"Why, Kitty!" exclaimed Lucy Ware innocently, and while they were discussing the morals of geographical swearing Hardy made his bow, and pa.s.sed out into the night.

The bitter-sweet of love was upon him again, making the stars more beautiful, the night more mysterious and dreamy; but as he crept into his blankets he sighed. In the adjoining cot he could hear Jeff stripping slivers from a length of jerked beef, and Tommy mewing for his share.

"Want some jerky, Rufe?" asked Creede, and then, commenting upon their late supper, he remarked:

"A picnic dinner is all right for canary birds, but it takes good hard grub to feed a man. I'm goin' to start the _roder_ camp in the mornin' and cook me up some beans." He lay for a while in silence, industriously feeding himself on the dry meat, and gazing at the sky.

"Say, Rufe," he said, at last, "ain't you been holdin' out on me a little?"

"Um-huh," a.s.sented Hardy.

"Been gettin' letters from Miss Lucy all the time, eh?"

"Sure."

"Well," remarked Creede, "you're a h.e.l.l of a feller! But I reckon I learned somethin'," he added philosophically, "and when I want somebody to tell my troubles to, I'll know where to go. Say, she's all right, ain't she?"

"Yeah."

"Who're you talkin' about?"

"Who're you?"

"Oh, you know, all right, all right--but, say!"

"Well?"

"It's a pity she don't like cats."

CHAPTER XII

THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT

The sun was well up over the canon rim when the tired visitors awoke from their dreams. Kitty Bonnair was the first to open her eyes and peep forth upon the fairy world which promised so much of mystery and delight. The iron bars of their window, deep set in the adobe walls, suggested the dungeon of some strong prison where Spanish maidens languished for sight of their lovers; a rifle in the corner, overlooked in the hurried moving, spoke eloquently of the armed brutality of the times; the hewn logs which supported the lintels completed the picture of primitive life; and a soft breeze, breathing in through the unglazed sills, whispered of dark canons and the wild, free out-of-doors.

As she lay there drinking it all in a murmur of voices came to her ears; and, peering out, she saw Creede and Rufus Hardy squatting by a fire out by the giant mesquite tree which stood near the bank of the creek. Creede was stirring the contents of a frying-pan with a huge iron spoon, and Rufus was cooking strips of meat on a stick which he turned above a bed of coals. There was no sign of hurry or anxiety about their preparations; they seemed to be conversing amiably of other things. Presently Hardy picked up a hooked stick, lifted the cover from the Dutch oven, and dumped a pile of white biscuits upon a greasy cloth. Then, still deep in their talk, they filled their plates from the fry-pan, helped themselves to meat, wrapped the rest of the bread in the cloth, and sat comfortably back on their heels, eating with their fingers and knives.

It was all very simple and natural, but somehow she had never thought of men in that light before. They were so free, so untrammelled and self-sufficient; yes, and so barbarous, too. Rufus Hardy, the poet, she had known--quiet, soft-spoken, gentle, with dreamy eyes and a doglike eagerness to please--but, lo! here was another Rufus, still gentle, but with a stern look in his eyes which left her almost afraid--and those two lost years lay between. How he must have changed in all that time! The early morning was Kitty's time for meditation and good resolutions, and she resolved then and there to be nice to Rufus, for he was a man and could not understand.

As the sound of voices came from the house Jefferson Creede rose up from his place and stalked across the open, rolling and swaying in his high-heeled boots like a huge, woolly bear.

"Well, Judge," he said, after throwing a mountain of wood on the fire as a preliminary to cooking breakfast for his guests, "I suppose now you're here you'd like to ride around a little and take stock of what you've got. The boys will begin comin' in for the _roder_ to-day, and after to-morrow I'll be pretty busy; but if you say so I'll jest ketch up a gentle horse, and show you the upper range before the work begins."

"Oh, won't you take me, too?" cried Kitty, skipping in eagerly. "I've got the nicest saddle--and I bet I can ride any horse you've got."

She a.s.sumed a cowboy-like strut as she made this a.s.sertion, shaking her head in a bronco gesture which dashed the dark hair from her eyes and made her look like an unbroken thoroughbred. Never in all his life, even in the magazine pictures of stage beauties which form a conspicuous mural decoration in those parts, had Creede seen a woman half so charming, but even in his love blindness he was modest.

"We'll have to leave that to the judge," he said deferentially, "but they's horses for everybody." He glanced inquiringly at Lucy, who was busily unpacking her sketching kit; but she only smiled, and shook her head.

"The home is going to be my sphere for some time," she remarked, glancing about at the half-cleaned room, "and then," she added, with decision, "I'm going to make some of the loveliest water colors in the world. I think that big giant cactus standing on that red-and-gray cliff over there is simply wonderful."

"Um, pretty good," observed Creede judicially. "But you jest ought to see 'em in the gorge where Hidden Water comes out! Are ye goin' along, Rufe?" he inquired, bending his eyes upon Hardy with a knowing twinkle. "No? Well, _you_ can show her where it is! Didn't you never hear why they call this Hidden Water?" he asked, gazing benignly upon the young ladies. "Well, listen.

"They's a big spring of water right up here, not half a mile. It's an old landmark--the Mexicans call it Agua Escondida--but I bet neither one of you can find it and I'll take you right by the gulch where it comes out. They can't n.o.body find it, unless they're wise enough to follow cow tracks--and of course, we don't expect that of strangers.

But if you ever git lost and you're within ten miles of home jest take the first cow trail you see and follow it downhill and you'll go into one end or the other of Hidden Water canon. Sure, it's what you might call the h.e.l.lo-Central of the whole Four Peaks country, with cow paths instead of wires. The only thing lackin' is the girls, to talk back, and call you down for your ungentlemanly language, and--well, this country is comin' up every day!"

