She thanked him. She had never seen a more kindly face. Certainly even Aunt Lou could plainly see he was a gentleman. Secretly she hoped he was going all the way East.
The train all at once seemed to be slowly stopping. There was no station near. She went to the railing to look ahead, and the gentleman followed her. Apparently the engine had struck something, for a dark object was visible some yards distant by the track. They drew near it slowly, and as they passed, now again gathering speed, Virginia’s quick eyes saw that it was a dead steer, and that on its shoulder was branded a horseshoe with a “C” in the center.
“My!” she cried excitedly, half to herself and half to her companion in the gray coat. “That’s a Cunningham steer, strayed from the range. Even one steer will make old Mr. Cunningham cross for a week. He’ll say there’s rustlers around Elk Creek.” She laughed.
“How did you know it belonged to Cunningham? Who is he, and what’s a rustler?”
Virginia laughed again. “You’re like me,” she said frankly. “I ask questions all at once, too. Why, Mr. Cunningham is a ranchman who lives over the hills north of us; and I knew it belonged to him because I saw the brand. He brands his with a horseshoe mark, and a ‘C’ in the center. And a rustler is a horse and cattle thief. There used to be a lot of them, you know, who went about putting their own brands on young cattle and colts. But there aren’t any more now, you see, because the range isn’t open like it used to be. There are too many people now. And, besides, no one would be likely to rustle cattle which are branded already. You see,” she went on, “Mr. Cunningham’s mean, though he’s very rich, and he makes his men round up his cattle ever so many times even when they’re not branding or shipping, so he can tell if a single one is missing. Every one laughs at him, because people in our country think it’s very small to make such a fuss over one steer when you have hundreds.”
“I should think so. And how many cattle have you?”
“Oh, not so many now as we used to have,” she explained, while he listened interested. “You see, sir, the range isn’t so open any more, because people are taking up the land from the government every year; and so there isn’t so much room for the cattle. Besides, we’ve been irrigating the last few years and raising wheat, because by and by almost all the cattle land that’s good for grain will be gone. The boys are rounding up our cattle to-day. I guess we have perhaps a thousand. Does that seem many to you?” she added, because the old gentleman looked go surprised.
Yes, it did seem a good number to him, he told her, since he was accustomed to seeing five or six meek old cows in a New England pasture. Then he asked her more and more about her home and the land about, and, as she told him, she liked him more and more, and wished he were her grandfather. He, in turn, told her that he lived in Boston, but had been to Portland, Oregon, on a visit to his married daughter, and was now returning home. “Then he will go all the way,” thought Virginia gladly. Also, after she had candidly told him that he looked like a soldier, he told her that he had been a Colonel in the Civil War, and ended by telling her that his name was Colonel Carver Standish. At that Virginia felt a longing to take from her bag one of her new cards and present it to him; but it would be silly, she concluded, since he had only told her his name, and so she said quite simply:
“And my name is Virginia Hunter,” which pleased the old Colonel far better than a calling card would have done.
“And now, Miss Virginia,” he said, “if you will pardon me for what looks like curiosity, will you tell me about Jim and William? I couldn’t exactly help overhearing what you said to your father. I hope you’ll excuse me?”