Bat Wing Bowles   By: Dane Coolidge (1873-1940)

BY DANE COOLIDGE

AUTHOR OF "HIDDEN WATER" AND "THE TEXICAN"

Illustrated by D. C. Hutchison

NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY STREET & SMITH, NEW YORK

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages

March, 1914

[Illustration: "'WHY, HELLO THERE, COWBOY!' SHE CHALLENGED BLUNTLY"]

CONTENTS

I MR. BOWLES

II THE FAR WEST

III THE BAT WING RANCH

IV BRIGHAM

V WA HA LOTE

VI THE ROUND UP

VII THE QUEEN AT HOME

VIII A COWBOY'S LIFE

IX REDUCED TO THE RANKS

X THE FIRST SMILE

XI CONEY ISLAND

XII PROMOTED

XIII A LETTER FROM THE POSTMISTRESS

XIV THE ENGLISH LORD

XV BURYING THE HATCHET

XVI THE STRAW BOSS

XVII AND HIS SQUIRREL STORY

XVIII THE ROUGH RIDERS

XIX A COMMON BRAWL

XX THE DEATH OF HAPPY JACK

XXI A CALL

XXII THE HORSE THAT KILLED DUNBAR

XXIII THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY

ILLUSTRATIONS

"'Why, hello there, cowboy!' she challenged bluntly"

"Only Bowles, the man from the East, rose and took off his hat"

"'You want to be careful how you treat these Arizona girls!'"

"The man killer charged at him through the dust"

BAT WING BOWLES

CHAPTER I

MR. BOWLES

It was a fine windy morning in March and Dixie Lee, of Chula Vista, Arizona, was leaving staid New York at the gate marked "Western Limited." A slight difference with the gatekeeper, who seemed to doubt every word she said, cast no cloud upon her spirits, and she was cheerfully searching for her ticket when a gentleman came up from behind. At sight of the trim figure at the wicket, he too became suddenly happy, and it looked as if the effete East was losing two of its merriest citizens.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Lee!" he said, bowing and smiling radiantly as she glanced in his direction. "Are you going out on this train?"

"Why yes," she replied, gazing into her handbag with a preoccupied frown. "That is, if I can find my ticket!"

She found it on the instant, but the frown did not depart. She had forgotten the young man's name. It was queer how those New York names slipped her memory but she remembered his face distinctly. She had met him at some highbrow affair it was a reception or some such social maelstrom and, yes, his name was Bowles!

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Bowles," she exclaimed as he gallantly took her bag; but a furtive glance at his face left her suddenly transfixed with doubts. Not that his expression changed far from that but a fleeting twinkle in his eyes suggested some hidden joke.

"Oh, isn't your name Bowles?" she stammered. "I met you at the Wordsworth Club, you know, and "

"Oh, yes quite right!" he assured her politely. "You have a wonderful memory for names, Miss Lee. Shall we go on down to your car?"

Dixie Lee regarded the young man questioningly and with a certain Western disfavor. He was one of those trim and proper creatures that seemed to haunt Wordsworth societies, welfare meetings, and other culture areas known only to the cognoscente and stern eyed Eastern aunts. In fact, he seemed to personify all those qualities of breeding and education which a long winter of compulsory "finishing" had taught her to despise; and yet well, if it were not for his clothes and manners and the way he dropped his "r's" he might almost pass for human. But she knew his name wasn't Bowles.

There had been a person there by the name of Bowles, but the hostess had mumbled when she presented this one and they had talked quite a little, too. She glanced at him again and a question trembled on her lips; but names were nothing out where she came from, and she let it go for Bowles.