ON A THOUSAND HILLS.

Press, Volume LXII, Issue 12502, 25 May 1906, Page 4

ON A THOUSAND HILLS.

By M. Horan. Author of " The American Girl in Business," &C Richard Anstetter Van Tassel lie-kl an auction in his ohnmbors in Jermyn street. Connoisseur and dilettante! ho knocked down the spoils of his amiable raids through Europe and the Orient to his erstwhile chums with many a bon mot and piquant anecdote winch sent the bids higher. With the proceeds he hied him over tho Atlantic to the plains of the American coyote and the wide-horned bull; and forgot the Strnnd and Piccadilly, the theatres and clubs, and thoso ether haunts where tho last of the family acres had gone merrily in tho wake of their fellows. He turned into, a genuine cowboy, from the crown of his grey sombrero , to tho toes of his high-heeled boote, and he wore his chapereros and gun with ac dtvil-may-care v grace as the most hardened puncher on tho range. There were one or two points, however, at which ho diverged from the path of cowpiinoher rectitude. His epurs were a trifle too bright, his flannel shirts fitted too well, and hia neckerchief should havo been at least two shades grimier. These infringements on tit-.' law of the plains drew upon him Uio attention of the manager, who wae English too and lonley, and Dickie's traps were movod into the ranch house at the H.I.T. outfit. Greddes took him into town and the wives and daughters of territorial officials and the big ranchi men made much of him as they did of every new face that enlivened tho social landscape. One night Geddes proposed that they should go into Cheyenne to see Mrs I.nngtry, who was then touring America. Bobbie' ITltick .woukl take them in an his coach, nnd if Dickio needed anything in the way of clothes—but Dickie didn't. He wae the Beau Brumnvol of the wilderness when ho climbed up on TJltick's coach. As tho four blacks plunged out over the prairie, hi« fingere twitched for tho reins, for his thoughts were back in the hours he had tooled along English roads, and a merry voice hud chimed with his in the irrepressible laughter of spring morning. So _ tho i stars seemed -nearer, the night winds sweeter, all because in digging out his evening clothes he had uncovered hi 6 I own portrait of Marjorie Rolfe. He i had been a bit of an artist in those old ! days. Van Leeuwen, the terror of modem painters, had looked at that head of Mistress Marjorie, and.told him [ that, he might even make a living with a brush. Had he been a fool to run ' away? Afaybe—-but in London a mane right to love is in proportion, to his rank or bis bank account. ritick's party filled the right-hand boxes a quarter of an hour before the curtain ro.«e, and each man was provided with as many lilies as he could procure frori Denver. The house filled rapidly officers in full uniform from Fort D. A. llussel. a few millionaire i cattle owners with their visiting families, a group of young Englishmen who expected to make rapid fortunes out of the ranges, some of the tradespeople of the town, then the cowpunchers and the railroad b.inds. The orchestra filed in and began tuning up. This was a moment of torture to Van Tassel. He closed his eyee, and when the first violin scraped out two familiar bars, he fancied himedf again in —'s on that night, eleven months before, when, to the rush of Liszt'e marvellous "Rhapsody," and th© thunder of tho house, the Laagtry had first flashed on hie startled sense*. A lump rose in hie throat and hie eyee burned. Aβ he had turned away that first night to find relief in the less imperial beauties of the boxes, so again to-night he turned from hie countrywoman and searched the audience. And it seemed some witchery was upon him. Was he re-livinc that long pant so?n©? This wae a grubby little opera hon*<» on the w<«tern pbine. In the box opposite was there really a girl with eungold

