The Light of Western Stars

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"Well, I am not counting rides and climbs and golf; but these are
necessary to train you for trips over into Arizona. I want to
show you the desert and the Aravaipa Canyon. We have to go on
horseback and pack our outfit. If any of you are alive after
those trips and want more we shall go up into the mountains. I
should like very much to know what you each want particularly."

"I'll tell you," replied Helen, promptly. "Dot will be the same
out here as she was in the East. She wants to look bashfully
down at her hand--a hand imprisoned in another, by the way--and
listen to a man talk poetry about her eyes. If cowboys don't
make love that way Dot's visit will be a failure. Now Elsie Beck
wants solely to be revenged upon us for dragging her out here.
She wants some dreadful thing to happen to us. I don't know
what's in Edith's head, but it isn't fun. Bobby wants to be near
Elsie, and no more. Boyd wants what he has always wanted--the
only thing he ever wanted that he didn't get. Castleton has a
horrible bloodthirsty desire to kill something."

"I declare now, I want to ride and camp out, also," protested
Castleton.

"As for myself," went on Helen, "I want-- Oh, if I only knew what
it is that I want! Well, I know I want to be outdoors, to get
into the open, to feel sun and wind, to burn some color into my
white face. I want some flesh and blood and life. I am tired
out. Beyond all that I don't know very well. I'll try to keep
Dot from attaching all the cowboys to her train."

"What a diversity of wants!" said Madeline.

"Above all, Majesty, we want something to happen," concluded
Helen, with passionate finality.

"My dear sister, maybe you will have your wish fulfilled,"
replied Madeline, soberly. "Edith, Helen has made me curious
about your especial yearning."

"Majesty, it is only that I wanted to be with you for a while,"
replied this old friend.

There was in the wistful reply, accompanied by a dark and
eloquent glance of eyes, what told Madeline of Edith's
understanding, of her sympathy, and perhaps a betrayal of her own
unquiet soul. It saddened Madeline. How many women might there
not be who had the longing to break down the bars of their cage,
but had not the spirit!

XIII Cowboy Golf

In the whirl of the succeeding days it was a mooted question
whether Madeline's guests or her cowboys or herself got the
keenest enjoyment out of the flying time. Considering the
sameness of the cowboys' ordinary life, she was inclined to think
they made the most of the present. Stillwell and Stewart,
however, had found the situation trying. The work of the ranch
had to go on, and some of it got sadly neglected. Stillwell could
not resist the ladies any more than he could resist the fun in
the extraordinary goings-on of the cowboys. Stewart alone kept
the business of cattle-raising from a serious setback. Early and
late he was in the saddle, driving the lazy Mexicans whom he had
hired to relieve the cowboys.

One morning in June Madeline was sitting on the porch with her
merry friends when Stillwell appeared on the corral path. He had
not come to consult Madeline for several days--an omission so
unusual as to be remarked.

"Here comes Bill--in trouble," laughed Florence.

Indeed, he bore some faint resemblance to a thundercloud as he
approached the porch; but the greetings he got from Madeline's
party, especially from Helen and Dorothy, chased away the
blackness from his face and brought the wonderful wrinkling
smile.

"Miss Majesty, sure I'm a sad demoralized old cattleman," he
said, presently. "An' I'm in need of a heap of help."

"What's wrong now?" asked Madeline, with her encouraging smile.

"Wal, it's so amazin' strange what cowboys will do. I jest am
about to give up. Why, you might say my cowboys were all on
strike for vacations. What do you think of that? We've changed
the shifts, shortened hours, let one an' another off duty, hired
Greasers, an', in fact, done everythin' that could be thought of.
But this vacation idee growed worse. When Stewart set his foot
down, then the boys begin to get sick. Never in my born days as a
cattleman have I heerd of so many diseases. An' you ought to see
how lame an' crippled an' weak many of the boys have got all of a
sudden. The idee of a cowboy comin' to me with a sore finger an'
askin' to be let off for a day! There's Booly. Now I've knowed
a hoss to fall all over him, an' onct he rolled down a canyon.
Never bothered him at all. He's got a blister on his heel, a
ridin' blister, an' he says it's goin' to blood-poisonin' if he
doesn't rest. There's Jim Bell. He's developed what he says is
spinal mengalootis, or some such like. There's Frankie Slade.
He swore he had scarlet fever because his face burnt so red, I
guess, an' when I hollered that scarlet fever was contagious an'
he must be put away somewhere, he up an' says he guessed it
wasn't that. But he was sure awful sick an' needed to loaf
around an' be amused. Why, even Nels doesn't want to work these
days. If it wasn't for Stewart, who's had Greasers with the
cattle, I don't know what I'd do."

