The Dalles daily chronicle. [volume] (The Dalles, Or.) 1890-1948, 1891-02-02
AN IDYL OF THE HT.

Mexican cook has just begun his fragrant
task, so half hour must elapse before
these Arabs are fed. Their ponies are
turned into the wire pasture, their big
Colorado saddles repose astride the low
pale fence which surrounds the house,
and it is evident that their riding is over
for the day
Why are they gloomy Not boy of
them can tell One is from Princeton.
too. They have been partners and COM
paneros and worked" the HIT cattle to-
gether for months, and nothing ever
came in misunderstanding or cloud
The ranch house is their home, and
theirs has been the unity of brothers
A week ago pretty girl, the daughter
of one of the owners, came to the ranch
from the east. She was protected in
this venture by an old and gnarled aunt,
watchful as a ferret, sour as lime.
Not that the pretty girl needs watching;
she is indeed in every move propriety's
climax No soft or dulcet reason woos
her to the west; she comes on no love
errand. She is elegantly and profoundly
tired of the east, that is all, and longs
for western air and western sights. She
has been at the HT ranch a week, and
the boys have met her, every one. The
meeting or meetings were marked by
awkwardness as to the boys, utter in
difference as to the pretty girl She
met them as she met the ponies, COWS,
horned toads and other animals, domes-
tic and Indigenous to eastern New Mex
leo. While every cowboy was blush
ingly conscious of her, she was purely
and serenely guiltless Of giving him a
thought.
Before this pretty girl came the boys
were friends, and the calm tenor of their
relations with each other had never a
ripple. She was not there a day before
each drew himself insensibly from the
others. and a vague hostility shone
dimly in their eyes. It was the instinct
of the fighting male animal aroused by
the presence of the pretty girl She,
however, proceeded on her daily way
sweetly unconscious of the sentiments
she had awakened.
Men are mere animals; women are,
too, for that matter, but they are very
different animals from men. The eff
fort the race makes to be the other, bet
ter or different than beasts fails. It al
ways failed; it will always fail Civil
xation-culture-is the variest veneer
and famously thin. A year on the plains
cracks this veneer this shell and
leaves the animal exposed. This is by
the expanding growth of all that is ami
malish IN a man; these attributes of the
physical beiIIG fed and pampered by a
plains existence.
Z The dark, vague, impalpable differ
ences which cut off each of these Great
ures from his fellows and inspired him
with an unreasoning and unmeasurable
hate had grown with the brief week of
their existence. A philosopher would
look for trouble soon on the HIT.
What did you go and take my saddle
for yesterday, BillY' said Jack Moore to
q boy by the name of Bill Watkins.
"'Cause allows I'll ride it some,"
says Watkins. Il thought it might like
to carry a high grade cowpuncher once"
''Well, don't take it no more" said
Moore, moodily. ignoring the gay inso-
lence in the reply. "Leastwise, don't
come a-takin' of it an sayin' nothin'.
You can palaver Americana, can't you?
When you aims to ride my saddle agin,
ask for it; if you can't talk make signs,
and if you can't make sign, shake a
bush, but don't go Injunin' off no saddle
of mine no more"
Whatever do you allow is liable to
happen if l take it agin tomorryT' in
quired Bill in high scorn.
Bill was of a more vivacious temper
than the gloomy Moore.
You takes it agin an l mingles with
you a whole lot, mighty prompt, " re-
Piled Moore in tone of obstinate injury
These boys were brothers in affection
before that pretty girl came, and either
would have gone afoot all day to. lend
his saddle to the other. Going afoot, too,
is the last thing, let me assure you, a
cowboy will do.
well, don't you fail to mingle none"
said Bill, with cheerful ferocity," on ac-
count of its being me. crossed the trail
of the shorthorn like you, over on the
Panhandle onct, an puts him in the fire
an has plenty of fun with him."
stop the play now, right yere," said
Tom Rawlins, the HIT range boss, who
was sitting close at hand. 'sYou all
spring trouble round yere an I'll be in it.
Whatever's the matter with all you peo-
pie anyway? You're like passel of sore
head dogs for more'n a week now.
You're shorely too many for me to sabe.
an cPar gives you up"
The boys started some grumbling re-
ply, but the cook called them to supper
just then, and, one animalism becoming
overshadowed by another, they forgot
their rancor and vague animosities in
thoughts of supplying their hunger. To
ward the last of the repast Rawlins arose
and going to another room began over
looking some entries in the ranch books.
The pretty girl did not eat at the ranch
table. She had little banquets in her
own room. Just then she was in her
own room and began singing in low
tenor some tender little love song that
seemed born of a sigh and tear. The
llnnr-s af sumner. heard her and their re-