Not far away was the town of Amarilla (pronounced Ah-ma-ree-ah). There were plenty of women and girls there, but Martha knew none of them well except the preacher's daughter, Scylla. Martha and Scylla were great friends. They saw each other as often as Martha could get time and permission to ride in to Amarilla. Scylla could seldom visit the ranch, for she was an invalid. When she had been a very little girl, a horse had kicked her. She was ill for many weeks, and after the doctor had told her parents that she would live, he had added that she might never have full use of her right side again. It was partially paralyzed.
But Martha was seldom lonely. For in the daytime there was always something to do around the ranch or store. She had her pet calf to attend to, for one thing. He was given to her by a cow-boy who bought a saddle from her brother one day, and who cried that evening when Martha played "Home, Sweet Home" for him on her guitar. The calf was in several respects remarkable. In the first place, he was almost black—an unusual thing among Texas cattle. In the second place, he was not quite black, for he had a white spot on his forehead shaped almost exactly like Martha's guitar. That was why they called him "Gitter." In the third place, Martha had taught him several tricks. He had learned to low three times when he was thirsty, and twice when he was hungry; he would stand on his hind legs and paw the air with his front legs for a moment when Martha cried, "Up, Gitter!" and he would lie down and roll over on the grass when she commanded "Down, Gitter!" She had a cat that would climb up on her shoulder whenever he got the chance, and a clever dog that liked the cat. She had two horses, also. One of them was an ordinary "cow-pony," but the other was a big black Spanish horse who seemed to love Martha as well as she loved him. When she was on his back he never varied his long, swinging, graceful gallop by jumping or shying, but if any one else rode him, he was apt to make them hold fast when he went around corners. His name was "Dan." Martha thought almost as much of the cow-pony, though, as she did of Dan, and called him "Texas," after the great State she lived in.
Her brother, too, did many things to make her happy. In the long winter evenings he often read to her for hours, or taught her new airs on the guitar, of which he was a master; and sometimes, when summer came, they took long rides off on the prairie together. These occurred when there was a band of cow-boys camped near by, and John generally combined business with pleasure by talking with them about cattle and saddles. But that did not detract at all from Martha's enjoyment of the rides. She always carried her guitar swung over her shoulder by a strap when she went out with her brother to see the cow-boys.
"SOMETIMES WHEN SUMMER CAME THEY TOOK LONG RIDES ON THE PRAIRIE TOGETHER."
The little girl's life was a queer one, but then, she was a queer little girl and among queer people. For instance, there was "Mister Jim," who came up to the store every few weeks to lay in supplies. Mister Jim was one of the men who were hired to keep wild animals out of the Cañon. The Cañon was a favorite place for Amarilla's excursions and picnics, and was very beautiful; but it communicated with other cañons into which picnics could never penetrate, and in which there were wild beasts of many kinds. To prevent these unpleasant visitors from wandering where they were not wanted, men were stationed at various places to shoot them. Mister Jim was the one nearest to Martha's home, and he was Martha's stanch friend. He never went to the ranch without some gift for her—the soft pelt of an animal he had shot, the gay wings of a strange bird, or some crystal or stone he had found in his explorations of the Cañon. Martha returned his admiration. He lived in a cave, and that interested her—she thought she might like to try it herself some time. She considered his clothes very grand and impressive. In the Cañon he wore a leather suit; but when he visited the ranch he was always dressed in black velvet trimmed with gold braid, and wore a high, pointed hat wound with red ribbons like those of the seldom-appearing Mexican cow-boys, only much finer.
But the "loco men" were Martha's favorites. There were three of them—Big Billy, Little Billy, and One-eyed Saylo. Why Saylo was called "one-eyed" was a mystery, for he had two of the very best eyes for spying the hated loco-weed ever known in that region. Loco-weed grows, when unmolested, to a height of sixteen or eighteen inches, and its queer leaves shine and sparkle in the sunlight like silver and crystals. Its effects on horses or cattle that happen to eat it are worse than deadly. One good, big meal of loco-weed will ruin an animal forever.
A locoed horse, once locoed, is locoed until he dies. Apparently he may recover wholly, but he is not a safe animal to ride, for at any moment he may stagger and fall, or go suddenly mad. A locoed horse is almost certain to show it when he becomes heated by rapid traveling or hard work. The great danger from locoed cattle is, that they will begin to tumble around in the midst of a herd and frighten their fellows into a stampede.
As it can work such ruin, in order to avoid the danger of having their animals locoed, the ranchmen, in those regions where the weed is plentiful, hire men to search for it, cut it down, and destroy it. Of these men who make their living in searching for the dreaded loco-weed and destroying it wherever found were Big Billy, Little Billy, and One-eyed Saylo.