Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1918-01-25
CHAPTER XII.
The Brave Buckaroo.

oOi6C, 1oasy 16G. =.
Brave Buckaroo-I wonder If you ever
In your whole life got a Christmas pres
emit? I've been ~cultivating the Louise of
me, and here are the first fruits of my
endeavor-I guess that's the way they say
It I've spent so much time sitting by
mommie when she's asleep and I get tired
OF reading all the time, so a nurse in this
ward-mommie has a room to herself, of
course, but not a special nurse, because
I can do a lot of the little things. Well,
the nurse taught me how to hemstitch.
So I got some silk and made some nice
soft neckerchiefs-one for you and one
for me.
This one I made last. I didn't want
your eagle eyes seeing all the bobby
stitches on the first one. I hope you like
It, Ward Every stitch stands for a
thought of the hills and our good times.
I've brought Minervy back to life, and /
try to play my old pretends sometimes.
But they always break up into pieces. I'm
not a kid now, you see. And life is a lot
different when you get out into it, isn't it?
Mommie doesn't seem to get much bet
ter. I'm worried about her. She seems
to have let go, somehow. She never talks
about the ranch much or even worries
about whether Phoebe is keeping the win
lows washed. She talks about when she
was a little girl and about when she and
daddy were first married. 1t gets On my
nerves to see how she has slipped out Of
everyday life. The nurse says that's COM
mon, though, in sickness. She says 1
could go4home and look after things for
a week or so Just as well as not. She
says mommie would be all right BUT 1
hate to leave her.
I'm awfully homesick for a good old ride
on Blue. l miss him terribly. Have you
seen anything of the cove folks latelyf
Seems like I'm clear out of the world. 1
hate town, anyway, and a hospital Is the
IL g. lf.-nAI--1a Euan tho arIicn nj
me is getting ready to do something aw-
full if 1 have to stay much longer. Nom
ME sleeps most of the time. / believe they
dope her with something. She doesn't
lave that awful pain so bad. So | don't
have anything to do but sit around and
read and sew and wait for her to wax
ND and want something.
And this is Christmas, almost. l Won
der what you'll be doing. Say, Ward. II
you want to be a perfect jewel OF a man
send me some of that jerky you've got
hanging at the head of your bunk. l
swiped some that last time / was there.
Il would taste mighty good to me now.
after all this hospital truck.
Well, a merry Christmas, Pal-o'-mine.
and here's hoping you and mommi and
[ will be eating turkey together at the
Wolverine when next Christmas comes.
Nummy-numl Wouldn't thai taste good
though?
Now remember and write a whole tablet
full to BILLY LOUISE.
Phoebe put that letter on the mantel
over the fireplace the day after Christ
Billy Louise refrained from expect
Ing n reply until after New Years;
then she began to look for a letter,
and when the days passed and brought
her no word her moods changed often
err than the weather.
Wards literary efforts along about
that time consisted of cutting notches
In the window sill beside his bunk.
On the day when the stage driver
gave Billy Louise's letter to Phoebe
Ward cut a deeper, wider notch, think
ing that day was Christmas. Under
the notch he scratched a word with
the point of his knife. 1t had four
letters, and it told e~loquently of the
state of mind he was in.
The letter gathered dust upon the
mantel down at the Wolverine. When
the postmark was more than two
weeks old another letter came, and
Phoebe laid it on the first n with
fingers that trembled a little. Phoebe
had a letter Of her own that day. Both
were thin, and the addresses were more
scrawly than usual. Phoebe's Indian
instinct warned her that something
was amiss.
This was Wards letter:
Oh, God, Ward, mommie's dead. h
died last night. 1 thought she was asleep
till the nurse came in at s o'clock. I'm
all alone and I don't know what to do. I
wish you could come, but if you don't get
this right away, I'll see you at the ranch
I'm coming home as soon as I can. Oh.
Ward, I hate life and everything.
BILLY LOUISE.
Please Ward. stay at the ranch till I
come. 1 want to see you. 1 feel as If
you're the only friend I've got left, now
mommie's gone. She looked so peaceful
when they took her ~away-and SO strange.
I didn't belong to her any more. | felt
as II / didn't know her at all-and there
is such an awful gap in my life-maybe
you'll understand. You always do.
The day that letter was written
Ward drew a plan of the house he
meant to build some day, with a wide