Produced by David Edwards, Louise Setzer, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net BAT WING BOWLES BY DANE COOLIDGE AUTHOR OF "HIDDEN WATER" AND "THE TEXICAN" Illustrated by D. C. Hutchison NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY STREET & SMITH, NEW YORK _All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages_ _March, 1914_ [Illustration: "'WHY, HELLO THERE, COWBOY!' SHE CHALLENGED BLUNTLY"] CONTENTS I MR. BOWLES II THE FAR WEST III THE BAT WING RANCH IV BRIGHAM V WA-HA-LOTE VI THE ROUND-UP VII THE QUEEN AT HOME VIII A COWBOY'S LIFE IX REDUCED TO THE RANKS X THE FIRST SMILE XI CONEY ISLAND XII PROMOTED XIII A LETTER FROM THE POSTMISTRESS XIV THE ENGLISH LORD XV BURYING THE HATCHET XVI THE STRAW-BOSS XVII AND HIS SQUIRREL STORY XVIII THE ROUGH-RIDERS XIX A COMMON BRAWL XX THE DEATH OF HAPPY JACK XXI A CALL XXII THE HORSE THAT KILLED DUNBAR XXIII THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY ILLUSTRATIONS "'Why, hello there, cowboy!' she challenged bluntly" "Only Bowles, the man from the East, rose and took off his hat" "'You want to be careful how you treat these Arizona girls!'" "The man-killer charged at him through the dust" BAT WING BOWLES CHAPTER I MR. BOWLES It was a fine windy morning in March and Dixie Lee, of Chula Vista, Arizona, was leaving staid New York at the gate marked "Western Limited." A slight difference with the gatekeeper, who seemed to doubt every word she said, cast no cloud upon her spirits, and she was cheerfully searching for her ticket when a gentleman came up from behind. At sight of the trim figure at the wicket, he too became suddenly happy, and it looked as if the effete East was losing two of its merriest citizens. "Oh, good-morning, Miss Lee!" he said, bowing and smiling radiantly as she glanced in his direction. "Are you going out on this train?" "Why--yes," she replied, gazing into her handbag with a preoccupied frown. "That is, if I can find my ticket!" She found it on the instant, but the frown did not depart. She had forgotten the young man's name. It was queer how those New York names slipped her memory--but she remembered his face distinctly. She had met him at some highbrow affair--it was a reception or some such social maelstrom--and, yes, his name was Bowles! "Oh, thank you, Mr. Bowles," she exclaimed as he gallantly took her bag; but a furtive glance at his face left her suddenly transfixed with doubts. Not that his expression changed--far from that--but a fleeting twinkle in his eyes suggested some hidden joke. "Oh, isn't your name Bowles?" she stammered. "I met you at the Wordsworth Club, you know, and----"