Free The Cowpuncher by Bradford Scott

the crunch of her boot in the dirt echoed it.
    She still felt the shock of his lips meeting hers,of his arms suddenly thrown around her, of the queer, half-surprised light in his eye, of the eager look on the face that stared after her. At least, she had thought it was eager then. Now in the face of Huck’s desertion, she wondered. At one moment, she was sure of it. Sure. Then a doubt would spring up in her mind. Over and over, endlessly. Certainty, doubt, then certainty again.
    Again she asked herself why that sudden kiss had happened this time. She had seen Huck off on previous trips, many times, and the good-bye had been casual, friendly. But this time, without warning, emotion had swept over her like a stampeding herd, leaving her giddy and faint. Why? She could not say. All she knew was that when she saw Huck Brannon on the point of leaving, she hadn’t wanted him to go.
    She had told her father that she wasn’t sure when he asked her if she had gone soft on that “young hellion.” But now she knew. Not only soft, but soft enough to go chasing after him, determined to find him if it meant staying on his trail for months.
    It was true she had little to go on, so far as his feelings were concerned—only that look on his face which she was certain she had seen when she kissed him. That and the many hours they had spent together. Certain things which seemed inexplicable then, but on which her new emotions had shed new light. Once he had gazed at her with an odd, questioning look in his eye, then quickly turned when he saw she was watching him. And told her that he meant to settle down with a familyas soon as he had the money to buy a spread and stock it with cattle.
    She had brought up the question of his being so footloose. Then she had pointed out that to raise a family he first needed a wife. She remembered his reply:
    “Why, sure, Sue, that’s what I’ve been thinking. As a matter of fact, I reckon I’ve got one already picked out.”
    A sharp pang had cut through her heart like a knife. But now she recalled it half hopefully—almost sure he had meant her. And she blamed herself for having been so blind then. Because he’d never spoken to her that way again.
    The square sign, lettered in black and nailed beside the door read, Rooming House. Underneath these two words, in smaller characters: M. Hennessey, Prop.
    She had heard vague reports of Ma Hennessey, and had composed a picture of her out of scraps of talk on the boys’ returns from Kansas City. Why the boys continued to frequent this particular rooming house, she could never understand, for Ma Hennessey was reputed to have a roaring, slashing tongue and the disposition of a catamount. But year after year the Bar X kept going back.
    She had also heard that Ma Hennessey was a giantess afraid of no man—and was physically capable of bouncing out any puncher for whatever reason. Indeed, one of the boys swore he had seen her pick up a puncher in her two big hands andheave him through the nearest window as casually as she would bite into an apple.
    In spite of all these warnings, Sue was hardly prepared for the figure that answered her knock.
    Ma Hennessey stood about six feet four, with a frame that filled the doorway. Hulking arms, like an ape’s, hung down her sides. And attached to their ends were two huge paws with fingers of iron.
    But what struck Sue most was Ma Hennessey’s face. Separated from the body, it would have been difficult to decide whether the face was a man’s or woman’s. In fact, it looked neither. It possessed a cold, sexless hardness that was repellently fascinating.
    “Well—what do you want?” Like her face, Ma Hennessey’s voice was hard and expressionless.
    “I wonder if you can help me?” asked Sue.
    “Looking for a room?”
    “No—I was looking for—”
    “This is a rooming house, miss. If you ain’t looking for a room, you better go somewhere else.” Ma Hennessey started to close the door in Sue’s