[Illustration: PIKE’S PEAK FROM THE OLD RANCH] A TENDERFOOT BRIDE BY CLARICE E. RICHARDS GARDEN CITY—NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1927 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY CLARICE E. RICHARDS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. To the One whose Companionship, Inspiration and Encouragement have made this book possible My Husband CONTENTS I. First Impressions II. A Surprise Party III. The Root Cellar IV. The Great Adventure Progresses V. The Government Contract VI. A Variety of Runaways VII. The Measure of a Man VIII. The Sheep Business IX. The Unexpected X. Around the Christmas Fire XI. Ted XII. Blizzards XIII. Echoes of the Past ILLUSTRATIONS Pike’s Peak from the Old Ranch Roping and Cutting Out Cattle Roping a Steer to Inspect Brand Inspecting a Brand The “Star” is a Frightened, Snorting “Broncho” Trailed All the Way from New Mexico Like a Solitary Fence Post Bucking Horse and Rider Facing Death Each Time They Ride a New Horse A TENDERFOOT BRIDE I FIRST IMPRESSIONS When our train left Colorado Springs and headed out into those vast stretches of the prairie, which spread East like a great green ocean from the foot of Pike’s Peak, all the sensations of Christopher Columbus setting sail for a new world, and a few peculiarly my own, mingled in my breast. As the train pounded along I stole a look at Owen. He was absorbed in the contemplation of a map of our new holdings. Under that calm exterior I suspected hidden attributes of the primitive man. Certainly there was some reason why Western life was to his liking, having had the chance to choose. It was late in the afternoon when we found ourselves on the platform of the solitary little wayside station. The train went rushing on through the July sunshine, as if impatient at the stop. Our fellow passengers had drawn their heads back from the car windows, after vainly trying to see what apparently sane people could find to stop for in a place like that. In truth, there was little—a water tank, a section house, two cottages and one store. A combination station-agent and baggage-man stood on the platform. Near a hitching rack a tall individual was waving his long arms about like a windmill as he beckoned us to approach. Owen picked up the bags; I trudged along behind with various coats and packages, stopping midway between platform and wagon to disengage a large tumbleweed, which had rolled merrily to my feet and attached itself to my skirt.