Tonto Basin, page 10
“Wal, child, I didn’t mean to … to make you cry,” said the old man feelingly, and he averted his troubled gaze. “Never mind what I said. I’m an old meddler. I reckon nothin’ I could do or say would ever change what’s goin’ to happen. If only you wasn’t a girl! Thar I go ag’in … Ellen, face your future an’ fight your way, all youngsters hev’ to do thet. An’ it’s the right kind of fight thet makes the right kind of man or woman. Only you must be sure to find yourself. An’ by thet I mean to find the real true honest-to-God best in you an’ stick to it an’ die fightin’ for it. You’re a young woman, almost, an’ a blamed handsome one. Which means you’ll hev’ man trouble an’ a harder fight. This country ain’t easy on a woman when once slander has marked her.”
“What do I care for the talk down in that basin,” returned Ellen. “I know they think I’m a hussy. I’ve let them think it. I’ve helped them to.”
“You’re wrong, child,” said Sprague earnestly. “Pride an’ temper! You must never let anyone think bad of you, much less help them to.”
“That’s everybody down there,” cried Ellen passionately. “I hate them so, I’d glory in their thinkin’ me bad. My mother belonged to the bad blood in Texas. I am her daughter. I know who and what I am! That uplifts me wherever I meet the sneaky sly suspicions of them basin people. It shows me the difference between them and me. That’s what I glory in.”
“Ellen, you’re a wild, headstrong child,” rejoined the old man in severe tones. “Word has been passed against your good name … your honor … an’ haven’t you given cause fer thet?”
Ellen felt her face blanch and all her blood rush back to her heart in sickening force. The shock of his words was like a stab from a cold blade. If their meaning, and the stern just light of the old man’s glance, did not kill her pride and vanity, they surely killed her girlishness. She stood mute, staring at him, with her brown trembling hands stealing up toward her bosom, as if to ward off another and a mortal blow.
“Ellen!” burst out Sprague hoarsely. “You mistook me. Aw, I didn’t mean … what you think. I swear … Ellen, I’m old an’ blunt. I ain’t used to wimmen. But I’ve love for you, child, an’ respect, jest the same as if you was my own … an’ I know you’re good. Forgive me … I meant only … hev’n’t you been, say, sort of careless … ?”
“Careless?” queried Ellen bitterly and low.
“An’ powerful thoughtless an’ … an’ blind … lettin’ men kiss you an’ fondle you … when you’re really a growed-up woman now?”
“Yes … I have,” whispered Ellen.
“Wal, then why did you let them?”
“I … I don’t know. I didn’t think. The men never let me alone … never … never. I got tired of everlastingly pushin’ them away and sometimes … when they were kind … and I was lonely for something, I … I didn’t mind if one or another fooled ’round me. I never thought. It never looked as you have made it look. Then … those few times ridin’ the trail to Grass Valley … when people saw me … then I guess I encouraged such attentions. Oh, I must be … I am a shameless little hussy!”
“Hush thet kind of talk,” said the old man as he took her hand. “Ellen, you’re only young an’ lonely an’ bitter. No mother … no friends … no one but a lot of rough men! It’s a wonder you hev’ kept yourself good. But now your eyes are open, Ellen. They’re brave an’ beautiful eyes, girl, an’, if you stand by the light in them, you will come through any trouble. An’ you’ll be happy. Don’t ever forgit thet. Life is bad enough, God knows, but it’s unfailin’ true in the end to the man or woman who picks the best in them an’ stands by it.”
“Uncle John, you talk so … so kindly. You make me have hope. There seemed really so little for me to live for … hope for. But I’ll never be a coward again … nor a thoughtless fool. I’ll find some good in me … or make some … and never fail it, come what will. I’ll remember your words. I’ll believe the future holds wonderful things for me. I’m only eighteen. Shore, all my life won’t be lived heah. Perhaps this threatened fight over sheep and cattle will blow over. Somewhere there must be some nice girl to be a friend … a sister to me … and maybe some man who’d believe in spite of all they say … that I’m not a hussy.”
“Wal, Ellen, you remind me of what I was wantin’ to tell you when you first got here. Yesterday I heard you called thet name in a barroom an’ thar was a feller thar who raised hell. He near killed one man an’ made anther plumb eat his words. An’ he scared that crowd stiff.”
Old John Sprague shook his grizzled head and laughed, leaning upon Ellen as if the memory of what he had seen had wanned his heart.
“Was it … you?” asked Ellen tremulously.
“Me. Aw, I wasn’t nowhere. Ellen, this feller was quick as a cat in his actions an’ his words was like lightnin’.”
