BAT WING BOWLES.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LII, Issue 16020, 11 September 1915, Page 3 (Supplement)

BAT WING BOWLES.

BY DANE COOWDGE, U Author of "Hidden Witty" and "Th« T«icao." ,;\ (COPYRIGHT.) " ._>:•"."'.. CHAPTER XX.— (Continued.) ■> "Oh, hush up!" cried Hardy. Atkins, tragically shaking his fallen friend; and then as he worked up to the big scene wher*> Happy Jack was to come to life and ran amuck, after Bowles, the door was kicked open and Gloomy Gus strode in. '"'■'.■• " What's the matter with you fellers» " he- demanded. his voice trembling with indignation at the thought of his broken sleep, and then, - at sight of Jack, he stopped. "Jack's dead," said . Hardy Atkins, trying hard to give Gus the wink; but the cook was staring at the corpse.. Perhaps, being roused from a sound sleep. Ins senses were not quite as acute As usual; perhaps the play-acting was too good; bo that as it may, his rago was changed to pity, and he took the centre of the stage. "Ah, poor Jack!" he quavered, going closer and gazing down upon him. Shot through the heart. • He's dead, * bovs : they s no use workin' on 'im— '"seen many a man like that before." a«j« ell,- lets try, anyway!" urged Atkins, in a desperate endeavour to cot rid of him. "Go git some water. Gus' Haven t «you got any whisky ? " « V Ol lies " ead " murmured the cook ; they s no use troublin' him— it's ail over with pool- old Jack. You'll never hear him laugh no more." A faint twitch came over the set, features of the corpse at this, and Sards' Atkins leaped desperately in to shield his face.

; "He was a good-hearted boy,' continued Gloomy Gus. still, intent "upon his 4ulogy— then Happy Jack ' broke down. First he began to twitch, then a.snort escaped him, and he shook with inextinguishable laughter. A look went around the room, Bingham Clark punched Bowles with his elbow and pulled him back, and then Gus glanced down at the corpse. His peroration ceased right ' there, and disgust, chagrin,- and . anger chased themselves across his face like winds across a lake; then, with a wicked oath, he snatched the gun away from* Buck and struggled to get it cocked. - ■ "You voting limb 1" be raved, menacing Happy Jack with the pistol and fighting to- break clear of Ruck. " You'll play a trick on me, will ye—an old' man and punched cows before you was born ! Let go of that gun. Mr.- Buchanan'" And so he raged, while the conspirator* laboured to soothe him, and Brig dragged' Bawled outside. '°

WOEK THAT MAT SAVE THE LIVES OP SOLDIEBS IK THE PIGHTIHQ LINES: SANDBAGS BEING HADE AT' A TTHIQUE DEPOT IK ', ". • LONDON. ■ ■'*''*': • ."-' \V ..'---"■"•■*"

A unique depot ha., been opened in London by Mrs. H. Ames (the lady orator) and a number of ladies called the White Crow League. Any ' lady can ,call in if only for few minutes and make a sandbag, which may be the mean* of saving a soldier's life. Material may be bought at the depW It takes 15 minutes to male one, and thousands upon thousands are wanted at the front. At the depot a soldier, one who knows the* business,' gives lesson s in the right way ttf make a bag. .•-• . f ■ V Newspaper Illustrations, Photo.

