Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1084
“I tried office work.”
“I’ll bet you were no shining success.”
“Certainly I was a complete failure.”
“I worked in an office for almost two years, and went to the university besides,” she said casually.
“Indeed? Tell me about it.”
“You’d be interested only in the formulas, and the boys who were chasing me for dates between times. And there were hardly enough kicks in that to intrigue you.”
“Kicks! I wonder where I heard that expression before?”
“This conversation is getting nowhere fast,” she said, getting up. “You just saw wood and say nothing — at least nothing intelligent.”
Andrew rested on his saw and ventured to look at her.
“Martha, why all this preamble?”
“Andrew, will you drive me into town?” she asked.
“Can’t you go with Jim and Sue?”
“Uncle is going with them. They’ll have the car full. Besides, I can’t stand Jim’s driving.”
“Take my car. I guess it’ll hold together for another trip.”
“You won’t drive me, even when I ask you as a favor?”
“But I have so much work to do. The ranch ought not be left completely alone. And—”
“Please, Andrew?”
“Well, all right, if you insist.”
“Thanks,” she cried eagerly. “The Earnshaw girls are giving a party tonight and I’d like to go. They’re nice...Will you take me, Andrew?”
Taken quite by surprise, he dropped the bucksaw, and while stooping to recover it he asked: “Why do you ask me — when you’ve a dozen admirers who would jump at the chance?”
“They’ve overdone the jumping, Andy,” she returned, averting her eyes. “Same as I overdid — my fun...I don’t see why you and I can’t be friends. Platonic friends, you know.”
“There is no such thing as Platonic friendship...Besides you are forgetting that you hate me.”
“I — I don’t exactly hate you now, Andrew. Of course, I don’t love you — but—”
“Listen. Will you please stop harping on that? I know you don’t love me. You told me. And once was enough.”
“All right. All right. But, will you take me?” she pleaded, coming close to him.
“Very well, Martha, I’ll be glad to escort you if you really want me to. When do you wish to go into town?”
“Right away,” she said, glad-eyed and eager again. “Andrew, you’re really awfully nice. You’re so dependable. I was rather afraid to ask you. I wish youyou — that you could look on me as a — a sister. Then it’d be so — so nice to have a — a brother to ask favors of, without his wanting to marry me or something for my pains.”
“Well, Martha Ann, even though I can’t qualify as a brother, I can try to be agreeable.”
“Oh, Andy, I’m truly sorry I can’t love you the way you want me to,” she said, and her voice sounded sad. Then she stopped. “There I go again. I’m the limit! But it’s all the fault of you men. You never seem satisfied just to be friends...I’ll rustle and get ready while you get out of those overalls. I’ve a new dress, a lovely blue. Bought the goods and made it myself. Out of the money you paid me back!...But I’ll have to shop a little today. You can pick me up at Glemm’s before supper. I don’t want to stay there. You can take me to that Mexican café where they have such delicious fried chicken. Then we’ll go to the movies — there’s a Western — and after that I can dress for the party. Is that all right?”
“I am entirely at your disposal,” he replied, with an exaggerated bow.
“Still you’re not smiling. Won’t you get even a little kick out of it, Andy?”
“I suppose I will. Another jealous kick under the slats.”
“Andrew Bonning, if you love me — as you swear you do — and if you are with me you ought to make an effort to be happy whatever I am, do, feel or say,” she announced regally, with her head held high.
“My back’s too stiff, or I’d get down and kiss your feet,” he retorted. “I’m sure you’re razzing me...The funny thing, Martha, is that I shall be glad to be with you — whatever you are, do, feel or say.” She saw that he was quite in earnest.
“Funny?” she asked with a doubtful smile, and suddenly reached out and gently touched his arm. “I love it when you’re being funny.” Then she ran toward the house, calling: “Rustle now. Get out your old bus.”
As it turned out, if either Martha or Andrew had had expectations of anything romantic taking place on the ride into town, they were disappointed. For the rancher, at the last minute, elected to ride with them, which meant that what was to have been a twosome laden with all sorts of possibilities became a sedate threesome.
Not improbably this bore upon the young lady’s mind, for after a while she stopped babbling and fell pensive.
“Andrew, let me drive,” she begged after they had gone a short distance. And once seated at the wheel she sped up the ancient car until Mr. Bligh first cautioned and then importuned her to slow down. As for the vehicle’s owner, he did not care how fast she drove; if they skidded over the bank into the river or wrapped the machine around a tree, at least he would be with her. To such a sad pass had love reduced him!
“I’ll get out at the Glemm’s,” said Martha Ann, as they entered town. The car drew up in front of the Glemm’s and she gathered up a large parcel, her bag and hat, and received her jacket from Andrew. As she stepped down, she gave him one of those quick nods of her head which were always so disconcerting. “You’ll come for me about five?” she asked as seriously as if it were of very great importance to her.
“Okay. Unless I get pinched by my friend Slade,” replied Andrew.
“If you have to punish another of my admirers, won’t you please wait till tomorrow?” taunted Martha Ann.
“Miss Dixon, if I have to lick someone, it will be the first person wearing pants that I see with you,” he retorted.
“Andrew, you and Martha seem to be speaking to each other, at least,” remarked Bligh, drily.
“Yes. It’s encouraging...Where shall I drop you, boss?”
“Wal, I want to see Jim before I look up anybody, especially McCall...Jim has got me all haywire with his hints and hunches.”
“Me, too. Has he given you any facts?”
