Holy looked down at the tattered glove that dangled in dingy strings from the offending hand, then he pulled it off in sections. "I hope some one will shoot the top of my head off if I ever wear them d.a.m.ned things again. Not on your life--even if the Boss was to get married every day in the year for the rest of his life!"

He jerked off the other glove, wadded them together in a compact ball, and deftly tossed it out the open window.

The wedding party adjourned to a feast spread in the dining room of the Willc.o.x Hotel, where toasts were given and merriment continued unabated till the west-bound 'Flyer' stopped at the signal, and Traynor and his bride left for a couple of weeks in California, leaving Jamie with Mrs.

Green.

Powell boarded the train at the same time, as he had to go to Tucson on business connected with his intention to bid for the Hot Springs Ranch.

Bonfires had been lighted near the track, and the boys fired a salute to the Boss and his bride. The coloured porter darted back to the platform of the train, and looked at the men with wild eyes.

"You ain't got no call to be scairt," rea.s.sured Bronco, "We're jest seein' a bridal couple off, that's all."

Then the whites of the porter's eyes disappeared entirely, and in the black face shone a row of gleaming teeth.

The tail-light of the train disappeared in the distance, the bonfires died away, and the boys of the Diamond H. feeling they had done things up 'good and proper,' sought their beds in the hotel.

"Gosh! I'm glad the Boss ain't a Mormon!" sighed Bronco, as he dropped to sleep. The only response to his remark was a chorus of snores in which he soon joined.

Out in the dusty road was a tiny ball that had once been a pair of white kid gloves.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The weekly stage from Willc.o.x to Aravaipa Canon, which stopped at the ranch on Mondays, brought a letter to Limber from Allan Traynor, instructing the foreman to meet himself and his wife upon their arrival from California on Thursday. There was also a note from Doctor Powell, who was still in Tucson, saying that he would return to the ranch on Wednesday.

The men had just eaten lunch and were grouped about the stables when Limber imparted the news to them, adding, "The Boss says to slick up the big room on the front porch, and we've got to hustle to get it done in time. They'll be here in three days."

"Say, Limber," interrupted Bronco, who was usually the ruling spirit, "Don't you think we'd oughter get a weddin' present for 'em?"

"I sure do!" endorsed Limber, "But, what kin we get? If we'd had any sense among us we'd of sent off long ago for somethin' proper. Mrs.

Green would of knowed, but it's too late now."

"Let's chip in and get some big Navajo blankets like Mrs. Green's,"

suggested Holy. "Looked a heap prettier'n carpets on her floor."

"Gee! Holy, you do get an idee onct in a while," jeered Bronco, whose chief delight in life was to tease Holy, and, like tourists who throw stones into the crater of a volcano, stand by in admiration of the eruption that followed.

"Now, see here," admonished Limber, "don't you and Holy get to millin'.

Thar ain't no time for it."

Holy glared at Bronco, who grinned back at him and murmured, "Fust blood."

Limber reverted to the letter. "It says that Mrs. Traynor will have the little room off'n the big room for her'n, and we'd better whitewash it."

He broke off and looked at the others, as he said, "Have we got a whitewash brush that is fitten to use?"

"Whitewash your grandmother!" retorted Bronco contemptuously. "We'd oughter paper it. I seen some dandy paper with pink roses stampeding all over it at the Headquarter Store. Whitewash is all O.K. for cowpunchers and bronco busters, but girls likes paper and--and--them sorter things,"

he concluded hastily.

"We don't know how to do it," objected Limber, "and thar ain't no paperhanger in Willc.o.x."

"Shucks! Tain't no trick noway," responded Bronco airily. "I'll show you. All you got ter do is get the paper an' do what I tell you."

Impressed by his convincing air the quartette engaged in making a list of the things Bronco considered necessary, the princ.i.p.al items being the paper with pink roses and three of 'the biggest, highest priced and reddest Navajo blankets in town.'

After watching Bronco start on his mission, Limber and the others saddled their ponies for the daily routine work on the range, as they knew that Bronco could not get home before late that night.

