"It's what I like," said Tonia."And of all the flowers, give me red roses.Keep all the pinks and blues for yourself.But what's the use, when trestles burn and leave you without anything? It'll be a dry old Easter for me!"Pearson took off his hat and drove Road Bunner at a gallop into the chaparral east of the Espinosa ranch house.
As his stirrups rattled against the brush Burrows's long-legged sorrel struck out down the narrow stretch of open prairie to the southwest.
Tonia hung up her quirt and went into the sitting-room.
"I'm mighty sorry, daughter, that you didn't get your hat," said her mother.
"Oh, don't worry, mother," said Tonia, coolly."I'll have a new hat, all right, in time to-morrow."When Burrows reached the end of the strip of prairie he pulled his sorrel to the right and let him pick his way daintily across a sacuista flat through which ran the ragged, dry bed of an arroyo.
Then up a gravelly hill, matted with bush, the hoarse scrambled, and at length emerged, with a snort of satisfaction into a stretch of high, level prairie, grassy and dotted with the lighter green of mesquites in their fresh spring foliage.Always to the right Burrows bore, until in a little while he struck the old Indian trail that followed the Nueces southward, and that passed, twenty-eight miles to the southeast, through Lone Elm.
Here Burrows urged the sorrel into a steady lope.As he settled himself in the saddle for a long ride he heard the drumming of hoofs, the hollow "thwack" of chaparral against wooden stirrups, the whoop of a Comanche; and Wells Pearson burst out of the brush at the right of the trail like a precocious yellow chick from a dark green Easter egg.
Except in the presence of awing femininity melancholy found no place in Pearson's bosom.In Tonia's presence his voice was as soft as a summer bullfrog's in his reedy nest.Now, at his gleesome yawp, rabbits, a mile away, ducked their ears, and sensitive plants closed their fearful fronds.
"Moved your lambing camp pretty far from the ranch, haven't you, neighbor?" asked Pearson, as Road Runner fell in at the sorrel's side.
"Twenty-eight miles," said Burrows, looking a little grim.Pearson's laugh woke an owl one hour too early in his water-elm on the river bank, half a mile away.
"All right for you, sheepman.I like an open game, myself.We're two locoed he-milliners hat-hunting in the wilderness.I notify you.
Burr, to mind your corrals.We've got an even start, and the one that gets the headgear will stand some higher at the Espinosa.""You've got a good pony," said Burrows, eyeing Road Runner's barrel-like body and tapering legs that moved as regularly as the pistonrod of an engine."It's a race, of course; but you're too much of a horseman to whoop it up this soon.Say we travel together till we get to the home stretch.""I'm your company," agreed Pearson, "and I admire your sense.If there's hats at Lone Elm, one of 'em shall set on Miss Tonia's brow to-morrow, and you won't be at the crowning.I ain't bragging, Burr, but that sorrel of yours is weak in the fore-legs.""My horse against yours," offered Burrows, "that Miss Tonia wears the hat I take her to Cactus to-morrow.""I'll take you up," shouted Pearson."But oh, it's just like horse-stealing for me! I can use that sorrel for a lady's animal when--when somebody comes over to Mucho Calor, and--"Burrows' dark face glowered so suddenly that the cowman broke off his sentence.But Pearson could never feel any pressure for long.
"What's all this Easter business about, Burr?" he asked, cheerfully.
"Why do the women folks have to have new hats by the almanac or bust all cinches trying to get 'em?""It's a seasonable statute out of the testaments," explained Burrows.
"It's ordered by the Pope or somebody.And it has something to do with the Zodiac I don't know exactly, but I think it was invented by the Egyptians.""It's an all-right jubilee if the heathens did put their brand on it," said Pearson; "or else Tonia wouldn't have anything to do with it.And they pull it off at church, too.Suppose there ain't but one hat in the Lone Elm store, Burr!""Then," said Burrows, darkly, "the best man of us'll take it back to the Espinosa.""Oh, man!" cried Pearson, throwing his hat high and catching it again, "there's nothing like you come off the sheep ranges before.
You talk good and collateral to the occasion.And if there's more than one?""Then," said Burrows, "we'll pick our choice and one of us'll get back first with his and the other won't.""There never was two souls," proclaimed Pearson to the stars, "that beat more like one heart than yourn and mine.Me and you might be riding on a unicorn and thinking out of the same piece of mind."At a little past midnight the riders loped into Lone Elm.The half a hundred houses of the big village were dark.On its only street the big wooden store stood barred and shuttered.
In a few moments the horses were fastened and Pearson was pounding cheerfully on the door of old Sutton, the storekeeper.
The barrel of a Winchester came through a cranny of a solid window shutter followed by a short inquiry.
"Wells Pearson, of the Mucho Calor, and Burrows, of Green Valley,"was the response."We want to buy some goods in the store.Sorry to wake you up but we must have 'em.Come on out, Vncle Tommy, and get a move on you."Uncle Tommy was slow, but at length they got him behind his counter with a kerosene lamp lit, and told him of their dire need.
"Easter hats?" said Uncle Tommy, sleepily."Why, yes, I believe Ihave got just a couple left.I only ordered a dozen this spring.
I'll show 'em to you."