"Why all this sudden illness and idleness?" asked Madeline.

"Wal, you see, the truth is every blamed cowboy on the range
except Stewart thinks it's his bounden duty to entertain the
ladies."

"I think that is just fine!" exclaimed Dorothy Coombs; and she
joined in the general laugh.

"Stewart, then, doesn't care to help entertain us?" inquired
Helen, in curious interest. "Wal, Miss Helen, Stewart is sure
different from the other cowboys," replied Stillwell. "Yet he
used to be like them. There never was a cowboy fuller of the
devil than Gene. But he's changed. He's foreman here, an' that
must be it. All the responsibility rests on him. He sure has no
time for amusin' the ladies."

"I imagine that is our loss," said Edith Wayne, in her earnest
way. "I admire him."

"Stillwell, you need not be so distressed with what is only
gallantry in the boys, even if it does make a temporary confusion
in the work," said Madeline.

"Miss Majesty, all I said is not the half, nor the quarter, nor
nuthin' of what's troublin' me," answered he, sadly.

"Very well; unburden yourself."

"Wal, the cowboys, exceptin' Gene, have gone plumb batty, jest
plain crazy over this heah game of gol-lof."

A merry peal of mirth greeted Stillwell's solemn assertion.

"Oh, Stillwell, you are in fun," replied Madeline.

"I hope to die if I'm not in daid earnest," declared the
cattleman. "It's an amazin' strange fact. Ask Flo. She'll tell
you. She knows cowboys, an' how if they ever start on somethin'
they ride it as they ride a hoss."

Florence being appealed to, and evidently feeling all eyes upon
her, modestly replied that Stillwell had scarcely misstated the
situation.

"Cowboys play like they work or fight," she added. "They give
their whole souls to it. They are great big simple boys."

"Indeed they are," said Madeline. "Oh, I'm glad if they like the
game of golf. They have so little play."

"Wal, somethin's got to be did if we're to go on raisin' cattle
at Her Majesty's Rancho," replied Stillwell. He appeared both
deliberate and resigned.

Madeline remembered that despite Stillwell's simplicity he was as
deep as any of his cowboys, and there was absolutely no gaging
him where possibilities of fun were concerned. Madeline fancied
that his exaggerated talk about the cowboys' sudden craze for
golf was in line with certain other remarkable tales that had
lately emanated from him. Some very strange things had occurred
of late, and it was impossible to tell whether or not they were
accidents, mere coincidents, or deep-laid, skilfully worked-out
designs of the fun-loving cowboys. Certainly there had been
great fun, and at the expense of her guests, particularly
Castleton. So Madeline was at a loss to know what to think about
Stillwell's latest elaboration. From mere force of habit she
sympathized with him and found difficulty in doubting his
apparent sincerity.

"To go back a ways," went on Stillwell, as Madeline looked up
expectantly, "you recollect what pride the boys took in fixin' up
that gol-lof course out on the mesa? Wal, they worked on that
job, an' though I never seen any other course, I'll gamble yours
can't be beat. The boys was sure curious about that game. You
recollect also how they all wanted to see you an' your brother
play, an' be caddies for you? Wal, whenever you'd quit they'd go
to work tryin' to play the game. Monty Price, he was the leadin'
spirit. Old as I am, Miss Majesty, an' used as I am to cowboy
excentrikities, I nearly dropped daid when I heered that little
hobble-footed, burned-up Montana cow-puncher say there wasn't any
game too swell for him, an' gol-lof was just his speed. Serious
as a preacher, mind you, he was. An' he was always practisin'.
When Stewart gave him charge of the course an' the club-house an'
all them funny sticks, why, Monty was tickled to death. You see,
Monty is sensitive that he ain't much good any more for cowboy
work. He was glad to have a job that he didn't feel he was
hangin' to by kindness. Wal, he practised the game, an' he read
the books in the club-house, an' he got the boys to doin' the
same. That wasn't very hard, I reckon. They played early an'
late an' in the moonlight. For a while Monty was coach, an' the
boys stood it. But pretty soon Frankie Slade got puffed on his
game, an' he had to have it out with Monty. Wal, Monty beat him
bad. Then one after another the other boys tackled Monty. He
beat them all. After that they split up an' begin to play
matches, two on a side. For a spell this worked fine. But
cowboys can't never be satisfied long onless they win all the
time. Monty an' Link Stevens, both cripples, you might say,
joined forces an' elected to beat all comers. Wal, they did, an'
that's the trouble. Long an' patient the other cowboys tried to
beat them two game legs, an' hevn't done it. Mebbe if Monty an'
Link was perfectly sound in their legs like the other cowboys
there wouldn't hev been such a holler. But no sound cowboys'll
ever stand for a disgrace like that. Why, down at the bunks in
the evenin's it's some mortifyin' the way Monty an' Link crow
over the rest of the outfit. They've taken on superior airs.
You couldn't reach up to Monty with a trimmed spruce pole. An'
Link--wal, he's just amazin' scornful.

