of Lucinda Baker reminded Logan that he had not been much in the company of women. However, she had always seemed to understand him. As he rode along through the shady silent forest, he remembered Lucinda with a warmth of pleasure.
By sunset that day Huett reached the far end of Mormon Lake, a muddy body of surface water, surrounded by stony, wooded bluffs. On the west and north sides there were extensive ranges of grass running arm-like into the forest. The Mormon settler who had given the lake its name had sold out to an Arizonian and his partner from Kansas.
“Wal, we got a good thing hyar,” said the Westerner Holbert. “But what with the timber wolves an’ hard winters we have tough sleddin’. You see its open range an’ pretty high.”
“Any neighbors?” asked Huett.
“None between hyar an’ the Tonto. Jackson runs one of Babbitt’s outfits down on Clear Creek. Thet heads in above Long Valley. Then there’s Jeff an’ Bill Warner, out on the desert. They run a lot of cattle between Clear Creek an’ the Little Colorado. Toward Flagg my nearest neighbor is Dwight Collin. He has a big ranch ten miles in. An’ next is Tim Mooney. Beyond St. Mary’s Lake the settlers thicken up a bit.”
“Any rustlers?”
“Wal, not any out an’ out rustlers,” replied Holbert evasively. “Rustler gangs have yet to settle in this section of Arizona.”
“Wolves take toll of your calves, eh?”
“Cost me half a hundred head last winter. Did you ever hear of Killer Gray?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Wal, you’d remember thet lofer, if you ever seen him. Big gray timber wolf with a black ruff. He’s got a small band an’ he ranges this whole country.”
“Why don’t you kill him?”
“Huh! He’s too smart for us. Jest natural cunnin’, for a young wolf.”
“I like this Arizona timber land,” declared Huett, frankly. “And I’m set on a ranch somewhere south of the lake.”
“Wal now, thet’s interestin’. What did you say yore name was?”
“Logan Huett. I rode for several cattle outfits before I worked as scout and hunter for Crook in his Apache campaign.”
“I kinda reckoned you was a soldier,” returned Holbert, genially. “Wal, Huett, you’re as welcome out hyar as May flowers. I hope you don’t locate too far south of us. It’s shore lonely, an’ in winter we’re snowed in some seasons for weeks.”
“Thanks. I’ll pick me out a range down in the woods where it’s not so cold. . . . Would you be able to sell me a few cows and heifers, and a bull?
“I shore would. An’ dirt cheap, too, ’cause thet’d save me from makin’ a drive to town before winter comes.”
“Much obliged, Holbert. I’ve saved my wages. But they won’t last long. I’ll pick up the cattle on my way back.”
“Good. An’ how soon, Huett?”
“Before the snow flies.”
* * * *
All the way into Flagg next day Logan’s practical mind resolved a daring query. Why not wire Lucinda to come West to marry him? He resisted this idea, repudiated it, but it returned all the stronger. Logan’s mother had not long survived his father. He had a brother and sister living somewhere in Illinois. Therefore since he had no kindred ties, he did not see why it would not be politic to save the time and expense that it would take to get him to Missouri. He had already bought cattle. He was eager to buy horses, oxen, wagon, tools, guns, and hurry back to Sycamore Canyon. The more time he had in Flagg the better bargains he could find.
Flagg was a cattle and lumber town, important since the advent of the railroad some half dozen years previously. It had grown since Huett’s last visit. The main block presented a solid front of saloons and gambling halls, places Logan resolved to give a wide berth. He was no longer a cowboy. Some man directed him to a livery-stable where he turned over his horse. Next he left his pack at a lodginghouse and hunted up a barber shop. It was dusk when he left there. The first restaurant he encountered was run by a Chinaman and evidently a rendezvous for cowboys, of which the town appeared full. Logan ate and listened.
After supper he strolled down to the railroad station, a rude frame structure in the center of a square facing the main street. Evidently a train was expected. The station and platform presented a lively scene with cowboys, cattlemen, railroad men, Indians and Mexicans moving about. Logan’s walk became a lagging one, and ended short of the station-house. It seemed to him that there might be something amiss in telegraphing Lucinda such a blunt and hurried proposal. But he drove this thought away, besides calling upon impatience to bolster up his courage. It could do no harm. If Lucinda refused he would just have to go East after her. Logan bolted into the station and sent Lucinda a telegram asking her to come West to marry him.
When the deed was done irrevocably, Logan felt appalled. He strode up town and tried to forget his brazen audacity in the excitement of the gambling-games.He suppressed a strong inclination toward drink. Liquor had never meant much to Logan, but it was omnipresent here in this hustling, loud cow town, and he felt its influence. Finally he went back to the lodginghouse and to bed. He felt tired—something unusual for him—and his mind whirled.
The soft bed was conducive to a long restful sleep. Logan awoke late, arose leisurely, and dressed for the business of the day. Presently he recalled with a little shock just how important a day it was to be in his life. But he did not rush to the telegraph office. He ate a hearty breakfast, made the acquaintance of a droll Arizona cowboy, and then reluctantly and fearfully went to see if there was any reply to his telegram. The operator grinned at Logan and drawled as he handed out a yellow envelope: “Logan Huett. There shore is a heap of a message for you.”
Logan took the envelope eagerly, as abashed as a schoolboy, and the big brown hands that could hold a rifle steady as a rock shook perceptibly as he tore it open and read the brief message. He gulped and read it again: “Yes! If you come after me—Lucinda.”
An unfamiliar sensation assailed him, as he moved away to a seat. Then he felt immensely grateful to Lucinda. He read her message again. The big thing about the moment seemed the certainty that he was to have a wife—provided he went back to Missouri after her. That he would do. But it flashed across his mind that as Lucinda had accepted him upon such short blunt notice she really must care a good deal for him, and if she did she would come West to marry him. Under the impulse of the inspiration he went to the window and began a long telegram to Lucinda, warm with gratitude at her acceptance and stressing the value of time, that winter was not far away, the need of economy, the splendid opportunity he had, ending with an earnest appeal for her to come West at once. Logan did not even read the message over, but sent it rushed up town.
“I’ve a hunch—she’ll come—and I’m dog-gone lucky,” he panted.
That day he spent in making a list of the many things he would need and the few he would be able to buy. Rifles, shells, axes, blankets, food supplies and cooking utensils, a wagon and horses, or mules, he had to have. Then he hurried from his lodginghouse to make these imperative purchases. Prices were reasonable, which fact encouraged him. During the day he met and made friends with a blacksmith from Missouri named Hardy. Hardy had tried farming, and had fallen