He grinned broadly, wiping his floury hands on his overalls in defiance of Miss Kitty's most rudimentary principles; and yet even she, for all her hygiene, was compelled to laugh. There was something about Creede that invited confidence and feminine badgering, he was so like a big, good-natured boy. The entire meal was enlivened by her efforts, in the person of a h.e.l.lo girl, to expurgate his language, and she ended by trying to get him to swear--politely.

But in this the n.o.ble cowboy was inexorable. "No, ma'am," he said, with an excess of moral conviction. "I never swear except for cause--and then I always regret it. But if you want to git some of the real thing to put in your phonygraft jest come down to the pasture to-morrow when the boys are breakin' horses. Your hair's kind of wavy, I notice, but it will put crimps in it to hear Bill Lightfoot or some of them Sunflower stiffs when they git bucked onto a rock pile. And say, if you call yourself a rider I can give you a snake for to-day."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Creede," answered Miss Kitty, bowing low as she left the table. "Its tail, if it chanced to be a rattler, would be most acceptable, I am sure, and I might make a belt out of its skin.

But for riding purposes I prefer a real, gentle little horse. Now hurry up, and I'll be dressed in half an hour."

Ten minutes later Creede rode up to the house, leading a sober gray for the judge, but for Kitty Bonnair he had the prettiest little calico-horse in the bunch, a pony painted up with red and yellow and white until he looked like a three-color chromo. Even his eye was variegated, being of a mild, pet-rabbit blue, with a white circle around the orbit; and his name, of course, was Pinto. To be sure, his face was a little dished in and he showed other signs of his scrub Indian blood, but after Creede had cinched on the new stamped-leather saddle and adjusted the ornate hackamore and martingale, Pinto was the sportiest-looking horse outside of a Wild West show.

There was a long wait then, while Diana completed her preparations for the hunt; but when Kitty Bonnair, fully apparelled, finally stepped through the door Creede reeled in the saddle, and even Rufus Hardy gasped. There was nothing immodest about her garb--in fact, it was very correct and proper--but not since the Winship girls rode forth in overalls had Hidden Water seen its like. Looking very trim and boyish in her khaki riding breeches, Kitty strode forth unabashed, rejoicing in her freedom. A little scream of delight escaped her as she caught sight of the calico-pony; she patted his nose a moment, inquired his name, and then, scorning all a.s.sistance, swung lightly up into the saddle. No prettier picture had ever been offered to the eye; so young, so supple and strong, with such a wealth of dark, wavy hair, and, withal, so modest and honestly happy.

But, somehow, Jefferson Creede took the lead and rode with his eyes cast down, lest they should be dazzled by the vision. Besides, Jeff had been raised old-fashioned, and Golden Gate Park is a long, long ways, chronologically, from Hidden Water.

As the procession pa.s.sed away up the canon, with Creede in sober converse with the judge and Kitty scampering about like an Indian on her pinto horse, Hardy and Lucy Ware glanced at each other, and laughed.

"Did you ever see any one like her?" exclaimed Lucy, and Hardy admitted with a sigh that he never had.

"And I am afraid," observed Miss Lucy frankly, "you were not altogether pleased to see her--at first. But really, Rufus, what can any one hope to do with Kitty? When she has set her heart on anything she _will have it_, and from the very moment she read your first letter she was determined to come down here. Of course father thinks he came down to look into this matter of the sheep, and _I_ think that I came down to look after him, but in reality I have no doubt we are both here because Kitty Bonnair so wills it."

"Very likely," replied Hardy, with a doubtful smile. "But since you are in her counsels perhaps you can tell what her intentions are toward me. I used to be one of her gentlemen-in-waiting, you know, and this visit looks rather ominous for me."

"Well, just exactly what are you talking about, Rufus?"

"I guess you know, all right," replied Hardy. "Have I got to ride a bucking bronco, or kill a sheep-herder or two--or is it just another case of 'move on'?"

He paused and smiled bitterly to himself, but Lucy was not in a mood to humor him in his misanthropy.

"I must confess," she said, "that you may be called upon to do a few chivalrous feats of horsemanship, but as for the sheep-herder part of it, I hope you will try to please me by leaving them alone. It worries me, Rufus," she continued soberly, "to see you becoming so strong-willed and silent. There was a whole year, when none of us heard a word from you--and then it was quite by accident. And father thinks you stopped writing to him with the deliberate intention of driving the sheep away by violence."

"Well, I'm glad he understands so well," replied Hardy naively. "Of course I wouldn't embarra.s.s him by asking for orders, but--"

"Oh, Rufus!" exclaimed Miss Lucy impatiently, "do try to be natural again and take your mind off those sheep. Do you know what I am thinking of doing?" she demanded seriously. "I am thinking of asking father to give me this ranch--he said he would if I wanted it--and then I'll discharge you! You shall not be such a brutal, ugly man! But come, now, I want you to help clear the table, and then we will go up to Hidden Water and read your poems. But tell me, have you had any trouble with the sheepmen?"

"Why, no!" answered Hardy innocently. "What made you ask?"

"Well, you wrote father you expected trouble--and--and you had that big, long pistol when you came in yesterday. Now you can't deny that!"

"I'm afraid you've had some Western ideas implanted in your bosom by Kitty, Miss Lucy," protested Hardy. "We never shoot each other down here. I carry that pistol for the moral effect--and it's necessary, too, to protect these sheepmen against their own baser natures. You see they're all armed, and if I should ride into their camp without a gun and ask them to move they might be tempted to do something overt.

But as it is now, when Jeff and I begin to talk reason with them they understand. No, _we're_ all right; it's the sheep-herders that have all the trouble."