 faces, that Bar-Z evening, as they bent over those 
 Don Lopez rubies. Aunt Tilda looked startled, and 
 a little alarmed. Ethel s color came and went, while 
 her eyes were a bright match for the brightest of 
 the diamonds. The Professor was elated; but it was 
 purely a scientific elation, accentuated with a little 
 pardonable vanity, when he remembered the wind 
 break and the manner of that treasure s recovery. 
 As for Jeff, he of all was least impressed; for, as he 
 himself explained, when it came to gems and kindred 
 trinketry his was the deepest ignorance. 
 
 "To show me them things," he said, when the Pro- 
 336 
 
LOVE GREW, TREASURE CAME 
 
 fessor asked his opinion, "is like peltin a pig with 
 pearls, as the Scriptures remarks. They shore ought 
 to look a heap gala, however, on the little girl," he 
 went on, glancing admiringly at Ethel. " The Cap n s 
 right; she s the one that heaven meant them for, 
 when it made em." 
 
 Moonlight, while he looked at the gems, saw only 
 Ethel in them. 
 
 "Are they all for me?" asked Ethel, catching her 
 breath. "They should belong to an empress!" 
 
 "And so they shall, little one," returned Moonlight, 
 and his look spoke even more; "so they shall. They 
 are for the pretty empress of my heart!" 
 
 337 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 WEDDING BELLS AND SOMERSET 
 
 ALL was joy and magnificent preparation at the 
 Cross-8. Sheep by the flock and cattle by the herd 
 were sacrificed, while casks upon casks of strong wa 
 ters were broached, to the end that those heavy of 
 heart be upborne. There were cock fighting, and 
 pony racing, and monte, and eating and drinking 
 and dancing without end. 
 
 The day before the one set for the wedding of 
 Don Anton with the Dona Inez, Merchant Wright 
 and Mr. Hanrahan appeared at the Cross-8. They 
 brought with them, on one of Scotty s buckboards, 
 a slim, nervous personage, who seemed ill at ease, as 
 one not sure of his surroundings or the purpose of his 
 coming. While they tried to act otherwise, it was 
 apparent that Mr. Hanrahan and Merchant Wright 
 were on hawklike guard over the slim, nervous per 
 sonage. 
 
 "Me and Bob," whispered Mr. Hanrahan to Moon 
 light, " has been worried sick for fear this yere gospel 
 sharp gets away." 
 
 Moonlight thanked Mr. Hanrahan and Merchant 
 Wright for their sleepless solicitude. 
 
 The slim, nervous personage made straight for 
 Aunt Tilda. She smacked of civilization, and there 
 from he drew comfort and a feeling of security. 
 
 "It s all so strange!" he said to Aunt Tilda. "I 
 338 
 
WEDDING BELLS AND SOMERSET 
 
 was sought out by a plausible gentleman in Austin, 
 who said that a church and congregation awaited me 
 at a place called the Dobe Walls. I came, and 
 found only a store and a rude rum-shop. These 
 gentlemen, to whom I had been directed, told me I 
 might preach in either structure. When I asked 
 about a possible congregation, they pointed to a crea 
 ture called Locoed Charlie, who was hopelessly un 
 settled in his mind. Then they prevailed upon me 
 to accompany them hither, saying my services would 
 be required at a wedding." 
 
 Aunt Tilda did much to reassure the slim, nervous 
 personage. That reference to his intended participa 
 tion in a wedding mystified her; she mentioned it 
 a little later to Moonlight. 
 
 "I had supposed their own padre would marry 
 them," she said. 
 
 Moonlight, the fraudulent, whispered something to 
 Aunt Tilda which took that good lady s breath away. 
 
 "But surely " she began, in wonder and remon 
 strance. 
 
 Moonlight, the fraudulent, smothered her, diplo 
 matically, with kisses. When she attempted another 
 start, he repeated his diplomacy. For one so lately 
 reclaimed from barbarism, he had attained a fine 
 knowledge of the convincing character of kisses and 
 their value as arguments, when a woman would de 
 bate. Aunt Tilda s objections lost their feet before 
 the Moonlight diplomacy, and the good lady gave 
 way. There would be a double wedding at the 
 Cross-8. 
 