met him i hospitably at the stoop.■;-' In the far west the Tortugas were passing through the daily miracle of sunset,, and the hush of evening had settled upon all the land. "Ah, Mrs. Lee," sighed Bowles,fas ho contemplated with a poet's eye the beauties of nature, " now-T 1 * understand how you can , live here for thirty years '•■ and never go back to New York. Such ib hiinination—-such colour And from the hill, here, it is so much more' glorious. Really, in spite of the loneliness, I almost envy you those thirty years 4 Yes," admitted Mrs. Lee, leading him to a rawhide chair beneath the honey.suckle, "it is beautiful. I like it—in a —but still, I can never. forget New York. It offers so much, you know, of music and art and society; and yet—well, Henry needed me, and so I stayed. ', But I have tried to give my daughter what advantages I could; I x have a sister, you know, living in New York Mrs. Elwood Tupper—perhaps you know her?" "Why, the name seems familiar," returned Bowles glibly. " Yes, she's my sister," resumed Mrs. Lee, after glancing at him curiously. " Dixie was with her all last winter—l thought perhaos you might have met her there?" Once more she gazed at him in. that same inquiring way, and Bowles wondered if she had heard" anything, but he was quick to elude the point. "Hium," ho mused, "Tupper! No, I hardly think so. When I return, I shall be glad to look her up—perhaps 1 can convey some message from y«.u. Your daughter must find it rather oluse and confining in the city, after her fine, free life in the open. . Really, Mrs. Lee, I never knew what living was until I came out hero! Of course, I'm very new yet— "Yes." agreed Mrs. Lee, who knew a few social sleights herself, " Dixie did. complain of the confinement, but she 0, •Dixie!" " Yes. mother '." replied a dutiful voice from within. • "Come out on the gallery?— Mr. Bowles is here. But she met some very nice people theresome of the real old families, you know—and I thought" The door opened at this 'point, and Bowles leapt to his' feet in astonishment. It was a different Dixie that appeared before him— same bewitching creature who had dazzled his? eyes at the Wordsworth Club, and she wore the very same gown. And what a wonderful transformation it seemed to make in her— was so quiet and demure now, and she greeted him in quite* the proper manner. <' I .was just telling Mr. Bowles, Dixie," continued Mrs. Lee, still holding to her 'fixed idea, "that you went out quite a little in New York— perhaps you. might have met back there."

For a moment the two eyed each other shrewdly, each guessing how much the other had said, and then Bowles opened up the way. .

CHAPTER XXI. '" A CALL. There is a regrettable but very well defined tendency in human nature which prompts the author of a miss-fire revenge to ,take it out on the dog. Certainly there was no more innocent party to the inveigling. of Gloomy Gus than Bowles, and yet for some reason Hardy Atkins and his comrades in crime chose to gaze upon him with a frown. After, labouring far into the night they had finally -persuaded the cook that it was all a mistake f that no insult was intended to his years; and that it would be contrary to those high principles of Southern chivalry of which he had always been such an illustrious exponent to report the fake fight to the boss. Then they had busied themselves in the early morning with chopping wood and packing water, and similar ingratiating tasks, with the result that, when Henry Lee came down after breakfast, there, was no complaint from anybody. But when he had let it pass, and started off for Chula Vista, it was cloudy in the south for Bowles. But your true lover, with the wine of ecstasy in his veins, alnd haunting feminine glhnpses to catch his eye, is not likely to be scanning the horizon for a cloud the size of a man's hand. Bowles' troubles began that evening when, after an arduous day in the saddle, he returned to his own social sphere. For two months and more Samuel Bowles had been a cowhand. He had slept on the ground,'he had eaten in the dirt, and when luck had gone against him he had learned to swear. But now, as he was riding past the gate, Mrs. Lee, in a charming housegown, had waylaid him with a smile ; he paused for a friendly word, and his breeding had prompted him to linger while she chatted; then she had invited him to dinnernot- supper— he had forgotten his lowly part. Forgotten also was the warning of Hardy Atkins, now *o sullen in his defeat, and everything else except the lure of dainty living' and the memory of a smile. So, after a hasty shave and a change to cleaner clothes, he stepped out boldly from the ranks and walked up to the big white house.

" Why, really, Miss Lee," he exclaimed, still gazing at her with admiring eyes, " you do look familiar in that dress! Perhaps we have met in a crush, like ships that pass in the night? May I ask at what function you wore this charming gown?" ~•' » "Yes, indeed, Mr. Bowles," returned Dixie May; "but, rather than run over the whole list and recall a winter's agony, let's take it foe granted that we met. It's a fine, large place to come away from,' isn't dear old New York Wasn't the slush of those sidewalks something elegant? And that steam heat! My! It never gets a 8 hot as that out here. Yes, indeed, mother, I'm sure that Mr. Bowles and I have met'before; but," she added, and here her voice changed, "since he's travelling incognito, changing his name as a garment and not getting any letters from home, perhaps it's just as "well not to dwell upon the matter." " Why. Dixie, child!" protested Mrs'. Lee. "What in the world do you mean?" " Nothing at all, mother, excepl that he is our guest. Shall we go in now to dinner They went in, and throughout the rest of the evening Bowles was guiltily conscious of a startled mother's eyes which regarded him with anxious scrutiny at first and then became very resolute and stern. Mrs. Lee had solved her problem, whatever it was, and settled upon her duty. Bowles felt a social chill creep into the air as he rose to go, and he braced him- > self for some ultimatum; but his hostess did not speak her thoughts. There -was no further allusion to New York, or his alias, or the fact that he had acted a lie. All those things were taken for granted, and he left with a balked feeling, as if he had failed of some purpose. Her very silence clutched at his heart, .and her passive hand-touch as they parted. Dixie„too, seemed to share in the general aloofness. She had said good-night without any friendly grip of the fingers, looking at him very straight, as if to fathom his deceit. Bowles lay awake that night and thought it out, and he saw where- he bad made his mistake. From the first his manner had been evasive almost to mendacity, and, with both Dixie and her mother, he had made a mystery of his past. Now the time for explanations was gone, and he was reaping his just reward. He should have, taken Dixie into -his confidence when they were alone beneath the cedars; he should have answered that question of hers when she asked —but now it was too late.

; 1 ■ . ' "■ "r 'And when he had evaded her, she had never asked again. And now, through the same damnable ineptitude, he had estranged her mother and lost his welcome at the big house. All the explanations in the world, would not square him now, for one deceit follows another arid his second word was no better than his first. He could sec with half "an eve that Mr«. Lee districted .him. He must seem to her candid mind no less than a polite adventurer, a ne'er-de-wcll. young profligate from the East with intentions as dark as his past. Nor could he brine himself to blame her, for the - inference was logical—if a*man conceals his identity and denies his, acquaintances and friends, surely there must be something shameful that he is at such pains to hide. '

But the way out? That was what kept Bowles awake. Certainly, ft he'" were a gentleman, he Would stay away from the house. Nor would it be" wholly honourable to' waylay Dixie May and explain. AndL besides, there was nothing to explain. He.had references, of course but if he gave them his aunt would discover his whereabouts and summon him home—and then there was Christabel! The memory or those pre-arranged meetings at his aunt's swept over him, and he shuddered where he lav. Dear, prettv patient Christabel! What if she should' sense 'this conspiracy to make him marry her and lose that*- friendlv smile? What if she should blush as he had blushed at veach chance tete-a-tete, gazing nervously into his eyes to guess if he would vield? And to wonder if that was love.'" Ah, no, he could never do that: Rather than inflict such torture upon her he would flee to the depths of the wilderness and' hide until she was marriedr But his safety lay only in flight, for his aunt was a resolute woman, with tears and sighs at her command, if all else failed. Yes, ho must run away— was the way out.

And it would solve all his problems at, once. - There would be no lame cxplanations to make'at the house, no cheap jealousies with Hardy Atkins, no breaking of his cherished dream of seeing the West. Ho would move on into the White Mountains aud explore their fastnesses with Brigham. Or, lacking Brigham, he would plunge into that wilderness alone. The harsh clangor of Gloomy Gus' dislV pan cut short his fitful sleep, and herolled out of bed with his mind made up to quit. At breakfast he said nothing, bolting his food with the rest of them, and followed on to the horse corral for a private word with Brig. But right there fate played hinT a scurvy trick, and disrupted all his 'schemes, for as he stepped around behind the corral Hardy Atkins strode- in upon him and made signs to certain .of his friends.

Now, lookee here, .Mr. Man," he said, and lje said it quietly for once, " vou been four-flushing "around hyer long enough, and we give fou warnin' to git.

We got yore record and we know what you're after, so don't hand ua out any bull. # Yore name ain't Bowles and you're aimin* at Dix, but she's got' too many good friends. Now we've let you off easy, so far, but Gawd he'p yon if we come ag'in. Ain't that so, boys!" ".,*«-. ff". "You bet it'is!" answered thregjer four, and the rest of them looked their disdain. But an unreasoning anger swept oyer Bowles at the very first word, and here' turned the" sneer with interest. .%*'•:., V

" Mr. Atkins," he said, "you have threatened me before, but I am not', afraid of. you. You cannot frighten me away.!'- - " Oh, I cain't, cain't I?" jeered Haady Atkins, while his friends rumbled, threats from behind. ' " Well, poco pronto you're liable to change yore mind. You.come into this country on a Hinglish trot and we thought you was a sport, but now -that: we know better, you got to make good or git. Ain't that so, boys?" "You bet it is!" roared the bunch, and Atkins hitched up his ahaps. " All right," he said.. " You got a job with this outfit by claimin' that you could ride. Nowyou're eo . braveeither yon ride that Dunbar hawse the way you said or we kick you out o' camp. You can take yore choice." "Very well," said Bowies; "I'll ride the horse." Like h— you will," sneered the gang in a chorus, but Bowles did -not heed their words. • " Any time you put the saddle on him," he said. "I'll ride him/' At this they stood irresolute, unable to make him out. On the morning that he had ridden Wa-ha-lote he was a tenderfoot, not knowing one horse from another, but now he had seen the worst. And yet he would climb up on Dunbar! "Come on—let's rope 'im!" urged Hardy Atkins, but he did not move out of his tracks. " No, the boss is comin" back," he said. "Let's wait till we're hyer by ourse'ves. All right, Mr. Broncobnstin Bowles, we'll fix you good ana plenty—the first time the folks leave the house. And meantime, if you value yore health, you better stay Sown on low ground." < " I will go wherever I please . answered Bowles; but he stayed down on the low ground. In the Homeric simplicity of the cow camps, where the primitive"emotions still rule, * any soul-stirring which cannot find its expression in curses is pretty sure to seek the level of laughter. The boys were profoundly moved' by Bowles' declaration of intention, but after gazing upon him for a spell in mingled incredulity and awe, their lips, began to curl.

: ;^'^r CHAPTER XXII. ■ : .,; :•%:•; - THE HORSE THAT KILLED DUNBAR. '| '• ".Aw—him!" they* said. "Him ride Dunbar? TJmph-umm! We'll wake up some mornin' and find him gone !" fy Then, as a morning; or two passed and Bowles was still iii his place, they began to lapse into jest. 1 : ;. y ? Old Henry will shore be s'prised when .he, comes back from town;*' '■'■; observed blithesome Happy Jack. " He'll find •Bowles ridin' Dunbar with a haokamore and feedin* him sugar from his hand. Big doin' soon to come, boysboss and family gdin' down to Chula Vista to-morrer." "Well, we better hog-tie Hiuglish. then," grumbled Buck Buchanan; "he'll never last till moinir.'. Gittin' right close on to that' time !" .-..' " Never you mind about Hinglish." re. Ported Brigham Clark, whose loyalty had been fanned to a flame. "If it was .you, Buck Buchanan, we couldn't see you fer dust right now. They ain't a man of ye dares ; to say he'd ride Dunbar, let alone the doin' of it. Will you ride him second if he throws Bowles off ?- Well, you keep yore face shut, then! The whole bunch of ye ought to be canned fer tryin* to git ! im killed IV - ' 6 "Well, -lot" 'im go on away, then!" burst out Hardy Atkins. " " We*never told •im. to ride Dunbarwe told 'im to quit his four-nushin' and either -make good or git. There's the road down there— 'im take to it!" • He jerked an imperious hand at Bowles, who answered him with a scowl. "If-you will kindlv mind vour own business, Mr. Atkins," "he purled", "I shall certainly be greatly obliged."' Behave each word the Harvard accent and tipped it off with venom, for Bowles was losing his repose. In fact, he was mad, rtJad all over, and at every remark he bristled like a dog. A concatenation of circumstances had thrown him into the company of these Texas brawlers, but he aimed to show by every means in his power his abs»<ate contempt for their trickery and ' his determination to stand mi his rights. Tl» had said ho would ride Dunbar, and that was enough—he had Riven his word 'as a gentleman.. Thcrefcro he resented their insinuations and desired only to bo left alono. Certainly he had enough on his mind to keep him occupied without responding to ill-natured remarks.

