The golden west boys, Injun and Whitey to the rescue

by William S. Hart

BOOTS

The green of the prairie had given way to brown, and the brown to white, which rolled off to the sky-line and the hills in dazzling billows, in the cold light of the sun. For winter had the Bar O in its grip. And though winter was no gentle thing in Montana, there was a tingle in the cold, sharp air that made a boy want to whoop and to get on his snowshoes and go after rabbits, which wise old Nature had also turned white, so that they could blend in with the color of the landscape and the better avoid their enemies. Not that Injun ever whooped; he never did. His people always had reserved that form of expression for warlike purposes.

There were many things the boys could do in winter, but these were forgotten for a time by Whitey, for a great event was about to take place. His father was to return to the ranch from New York, stopping over at St. Paul, on his way, to buy supplies. And as the snow was not too deep for sleighing, Whitey drove down to the Junction, with Bill Jordan, to meet Mr. Sherwood. And outside Whitey was all wrapped up in a buffalo coat, and inside he was so warm with excitement that the coat seemed hardly necessary.

Now, of course, Whitey was awfully glad to see his father, and to hear the news about his mother and sisters, and about Tom Johnson, and George and Bobby Smith, and others of his boy friends. But after he had heard all this there was another thing that naturally came to his mind. Mr. Sherwood would not come back to the ranch without bringing Whitey some sort of present, and his father was singularly silent about what this was. In fact, he had not said anything about it at all. And it was after supper, and Mr. Sherwood was unpacking his trunk, when he rather carelessly said, "Oh, here's something I brought for you," and gave Whitey a parcel.

Whitey thanked his father, and undid the parcel, and he dropped the things that were in it, and his eyes popped out, and for a moment he could hardly breathe, he was so excited, for they were Boots!

And when Whitey recovered a bit he rushed over and actually hugged his father.

Perhaps you would like to know why a pair of boots would cause all this feeling in Whitey. For one thing, it was because he never had owned any. In New York all the boys wore shoes, and when Whitey had come to the ranch he had worn them, too, until the soles of his feet had become hard enough, like Injun's, for him to go barefoot, which he delighted in doing.

But in the late fall, and the spring, when it was colder, he again followed Injun's lead, and wore moccasins. Buckskin moccasins, with little bead decorations. In the cold of winter, when the snow was deep, and when the big thaws came, Whitey wore heavy, moccasin-like muck-lucks, made of buckskin, which laced high, nearly to his knees, and over the tops of which hung the tops of heavy, woolen socks.

These comprised Injun and Whitey's footwear for the seasons. But there was one thing that Whitey envied the cowboys on the ranch their boots. For you must know that there are two things on which a puncher spends his money extravagantly—his boots and his saddle. Unless he happens to be a Mexican—then he spends it on his hat, too.