I was relieved to know that they only wanted the house, and would provide their own refreshments, for it was appalling to be an impromptu hostess to an entire community and to speculate upon the possibility of one small cold roast and chocolate cake satisfying a crowd of young people, after drives of thirty miles or more across the prairie.
“Me and the boys”—Tex spoke somewhat apologetically, as he started toward the door—“we kind a thought maybe you and Mr. Brook would like to get acquainted, seem’s how you’re goin’ to live here; but I guess we oughten to have did what we done.”
I felt ashamed of my momentary perturbation, as the force of that last sentence of Tex’s reached me. These men of the plains were as simple and sensitive as children about many things. They would really grieve if they felt this affair, planned solely on our account, gave us no pleasure. I hastened to reassure him.
“It was mighty nice of you men to think of it,” I said, cheerfully. “We do want to know the people in the country, and we are going to enjoy every moment. I was ‘surprised’ before the party began, that’s all.”
Tex went out satisfied, grinning broadly.
To my good fortune, Owen arrived before the guests came. I told him what was about to befall us. His expression was dubious. All he said was “Thunder.”
Owen and one of the men had been driving about the country all the week, buying horses suitable to turn in on a Government cavalry contract. The night before they had spent on the floor of a cold railroad station, wrapped up in their blankets, with a lighted lantern under the covering at their feet. Their sleep was somewhat broken, with either cremation or freezing pending that cold September night. Poor Owen! He was completely worn out. And now he had to go through a surprise party.
At eight o’clock, Tex, self-appointed master of ceremonies, ushered in the first arrivals. They were a tall, lean chap and two very much be-curled young misses. I made trials without number at conversation, but they could only be induced to say “Yes” and “No.”
From eight until ten they came,—ranchmen, cow-punchers, ex-cow-punchers running their own outfits, infant cow-punchers, girls and women, until kitchen and sitting room were filled to overflowing, and every chair and bench on the place in use. Among the last to arrive was a tall, languid Texan, accompanied by two languid, drab-colored women. They were presented to us as “Robert, Missus Reed and Maggie.” “Maggie,” I immediately concluded, was a sister, but not being quite certain, I sought enlightenment from Mrs. Bohm.
“She ain’t Reed’s sister,” she informed me in a low tone, “she’s his girl.”