Bad Man's Gulch Read Online Free PDF Page B

the fair. She sat, smiling and chatting with the girls who stood grouped about her tinsel throne. Her dress was light blue, and a parasol of the same color shaded her bare head, save when the sudden sunlight touched her hair to fiery gold. She appeared to Lazy Purdue regally indifferent to the hungry eyes that now and then fastened upon her from the crowd of upturned faces.
    â€œSomehow,” muttered Lazy, “that don’t seem to be Marion Conover.”
    Old Conover shook his head and smiled. “Aye,” he answered, “she’s a right pretty girl. Put any woman on a throne an’ she commences to look different. But look, now. Here starts the shootin’.”
    A group of young men had gathered in front of the throne and faced toward the dangling strings.
    â€œThat big fellow with the short, black mustache, he’s Henry McLane, Tom McLane’s son,” muttered Conover, “an’ the smaller chap with the smooth-shaven face beside him is his brother Luke.” His hand closed on Lazy Purdue’s arm. “Henry McLane won the shootin’ last year,” he said, “by cuttin’ six strings, which is more’n anyone ever cut since I seen the shootin’. I reckon he’ll dance with Marion tonight.” He turned his face up to Lazy Purdue with a faint appeal. “Unless you shoot, my boy.”
    Lazy shook his head and smiled. At the moment, his eyes were otherwise occupied than with shooting. In fact, his eyes were fixed in one direction so steadily that finally the queen turned her face and returned his gaze. It seemed to trouble her. He hadwatched her scan the mob of many eyes without a tremor, but, as her glance crossed his, it shocked to a pause and held there for a moment, and he thought he saw the beginning of a flush as she turned her head again.
    In all the days that had passed since he went into the Conover home as a part of it, he had seen her, of course, every day many times, but the thing that is near us is ever the thing that we fail to prize. And so it came that after that first vision of white and gold that startled upon him from the curve of the staircase that first night, she had grown back into his thoughts. He took her for granted, just as he imagined she had come to take him for granted. But now that she was sitting so near to him, he still felt as though the consciously expressed admiration of all these hundreds of men had set a barrier between them.
    Once more her head turned and her glance crossed his. Lazy’s heart jumped in his breast. After all, it was going to be a good game.
    He raised his hat as if in acknowledgment of the unspoken greeting, and smiled slyly up to her. He could see her bite her lips to keep back the smile, and then her head turned, but not with the slowness of absolute self-possession.
    In the meantime, the shooting had commenced. One after another the men took a position on the ground and told off their shots slowly. One cut four strings and there was applause. Another cut five and received an ovation. Still another, toward the close, cut six and the crowd shouted with excitement.
    â€œYou’re tied, Henry McLane!” shouted a man in the crowd, as the tall figure of Henry McLane strode out to take his position in front of the target.
    â€œThat was what I did last year,” he answeredscornfully as he dropped to the ground and poised his rifle. “Watch this year’s score.”
    â€œAw, I reckon you was only a boy a year ago!” yelled a humorist. “Waal, you got a full man-sized job on your hands today, Henry boy.”
    A loud guffaw greeted this remark.
    â€œGeorge,” said Conover, “do you think you could hit them there strings? It ain’t any usual mark, an’ I know the boys around here practice it all year, get-tin’ ready for this one day. Do you think you could hit any of them? Just one hit wouldn’t be any disgrace, an’ there’s always been a