 Her objections being overthrown, Aunt Tilda was 
 so generous as to relieve the vigils of Mr. Hanrahan 
 
 339 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 and Merchant Wright. She herself took charge of 
 the slim, nervous personage, who gave his name as 
 "Rev. Poinsette Jones." 
 
 Mr. Hanrahan and Merchant Wright were deeply 
 grateful to Aunt Tilda. They would now refresh 
 themselves, and unbuckle politely under the mellow 
 ing hospitality of the Red Bull, who had been made 
 radiant by their coming. They were of the Pan 
 handle aristocracy, and in their advent the Red Bull 
 caught a glimpse of his restoration to that place among 
 Americans which he had sacrificed for the hand and 
 the flocks and the herds of his late Mexican spouse. 
 Mr. Hanrahan arid Merchant Wright accepted the 
 friendly attentions of the Red Bull with a nice com 
 mingling of graciousness and distance, which did not 
 wholly shut the door on the Red Bull s hopes. 
 
 The old Spanish padre and the Rev. Poinsette Jones 
 conferred. Later they announced that they would 
 conjointly, and side by side, officiate at both weddings. 
 
 "That, Ned," observed Merchant Wright, "is what 
 I call pooling their issues." 
 
 "Rather," returned Mr. Hanrahan, referring in his 
 thoughts to the high contracting parties, "they aims 
 riot only to hobble, but side-line em. Or it s like 
 throwin a pony with two ropes at once." 
 
 The double arrangement delighted the Dona Inez, 
 who rejoiced in novelties. She would have liked a 
 cathedral, a choir, an organ and four pages to hold 
 up her train; but these embellishments were not 
 practicable on the Canadian. 
 
 After the ceremony there was the official baile, 
 wanting which no Mexican wedding would really be 
 a wedding. The Dona Inez and Moonlight danced 
 
 340 
 
WEDDING BELLS AND SOMERSET 
 
 together. Ethel looked on pleased and not jealous. 
 Don Anton, as on a former evening, smoked a cigar 
 ette and posed as the picture of that languid, super 
 cilious inanity proper in a young rico. 
 
 At the end of the dance the Dona Inez brought 
 Moonlight to Ethel. 
 
 "He does not dance so well as he did," she said. 
 Then, to Moonlight, " You have become civilized, that 
 is the trouble. You are no longer savage enough." 
 Later, she whispered to Ethel, "The Mother of all 
 happiness must have smiled when you were born; 
 that is why you have a god to love. Yes," looking 
 across at Moonlight, who had joined Mr. Hanrahan 
 and Merchant Wright, "he is one whom a woman 
 might follow barefoot through life!" Her eye fell 
 upon the languid Don Anton, propped against the 
 wall. "What a foolishness is marriage! And for 
 that matter, what a foolishness is life!" 
 
 In the face of this cynicism the Dona Inez looked 
 complacent, even happy, as Ethel was bound to ob 
 serve. 
 
 "This is the remarkable thing," said Aunt Tilda 
 to the Professor. "Ethel was in love with Nephew 
 Alan when I spoke to her of Robert. But and this 
 is what baffles me when and where did she learn to 
 love him?" 
 
 "They love each other now, my dear Madam," re 
 turned the Professor, "and we may safely rejoice over 
 that." 
 
 "It is," retorted Aunt Tilda loftily, "natural for a 
 man to be satisfied with nothing more than a result. 
 But a woman goes deeper; aside from a mere result, 
 she demands to know the cause." 
 
 341 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Red River was at the baile, but he did not dance. 
 He said that his wound was not yet healed. The Fire 
 light was also present, and her black eyes were never 
 off Red River. Jeff, the disgruntled, privily scoffed 
 at Red River s excuse; he said it was no wound, but 
 fear of the Firelight that had so tamed him. 
 
 "An 7 to think, Professor," remarked Jeff, shaking 
 sadly the while his head, "that boy was once as free 
 as antelopes!" 
 
 The Professor and Jeff were together a deal through 
 out the evening. And wherefore no? They were 
 fellow scientists, brother engineers, comrades, what 
 you will! After the fourth visit to the refreshment 
 room, they went about arm in arm. Jeff declared 
 that the Professor was without doubt the most highly 
 educated gentleman it had ever been his fortune to 
 meet, while the Professor averred that in Jeff he found 
 a mine of information not taught by schools nor dis 
 coverable in books. 
 