It was nearly midnight when Bronco rode into the stables, but the entire bunch of men met him with a volley of questions as he dismounted from his pony. Bursting with importance, he unrolled the Navajo blankets which had been tied to the back of his saddle; while the paper, carefully packed in gunny-sacks, was swung across the front horn.

The men grasped the purchases and carried them to the bunkhouse where they opened the sacks eagerly. The blankets had been fully endorsed and admired; but when Bronco, imitating the storekeeper, unrolled a sample of the paper and held it up with a flourish, no words were left to express their delight.

"Now, we'll get up early tomorrow so's to tackle the job and get it over," said Limber, after they had disposed of the packages in the room they contemplated papering. Filled with joyful antic.i.p.ations they tumbled into their bunks.

Bronco was the first to waken, and he roused the others before daylight, despite their protests.

Roarer sat up and blinked stupidly at the lamp which Bronco was lighting.

"I ain't had no sleep that was any good," he quavered in his thin voice.

"I was chasin' pink roses all night--they had horns and tails and four legs, jest like cows, and I was tryin' to rope 'em. I'm plumb played out."

His tale of woe was unheard by the others as they hurriedly adjusted clothes and tumbled out of the bunkhouse to the ranch kitchen for breakfast. Fong, the cook, was in no amiable mood because he had to serve breakfast an hour earlier than usual; but when he learned that they expected to take possession of his kitchen and sundry utensils, his wrath was expressed in a wordy battle in 'pidgin English. He only succ.u.mbed to superior numbers when he retreated to the back porch. His mutterings could be heard distinctly by those in the kitchen, and Bronco c.o.c.ked his head on one side and listened attentively to the angry cook.

"Say, Holy, I don't savvy what that year c.h.i.n.k is sayin', but it sounds a heap worse'n anything I ever heerd you say. He's got you beat to a frazzle. Why don't you learn Chinee? Then when your stock of cuss words gets stale you can start on a new lot."

Holy's retort was cut short by Limber, who paused in rolling a cigarette and observed, "You're captain of this round-up, Bronco. How do you start her?"

They all gathered about Bronco as he explained the process unhesitatingly. He did not divulge that he had asked information at the store, regarding the preparation of paper, making paste and other necessary details of paperhanging. It had seemed so simple that he was sure he could remember everything.

"Well, fust you cut the edges off'n the paper, then you make a biscuit dough and thin her out and stick the paper up, and thar you are! Easy as rollin' off'n a log!"

"That's all right so long as the log ain't pinted into a mudhole whar thar's a buckskin cow," murmured Holy, with a side glance at Bronco. The innuendo was loftily ignored, and Holy tried other tactics.

"Whar' did you learn to paper, anyhow?" he demanded suspiciously. "You never let on you knowed how until last night."

"Think I'm Hasayampering?" Bronco answered indignantly. "I seed them paper a room down to Eureka Springs three years ago. I helped them do it." He reserved the elucidation that he had helped carry in a galvanized tub, nothing more. "Mebbe you don't believe me, but if any of you fellers thinks he knows more'n I do about it, I'm willin' to lay back in harness and let him take the lead, and yours truly won't do no kickin' over the traces, neither."

As no one was disposed to dispute his authority, he continued in a mollified voice:

"Roarer, you go get all the flour you kin find and bring it here."

Roarer looked dubiously toward the back porch and scratched his head, then he tiptoed to the door, peeped through it, and discovering Fong had deserted the place, started on his search, while Bronco issued his commands to the others.

"Limber, you kin chase that new whitewash brush I left in the bunkhouse, and Holy can trim the edges off'n the paper. Then you kin all help mix the paste when I get ready."

"Does anybody know whar the shears is?" queried Holy, knowing from experience that a needle in a haystack could be located twenty times before the one pair of shears on the ranch was generally found by the searcher. "Bronc, you had them scissors three weeks ago cuttin' Limber's hair. I seed you. Whar are they?"