"'It's a swell game, ain't it?' says Link, powerful sarcastic.
'Wal, what's hurtin' you low-down common cowmen? You keep harpin'
on Monty's game leg an' on my game leg. If we hed good legs we'd
beat you all the wuss. It's brains that wins in gol-lof. Brains
an' airstoocratik blood, which of the same you fellers sure hev
little.'

"An' then Monty he blows smoke powerful careless an' superior,
an' he says:

"'Sure it's a swell game. You cow-headed gents think beef an'
brawn ought to hev the call over skill an' gray matter. You'll
all hev to back up an' get down. Go out an' learn the game. You
don't know a baffy from a Chinee sandwich. All you can do is
waggle with a club an' fozzle the ball.'

"Whenever Monty gets to usin' them queer names the boys go round
kind of dotty. Monty an' Link hev got the books an' directions
of the game, an' they won't let the other boys see them. They
show the rules, but that's all. An', of course, every game ends
in a row almost before it's started. The boys are all turrible
in earnest about this gol-lof. An' I want to say, for the good
of ranchin', not to mention a possible fight, that Monty an' Link
hev got to be beat. There'll be no peace round this ranch till
that's done."

Madeline's guests were much amused. As for herself, in spite of
her scarcely considered doubt, Stillwell's tale of woe occasioned
her anxiety. However, she could hardly control her mirth.

"What in the world can I do?"

"Wal, I reckon I couldn't say. I only come to you for advice.
It seems that a queer kind of game has locoed my cowboys, an' for
the time bein' ranchin' is at a standstill. Sounds ridiculous, I
know, but cowboys are as strange as wild cattle. All I'm sure of
is that the conceit has got to be taken out of Monty an' Link.
Onct, just onct, will square it, an' then we can resoome our
work."

"Stillwell, listen," said Madeline, brightly. "We'll arrange a
match game, a foursome, between Monty and Link and your best
picked team. Castleton, who is an expert golfer, will umpire.
My sister, and friends, and I will take turns as caddies for your
team. That will be fair, considering yours is the weaker.
Caddies may coach, and perhaps expert advice is all that is
necessary for your team to defeat Monty's."

"A grand idee," declared Stillwell, with instant decision. "When
can we have this match game?"

"Why, to-day--this afternoon. We'll all ride out to the links."

"Wal, I reckon I'll be some indebted to you, Miss Majesty, an'
all your guests," replied Stillwell, warmly. He rose with
sombrero in hand, and a twinkle in his eye that again prompted
Madeline to wonder. "An' now I'll be goin' to fix up for the
game of cowboy gol-lof. Adios."

The idea was as enthusiastically received by Madeline's guests as
it had been by Stillwell. They were highly amused and
speculative to the point of taking sides and making wagers on
their choice. Moreover, this situation so frankly revealed by
Stillwell had completed their deep mystification. They were now
absolutely nonplussed by the singular character of American
cowboys. Madeline was pleased to note how seriously they had
taken the old cattleman's story. She had a little throb of wild
expectancy that made her both fear and delight in the afternoon's
prospect.

The June days had set in warm; in fact, hot during the noon
hours: and this had inculcated in her insatiable visitors a
tendency to profit by the experience of those used to the
Southwest. They indulged in the restful siesta during the heated
term of the day.

Madeline was awakened by Majesty's well-known whistle and
pounding on the gravel. Then she heard the other horses. When
she went out she found her party assembled in gala golf attire,
and with spirits to match their costumes. Castleton, especially,
appeared resplendent in a golf coat that beggared description.
Madeline had faint misgivings when she reflected on what Monty
and Nels and Nick might do under the influence of that blazing
garment.

"Oh. Majesty," cried Helen, as Madeline went up to her horse,
"don't make him kneel! Try that flying mount. We all want to
see it. It's so stunning."

"But that way, too, I must have him kneel," said Madeline, "or I
can't reach the stirrup. He's so tremendously high."

Madeline had to yield to the laughing insistence of her friends,
and after all of them except Florence were up she made Majesty go
down on one knee. Then she stood on his left side, facing back,
and took a good firm grip on the bridle and pommel and his mane.
After she had slipped the toe of her boot firmly into the stirrup
she called to Majesty. He jumped and swung her up into the
saddle.

