Old Mr. and Mrs. Bohm had lived on the place for over thirty years in this house, which was the evolution of a dug-out, with many subsequent periods in prospect before it became a possible home. Mrs. Bohm had recently been having “fainting spells,” which frightened her husband into a plan to dispose of the ranch and live in town.
It was a wonderful ranch. Acres on acres of richest grass, a wealth of hay land and natural water holes,—a paradise for stock. To poor homesick me, this place had no suggestion of paradise. It looked run down and disorderly; the fences around the house were adorned with everything from old battered tin buckets and mowing-machine wheels to the smallest piece of rusty wire. Mrs. Bohm confided to me that “James liked it that way because everything was so handy.” There was no questioning that, but as a first impression it was hopeless, and my heart grew heavier and heavier as I thought of the new house in Wyoming, where we had expected to be, and the Eastern home I had just left.
I walked out of sight of the festooned fence and tried to think. Up the valley the Peak was deep blue against the golden evening sky, and in the vast, unbroken silence of the prairies I felt the sense of chaos and confusion give way to peace. The old house, tumble-down fences, mowing machine wheels and wire took an inconsequent place in the scale of things compared to Owen’s undertaking. He must succeed. The undesirable could be removed or made over. We were in a new world, we had a great domain, we faced undreamed of experiences and possibilities. My spirits rose with a bound, and I resolved from that moment to consider our life here in the West, in the midst of new conditions, a great adventure. At that instant the original Bohm dug-out would have held no terrors for me.
Perhaps if I had known just how great the adventure was to be, what varied and nerve-testing experiences the future did hold, I might have been daunted; but with a farewell look at the Peak and a new sense of strength and courage, I went to meet Owen. I realized that he knew the possibilities of the place and that the conditions would all soon be changed, and I knew, too, that he was distressed at the realization of how it must all appear to me. He looked troubled, as he came toward me.
“Can you stand it for a little while?” he asked.
“Of course, I can,” I replied, cheerfully, blindly taking the first step toward the great adventure.
“It’s all right, dear; it’s going to be wonderful, living here.”
Mr. and Mrs. Bohm, Tex and six bashful cow-punchers were in the kitchen waiting for us before they sat down to supper. We were presented to the men, and in acknowledgment of the introduction received a fleeting glance from six pairs of diffident eyes and a quick jerk from six slickly brushed heads.
Mrs. Bohm took her seat at the foot of the long oil-cloth-covered table, and old Mr. Bohm sat at the head. Fortunate for me that Owen and I sat side by side. If once during that meal I had caught his eye, I should have disgraced myself forever.
Except old Bohm, no one said anything. Indeed, no one had a chance, for he talked all the time, telling stories, cracking jokes at which he laughed immoderately, interspersing his conversation with waves of his fork, with which from time to time he reflectively combed his beard. I could not take my eyes off him; there was a weird fascination in following the movements of that fork. It was prescience which led me to do so, for old Bohm suddenly ceased using it as a toilet article and jabbed it into a piece of meat, which he held out toward me.