CHAPTER SIX
BELLE MEETS AN EMERGENCY IN HER OWN WAY
A Meadow Lark, his conscience comfortable after a generous breakfast of big and little worms carried to his mate hidden away under a thick clump of rabbit weed down by the creek, spread rigid wings and volplaned to the crooked post beside the corral gate, folded his feathers snug and tilted his head aslant. “Cler, cler, cler, cler-ee, cler-ee!” he sang, and perked a wary eye toward the low-roofed stable.
“Oh, I hear you, you sassy little sinner! I wouldn’t think you’d have the nerve, after what you’ve done to my radishes. I’m sure going to mix with you, if you––Rosa! Lift a heel at me and you die! Stand over––don’t you try squeezing me against the wall, or I’ll take my quirt to you! Get over there, before I brain you! Hay-ah-h, you––”
From the sounds one would imagine that a bear, two lions and a mule had come to handgrips in the stable, and that a woman of the Amazons was battling with them all. The meadow lark knew 68 better. This was his second season on the Devil’s Tooth ranch, and he knew that Belle Lorrigan was merely harnessing her pinto team in the stable, and that nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. Being a wise bird as well as an inquisitive one, he fluttered up to the ridge-pole of the roof and from that sanctuary listened beady-eyed to the customary tumult.
Certain staccato epithets meant merely that Subrosa was objecting to the crupper. A sudden stamping testified that Belle had approached Rosa with the bridle. A high-keyed, musical voice chanting man-size words of an intimidating nature followed which proved that the harnessing was progressing as well as could be expected. Then came a lull, and the meadow lark tilted forward expectantly, his head turned sidewise to see what came next.
First came Belle Lorrigan, walking backward, a shot-loaded quirt raised admonishingly to the chin of Subrosa who walked stiff-legged and reluctant, his white-lashed, blue eyes rolling fearsomely, his nostrils belling in loud snorts of protest. A complexity of emotions stirred Subrosa. Afraid to lunge forward, hating to walk circumspectly, eager for the race yet dreading the discipline of rein and whip, Subrosa yielded perforce to the inevitable. As his heels flicked over the low doorsill he swung round and landed one final kick against the log wall, threw up his head in anticipation 69 of the quirt, stepped on a dragging trace chain and jumped as though it was a rattler.
“None of that, you cantankerous brute! One of these days I’m going to just naturally brain you, Sub. I’m getting good and tired of this circus business. You settle down, now, and act human, or––”
Subrosa kicked at the trace and flipped it up so that it struck him smartly on the rump. He jumped straight forward at Belle, who dodged and landed the quirt none too gently on his nose. Subrosa sat down violently, and Belle straightway kicked him in the paunch by way of hinting that she preferred him standing. Then they had it out, rampaging all over the round-pole corral until Belle, breathing a bit fast but sparkly-eyed and victorious, led Subrosa through the gate and up to the post where she snubbed him fast. She was turning to go after Rosa when a young voice called to her anxiously.
“Oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! Quick, I’m in a hurry. I mustn’t stay, because they’ll be here in a little while. But they’re coming by the road and I came down the trail, and that gave me time. I can’t take any more music lessons, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father is that angry wi’ your husband––and oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! If you have any hide that isna your own, ye should hide it away at once! Because the shuriff––”