hair and pa\e, dear fa* lighted with mysterious «yes, tlie girl who had |« startled his bruin at the moment bis I senses first quivered before a more ma- 11 terial .beauty? Doubtless, ho suffered ] some trick of vision, and it wna only ] a freckle-faced, red-headed ranch girl. ] But tliat curve from the ear to the shoulder? That was no accident of , drapery. He had worked too hard to j reproduce it on canvas not to know < < it, that and the queer little mouth with ; Us et range lines of persistence half ; contradicted by a red pout of passion, < But what could she be doing in this . place? Poor Dickie, he could not catch , the light of deep desire that Hashed in the dark eyes never seeming to see him. He only knew that Mrs Langtry : ; war. getting more encores than was ; necessary, and not until the house lights shot up could he l*b sure-that it was. , really she, on whom in his poverty he j j had resolutely turned his back. i J '"Wake up, old raan." Geddes waa ' I saying, in huge amusement. * ''You're i 1 staring as idiotically as a three days' i , calf. That"s Rolfe's daughter. Old , I fellow's got cattle nil over the Big i * ! Horn, bought 'cm on book, and don't j i know a thing about the business. I'll 1 I take you over and intrcdiice you." ! "What's the Big Horn?",asked Dickio , dreamily, as they threaded their wny through tho crowded promenade. Geddes surveyed him silently a mo- , j ment. ''U\ a river.' , he said disgusted- • ' ly; '"the river along which you and I j i limited Inst month, and the Big Horn j ifardn is the finest end most dangerous i cattle country in the territory." And [with .1 friendly punch he pushed tlit? ; j forgetful one into the Rolfe box. ' i "Why, Mr Van Tassel," Marjorie ; ! Rolfe said, just ftio faintest note of ; i surpris? in her voice. ''Mama, aren't ■ ; you glad to meet an old friend way ; j off bore beyond the world." j i ; Mama eafd shq was, but she didn't ; mean it. Slip had never been quito ; .sure of Dickie's acceptability, ana to ■ I have him turn up now, with no one '' o!m; to distract her wilful daughter's ! attention, <l:r,eoncerted her not ft little. , * Besides, it threw light on certain inexplicable freak*, on the girl's part. She . tried to answer intelligently Goddess eagor questions obout London aud what was happening to his friends and ac- . quain Winces there, but her oars tingled j under tho soft-voiced chatter between i her daughter and the objectionable \ Richard. "Of course I'm not bored. I've an object in life for tho first time since ; T quitted the nursery. I've gone into trade. I'm a largo owner of beef cattle. Fifty ihoiurand nil my voi-y own. You Koo, Daddio's always investing m stock you can't see at all, so I thought I'd invest in some real, visible stock." ' Dickie thought' of Geddess damning ' phrase, "Bought Vra on book," and ' wondeivd whether, ac in so many esses, tho thousands which appeared on pajier would dwindle to hundreds on range. But aloud he. only esuid absently, "That's n, very unique reason for investment." At which Marjorio blushed in a puzaJing manner, while the unconscious Dickio encouraged her with the wish that she might be as successful with her stock as her father was with his. "Oh, I am going to make cartloads of money," she assured him. "Tho : former owner said they'were in a nice pasture, with abundant hay for the winter, a great wall around them, end the only way they could possibly get out was through a Hole in tho Wall." Dickie started. Suddenly he saw a herd of antelope racing along the foothills nnd two men in stealthy pursuit. Then, as if by magic, tho whole herd had disappeared, and Geddes had said, "Good-bye, my dears. Come on, Van, we can't get them, they've gone through the Hole in the Wall." Should ; he tell Maijorie that her "great wall" was a mountain range inhabitated by Indians and other beasts of prey, and that the Hole in tho Wall was an undiscovered cavern sink, n mystery through which men apd animals disappeared forever. Should he explain j that tho abundant winter hay was covered by feet of snow which must he. : scratched nway by the cattle before they 1 could got a single mouthful? Should I ho destroy her pretty enthusiasm? 1 "Who made the deal for you P" he asked, suddenly furious to take out has 1 wroth on someone. 1 "I did it all myself," she answered, < her voice taking a little note of pride < in her business ability. Then, half 1 ' timidly. "Do you remember when you wore a boy, Mr Van Tassel, and played i a I follow-the-leaderP You always picked a ' the most original boy for the leader, ' 0 i yon know, the one who did the un- 1 * ' expected things. Your auction was an i 1 i unexpected thing,. so was your coming t * out here." „ , / ' 1 "How did yftu know I had come "'here?" _ i ? ' "I didn't know' for a Kmg time. Then < * I one night a man came to see Daddie. ?11 heard them talking in the library- ' 1 He said ho was "a friend of yours, and j a. he tried to get a loan on some cattle. 