 The old ginterero, being a Mexican with a memory, 
 sang a song in exaltation of the Professor, which for 
 hyperbole was never matched or mated throughout 
 the broad Southwest. For this attention, the Pro 
 fessor who believed in rewarding minstrelsy filled 
 the old guiterero s claw with saffron gold; a generosity 
 which so worked upon that bard as to cause him to 
 tear the very soul from his shivering instrument in 
 requital. 
 
 At one crisis, carried away on the currents of the 
 occasion, the Professor boldly proposed for Aunt 
 Tilda s hand. Here were the two clergymen, he 
 said; they ought to have employment. A third wed 
 ding would be unexpected; it would for that rea- 
 
 342 
 
WEDDING BELLS AND SOMERSET 
 
 son, he urged, be the more rapturously received, 
 since humanity, whether American or Mexican, ever 
 reveled in surprise. The Professor waxed eloquent, 
 but his eloquence met only with rebuke. 
 
 "You should think on our years, Professor," ex 
 claimed Aunt Tilda, settling her plumage. 
 
 "I do think on our years," protested the desperate 
 Professor, "and it is for the very reason of our years 
 that I favor haste." 
 
 Aunt Tilda, however, was obdurate; Robert and 
 the proprieties must be remembered. She conceded 
 nothing to the Professor s suit, beyond a promise to 
 take up the subject of his " heart and happiness" 
 for those were the words of the Professor when they 
 again found themselves back in old Somerset. 
 
 The beneficent Red Bull drew the Rev. Poinsette 
 Jones aside, and in the name of Moonlight and him 
 self bestowed upon that divine such a donative, in 
 lawful money of the realm, as caused both his pockets 
 and his eyes to bulge. The Rev. Poinsette Jones was 
 overcome, and said that the Panhandle, while wild, 
 was not niggardly. 
 
 "I have loved you much," whispered the Dona 
 Inez to Ethel, when they parted; "I shall always love 
 you! You will now go the long miles back to your 
 own country. But you will never forget. You will 
 think, now and then, of your friends on the Concha 
 and on the Canadian." 
 
 Five years roll rearward. The great white Gordon 
 mansion, buried in its Somerset trees, is again a 
 theater of life and happiness. Moonlight, no longer 
 Moonlight but Alan Gordon, is acclaimed by all the 
 
 343 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 Eastern Shore as a very flower among Gordons. 
 Ethel, beautiful as a girl, is even more beautiful as 
 a matron. There is little Alan, aged four, who, with 
 his father s gray eyes and high nobility of face, has 
 the dark hair of his mother. There is little Ethel, 
 aged two, who with her love and gentleness, and soft 
 dark hair and eyes, is wholly her mother s girl. The 
 hospitality and the quiet, fine culture of the Alan Gor 
 dons are watchwords along the Chesapeake. Ethel, 
 with those Don Lopez rubies known from Baltimore 
 to Savannah, and north to New York, as the Gordon 
 rubies blazing at brow and throat, looks on those 
 state occasions when she wears them more imperial 
 than could any empress. 
 
 Down the hill from the great Gordon mansion a 
 little mile, lives Aunt Tilda in that cottage which was 
 once the home of Ethel, Robert and herself. She has 
 changed from Aunt Tilda Hempstead to Aunt Tilda 
 Doremus, and her husband, the good Professor, is 
 with her. 
 
 Jeff, the impartial, maintains an unbroken residence 
 with both households. His only serious charge is the 
 care of President. With his share of the Don Lopez 
 rubies, turned into cash by Moonlight, he has bought 
 an annuity which for Jeff is along in years requires 
 five figures in its annual telling. 
 
 "Life insurance/ says Jeff, "I m ag in, as behV a 
 game wherein a gent has to die to win. But annooi- 
 ties is plumb different. In annooities, you-all lives 
 to win; which is more my style." 
 
 Jeff collects his five-figure annuity quarterly, and 
 spends most of it on the neighbors. He has a high 
 place in Somerset society, of which he is the Mun- 
 
 344 
 
WEDDING BELLS AND SOMERSET 
 
 chausen, the Mandeville and the Marco Polo. The 
 children call him " Uncle Jeff," and the grown-ups 
 call him " Colonel." 
 
