The Orphan, Clarence E. Mulford [find a book to read TXT] 📗

“Now I’ll have another piece, another piece, another piece,

Now I’ll have another piece, that’s two all told.

Good bye, Lee Lung, good bye Lee Lung,

Good bye, Lee Lung, we’re going to forget you now!”

“Again on that Lee Lung, altogether–it hits me right!” cried Bud, and the matter pertaining to the farewells to Lee Lung was promptly and properly attended to in heartfelt sincerity.

The ladies laughed with delight, and Mrs. Shields whispered to her husband, who nodded and escorted The Orphan to a seat near the head of the table, where he was flanked by Helen and Blake.

“Grab your partners, boys,” the sheriff cried, pointing to the chairs. There was a hasty piling of belts and guns on the ground, and after much confusion all were seated.

The sheriff arose: “Boys, Mrs. Shields wants me to tell you how pleased she is to have you all here. She has felt plumb sorry about you and she shore has shuddered at the thought of a Chinee cook––”

“Which same we all do–it’s chronic,” interposed Jim to laughter.

“She wants you to make yourselves at home,” continued the sheriff, “learn the lay of the land around this range and never forget the trail leading here, because she insists that when any of you come to town you have simply got to pay us a visit and see if there is a piece of pie or cake to eat before you go back to that cook. And Tom says that he’ll fire the first man who renigs––”

“I’m going to carry the mail hereafter!” cried Bud, scowling fiercely at Joe.

“Not if I can shoot first, you don’t!” retorted the mail carrier. “I was just a-wondering if it wouldn’t be better to come in twice a week for it instead of once. We might get more letters.”

“We’ll bid for your job next year,” laughed Silent.

“Before I coax you to eat,” continued the sheriff, “I––”

“Wrong word, Sheriff,” interposed Humble. “Not coax, but force.”

“I am going to ask you to reverse things a little, and drink a standing toast to the man who saved the stage, to the man who saved Miss Ritchie and my sisters and who made this dinner possible. This would be far from a happy day but for him. I want you to drink to the long life and happiness of The Orphan. All up!”

The clink of glasses was lost in the spontaneous cheer which burst from the lips of the former outlaw’s new friends, and he sat confused and embarrassed with a sudden timidity, his face crimson.

“Speech!” cried Jim, the others joining in the cry. “Speech! Speech!”

Finally, after some urging, The Orphan slowly arose to his feet, a foolish smile playing about his lips.

“It wasn’t anything,” he said deprecatingly. “You all would have done it, every one of you. But I’m glad it was me. I’m glad I was on hand, although it wasn’t anything to make all this fuss about,” and he dropped suddenly into his seat, feeling hot and uncomfortable.

“Well, we have different ideas about its being nothing,” replied the sheriff. “Now, boys, a toast to Bill Halloway,” he requested. “Bill couldn’t get here to-day, but we mustn’t forget him. His splendid grit and driving made it possible for our friend to play his hand so well.”

“Hurrah for Bill!” cried Silent, leaping to his feet with the others. When seated again he looked quickly at his glass and turned to Bud.

“Real sweet cider!” he exulted. “Good Lord, but how time gallops past! I’d almost forgotten what it was like! It’s been over twenty years since I tasted any! Ain’t it fine?”

“I was wondering what it was,” remarked Humble, a trace of awe in his voice as he refilled his glass. “It’s shore enough sweet cider, and blamed good, too!”

Charley was romping with the mail carrier and he had a sudden inspiration: “Speech from Joe! Speech for the pieces of pie and cake he’s due to get!”

“Now, look here, boy,” Joe gravely replied. “I’m the mail carrier. I don’t have to go on jury duty, lead religion round-ups, go to war or make speeches. As the books say, I’m exempt. All I have to do is punch cows, rustle the mail and eat pie and cake once a week,” he said, glancing at Bud, who glared and groaned.

“Good boy, Joe!” cried Humble, waving his glass excitedly. “You’re shore all right, you are, and I’m your deputy, ain’t I?”

“No, not my deputy, but my delirium,” corrected Joe.

