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Overland Red: A Romance of the Moonstone Canon Trail, a novel by Henry Herbert Knibbs |
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Chapter 33. A Speech |
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_ CHAPTER XXXIII. A SPEECH The Marshalls and Billy Winthrop came in their car. The ride through the canon had been pleasant. They were talking about Overland. They had been discussing the rearrangement of a great many things since the news of Louise's heritage had become known. "You had better close the muffler, Billy. You are frightening that pony!" "That's the Yuma colt," said Winthrop. "Overland is riding her." "Overland?" "Yes. He's coming to meet us." Plunging through the crackling greasewood at the side of the road, the Yuma colt leaped toward the car. In broad sombrero, blue silk neckerchief, blue flannel shirt, and silver-studded leather chaps, was a strangely familiar figure. The great silver spurs rang musically as the pony reared. The figure gave easily to the wild plunging of the horse, yet was as firm as iron in the saddle. Anne drew a deep breath. It was not the grotesque, frock-coated Overland of a recent visit, nor was it the ragged, unkempt vision Louise had conjured up for her in relating the Old Meadow story. In fact, it was not Overland Red at all, but Jack Summers, the range-rider of the old red Abilene days. He was clean-shaven, vigorous, splendidly strong, and confident. In the saddle, bedecked in his showy trappings, surrounded by his friends, Jack Summers had found his youth again, and the past was as a closed book, for the nonce. "I'm the boss's envy extraordinary," said Overland, by way of greeting. "Walt said something else, too, about bein' a potentiary, but I reckon that was a joke." "Good-morning! Don't get down! Glad to see you again!" But Overland was in the road, hat in hand, and Yuma's bridle-reins over one arm. "'Mornin', Billy! 'Mornin', Doctor! You run right up to the house. I left the gate open." Then Overland rode back, following them. Later he reappeared, minus spurs and chaps, but still clad in the garb of the range-rider. He was as proud and happy as a boy. He seemed to have dropped ten years from his shoulders. And he was strangely unlike his old boisterous self withal. The noon sun crept through the moon-vine. Out on the wide veranda was the long table. They were a happy group at luncheon there. Even the taciturn Brand Williams had been persuaded to come. His native picturesqueness was rather effaced by a black, characterless suit of "store clothes." Walter Stone, at the conclusion of the luncheon, asked Overland to make a speech. Nothing daunted, Overland rose briskly. "I expect you're lookin' for me to fall off the roof of the cannery into the tomato-vat and make a large red splash. Not me. I got somethin' to say. Now the difference in droppin' a egg on the kitchen floor and breakin' it calm-like, in a saucer, ain't only the muss on the floor. You save the egg. Just recent I come nigh to losin' my whole basket. You all know who saved 'em. Not namin' any names, the same person, by jest bein' herself, and kind to everybody, put me wise to the fact that money and clothes ain't all that goes to make a man. And, at the same time, speakin' kind of orthodoxical, money and clothes has a whole lot to do with makin' a man. I just got hep to that idea recent. "Speakin' of clothes leads me to remark that I got a new outfit up at the bunk-house. It's a automobilein' outfit. Billy says it's the correc' thing. He helped me pick it out. Which leads Billy into this here thing, too. He said to break the news gentle, and not scare anybody to death and not get 'em to thinkin' that somebody was hurt or anything like that, so I'm breakin' it to you easy. Me and Billy is goin' away. We're goin' in the Guzzuh--'God save the mush,' as the pote says. We are the Overland Red Towerist and Observation Company, Unlimited. We are goin'
as another pote says. Only we ride. I ain't got nothin' to say about gettin' married, or happy days, or any of that ordinary kind of stuff. I want to drink the health of my friends. I got so many and such good ones that I dassent to incriminate any particular one; so I say, lookin' at your faces like roses and lilies and--and faces, I say,--
Overland sat down amid applause. He located his tobacco and papers, rolled a cigarette with one hand, and gazed across the hills. Glancing up, he saw Louise looking at him. He smiled. "I was settin' on a crazy bronc' holdin' his head up so he couldn't go to buckin'--outside a little old adobe down in Yuma, Arizona, then. Did you ever drift away like that, just from some little old trick to make you dream?" At a nod from Aunt Eleanor they all rose. Louise stepped from her end of the table to where Overland stood gazing out across the hills. She touched him lightly on the arm. He turned and looked at her unseeingly. His eyes were filled with the dreams of his youth, dreams that had not come true ... and yet.... He gazed down into her face. His expression changed. His eyes grew misty with happiness. He realized how many friends he had and how loyal and excellent they were. And of all that he had gained his greatest treasure was his love for Louise--for Louise Lacharme, the little Rose Girl of his dreams. That love lay buried deep in his rugged heart. She would never know of it. No one should ever know--not even Collie. Louise, in an ecstasy of affection and pity that she could not understand, suddenly flung her arms around Overland's neck and kissed him full on the lips. More than he had ever dared to dream had come true. [THE END] _ |
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