Jean of the Lazy A

M. Bower B.

Description

A man is found shot dead in the kitchen of the Lazy A ranch, and in an absence of other evidence, ranch owner Aleck Douglas is convicted of the crime. His daughter Jean is absolutely certain that he is innocent of the crime, but has no factual evidence with which to prove that her father has been wrongly convicted. With a rapidly dwindling bank account and no clues to speak of, will Jean find a way to free her father and get her old life back?

Sujets

• Westerns
• Western (genre)
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 novembre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775561392
• Langue: English

Extrait

JEAN OF THE LAZY A
* * *
B. M. BOWER
 
*
Jean of the Lazy A First published in 1915 ISBN 978-1-77556-139-2 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I - How Trouble Came to the Lazy A Chapter II - Concerning Lite and a Few Footprints Chapter III - What a Man's Good Name is Worth Chapter IV - Jean Chapter V - Jean Rides into a Small Adventure Chapter VI - And the Villain Pursued Her Chapter VII - Robert Grant Burns Gets Help Chapter VIII - Jean Spoils Something Chapter IX - A Man-Sized Job for Jean Chapter X - Jean Learns What Fear is Like Chapter XI - Lite's Pupil Demonstrates Chapter XII - To "Double" for Muriel Gay Chapter XIII - Pictures and Plans and Mysterious Footsteps Chapter XIV - Punch Verses Prestige Chapter XV - A Leading Lady They Would Make of Jean Chapter XVI - For Once at Least Lite Had His Way Chapter XVII - "Why Don't You Give Them Something Real?" Chapter XVIII - A New Kind of Picture Chapter XIX - In Los Angeles Chapter XX - Chance Takes a Hand Chapter XXI - Jean Believes that She Takes Matters into Her Own Hands Chapter XXII - Jean Meets One Crisis and Confronts Another Chapter XXIII - A Little Enlightenment Chapter XXIV - The Letter in the Chaps Chapter XXV - Lite Comes Out of the Background Chapter XXVI - How Happiness Returned to the Lazy A
Chapter I - How Trouble Came to the Lazy A
*
Without going into a deep, psychological discussion of the elements inmen's souls that breed events, we may say with truth that the Lazy Aranch was as other ranches in the smooth tenor of its life until oneday in June, when the finger of fate wrote bold and black across theface of it the word that blotted out prosperity, content, warm familyties,—all those things that go to make life worth while.
Jean, sixteen and a range girl to the last fiber of her being, hadgotten up early that morning and had washed the dishes and swept, andhad shaken the rugs of the little living-room most vigorously. On herknees, with stiff brush and much soapy water, she had scrubbed thekitchen floor until the boards dried white as kitchen floors may be.She had baked a loaf of gingerbread, that came from the oven with amost delectable odor, and had wrapped it in a clean cloth to cool onthe kitchen table. Her dad and Lite Avery would show cause for thebaking of it when they sat down, fresh washed and ravenous, to theirsupper that evening. I mention Jean and her scrubbed kitchen and thegingerbread by way of proving how the Lazy A went unwarned andunsuspecting to the very brink of its disaster.
Lite Avery, long and lean and silently content with life, had riddenaway with a package of sandwiches, after a full breakfast and a smilefrom the slim girl who cooked it, upon the business of the day; whichhappened to be a long ride with one of the Bar Nothing riders, down inthe breaks along the river. Jean's father, big Aleck Douglas, hadsaddled and ridden away alone upon business of his own. And presently,in mid-forenoon, Jean closed the kitchen door upon an immaculatelyclean house filled with the warm, fragrant odor of her baking, and infresh shirt waist and her best riding-skirt and Stetson, went whistlingaway down the path to the stable, and saddled Pard, the brown colt thatLite had broken to the saddle for her that spring. In ten minutes or soshe went galloping down the coulee and out upon the trail to town,which was fifteen miles away and held a chum of hers.
So Lazy A coulee was left at peace, with scratching hens busy with thefeeding of half-feathered chicks, and a rooster that crowed from thecorral fence seven times without stopping to take breath. In the bigcorral a sorrel mare nosed her colt and nibbled abstractedly at thepile of hay in one corner, while the colt wabbled aimlessly up andsniffed curiously and then turned to inspect the rails that felt soqueer and hard when he rubbed his nose against them. The sun was warm,and cloud-shadows drifted lazily across the coulee with the breeze thatblew from the west. You never would dream that this was the lastday,—the last few hours even,—when the Lazy A would be the untroubledhome of three persons of whose lives it formed so great a part.