3 Daddie asked a lot of questions about j where the cattle were and how many, 1 ' nnd when he had counted them, ? and when tho man had told him every- i 1 ; thing, Dad said he'd rather lend money, i s on the fishes in the Thames. I stopped t " i the man in the hall and bought ell his * ? i old cows." ' I ; "It's not a brilliant game, follow-tlje- "i ' I leader." Dickio shook hia head. „ i ? ! "Only for the leader. It's just ex- i 5 ; citement for the rest. I held an auction. i I You remember the place down in Sur- i 5 ! rey father gave mc the veer I wee 1 ■' j eighteen ? Then I bought Mr Powell'e 2 3 ! COWS." s Beautiful Fair Lea for a problemati- i f col herd on tho Bug Horn! "I met 1 1 Powell once," he said slowly. "Who 1 bought Fair LeaP" ' "Jame> Oswald, junior." ' j "Oh, then, you haven't lost it!" « 1 blurted Dick. ' "I have sold it," said the lady coldly. . Then, after a little pause, "I've some- , 5 times wondered what price I brought j at your auction—your portrait of mc, 1 i you* haven't forgotten?' , . . t "You were not sold." he answered, t y and blundered on, "though, perhaps, j f you should have gone to " ' i "You seem anxious to dispose of mc," j s she interrupted with a little flash. 1 s "i_—" ! "Self possession ie nine points of van- « 1 tage," fiho laughed, recovering. ' "He must haVe the oft-quoted cou- ] j rago of tho lion who assails your nine s points," he ventured. ' s "Which means I shall remain indefi- . s nitely in undisturbed possession of my p, wee self?" she gave him a swift inter- ' j rogatory glance. "Heigho, here's the f ' curtain. It'e a brave scene, ien't itP" , t • It was not bad, that drop curtain in i tho wilds —a reproduction of the fatnil liar Ben Hur chariot race, better than i most copies. The Arabs of the Jew swept b past the Roman wrecked chariot with t splendid dash; but the point that drew and held was a great white horse, Mensala's right w'nceler, that seemed to \ c spring up and out from the hideous ' * ruin, striving still for victory. • < \ "Wlio did it?" the/girl asked. ! ' i "A young consumptive from Boston ' 1 1 painted it," the maneaid. "They cay i 0 he put fh© end of his life into the win- < " ning team." \* °. "Hβ pat all his remaining energy and < despair into that white horee," she de- * a clared. ' "Energy and despair won't drag a 1 wreck to the g0a1, ,, grieved Dicku?, fold- < ,_ ing her cloak about her. < I ," 'I'd back them against all other en- !'■ 1 tries," she cried meaningly. ' f "And lay what odds," he demanded, ' j eagerly. > '• f "My fifty thousand cows," earnestly. '. ' £ "Not enough to show your confidence ! j in tho favourite," with mock solemnity. I "But I never put so much on a race g in all my life," Slethusala'e tones could t not have hinted greater length of expe- _ rience. j "You may be betting nothing at all 1" "Nothing at all—what do you mean?" i What, kideed—he mentally called . himself an ass. ? "Nothing at all that I can *heet in D kind," ho said gently, and the girl ' c flushed, it was not like Dickie to revert 1 to his lack of possessions.

"Let'e bet things we don't J:ke," she suggestedSplendid. That's playing the game upside down. I'll bet my saddle, blanket* and throw in my knowledge of the business, that the white borso trill carry the Roman to victorj" " "But you don't believe he will," in amassment. "We're playing the game upsido down, you know. It'e your turn." "I bet my newest bull pup because ho ate my loveli&st kitten, and prettiest 6lippers, and—and my nine points of vantage, that the white Tiorso won't win. Thero'e just no obance at all of my losing." "Think of the loesos you would suffer if the white really should win." Dickto was tucking a dainty skirt inside the carriage door. : Then Mnrjorie Rolfo said something in the depths of her funs about the responsibilities of ownership of bull pups i and wives that made Dickie Van Tassoi absolutely oblivious of the crowd that jostled and scattered from him. Ho resolved without consideration, and presently Dug Rhodes, the manager of the thejafro, busily engaged in figuring up profits in the box office, was ruthlessly disturbed in h:e pleasant occupation by an offer from an excited looking individual to repaint the drop curtain. Dug mvore, threatened awful things on the : head of the man who proposed such a I thing, became anxious, and finally irae ' pemuaded to adjourn to an adjacent ! bar. Later on die pair raided a paint ', shop. What Dickie did with the spoils ; of that raid aroused an enthusiastic ap- j plauso from- slr Rhode*. It ivn«-un-doubtedly disconcerting to be told that his curtain was inaccurate romantically and liable to fall njj'der the displeasure of the fastidious English