 Red River, with Firelight, is prosperously in cattle 
 at the Bar-Z. Moonlight refused every interest he 
 might have in that property, as a relative by blood 
 of Robert, and insisted that Aunt Tilda take all. 
 Then he paid her out with a round twenty thousand 
 dollars, and gave the Bar-Z to Red River. That 
 was to be the latter s share in those Don Lopez 
 rubies. 
 
 Moonlight procured a value to be put on those 
 rubies, and the guarded finding of the expert placed 
 them at a rotund million. Acting on this estimate, 
 and remembering the request of the dead Jose, Moon 
 light dispatched a draft on London, for an even one 
 hundred thousand dollars, to the head of the Society 
 of Jesus, then resident in Barcelona. The holy man 
 saw in the draft a manifestation of that benign Provi 
 dence which had ever watched over his order. 
 
 Jeff, the excursive, goes each autumn to the Pan 
 handle, on what he calls a tour of inspection. When 
 he returns he relates the news. His last report ran 
 to this effect : 
 
 Red River and the Firelight have two children- 
 boys. These are named respectively "Alan Gordon" 
 and "Jefferson Home." 
 
 " Nacherally, " observed Jeff, "I ain t wholly satis 
 fied with the color of them infants, havin an undoo 
 prejewdice for white, myse f; but for all that, I m 
 yere to say that them children has their p ints. Also, 
 Red River allows he ll never rest content till he s had 
 three more, an named em for the balance of us. " 
 
 345 
 
THE THROWBACK 
 
 The Red Bull, according to Jeff, is slowly but surely 
 regaining caste among Americans. He makes a 
 specialty, too, of peace and friendship with Red River 
 and the Bar-Z people a piping condition despised 
 by Ironjacket who, with Southwind, has headquarters 
 at his new son s. Ironjacket maintains that a tidy, 
 well-nursed feud with the Red Bull could not fail of 
 advantage. 
 
 "In peace," argues Ironjacket, "the waters run 
 dry, and the grass dies. There is no good in peace. 
 He who would be rich and happy must have plenty 
 of war." 
 
 Mr. Hanrahan and Merchant Wright flourish at 
 the Dobe Walls, and Scotty carries the mails. As 
 for Frosty, that intelligent speculator has given up 
 faro bank for a bank of the National variety. 
 
 "Which faro bank," says Frosty, "has nothin in 
 its favor but the splits/ Whereas a National bank, 
 as ag inst them puerile splits/ possesses advantages 
 which I should shore blush to unfold." 
 
 Over on the Concha dwell the Dona Inez and Don 
 Anton. The latter is as narrowly inane as ever, while 
 the Dona Inez makes existence one long sieste, broken 
 only by chocolate and cigarettes. She sends her love 
 and a kiss to Ethel, and says she has not seen a man 
 along the Canadian, or on the Concha, since the Sefior 
 Moonlight left. 
 
 Moonlight, of all who have marched in these pages, 
 is the happiest; and he lays his happiness at the 
 gentle door of Ethel, whom he believes in and reveres 
 as the high-priestess of civilization. 
 
 "My father was right," declares Moonlight; "I 
 was a Throwback. If he erred, it was in not reckon- 
 
 346 
 
WEDDING BELLS AND SOMERSET 
 
 ing on the power of reclamation that lives in a woman s 
 love." 
 
 He draws Ethel to him as he says this, and the kiss 
 which puts a period to his wisdom is as vivid as was 
 that other kiss on a battle-splintered morning at the 
 Dove s Nest. 
 
 THE END 
 
 347 
 
WILL BE READY IN APRIL 
 
 THE PASS 
 
 BY 
 
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 TELLS in the author s inimitable style the story of 
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 will leave an impression upon one s mind that will not 
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 With many illustrations and page decorations from 
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 PUBLISHED BY 
 
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 The Praying Skipper 
 
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 By RALPH D. PAINE 
 
 TTIIS collection of recent stories by one 
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 Illustrations by Blumenchein, Lyendecker, Aykoard 
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 PUBLISHED BY 
 
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is .AL 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY