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TONY THE GREASER.
115
ly advanced from behind a pillar. Her anxiety overcame her surprise at seeing him in that spot.
"Oh! Tony," she cried, eagerly. "Come quickly; dad — Captain Eaymond — has turned his ankle again and I can't find a soul to help me." And as they hurried up the Cathedral steps together, the girl explained how that her father had made a misstep, and that she feared he had sprained again an ankle that was just mending.
They found Captain Jack, whitefaced, leaning against the outer door, cursing his carelessness. With infinite care the girl and Tony helped him down to the street, and Tony was then sent to call the driver, who was dozing in the carriage, in the shadow around the corner.
"Tony, you're all right !" exclaimed Captain Jack, as he was finally gotten into the carriage with the help of a kindly Father who chanced to pass; and, as they started for a doctor's, he called out, at Helen's suggestion, "and say, Tony, if you want a job, come out to XL. I'm short of men."
They drove away, leaving Tony in a transport of delight. Not that Tony, being a true son of the South, yearned so much for a job, but if he went to the ranch he could see the beautiful "Signorita Americano" every day.
As Captain Jack sat on the roomy veranda of his big ranch-house next day, nursing his swollen ankle, he beheld a dusty, but none the less picturesque Tony, toiling up the road.
"By jingo ! the Greaser has actually walked out here," he assured himself in surprise. "He must have wanted a job bad, or — " with an uneasy glance toward the open door of the house, "he's stuck on Helen — the same which he'd better cut out."
His guitar slung across his back, Tony's only other baggage was contained in a gaily bright bandanna held on a stick over his shoulder.
The bell at his side summoned the foreman, Hank Martin, to whom Tony was promptly turned over, much to that sturdy puncher's disgust.
"Excuse me, Cap'n Jack, but I've
never yet seed the Greaser worth the powder to blow him up with," began Hank, scowling at the weary Tony.
"I guess you're right, Hank, but this fellow acted pretty decent when I hurt my ankle yesterday, and Miss Helen wanted me to give him a chance; so you and the boys show him the ropes, and I guess he can earn his salt, anyway."
The mention of Helen's name did not serve to lessen Hank's growing dislike for the new hand. Big Hank had been pretty badly touched himself by Miss Helen's charms, and his narrow soul was capable of being jealous of even a dog.
With a shrug of the shoulders, he led the way to the bunk house, where he shared his views with half a dozen punchers who did not belong on that range.
"An' it's a purty durn shame," he wound up, giving the unresisting Tony a furtive shove, "to put a tan-colored coyote of a Greaser on the XL, an' onless he's pretty tough," with a sly wink, "I think he won't be pirootin' over this here range very long; sabe?"
Tony had unslung his guitar and placed it in a corner, and was respectfully awaiting further orders.
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TONY WAS TOSSED ABOUT ROUGHLY.