At noon the hens were hovering their chickens in the shade of the mowerwhich Lite was overhauling during his spare time, getting it ready forthe hay that was growing apace out there in the broad mouth of thecoulee. The rooster was wallowing luxuriously in a dusty spot in thecorral. The young colt lay stretched out on the fat of its side in thesun, sound asleep. The sorrel mare lay beside it, asleep also, withher head thrown up against her shoulder. Somewhere in a shed a calfwas bawling in bored lonesomeness away from its mother feeding down thepasture. And over all the coulee and the buildings nestled against thebluff at its upper end was spread that atmosphere of homey comfort andsheltered calm which surrounds always a home that is happy.
Lite Avery, riding toward home just when the shadows were beginning togrow long behind him, wondered if Jean would be back by the time hereached the ranch. He hoped so, with a vague distaste at finding theplace empty of her cheerful presence. Be looked at his watch; it wasnearly four o'clock. She ought to be home by half-past four or five,anyway. He glanced sidelong at Jim and quietly slackened his pace alittle. Jim was telling one of those long, rambling tales of the littlehappenings of a narrow life, and Lite was supposed to be listeninginstead of thinking about when Jean would return home. Jim believed hewas listening, and drove home the point of his story.
"Yes, sir, them's his very words. Art Osgood heard him. He'll do it,too, take it from me, Crofty is shore riled up this time."
"Always is," Lite observed, without paying much attention. "I'll turnoff here, Jim, and cut across. Got some work I want to get done yetto-night. So long."
He swung away from his companion, whose trail to the Bar Nothing ledhim straight west, passing the Lazy A coulee well out from its mouth,toward the river. Lite could save a half mile by bearing off to thenorth and entering the coulee at the eastern side and riding up throughthe pasture. He wanted to see how the grass was coming on, anyway.The last rain should have given it a fresh start.
He was in no great hurry, after all; he had merely been bored withJim's company and wanted to go on alone. And then he could get thefire started for Jean. Lite's life was running very smoothly indeed;so smoothly that his thoughts occupied themselves largely with littlethings, save when they concerned themselves with Jean, who had beenaway to school for a year and had graduated from "high," as she calledit, just a couple of weeks ago, and had come home to keep house for dadand Lite. The novelty of her presence on the ranch was still freshenough to fill his thoughts with her slim attractiveness. Town hadn'tspoiled her, he thought glowingly. She was the same good littlepal,—only she was growing up pretty fast, now. She was a young ladyalready.
So, thinking of her with the brightening of spirits which is the firstsymptom of the world-old emotion called love, Lite rounded the easternarm of the bluff and came within sight of the coulee spread before him,shaped like the half of a huge platter with a high rim of bluff onthree sides.
His first involuntary glance was towards the house, and there wasunacknowledged expectancy in his eyes. But he did not see Jean, nor anysign that she had returned. Instead, he saw her father just mountingin haste at the corral. He saw him swing his quirt down along the sideof his horse and go tearing down the trail, leaving the wire gate flatupon the ground behind him,—which was against all precedent.
Lite quickened his own pace. He did not know why big Aleck Douglasshould be hitting that pace out of the coulee, but since Aleck's pacewas habitually unhurried, the inference was plain enough that there wassome urgent need for haste. Lite let down the rails of the barred gatefrom the meadow into the pasture, mounted, and went galloping acrossthe uneven sod. His first anxious thought was for the girl. Hadsomething happened to her?
At the stable he looked and saw that Jean's saddle did not hang on itsaccustomed peg inside the door, and he breathed freer. She could nothave returned, then. He turned his own horse inside without taking offthe saddle, and looked around him puzzled. Nothing seemed wrong aboutthe place. The sorrel mare stood placidly switching at the flies andsuckling her gangling colt in the shady corner of the corral, and thechickens were pecking desultorily about their feeding-ground inexpectation of the wheat that Jean or Lite would fling to them lateron. Not a thing seemed unusual.
Yet Lite stood just outside the stable, and the sensation thatsomething was wrong grew keener. He was not a nervous person,—youwould have laughed at the idea of nerves in connection with Lite Avery.He felt that something was wrong, just the same. It was not altogetherthe hurried departure of Aleck Douglas, either, that made him feel so.He looked at the house setting back there close to the bluff just whereit began to curve rudely out from the narrowest part of the coulee. Itwas still and quiet, with closed windows and doors to tell there was noone at home. And yet, to Lite its very silence seemed sinister.
Wolves were many, down in the breaks along the river that spring; andthe coyotes were an ever-prese