The Princess And The Puma

O Henry

There had to be a king and queen, of course. The king was a terrible old man who wore six-

shooters and spurs, and shouted in such a tremendous voice that the rattlers on the prairie

would run into their holes under the prickly pear. Before there was a royal family they

called the man "Whispering Ben." When he came to own 50,000 acres of land and more

cattle than he could count, they called him O'Donnell "the Cattle King."

The queen had been a Mexican girl from Laredo. She made a good, mild, Colorado-claro

wife, and even succeeded in teaching Ben to modify his voice sufficiently while in the

house to keep the dishes from being broken. When Ben got to be king she would sit on the

Josefa O'Donnell was the surviving daughter, the princess. From her mother she inherited

warmth of nature and a dusky, semi-tropic beauty. From Ben O'Donnell the royal she

acquired a store of intrepidity, common sense, and the faculty of ruling. The combination

was one worth going miles to see. Josefa while riding her pony at a gallop could put five

out of six bullets through a tomato-can swinging at the end of a string. She could play for

hours with a white kitten she owned, dressing it in all manner of absurd clothes. Scorning a

pencil, she could tell you out of her head what 1545 two-year-olds would bring on the hoof,

at $8.50 per head. Roughly speaking, the Espinosa Ranch is forty miles long and thirty

broad--but mostly leased land. Josefa, on her pony, had prospected over every mile of it.

Every cow-puncher on the range knew her by sight and was a loyal vassal. Ripley Givens,

strayed yearlings. He was late in setting out on his return trip, and it was sundown when he

struck the White Horse Crossing of the Nueces. From there to his own camp it was sixteen

miles. To the Espinosa ranch it was twelve. Givens was tired. He decided to pass the night

at the Crossing.

There was a fine water hole in the river-bed. The banks were thickly covered with great

trees, undergrown with brush. Back from the water hole fifty yards was a stretch of curly

mesquite grass--supper for his horse and bed for himself. Givens staked his horse, and

spread out his saddle blankets to dry. He sat down with his back against a tree and rolled a

cigarette. From somewhere in the dense timber along the river came a sudden, rageful,

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shivering wail. The pony danced at the end of his rope and blew a whistling snort of

comprehending fear. Givens puffed at his cigarette, but he reached leisurely for his pistol-

belt, which lay on the grass, and twirled the cylinder of his weapon tentatively. A great gar

plunged with a loud splash into the water hole. A little brown rabbit skipped around a

bunch of catclaw and sat twitching his whiskers and looking humorously at Givens. The

two of ground coffee. Black coffee and cigarettes! What ranchero could desire more?

In two minutes he had a little fire going clearly. He started, with his can, for the water hole.

When within fifteen yards of its edge he saw, between the bushes, a side-saddled pony with

down-dropped reins cropping grass a little distance to his left. Just rising from her hands

and knees on the brink of the water hole was Josefa O'Donnell. She had been drinking

water, and she brushed the sand from the palms of her hands. Ten yards away, to her right,

half concealed by a clump of sacuista, Givens saw the crouching form of the Mexican lion.

His amber eyeballs glared hungrily; six feet from them was the tip of the tail stretched

straight, like a pointer's. His hind-quarters rocked with the motion of the cat tribe

preliminary to leaping.

gouging!" and then he crawled from under the lion like a worm, with his mouth full of grass

and dirt, and a big lump on the back of his head where it had struck the root of a water-elm.

The lion lay motionless. Givens, feeling aggrieved, and suspicious of fouls, shook his fist at

the lion, and shouted: "I'll rastle you again for twenty--" and then he got back to himself.

Josefa was standing in her tracks, quietly reloading her silver- mounted .38. It had not been

a difficult shot. The lion's head made an easier mark than a tomato-can swinging at the end

of a string. There was a provoking, teasing, maddening smile upon her mouth and in her

dark eyes. The would-be-rescuing knight felt the fire of his fiasco burn down to his soul.