“Who?” she whispered.
“Wal, no one else but a stranger jest come to these parts … an Isbel, too. Jean Isbel.”
“Oh,” murmured Ellen faintly.
“In a barroom full of men almost all of them in sympathy with the sheep crowd … most of them on the Jorth side … this Jean Isbel resented an insult to Ellen Jorth.”
“No!” cried Ellen. Something terrible was happening to her mind or her heart.
“Wal, he sure did,” replied the old man, “an’ it’s goin’ to be good for you to hear all about it.”
Chapter Five
Old John Sprague launched into his narration with evident zest. “I hung ’round Greaves’s store most of two days. An’ I heered a heap. Some of it was jest plain ole men’s gab, but I reckon I got the drift of things concernin’ Grass Valley. Yestiddy mornin’ I was packin’ my burros in Greaves’s back yard, takin’ my time carryin’ out supplies from the store. An’ at last, when I went in, I seen a strange feller was thar. Strappin’ young man … not so young, either … an’ he had on buckskin. Hair black as my burros, dark face, sharp eyes … you’d’ve took him fer an Injun. He carried a rifle … one of them new Forty-Fours … an’ also somethin’ wrapped in paper thet he seemed particular careful about. He wore a belt ’round his middle an’ thar was a Bowie knife in it, carried like I’ve seen scouts an’ Injun fighters hev’ on the frontier in the ’Seventies. Thet looked queer to me, an’ I reckon to the rest of the crowd thar. No one overlooked the big six-shooter he packed Texas fashion. Wal, I didn’t hev’ no idee this feller was an Isbel until I heered Greaves call him thet.
“‘Isbel,’ said Greaves, ‘reckon your money’s counterfeit hyar. I cain’t sell you anythin’!’
“‘Counterfeit? … not much,’ spoke up the young feller, an’ he flipped some gold twenties on the bar, where they rung like bells. ‘Why not? Ain’t this a store? I want a cinch strap.’
“Greaves looked particular sore thet mornin’. I’d been watchin’ him fer two days. He didn’t hev’ much sleep, fer I had my bed back of the store an’ I heered men come in the night an’ hev’ long confabs with him. Whatever was in the wind hadn’t pleased him none. An’ I calkilated thet young Isbel wasn’t a sight good fer Greaves’s sore eyes, anyway. But he paid no more attention to Isbel. Acted jest as if he hedn’t heered Isbel say he wanted a cinch strap.
“I stayed inside the store then. Thar was a lot of fellers I’d seen, an’ some I knowed. Couple of card games goin’ an’ drinkin’, of course. I soon gathered thet the general atmosphere wasn’t friendly to Jean Isbel. He seen thet quick enough, but he didn’t leave. Between you an’ me, I sort of took a likin’ to him. An’ I sure watched him as close as I could, not seemin’ to, you know. Reckon they all did the same, only you couldn’t see it. It got jest about the same as if Isbel hadn’t been in thar, only you knowed it wasn’t really the same. Thet was how I got the hunch the crowd was all sheepmen or their friends. The day before I’d heered a lot of talk about this young Isbel, an’ what he’d come to Grass Valley fer, an’ what a bad hombre he was. An’ when I seen him, I was bound to admit he looked his reputation.
“Wal, pretty soon in comes two more fellers, an’ I knowed both of them. You know them, I’m sorry to say. Fer I’m comin’ to facts now thet will shake you. The first feller was your father’s Mexican foreman, Lorenzo, an’ the other was Simm Bruce. I reckon Bruce wasn’t drunk, but he’d sure been lookin’ on red licker. When he seen Isbel, darn me if he didn’t swell an’ bristle all up like a mad ole turkey gobbler.
“‘Greaves,’ he said, ‘if thet feller’s Jean Isbel, I ain’t hankerin’ fer the company you-all keep.’ An’ he made no bones of pointin’ right at Isbel. Greaves looked up, dry an’ sour, an’ he bit out spiteful-like … ‘Wal, Simm, we ain’t got a hell of a lot of choice in this heah matter. Thet’s Jean Isbel, shore enough. Mebbe you can persuade him thet his company an’ his custom ain’t wanted ’round heah.’
“Jean Isbel set on the counter an’ took it all in, but he didn’t say nothin’. The way he looked at Bruce was sure enough for me to see thet thar might be a surprise any minnit. I’ve looked at a lot of men in my day, an’ can sure feel events comin’. Bruce got himself a stiff drink an’ then he straddles over the floor in front of Isbel.
“‘Air you Jean Isbel, son of ole Gass Isbel?’ asked Bruce, sort of lolling back an’ givin’ a hitch to his belt.