"Now just to see how it ought to be done watch Florence," said
Madeline.

The Western girl was at her best in riding-habit and with her
horse. It was beautiful to see the ease and grace with which she
accomplished the cowboys' flying mount. Then she led the party
down the slope and across the flat to climb the mesa.

Madeline never saw a group of her cowboys without looking them
over, almost unconsciously, for her foreman, Gene Stewart. This
afternoon, as usual, he was not present. However, she now had a
sense--of which she was wholly conscious--that she was both
disappointed and irritated. He had really not been attentive to
her guests, and he, of all her cowboys, was the one of whom they
wanted most to see something. Helen, particularly, had asked to
have him attend the match. But Stewart was with the cattle.
Madeline thought of his faithfulness, and was ashamed of her
momentary lapse into that old imperious habit of desiring things
irrespective of reason.

Stewart, however, immediately slipped out of her mind as she
surveyed the group of cowboys on the links. By actual count
there were sixteen, not including Stillwell. And the same number
of splendid horses, all shiny and clean, grazed on the rim in the
care of Mexican lads. The cowboys were on dress-parade, looking
very different in Madeline's eyes, at least, from the way cowboys
usually appeared. But they were real and natural to her guests;
and they were so picturesque that they might have been stage
cowboys instead of real ones. Sombreros with silver buckles and
horsehair bands were in evidence; and bright silk scarfs,
embroidered vests, fringed and ornamented chaps, huge swinging
guns, and clinking silver spurs lent a festive appearance.

Madeline and her party were at once eagerly surrounded by the
cowboys, and she found it difficult to repress a smile. If these
cowboys were still remarkable to her, what must they be to her
guests?

"Wal, you-all raced over, I seen," said Stillwell, taking
Madeline's bridle. "Get down--get down. We're sure amazin' glad
an' proud. An', Miss Majesty, I'm offerin' to beg pawdin for the
way the boys are packin' guns. Mebbe it ain't polite. But it's
Stewart's orders."

"Stewart's orders!" echoed Madeline. Her friends were suddenly
silent.

"I reckon he won't take no chances on the boys bein' surprised
sudden by raiders. An' there's raiders operatin' in from the
Guadalupes. That's all. Nothin' to worry over. I was just
explainin'."

Madeline, with several of her party, expressed relief, but Helen
showed excitement and then disappointment.

"Oh, I want something to happen!" she cried.

Sixteen pairs of keen cowboy eyes fastened intently upon her
pretty, petulant face; and Madeline divined, if Helen did not,
that the desired consummation was not far off.

"So do I," said Dot Coombs. "It would be perfectly lovely to
have a real adventure."

The gaze of the sixteen cowboys shifted and sought the demure
face of this other discontented girl. Madeline laughed, and
Stillwell wore his strange, moving smile.

"Wal, I reckon you ladies sure won't have to go home unhappy," he
said. "Why, as boss of this heah outfit I'd feel myself
disgraced forever if you didn't have your wish. Just wait. An'
now, ladies, the matter on hand may not be amusin' or excitin' to
you; but to this heah cowboy outfit it's powerful important. An'
all the help you can give us will sure be thankfully received.
Take a look across the links. Do you-all see them two apologies
for human bein's prancin' like a couple of hobbled broncs? Wal,
you're gazin' at Monty Price an' Link Stevens, who have of a
sudden got too swell to associate with their old bunkies.
They're practisin' for the toornament. They don't want my boys
to see how they handle them crooked clubs."

"Have you picked your team?" inquired Madeline.

Stillwell mopped his red face with an immense bandana, and showed
something of confusion and perplexity.

"I've sixteen boys, an' they all want to play," he replied.
"Pickin' the team ain't goin' to be an easy job. Mebbe it won't
be healthy, either. There's Nels and Nick. They just stated
cheerful-like that if they didn't play we won't have any game at
all. Nick never tried before, an' Nels, all he wants is to get a
crack at Monty with one of them crooked clubs."

"I suggest you let all your boys drive from the tee and choose
the two who drive the farthest," said Madeline.

Stillwell's perplexed face lighted up.

"Wal, that's a plumb good idee. The boys'll stand for that."

Wherewith he broke up the admiring circle of cowboys round the
ladies.

"Grap a rope--I mean a club--all you cow-punchers, an' march over
hyar an' take a swipe at this little white bean."