Fate was piling things up on poor Bowles, and be earnestly longed for the end. There is a cynic's saying that every time a man gets into trouble his girl goes bock on him, just to carry out the run .of luck ; »nd while of course it isn't true; it seemed that way to Bowles. Perhaps his own manner had had something to do wtf.h it,'.but the morning after his rebuff Dixie greeted him almost as a stranger, and, falling, back shortly afterwards into her old carefree way of talking, she began to josh with the boys. Then sho took a long nde with Brigh&m, a ride that left

The chill and gustv days of early spring had passed and the soft warmth of May had brought out all the flowers. Along the gallery the honeysuckle and the Cherokee . climbers ' "were fragrant with the first blossoms of summer, and Bowles was glad to tarry, beneath them shea 'Mrs. Lee

"Mb. Bowles," she had said* "who are yo u i anyway!'i

I him all lit up wiiii enthusiasm, and . made him want to talk about love. . As 4 matter of fact, Dixie had sensed something big in the air, and was anxiously ferreting it. out, but Bowles did not know- about that. All be. know was that he disapproved of her conduct, . and wondered vaguely what her mother would say. Not that ix> was «ny of his business, but he wondered all the same; and, wondering, shook his head, and sighed.' • But three days of flirting and sleuthing .brought nothing to Dixie's net- lrrom the cook down, *he outfit -was a solid phalanx against herthey would talk and smile, but they never showed their hand. One clue and one only she had—there seemed to be an unisual interest in when she was going to town. First on one pretext and then on another they inquired casually about the date, and if her folks were going along too. So, • whatever the deviltry wrs, it was something that called for secrecy it was due on the day they left home She looked them over as they gathered about the evening fire, and smoothed her hair down thoughtfullyand the i-ext morning she started for town. The sale of bis steers was making Henry Lee a lot of trouble the holding of them as well. Not being able to find a biyer at his price, he set the cowboys to fence mending—lest the outlaws should breach the wires—and went back and forth to town. And this morning his wife went with him, sitting close behind the frays, with Dixie riding fast behind, Their dust changed to haze on the horizon before anyone moved a, hand, and then Hardy Atkins turned on Bowles. "All right, Mr. Bowles," he said. " Here's where we see yore hand. Til saddle that hawse if you'll ride Mm, but don't make me that, trouble for nothin', because if you do" . " Oh, shut up!" snapped Bowles, whose rerves were worn to a frazzle. " What's the use of talking about it? Put the saddle on him!" 9 " Holy Jehu!" whistled Atkins. " Listen to the boy talk, will you? Must have somethin' "on his mind— "Well, quit yore foolin'!" put in "Brigham abruptly. "We'll all git fired fer this, and him liable to git killed to boot, so hurry up and let's .have it over with!" "I'll go ye!" laughed the ex-twister, skipping off with a sprightly" step. "Come on, boys; it'll 'take the bunch of us—but -I'll saddle old Dunbar or die ' 0-oh, hit's not the 'unting that 'urts the 'orse's 'oofs; hit's the 'aminer, 'ammer 'awircr on the 'ard 'ighway!' E-e-«— J»0!" OV» he continued on Saturday u»*t.>