“Glory be!” cried Silent as his plate was passed to him. “Chicken, real chicken! Mashed potatoes, mashed turnips and dressing and gravy! And here comes stewed corn, boiled onions and jelly and mother’s bread. And stewed tomatoes? Well, well! I guess we ain’t going to be well fed, and real happy, eh, fellows? My stomach won’t know what’s the matter–it’ll think it died and went to heaven by mistake. Holy smoke! It hurts my eyes. What, cranberry jam? Well, I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute if you don’t mind; I want to recuperate from the shock. This is where I live again!”

Humble stared in rapture at the feast before him and finally heaved a long drawn sigh of doubt and content.

“Gee!” he cried softly, a far-away look in his eyes. “Look at it, just look at it! Just like I used to get when I was a little tad back in Connecticut–but that was shore a long time ago. Well,” he exclaimed, bracing up and bravely forgetting his boyhood, “there’s one thing I hope, and that is that Lee beats my dog. Then I can shoot him and get square for all these years of imitation grub what he’s handed out to me!”

“Hey, Tom!” eagerly cried Charley, “why can’t we handle a herd of chickens out on the ranch, and have a garden? Why, we could have eggs every day and chickens on holidays!”

“No wonder Tom likes to ride to town,” laughed Silent. “Gee whiz, I’d walk it for pie and cake and real genuine coffee!”

“Walk it!” snorted Jim. “Huh, I’d crawl, and stand on my head, knock my feet together and crow every half mile! Walk it, huh!”

Merriment reigned supreme throughout the meal and when the bashfulness had worn off the conversation became fast and furious, abounding in terse wit, verbal attacks and clever counters, and in concentrated onslaughts against the unfortunate Humble, who soon found, however, a new and loyal champion in Miss Ritchie, who took his part. Her assistance was so doughty as to more than once put to rout his tormentors, and before the dessert had been reached he was her devoted slave and admirer and was henceforth to sing her praises at every opportunity, and even to make opportunities.

At The Orphan’s end of the table all was serene. He, Helen, Blake and the sheriff found much to talk about, and all the while Mrs. Shields regarded the four in a motherly way, and tempered the keenness of her husband’s wit, for he was prone to break lances with The Orphan and to tease his sister, much to her confusion. She was very happy, for here at her side were her husband and the man she had feared would harm him, laughing and joking and the best of friends; and down the table a crowd of big-hearted boys, her boys now, were having the time of their lives. They were good boys, too, she told herself; a trifle rough, but sterling at the heart, and every one of them a loyal friend. How good it was to see them eat and hear them laugh, all happy and mischievous. The welding of the units had been finished, and now the Star C and The Orphan were one in spirit.

AFTER the dinner at the sheriff’s house, life meant much to The Orphan, for the dinner had done its work and done it well. Whatever had been missing to complete the good fellowship between him and the others had been supplied and by the time the outfit was ready to leave for home, all corners had been rounded and all rough edges smoothed down. With his outfit he was in hearty, loyal accord, and the spirit of the ranch had become his own. With the sheriff his already strong liking had been stripped of any undesirable qualities, and he felt that Shields was not only the whitest man he had ever met, but also his best friend. He had become more intimate with the sheriff’s household, and for Mrs. Shields he had only love and respect.

With Helen his cup was full to overflowing, for he had managed to hold several long talks with her during the afternoon, and to his mind he had heard nothing detrimental to his hopes. His eyes had been opened as to what it was he had been hungering for, and the knowledge thrilled him to his finger-tips. He was a red-blooded, clean-limbed man, direct of words and purpose, reveling in a joyous, surging, vigorous health, in tune with his surroundings; he was dominant, fearless, and he had a saving grace in his humor. To him came visions of the future, golden as the sunrise, rich in promise and assurance as to a happiness such as he could only feebly feel. Himself he was sure of, for he feared no failure on his part; as far as he was concerned it was won. Helen, he believed from what the day had given him, would not refuse him when the time came for her to decide, and his effervescent spirits sent a song to his lips, which he hurled to the sky as a war-cry, a slogan of triumph and a defiance.

As yet he knew nothing of the sheriff’s plans, and his thoughts concerning his future position in the community did not dare to soar above that of foreman of some ranch. To this end he would bend his energies