Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

HOW MARY MET THE PUNCHERS. tion from a servant. Evidently she mistook him for one. "Oh ! All right." The words were few but the look and the tone spoke volumes. Poor William gazed in dismay and momentary discomfiture. Then he sniffed, much as a long-horn raises his head and sniffs the air when he thinks he scents trouble. Bill scented it, and he muttered something between his teeth, as he surrendered the luckless piece of baggage. With an expression that was a queer mixture of resentment and laughter, he picked up the saddle and started in the direction of the corral. "Wonder who the deuce she thinks we are, out here?" he grumbled to himself as he strode along. "She's got nerve, all right. I bet she can ride." In years gone by, Billy Fordham had been considered very clever in the college dramatic club. He hadn't forgotten the art of getting a laugh from an audience, and his pantomime as he approached the group of cowboys, who were engaged in conquering the antics of a "bucker," was sufficiently interesting immediately to cause a transfer of all attention to himself. "Get off, Charlie," advised a big, six-footer, usually referred to as "Lengthy," deftly throwing his lasso around the broncho's foot, "Bill's got something to say." "Has she come?" anxiously queried Charlie, springing from his perilous position just in time to avoid being thrown by the plunging animal. "She" was the title by which Mother Lewis' niece had been generally designated ever since it had become known that such a young person was on her way westward. "As. I was sitting on the step, heigho, heigh-o, — " caroled Bill as he drew nearer the group. "A pretty girl I saw, you bet, heigh-o, heigh-o, heigh-o — " "Aw, shut up," shouted Lengthy, preparing to swing the lasso over the vocalist. "When'cl she get here?" "What does she look like," grinned Charlie ; "d've think I'll stand any show?" "Sure thing; you'll make a hit all right. Wear those new Cheyenne pumps and take her down to the dance next Saturday night." Bill always enjoyed joking Charlie about his fondness for the frivolities of fashion. "Well, go ahead, — what'd she say?" Lengthy was getting impatient. "Say?" echoed Bill drily, "just about what Three Moon's squaw said — " Laughter, exclamations, and the prompt use of the lariat stifled the rest of the sentence. "What's the joke?" asked Dickenson, a comparatively new hand at the ranch, as soon as he could make himself heard. Charlie hastened to explain. "Why Bill, here, went down to The Forks last Christmas, and met Three Moon's squaw just as she was getting herself loaded with blankets ready to ride to Pocatello on top of a coal car. Bill always likes to be polite to ladies, so he takes off his top-piece like a tenderfoot and says, 'Merry Christmas, Mrs. Three Moon,' just like that. She didn't scalp him but she looked as if she might. Then she grunts 'Ugh, all right,' swings around and scrambles up over that coal as if she couldn't get away from the sight of him fast enough." "Oh, but that's not what the girl did, is it ?" Dickenson asked, anxiously. "That's just what she did," replied William. "She's about so high," waving his hand expressively, "and when she wants to see a cow-punchei again she'll tell us. She didn't say so but she looked it. I tried to carry one of her grips for her, but she looked at me a heap sight steadier than the squaw did, and the way she took that grip and sailed into the house beat the old woman's coal deal all to a finish/' "Sh ! here she comes, now." The warning was from Lengthy, and was none too soon. Mary and the Rancher were close by. There was a quickbrushing of hats, and arranging of kerchiefs, in spite of the discouraging account that had just been given. Lewis, full of plans for the improvement of his property, was already explaining them to his niece, whose ex