Santa Fe daily New Mexican., 1897-09-09
THE COWBOYS LOVE.

Over the vast sun covered plains Of
Montana moved the Great Northern train.
Cattle stood in stupid wonder or shook
their horns and bounded away as it flew
past Woolly sheep, punched together In
countless thousands scattered in gray
clouds. Bands of wild horses, the Indian
cayuses, were taking their morning meal.
The knight of the plains, the cowboy, rode
a pony on long, swinging lope without
one backward look
All this saw Louise Allen as she leaned
from the car window and quaffed the new
wine Of the air. Her brown eyes sparkled
and her red lips parted in happy smile.
For the first time she realized how narrow
and pent up was the city life she had led
in Boston.
To live to love, she whispered, will it
come to me here In the great outdoors of
God2
The train slowed up and she had hardly
time to collect her wandering thoughts
before her brother-big, brown, hearty
Ben Allen--was beside her.
"Here we are, LOU" he said. "Min
and the horses are just beyond this round
up" indicating the station with motion
of his hand. Sin couple of hours well
have you at the ranch.
Together they stepped from the car to
the platform and mingled among crowd
typical of the plains. Indians in bright
oolored or soiled white blankets, with
many strings Of beads about their necks
and rings in their ears, stood in q row
with their backs against the station house.
There were cowboys, with sun Drowned
faces, staggering back and forth, and
groups of blue coated soldiers, both black
and white, for a military post was not far
away.
"This is the way we CO." said Ben as
the cayuses set off at a lively gait follow
ing one of the many buffalo paths that in
tersect the plains in every direction lead
ing to water course. Though it is many
years since the bison roved the plains,
these paths still remain deep trodden
through the thick grass and packed SO
firmly as to resist all attempts of verdure
to efface them. ...a.
Riding at full speed directly down upon
them were two cowboys on their way to
the town of Great Falls.
"Look at the one in the white shirt, "
said her sister, "That is Dick Bennett,
the cowboy artist"
''This is queer place fer an artist.
What does he paintP' asked the Boston
girl.
"Dick Bennett is no aesthetic artist, y
said her brother, but wild and dissipated
He paints things as they are--the finest
pictures of Indians and cowboys ever
made.
Louise Allen leaned forward in her seat
to see what this man of the plains, this
cowboy artist, was like.
She saw sun Drowned face, whose
smooth contour was marked by lines and
traces of the storms and passions that had
swept over it. Nor joy, nor pleasure, nor
peace, looked from the gray eyes, but a
something SO akin to pain that it stirred
her heart in spite of herself. Handsome,
yes, with all the traces of sin upon the face
that looked out from his broad brimmed
hat, it was one to live for--yes, to die for
thought the girl, and his dress lent to it a
picturesque charm.
The white flannel shirt, whose collar
throat, the knotted sash about his waist,
the high top boots, with the spurs that
made little blinking sound, the strange.
ness, the newness of the surroundings, all
appealed to the romantic nature of the girl.
Ben held up his hand, and the cowboy
artist drew rein beside them. When he
spoke to her, it seemed to the girl that she
expanded with new life, and when sho
turned her brown eyes full upon him in all
their Turing witohery Dick Bennett turned
his face carelessly away that she might not
see the white excitement upon it.
Their meetings were frequent after this.
He told her how he began to paint; how,
in company with another cowboy, he had
charge of herd of cattle ON ranch ON the
plains owned by man in Helena.
During the severe winter of 1886 the
owner asked for statement of the herds
condition. His companion was afraid to
tell of the disasters that had befallen them.
II answered it, Louise, " said Dick, "by
taking pencil. l drew on piece of pa
per the picture of steer in n storm,
starved, lean and hardly able to stand,
and wrote under it, The last of 5000.
That was our answer, and that picture
made me an artist 1t was photographed
and sold by thousands. y
She saw him painting on the top of bar.
rels, anywhere, when the inspiration was
on him, and every day she loved him
more. Each day she went to their meet.
ing place, and the sun traced the pattern
of the cottonwood trees leaves on the
grass at her feet, but Dick Bennett came
not. Every night she sank to rest she
murmured, "Sweet, sweet tomorrow will
bring him to tell me that he has decided
to leave these plains and go with me to
study art So month went by and de-
spair was fast seizing upon her. She had
gone for the last time to the scene of their
love and sank on her knees beside the cot
tonwood tree, q great agony on her fea-
lures.
On the other side of the tree lay Dick
Bennett watching her, the muscles Of his
mouth twitchng painfully for moment.
Then he drew himself up to his feet. The
two lifted their heads at nearly the same
moment and looked full into each other $
eyes. What did they read there? Was the
silence between them the sweet silence Of
love when she has all to give9 The girl 3
silence was that of head for she knew
that whether both went or one staid, all
her heart, all her thoughts, would remain
with him on these plains where she had
loved, and, God pity her, where she still
loved in spite of all her struggles.
The mans was that of despair, his
wayward past grave between them. He
could not poison the future Of the woman
he adored by dragging her into it, He
had fought his fight. The strong touch Of
ohivalry in his nature had triumphed. He
would stay with his plains, his horse, his
guns his brush, such as he could not pol
lutte, and she, God help her, she must go.
"Honors are easy, my girl but not for
such as me. There is dividing line be.
tween the good and the bad. I'm on one
side and you re on the other. I can't cross
to YOU, and swear to God by nv love for