Then they tramped to their horses and rode away. The spokesman had
hit the vital point unerringly; for cow-punchers are shrewdly alive
to frankness, and it often draws out the best that is in them; but its
opposite affects them unfavorably; and I, needing sleep, sighed to
think of their late sitting up over that joke. I walked to the board box
painted “Hotel Brunswick”--“hotel” in small italics and “Brunswick” in
enormous capitals, the N and the S wrong side up.
Here sat a girl outside the door, alone. Her face was broad, wholesome,
and strong, and her eyes alert and sweet. As I came she met me with a
challenging glance of good-will. Those women who journeyed along the
line in the wake of payday to traffic with the men employed a stare well
known; but this straight look seemed like the greeting of some pleasant
young cowboy. In surprise I forgot to be civil, and stepped foolishly by
her to see about supper and lodging.
At the threshold I perceived all lodging bespoken. On each of the four
beds lay a coat or pistol or other article of dress, and I must lodge
myself. There were my saddle-blankets--rather wet; or Lin McLean might
ride in to-night on his way to Riverside; or perhaps down at the corrals
I could find some other acquaintance whose habit of washing I trusted
and whose bed I might share. Failing these expedients, several
empties stood idle upon a siding, and the box-like darkness of these
freight-cars was timely. Nights were short now. Camping out, the dawn by
three o'clock would flow like silver through the universe, and, sinking
through my blankets, remorselessly pervade my buried hair and brain. But
with clean straw in the bottom of an empty, I could sleep my fill until
five or six. I decided for the empty, and opened the supper-room door,
where the table was set for more than enough to include me; but the
smell of the butter that awaited us drove me out of the Hotel Brunswick
to spend the remaining minutes in the air.
“I was expecting you,” said the girl. “Well, if I haven't frightened
him!” She laughed so delightfully that I recovered and laughed too.
“Why,” she explained, “I just knew you'd not stay in there. Which side
are you going to butter your bread this evening?”
“You had smelt it?” said I, still cloudy with surprise. “Yes.
Unquestionably. Very rancid.” She glanced oddly at me, and, with less
fellowship in her tone, said, “I was going to warn you--” when suddenly,
down at the corrals, the boys began to shoot at large. “Oh, dear!” she
cried, starting up. “There's trouble.”
“Not trouble,” I assured her. “Too many are firing at once to be in
earnest. And you would be safe here.”
“Me? A lady without escort? Well, I should reckon so! Leastways, we
are respected where I was raised. I was anxious for the gentlemen ovah
yondah. Shawhan, K. C. branch of the Louavull an' Nashvull, is my home.”
The words “Louisville and Nashville” spoke creamily of Blue-grass.
“Unescorted all that way!” I exclaimed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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