Here had been his chance, the chance that he had dreamed of; and Momus, and not Cupid,

had presided over it. The satyrs in the wood were, no doubt, holding their sides in hilarious,

"Oh, no," said Givens, quietly; "that didn't hurt." He stooped ignominiously and dragged his

best Stetson hat from under the beast. It was crushed and wrinkled to a fine comedy effect.

Then he knelt down and softly stroked the fierce, open-jawed head of the dead lion.

"Poor old Bill!" he exclaimed mournfully.

"Why, Bill. I've been looking for him all day. You see, he's been our camp pet for two

years. Poor old fellow, he wouldn't have hurt a cottontail rabbit. It'll break the boys all up

when they hear about it. But you couldn't tell, of course, that Bill was just trying to play

with you."

Josefa's black eyes burned steadily upon him. Ripley Givens met the test successfully. He

stood rumpling the yellow-brown curls on his head pensively. In his eye was regret, not

unmingled with a gentle reproach. His smooth features were set to a pattern of indisputable

sorrow. Josefa wavered.

"What was your pet doing here?" she asked, making a last stand. "There's no camp near the

"The old rascal ran away from camp yesterday," answered Givens readily. "It's a wonder the

reckon he must have been worried pretty desperate or he wouldn't have run away. He was

always afraid to get out of sight of camp."

Josefa looked at the body of the fierce animal. Givens gently patted one of the formidable

paws that could have killed a yearling calf with one blow. Slowly a red flush widened upon

the dark olive face of the girl. Was it the signal of shame of the true sportsman who has

brought down ignoble quarry? Her eyes grew softer, and the lowered lids drove away all

their bright mockery.

"I'm very sorry," she said humbly; "but he looked so big, and jumped so high that--"

of meat. When he saw you he thought he was going to get something to eat from you."

"I might have shot you!" she exclaimed. "You ran right in between. You risked your life to

save your pet! That was fine, Mr. Givens. I like a man who is kind to animals."

Yes; there was even admiration in her gaze now. After all, there was a hero rising out of the

ruins of the anti-climax. The look on Givens's face would have secured him a high position

Josefa's conscience drove her to make further amends. She held out her hand penitently.

There was a bright, unshed drop in each of her eyes.

"Please forgive me, Mr. Givens, won't you? I'm only a girl, you know, and I was frightened

at first. I'm very, very sorry I shot Bill. You don't know how ashamed I feel. I wouldn't have

done it for anything."

Givens took the proffered hand. He held it for a time while he allowed the generosity of his

nature to overcome his grief at the loss of Bill. At last it was clear that he had forgiven her.

"Please don't speak of it any more, Miss Josefa. 'Twas enough to frighten any young lady

the way Bill looked. I'll explain it all right to the boys."

were sweet--oh, sweet and pleading with gracious penitence. "I would hate anyone who

It was now twilight. Of course Miss Josefa could not be allowed to ride on to the ranch-

house alone. Givens resaddled his pony in spite of that animal's reproachful glances, and

rode with her. Side by side they galloped across the smooth grass, the princess and the man

who was kind to animals. The prairie odours of fruitful earth and delicate bloom were thick

and sweet around them. Coyotes yelping over there on the hill! No fear. And yet--

Josefa rode closer. A little hand seemed to grope. Givens found it with his own. The ponies

kept an even gait. The hands lingered together, and the owner of one explained:

"I never was frightened before, but just think! How terrible it would be to meet a really wild

lion! Poor Bill! I'm so glad you came with me!"

"He rode in with me," said Josefa. "I lost my way and was late."

"Much obliged," called the cattle king. "Stop over, Rip, and ride to camp in the morning."

But Givens would not. He would push on to camp. There was a bunch of steers to start off

on the trail at daybreak. He said good-night, and trotted away.

that old Gonzales cut off with his machete. You couldn't have made a better shot yourself,

daddy."

"Bully for you!" thundered Whispering Ben from the darkness of the royal chamber.

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