“‘Yes, sir, you’ve identified me,’ said Isbel, nice an’ polite.
“‘My name’s Bruce. I’m rangin’ sheep heahaboots, an’ I hev’ interest in Kurnel Lee Jorth’s bizness.’
“‘How do, Mister Bruce,’ replied Isbel, very civil an’ cool as you please. Bruce had a dry eye fer the crowd thet was now listenin’ an’ watchin.’ He swaggered closer to Isbel.
“‘We heered you-all come into the Tonto Basin to run us sheepmen off the range. How aboot thet?’
“‘Wal, you heered wrong,’ said Isbel quietly. ‘I came to work fer my father. Thet work depends on what happens.’
“Bruce began to get redder of face an’ he shook a husky hand in front of Isbel. ‘I’ll tell you this heah, my Nez Percé Isbel,’ an’, when he sort of choked fer more wind, Greaves spoke up … ‘Simm, I shore reckon thet Nez Percé handle will stick!’ An’ the crowd haw-hawed. Then Bruce got goin’ ag’in. ‘I’ll tell you this heah, Nez Percé, there’s been enough happen’ already to run you out of Arizona.’
“‘Wal, you don’t say! What, for instance?’ asked Isbel, quick an’ sarcastic.
“Thet made Bruce bust out puffin’ an’ spittin’. ‘Wha-ttt, fer instance? Hah! Why, you damn’ half-breed, you’ll git run out fer makin’ up to Ellen Jorth. Thet won’t go in this heah country. Not for any Isbel.’
“‘You’re a liar!’ called Isbel, an’ like a big cat he dropped off the counter. I heered his moccasins pat soft on the floor, an’ I bet to myself thet he was as dangerous as he was quick. But his voice an’ his looks didn’t change even a leetle.
“‘I’m not a liar!’ yelled Bruce. ‘I’ll make you eat thet. I can prove what I say … you was seen with Ellen Jorth … up on the rim … day before yestiddy. You was watched. You was with her. You made up to her. You grabbed her an’ kissed her! An’ I’m heah to say, Nez Percé, thet you’re a marked man on this range.’
“‘Who saw me?’ asked Isbel, quiet and cold. I saw then thet he had turned white in the face.
“‘You cain’t lie out of it!’ hollered Bruce, wavin’ his hands. ‘We got you daid to rights. Lorenzo saw you … followed you … watched you.’ Bruce pointed at the grinnin’ greaser. ‘Lorenzo is Kurnill Jorth’s foreman. He seen you maulin’ Ellen Jorth. An’ when he tells the Kurnel an’ Tad Jorth an’ Jackson Jorth … haw, haw, haw! … why, hell’d be a cooler place fer you than this heah Tonto.’
“Greaves an’ his gang had come ’round, sure tickled to their gizzards at this mess. I noticed howsomever thet they was Texans enough to keep back to one side in case this Isbel started any action. Wal, Isbel took a look at Lorenzo. Then with one swift grab he jerked the little greaser off his feet an’ pulled him close. Lorenzo stopped grinnin’. He began to look a leetle sick. But it was plain he had right on his side.
“‘You say you saw me?’ demanded Isbel.
“‘Sí, señor,’ replied Lorenzo.
“‘What did you see?’
“‘I see señor an’ señorita. I hide by manzanita. I see señorita like grande señor ver mooch. She like señor’s keese. She.…’
“Then Isbel hit the leetle greaser a back-handed crack in the mouth. Sure it was a crack. Lorenzo went over the counter backwards an’ landed like a pack load of wood. An’ he didn’t get up.
“‘Mister Bruce,’ said Isbel, ‘an’ you fellers who heered thet lyin’ greaser … I did meet Ellen Jorth. An’ I lost my head. I … I kissed her. But it was an accident. I meant no insult. I apologized … I tried to explain my crazy action. Thet was all. The greaser lied. Ellen Jorth was kind enough to show me the trail. We talked a little. Then … I suppose … because she was young an’ pretty an’ sweet … I lost my head. She was absolutely innocent. Thet damned greaser told a bare-faced lie when he said she liked me. The fact was she despised me. She said so. An’, when she learned I was Jean Isbel, she turned her back on me an’ walked away.’”
At this point of his narrative the old man halted as if to impress Ellen not only with what had just been told but particularly what was to follow. The reciting of this tale had evidently given Sprague an unconscious pleasure. He glowed. He seemed to carry the burden of a secret that he yearned to divulge. As for Ellen she was deadlocked in breathless suspense. All her emotions waited for the end. She begged Sprague to hurry.
