A COW PUNCHER'S CHRISTMAS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11843, 21 December 1901, Page 4 (Supplement)

A COW PUNCHER'S CHRISTMAS.

[BT EDITH SESSIONS TUPFER.]

When Montandon rode out of his corral that crisp, frosty December afternoon he was a spectacle calculated to make Alexander the Great, Xerxes and Hannibal, Belshazzar and Bonaparte turn uneasily in their tombs.

As handsome as any old Roman that ever walked the Forum, as dashing as any soldier that ever bestrode ft horse, and as resplendent as the good Haroun al Rasehid in his golden prime, Montandon made a superb picture of manly beauty and grace.

From under the flapping brim of his great pearl grey , sombrero, heavily embossed and encrusted with silver embroidery, and now at a buccaneer tilt on his thick, waving dark hair, shone a pair of wonderful eyes, like black —intense, melancholy, luminous eyes, shaded by curling lashes that touched his ruddy cheeks. The mouth, too, was melancholy, and as disdainful as a coquette's. Still, there was nothing effeminate about this remarkable face, which bore the print of tempestuous emotions.

" Mcntandon's th' handsomest cuss on the range," declared all the other cowboys, "but ho alius looks as ef he'd just com© from a funeral. But he takes it out in loolcin'; he kin raise hell with th' rest uv us." Montandon's new chaps were of the finest deer skin and adorned to bis brawny thighs with fringes of leather and tinkling silver gauds. Around his waist he wore a silken sash of pink and white and black, and his short black velvet Mexican jacket fitted him like a lady's bodice. His silver-mounted pistols were stuck jauntily in his sash and his saddle jingled with argent ornaments. The broncho ho rode was the finest piece of horseflesh on the range. In fact, nothing so grand as Montandon in his Christmas finery had been seen for many a day in the La Platas. . Montandon was off for Brimstono Gulch for the Christmas festivities, which, as is the custom in that country, were to be protracted Wee k" He know perfectly that the fun would not be well underway until the "Kin"of the Cowboys" should reach the camp. So, striking spurs into his splendid animal, he let out a:whoop that might have been heard in Denver and galloped madly across the mesa. He had thirty miles to go before sunset but ho know Daredevil would make them Without any difficulty. , .The horse was well named, and named for his master, who bore the enviable reputation of fearing neither God, man, nor the devil ills pranks were of the most reckless. Where noise, not, and revelry were to be found there always was Montandon, the coolest man in the crowd, but chock full of hell." • It £ ™ was in a way a great mystery in I T lO La a tas. Five years before he had suddenly appeared in that section, bought a ranch stocked it with cattle, constituted himself his own major domo, and announced that he had como to stay. He had plenty of money, and tho habits, language, and appearance of a gentleman. But he was undowith 1 ■ ft- man I wlth . a - P ast —a past tinctured witli bitter and noxious experiences. The boys talked it over and concluded that Mo„t.,„I„„ had killed his man somewhere in S ishi™3 t f ad come o °' '° ° ds cou °"T Montandon speedily became popular He was so generous and hospitable, and of so splendid and picturesque a presence that he soon was dubbed the "King ° the Cowboys." His ranch was a veritable Mecca for ill tho ■H SW : and th, nigh'ts of Zfrl ; m that lieautiful mesa, shut in by a ramnart of Shikar Colora<, °' «nd evoa'to

"Never," declared the ; oldest Brimstone Gulcher, "never had there been sech tarnation ructions-—sech hell let loose over tor Montandon's ranch."

Montandon rode like a centaur. He seemed a part of Daredevil as he flew over the ground. He often broke into speech and apostrophised the mountains and , addressed tho cedars and damned tho prickly shrubs of the desert. Sometimes his mind dwelt upon the, entertainment ahead of him. He thought of Monte Jim and his faro layout, of Toby Brundape's saloon, and of the girls up "at Sandy Pete's dance house. Then an evil smile curled the scornful lips, and a wicked light leaped in the wonderful eyes. Occasionally a deeper shade of gloom stole over tho handsome face. Montandon wandered in the mazes of memory; but they were not happy memories. They cut to v.-hat little heart he had left. He remembered the Christmas scenes of his boyhood— good cheer, the presents, the salutations, the holly, the mistletoe. 0 God! how far away those days seemed! Out of the past there ever camo a fragment of an old Christmas carol his mother had taught him when a mere lad. It rose to his lips, and, lifting a sweet tenor in those awful solitudes, he sang: —

God rest you, merry gentlemon; Let nothing you dismay; For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born on Christmas Day. Then suddenly he pulled up Daredevil and looked furtively around. It was as if he were ashamed of his weakness and defied the woods and the rocks to come on and make fun of him if they dared.

The foaming liorso was glad to rest, and stood breathing heavily. No other sound broko the absolute and profound silence of the wilderness. It was as if Montandon had como to the end of the world. ;

A few rods ahead glittered in tho frosty sunlight the rails of the Bio Grande Southern Railroad. They stretched away through the gloomy canon to the left like a huge brazen serpent. Montandon looked at I)is watch. "It has beaten mo by a -hour," lie muttered. " I should have been here by four."