troupe, for that reason thereby threatening the curtailment of a vnstly profitable booking; but it wns infinitely won»e to see tha horses and chariots disappear under a murky whiteness witii no positive Assurance of other entries in the race. The manager contemplated remonstrance, but the gradual development of some emptylooking outlines furnished him pufficient hopefulnr<w to mnkp a cat nap possible, j As the first rfd sunboame slipped in j through the ga!l?ry windows of the little opera house "the r.oxt morning, Dickie poked his brush above a white horse, a creature of canvas and paint, end audibly soliloquiced : " R-.chard, my boy, yours a fool." "What's that?" growled a sleepy .voice in the rear. " Self ana'ysis,"' grunted Richard, touching the canvas gently, and at List stepping back to catch the effect. A shout came from bohind him. Dug, •standing on the parquet railing, wee waving his arms frantically. "Go it. you old sinner." he-shrieked. ''Show 'em your heels." Dickie drew a quick breath. A few cane of house paint, a frightful S9t of brrshfts, sonic talent. Master Cupid to stir the mixture —the result, almost a n:ast;"rpirce. True, the romantic value of the curtain wae gone. The broken chariot, frantic horses, entangled harness, and mangled body of Mesenla hid disappear* ed under a few broad, swift stiokes, leaving the wuidod, hippodrome marked lightly with tracks of no&f end wheel. Round the curve, towa r d the mood three cayusee and a white horse, while, contrary to the story as it runs, at th? tail of*the Romanes cuariot laboured the Jew with his Arabs. That evening Mr Van Tassel $at with Marjorie and her mother through the last act. They had dined with the Governor and come late to the play, and as they waited through a dreary waste of dialogue Mrs Rolfe unburdened herself to Dickie in a weary monotone: " Marjorie'e manager, Glrason's the name I believe, appeared this after- - noon. Really, he wna quite repulsive in appearance and quite lacking in E roper respect. Why when she asked im if he had mended the hole in the wall so that none of the animate could stray out, he just stared at her and then buret into a great laugh, trat nearly frightened the French poodle.*ill. It* was quite unbearable." "Gleason'e not really so bad, yeu know," Dickie protested. "Just a bit, . well, you might aay inharmonious. He doesn't fit into a drawing room, but he's a capital ranger, and he c just the man for the place. , ' 4 j " Inharmonious is rather mud, Richard. "We have discharged him." "Not exactly," Marjorie whispered. "He said he'd be something awful before he'd work for a couple of women who expected him to keep fifty thousand cattle in 000-eeing distance, and—" v " They haven't gone through the Hole in the Wall, then?" Dickie was quite elated. ■ " No, but they re snowed in a wicked little valley where there isn't enough grass for tliem." "Never mind, the epring'e coming. All you need is a good healthy cowboy to manage things for you." ' ' '■ ■• i " Yes, but how will it be before ' we can find euch a oowboyP" Mrs Rolfe ' asked. "I am siok unto death of the whole madcap business, Mr Rolfe is anxious to get back to London, and neither of us sleep nights, fearing that we may wake to find Marjorie eloped with one of the epecies in order to/ provide for the cows." "It'e an awful fate to be bereft of a manager and foroed to elope with a cowboy." And Dickie sent a quick glance Marjorie ward. " 'Tis a resort in extremis," came eaneily from behind a tremendous blush. "Ah," sighed the matron as the curtain began slowly to descend. Dickie rose to assist Marjorie with the adorable opera cape. Marjorie'e eyes were on the curtain. .It stopped. In the wings fhey jerked and pulled. There was a noise as of ripping and tearing. "The paint's stuck, thought Dickie. . It had, indeed, and one half the drop with it. The other half shot down wib a thud, and across its torn and ragged surface the white horse, with three tailless oayuses, daehod medly to victory. The Roman with hie chariot and the Jew with his Arabs were somewhere in the theatrical firmament. " Oh, oh," gppjwd Marjorie with what '■. sounded like a sob. ' "Didn't I bet he couldn't drag his niAfiter to Victory," groaned Dickie. ; " I've lost my saddle and blanket lariat." ; * "I've need of thorn," said Mistress Marjorie. "Oh, but I've lost my hull ; pup and self." ' "I've need of them," quoted Richard. Said Mistress Marjorie to her Mamma: "You may go home as coon as you please. I've found a manager."