The cowboys obeyed with alacrity. There was considerable
difficulty over the choice of clubs and who should try first.
The latter question had to be adjusted by lot. However, after
Frankie Slade made several ineffectual attempts to hit the ball
from the teeing-ground, at last to send it only a few yards, the
other players were not so eager to follow. Stillwell had to push
Booly forward, and Booly executed a most miserable shot and
retired to the laughing comments of his comrades. The efforts of
several succeeding cowboys attested to the extreme difficulty of
making a good drive.

"Wal, Nick, it's your turn," said Stillwell.

"Bill, I ain't so all-fired particular about playin'," replied
Nick.

"Why? You was roarin' about it a little while ago. Afraid to show
how bad you'll play?"

"Nope, jest plain consideration for my feller cow-punchers,"
answered Nick, with spirit. "I'm appreciatin' how bad they play,
an' I'm not mean enough to show them up."

"Wal, you've got to show me," said Stillwell. "I know you never
seen a gol-lof stick in your life. What's more, I'll bet you
can't hit that little ball square--not in a dozen cracks at it."

"Bill, I'm also too much of a gent to take your money. But you
know I'm from Missouri. Gimme a club."

Nick's angry confidence seemed to evaporate as one after another
he took up and handled the clubs. It was plain that he had never
before wielded one. But, also, it was plain that he was not the
kind of a man to give in. Finally he selected a driver, looked
doubtfully at the small knob, and then stepped into position on
the teeing-ground.

Nick Steele stood six feet four inches in height. He had the
rider's wiry slenderness, yet he was broad of shoulder. His arms
were long. Manifestly he was an exceedingly powerful man. He
swung the driver aloft and whirled it down with a tremendous
swing. Crack! The white ball disappeared, and from where it had
been rose a tiny cloud of dust.

Madeline's quick sight caught the ball as it lined somewhat to
the right. It was shooting low and level with the speed of a
bullet. It went up and up in swift, beautiful flight, then lost
its speed and began to sail, to curve, to drop; and it fell out
of sight beyond the rim of the mesa. Madeline had never seen a
drive that approached this one. It was magnificent, beyond
belief except for actual evidence of her own eyes.

The yelling of the cowboys probably brought Nick Steele out of
the astounding spell with which he beheld his shot. Then Nick,
suddenly alive to the situation, recovered from his trance and,
resting nonchalantly upon his club, he surveyed Stillwell and the
boys. After their first surprised outburst they were dumb.

"You-all seen thet?" Nick grandly waved his hand. "Thaught I was
joshin', didn't you? Why, I used to go to St. Louis an' Kansas
City to play this here game. There was some talk of the golf
clubs takin' me down East to play the champions. But I never
cared fer the game. Too easy fer me! Them fellers back in
Missouri were a lot of cheap dubs, anyhow, always kickin' because
whenever I hit a ball hard I always lost it. Why, I hed to hit
sort of left-handed to let 'em stay in my class. Now you-all can
go ahead an' play Monty an' Link. I could beat 'em both, playin'
with one hand, if I wanted to. But I ain't interested. I jest
hit thet ball off the mesa to show you. I sure wouldn't be seen
playin' on your team."

With that Nick sauntered away toward the horses. Stillwell
appeared crushed. And not a scornful word was hurled after Nick,
which fact proved the nature of his victory. Then Nels strode
into the limelight. As far as it was possible for this
iron-faced cowboy to be so, he was bland and suave. He remarked
to Stillwell and the other cowboys that sometimes it was painful
for them to judge of the gifts of superior cowboys such as
belonged to Nick and himself. He picked up the club Nick had
used and called for a new ball. Stillwell carefully built up a
little mound of sand and, placing the ball upon it, squared away
to watch. He looked grim and expectant.

Nels was not so large a man as Nick, and did not look so
formidable as he waved his club at the gaping cowboys. Still he
was lithe, tough, strong. Briskly, with a debonair manner, he
stepped up and then delivered a mighty swing at the ball. He
missed. The power and momentum of his swing flung him off his
feet, and he actually turned upside down and spun round on his
head. The cowboys howled. Stillwell's stentorian laugh rolled
across the mesa. Madeline and her guests found it impossible to
restrain their mirth. And when Nels got up he cast a reproachful
glance at Madeline. His feelings were hurt.

His second attempt, not by any means so violent, resulted in as
clean a miss as the first, and brought jeers from the cowboys.
Nels's red face flamed redder. Angrily he swung again. The
mound of sand spread over the teeing-ground and the exasperating
little ball rolled a few inches. This time he had to build up
the sand mound and replace the ball himself. Stillwell stood
scornfully by, and the boys addressed remarks to Nels.

"Take off them blinders," said one.

"Nels, your eyes are shore bad," said another.

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