And then out of the silence rose a strange sound. Montandon started, then bent his head to listen. In a moment the sound was repeated. It was a plaintive mean, a sobbing cry, like that of a human being in distress. Montandon couched ( the bronco and ii sprang forward to where the trail crossed the railroad track. Hero he flung himself from his horse and stood listening. Again the piteous moan—this time close at hand. "Where are you?" he suddenly shouted. "Here," said a still, small voice; and, turning like a panther, Montandon saw, not fifteen feet away, sitting by a clump of cactus, a child— tiny boy. _ He stared in amazement. The child rose and came stumbling toward him, holding out his arms in pathetic appeal. He was a handsome, sturdy little follow of about five, with eyes like stars and cheeks like apples.. He was beautifully dressed in tan logging, little rough top coat, and a jaurtv man-o'-war's-man's cap on his blonde curls. Montandon lifted him in his arms. "Where, in the name of God, did you como from?" ho demanded.

"Mo was on do train," sobbed the child, digging his fists in his eyes; "me was on do train."

" But how did you get off?" " De train stopped," moaned the little boy, "an' I dust stepped off ono mint'y to'see if I tould see any Indians. An den de train went —anan — hero a burst of sobs completed tho story. " Good God!" said Montandon. " A child lost in this wilderness? Come, come, little man. don't cry so. I'll take care of you. You're safo now." And ho patted and soothed the trembling little figure.

The child suddenly put his arm 3 about Montandon's neck and laid his head on his shoulder. The action was so confiding, so artless, so touching, that something leaped into Montandon's throat and a strange, new sensation gripped at his heart. Ho held the boy closer to his breast.

"Who was with you on the train?" " My Nunky Phil." "Your nunky? Oh! He means uncle— that it?"

The child nodded.

"And where were you going?" "To find mamma"—and here came a fresh burst of sobs.

" There, there,"' said the King of Cowboys, again patting and soothing tho waif. " We'l find mamma. Where is mamma?"

"Nunky Phil's house." "And where is that?"

"Don't know."

Montandon reflected. Ho argued that when it was discovered on the train that the bey was lost an ;.larm would be sent throughout the country, and that in that way he might find the child's friends and restore him to them. There was nothing to do but take the boy on to Brimstone Gulch with him. He hastily remounted and rode harder than ever. At sunset Brimstone Gulch turned out en masse to greet him as he came flying oown the trail.

" Montandon's coming!" was tho signal passed along by scouts who had been on the lookout for the last, two hours.

An unearthly din greeted him, which suddenly hushed as Montandon pulled up his reeking bronco Tn front of Toby Brundage's and sprang off, holding the child in his arms.

A few quick words told his story, and then in every part of the camp men hastily mounted their horses. Runners took every trail cut of his camp to meet those who would be coming to the Gulch to sound the alarm. All the women in camp, even the girls from the dance house, came to wonder and admire and caress this beautiful child, as "handsome and graceful as a little prince.

Ho was excited and delighted with his reception, and won all hearts by his charming ways and cunning speeches. The Christmas revelries were entirely forgotten. Monte Jim at once hid bis layout. The bartender at Toby's stopped mixing drinks: even Sandy Pete closed his dance house for the evening. In Toby's an admiring circle formed round Montandon and the child, who would not stir from the side of his rescuer. Something being said about Christmas, the boy stated That ho was to have a tree, "wiv toys an' candles an' fings—popcorn an' tandy.'' And he was to see Santa Claus and .sing him a little song his mamma— his- % quivered ominously—had taught him. Montandon, seeing the quiver, at onco besought him to sing the song for the company assembled. Tho child consented after a little coaxing. Montandon then swung him up on the bar, and the bey sang, in a sweet, childish treble: —

Dod rest 00, merry dentlemens, Let nuflin oo dismay, For Desus Christ, our Saviour, Was born on Twissmus Day." -■ Mointo Jim's impassive, sphinxlike face worked strangely. Jess Bowen, a girl from the dance house, gave a big, hoarse sob. The bartender took the whisky bottle from the side of the child and hastily set it back on the shelf. Montandon, with a very queer feelinowhich he could not define, set the boy down from the bar and, seeing how weary ho was laid him on his broad breast and bade him sleep. Soon the little fellow nodded. One by one the habitues of Toby's stole softly up to look at him, and then filed as softly out. No sound was heard in the street. As the boy dozed, Montandon, watching his charge with an inexplicable emotion, found himself gently humming the old carol his mother had taucht him long ago. ■. " God rest you, merry gentlemen." Lower and lower dropped the curling lashes on the soft, round cheeks. The thine grew deeper. The graceful limbs relaxed. At last he slept on the cowboy's heart.