“Wal, I wish I could skip the next chapter an’ hev’ only the last to tell,” rejoined the old man, and he put a heavy but solicitous hand upon hers. “Simm Bruce haw-hawed loud. ‘Say, Nez Percé,’ he calls out, most insolent-like, ‘we-all air too good sheepmen to hev’ the wool pulled over our eyes. We shore know what you meant by Ellen Jorth. But you wasn’t smart when you told her you was Jean Isbel! Haw, haw!’
“Isbel flashed a strange, surprised look from the red-faced Bruce to Greaves, and to the other men. I take it he was wonderin’ if he’d heered right or if they’d got the same hunch thet’d come to him. An’ I reckon he determined to make sure.
“‘Why wasn’t I smart?’ he asked.
“‘Shore you wasn’t smart if you was aimin’ to be one of Ellen Jorth’s lovers,’ said Bruce with a leer. ‘Fer, if you hadn’t given yourself away, you could hev’ had her easy enough.’
“There was no mistakin’ Bruce’s meanin’, an’, when he got it out, some of the men thar laughed. Isbel kept lookin’ from one to another of them. Then facin’ Greaves, he said deliberately … ‘Greaves, this drunken Bruce is excuse enough fer a showdown. I take it thet you an’ he an’ all these fellers are sheepmen, an’ you’re goin’ on Jorth’s side of the fence in the matter of this sheep rangin’.’
“‘Wal, Nez Percé, I reckon you hit plumb center,’ said Greaves dryly. He spread wide his big hands to the other men, as if to say they’d might as well own the gig was up.
“‘All right. You’re Jorth’s backers. Have any of you a word to say in Ellen Jorth’s defense? I tell you the Mexican lied. Believin’ me or not doesn’t matter. But this vile-mouthed Bruce hinted against thet girl’s honor.’
“Ag’in some of the men laughed, but not so noisy, an’ there was a nervous shufflin’ of feet. Isbel looked sort of queer. His neck had a bulge ’round his collar. An’ his eyes was like black coals of fire.
“Greaves spread his big hands again, as if to wash them of this part of the dirty argument. ‘When it comes to any wimmen, I pass … much less play a hand fer a wildcat like Jorth’s gurl,’ said Greaves, sort of cold an’ thick. ‘Bruce shore ought to know her. Accordin’ to talk heahaboots an’ what he says, Ellen Jorth has been his gurl fer two years?’
“Then Isbel turned his attention to Bruce an’ I fer one begun to shake in my boots.
“‘Say thet to me!’ he called.
“‘Shore she’s my gurl, an’ thet’s why I’m a-goin’ to hev’ you run off this range.’
“Isbel jumped at Bruce. ‘You damned drunken cur! You vile-mouthed liar! I may be an Isbel, but, by God, you can’t slander thet girl to my face!’ Then he moved so quick I couldn’t see what he did, but I heered his fist hit Bruce. It sounded like an axe ag’in’ a beef. Bruce fell clear across the room. An’ by Jiminy, when he landed, Isbel was thar. As Bruce staggered up all bloody-faced, bellowin’ an’ spittin’ out teeth, Isbel eyed Greaves’s crowd an’ said … ‘If any of you make a move, it’ll mean gun play!’ Nobody moved, thet’s sure. In fact none of Greaves’s outfit was packin’ guns, at least in sight. When Bruce got all the way up … he’s a tall fellar … why Isbel took a full swing at him, an’ knocked him back across the room ag’in’ the counter. You know when a fellar’s hurt by the way he yells. Bruce got thet second smash right on his big red nose. I never seen anyone so quick as Isbel. He vaulted over thet counter jest the second Bruce fell back on it, an’ then with Greaves’s gang in front, so he could catch any moves of theirs, he jest slugged Bruce right an’ left, an’ banged his head on the counter. Then, as Bruce sunk limp an’ slipped down, lookin’ like a bloody sack, Isbel let him fall to the floor. Then he vaulted back over the counter. Wipin’ the blood off his hands, he throwed his kerchief down in Bruce’s face. Bruce wasn’t dead or bad hurt. He’d jest been beaten bad. He was moanin’ an’ slobberin’. Isbel kicked him, not hard, but jest sort of disgustful. Then he faced thet crowd. ‘Greaves, thet’s what I think of your Simm Bruce. Tell him next time he sees me to run or pull a gun.’ An’ then Isbel grabbed his rifle an’ package off the counter an’ went out. He didn’t even look back. I seen him mount his horse an’ ride away. Now, girl, what hev’ you to say?”