At midnight there was great confusion and excitement in Brimstone Gulch. Nick Milby Ci ~? .* n "ding like an Indian, and, dropping oil , his .exhausted horse, reported that the boys friends were found. "I met a Sang on the Opliir trail riding '*11' and when they sawlll they yelled A boy lost!' 'Ho hain't neither,' I braved' ho s safe in Toby Brundage's saloon, in Brimstone Gulch. Then tlioy yawned like Apaches and told me th' little feller" belongs ter some folks from New York. His uncTo bought old Blair's 1, jest aboS BlS? Run. They had tor hustle back tor carry the news but they said his mother was plumb locoed, jest a-goin' from fit ter fit." Montandon rose quietly and said:—"TW some of you saddle Daredevil and bring- him child " y ° ll? 1 dn ' fc Want l ° disturb the What ye goin' ter do, Jack?" cried a half dozen voices. ; ara " n( "I am going to put this child in the arms of his- mother before the sun rises," said the cowboy, looking down fen the beautiful sleeping child. "

"BuUy for you old man! " was the verdict of Brimstone Gulch. _ All Jho rest . of the night Montandon rode vor that awful and dangerous trail. But Daredevil knew every inch of the road that wound around precipices and at the foot of lefty mountains, and picked his way ns damtily as a- lady chooses her stons in a. minuet. llio . un came UP over the black, frowning mountains and changed their profound gloom to a glory not made, with- hands. The child reused early and was soon chattering with mother " Car l )roseo,: of seeing his When Montandon asked him, "What is mamma s name?" he answorod, in his cunning patois, Dust mamma— else." • ed nc } w 'i a '' ' s 3' mir papa's namo?" persisted Montandon. Haven t dot any papa," said the boy.. ~ " Poor fellow," thought Montandon, "his father's dead."- . .

• "Will you hate to leave me, my boy?" him as ha thought cf parting from this attractive child. ; , "Ess," said the little man; and reaching up las chubby hand, ho patted i Montandon's bronzed face, "oo is dood. Wish oo was my ■papa." " God bless you, my boy," cried Montandon, straining the child closer to him; "kiss me. will you? ' ' '. Tho soft, innocent, . childish lips met his and something of the sweetness and freshness of his own lost youth sprang up in the seared, embittered heart of the man.

' Dogs, servants, confusion, and shouts greeted Montandon as, in the glow of the golden surprise, ho- dashed up to the Blair ranch. A tall, athletic man ran down the steps of the house, caught the boy from Montandon, repeatedly hugged him and ' kissed him and then wrung the cowboy's hand. " What can I say?"• he cried. i "You've saved the child and the mother, too! My sister-in-law is prostrated, but you shall see her. It is only right that you should give her child back to her. • Come right in."

As they entered the hall his host went on: —" I took the child to Antonita for a few days, and as we were coming back to Hesperus the train stopped, as something was wrong with the air brakes. In the confusion the child got off, and I supposed ho was with the brakeman,. with whom ho had 'become great friends, and the brakeman supposed he was with me. . Just to think of that tender little child—almost a baby—wandering alone in that terrible wilderness His voice broke and again he wrung Montandon's hand. ; They ontered the sitting-room, on the right of the hall. Montandon had no time to notice any of the luxurious appointments, for there was a swish of silk draperies, a waft of perfume, a woman's cry, and lie saw '.no little boy caught in the frenzied embrace of his mother. ' '

;■ In his turn Montandon gave an inarticulate groan, staggered back, and put up his lit?nd as if to ward' off a • blow. He had seen a ghostthe ghost of his dead and buried love for tho beautiful woman sobbing and eaiessing her restored darling was his vile, and the child who had lain all night on his heart w.'s his own son. ,

She looked up and saw him. She straight-ened-.her tall figure and stared at him with blazing eyes like a statue of wrath. "What do you do here?" she demanded. Poor Montandon turned. "I will go." he said, with a certain proud humility. "I did not know. ' I would not have come. I would not intrude upon you for the world." But his host barred his way. "Is this your husband, Kate?" he asked.

"He was my husband," said the woman, in a tone that cut like a knife.

" Good God! and you can send him away like this! Why, he has saved your child. Of what stuff are women made? Mr. Montandon," holding out his hand,*" I have come into the family since all this trouble, and, of course, did not know you, but there's my hand. 1 am your friend. " Come. Katehe added, " come. No matter what he did he is your husband and this boy's father. Forgive him, I beg." Little Jack caught the last words. "Is dat my papa?" ho said, pointing to Montandon, who stood, wretchcd and forlorn, by the door his haughty head bent and his mocking" lips trembling like a woman's. ° . "Yes, my boy," said the mediator, "that is your papa. "Den I muss tiss him adain," paid little Jack, running to Montandon. The latter with suffused eyes, lifted him once more to his breast. When he put him down the boy ran back to his mother, who stood by, disdainful and adamantine. Ho caught her unwilling hand. " Mamma, oo muss tiss papa, too," he cried, as one having authority.

The eyes of the.husband and wife mot. For an instant their souls looked out of their windows and challenged one another. Then pride broke clown and they found themselves in each other's arms.