“No, except that he is goin’ to Arizona in the hopes of raisin’ money for me. I didn’t take him too seriously at first. But I can see that he’s got somethin’ up his sleeve.”
“I’ll say he has. Trust him, Mr. Bligh. And no matter what McCall has up his sleeve, you discount it. I want to be with you today when you meet him.”
They went up one side of the street and down the other, at length locating Fenner on the outskirts of town near the stockyards. He was talking to a Westerner named Stanley, whom Andrew knew by sight. Stanley was proprietor of a shady poolroom and rooming quarters for cowboys. He also ran a feed store and livery stable in connection with a large corral.
“Fenner, I can have the pick of them hosses hyar in ten days,” Stanley was saying, as Bonning followed Bligh out of the car.
“Jim, are you hoss-tradin’?” queried Bligh with a laugh. “Give me a minute. Then I’ll run along an’ you can—”
“Hell!” ejaculated Fenner, looking with sharp eyes beyond Bligh. “McCall! An’ it’s a safe bet he’s run you down.”
Andrew wheeled to see Sheriff Slade and a short wide-shouldered, large-headed man get out of a car. Andrew would not have recognized in the smug, coarse features the McCall he had spied upon that memorable night of his arrival in this town.
“Howdy, Bligh. Was on my way out to your ranch when someone said you had come in,” spoke up McCall sharply.
“How’d do,” returned the rancher curtly, and nodded to the sheriff. “Just as well, I was on my way to see you.
“Good. We’ll settle this deal pronto,” said McCall, his light steely eyes glinting. “Come into Stan’s place here, where we can be alone.”
“Right here will do. An’ I’m not talkin’ any more business without a witness on my side. Fenner’s my foreman, an’ this is Andrew Bonnin’.”
“All right,” snarled McCall. “Are you goin’ to settle?”
“Not on the terms you stated.”
“There ain’t any other terms.”
“Then we’re stuck,” replied Bligh stubbornly, spreading his hands.
At this juncture Andrew heard a jingling, slow step behind him and felt a slap on the back. Texas Jack had evidently come out of the poolroom to join the group. The cowboy had been drinking, yet he appeared quite sober, but ugly. Face and hair flamed red.
“Howdy, all. I reckon I’ll jest have to butt in,” he drawled in his cool, slow way. But his usual geniality had given place to a reckless insolence. His piercing, blue eyes fell upon Slade and McCall with unmistakable intent.
“Hyar, puncher, watch yore step or I’ll run you in,” blusteringly interposed Slade.
“Sheriff, you cain’t arrest me for insistin’ on my money. Mac owes me plenty an’ I’m askin’ fer it now. Heah’s witnesses.”
Andrew could see in a flash that a startling revelation was about to ensue which could mean a change in the fortunes of everyone present. Texas had chosen an opportune moment for himself as well as for Bligh. Fenner’s nudge alerted Andrew. McCall eyed the cowboy with exasperation.
“I don’t owe you any money, Tex.”
“The hell you don’t!” shouted the cowboy, moving in a little. He was slow and easy. Slade regarded him uncertainly, but the little rancher manifestly had no doubts about his mastery of the situation.
“Bligh, never mind this drunken puncher. He’s looked on red-eye till he’s red all over. Once more I tax you. Will you settle with me?”
“No. Do your damnedest, McCall,” replied Bligh, trembling with anger.
Andrew concluded that it was time to put in his oar, which he imagined might be something of a surprise to the greedy little bargain driver.
“McCall, would you settle for cash?” he interposed calmly.
“I reckon I would. But what’s the sense of talkin’ cash? Bligh hasn’t got two-bits, an’ you’re only a windy tenderfoot.”
Andrew stepped forward and slapped the rancher’s face so hard that his head jerked back and his hat fell off.
“Take it slow, McCall,” cut in Andrew swiftly.
“Don’t call names and don’t jump to conclusions. I am Bligh’s partner.”
McCall stepped back, an angry tide of color flooding his face.
“Slade, arrest this feller,” he shouted.
“Don’t do anything so foolish,” cried Andrew in disgust. “Slade won’t arrest me, because I won’t stand for it again. He may be your paid henchman, but he’s not a complete fool.”
The sheriff, who had made a threatening gesture, suddenly checked it when he saw a lightning-swift movement on the part of Andrew. He might have guessed that, before he could get his gun half out, he would be knocked down by a fist whose devastating weight he already had witnessed.
Fenner eased himself into the foreground. “McCall, fer a Westerner, you strike me as shore dumb. You’re in a corner.”
“You calf-rustlin’ Texan!” exploded McCall furiously. “Have you gone an’ framed me?”
“Wal, not yet. But I ain’t so damned patient, either,” drawled the cowboy.
McCall stared at Texas for a moment and then turned to Bonning. “Bonnin’, I’ll settle with Bligh fer one thousand dollars,” he declared.
“You’re a highway robber!”
“How much will you pay?” fumed the cattleman.
“Not a plugged dime. What’s more, Mister McCall, you won’t burn another Double X brand on one single calf of ours.”
That seemed to be like waving a red flag in the face of a bull. Andrew had seen his advantage and meant to push it.
“Mister Easterner, the Double X outfit is mine. An’ thet insinuation comes from this thievin’ cowpuncher. To hide his own crooked tracks!”
“You’re a liar, McCall,” returned Bonning coldly. Several cowboys had collected in front of the poolroom during the altercation. A Mexican and a cattleman had lounged out of the feed store. All these spectators added strength to Bligh’s cause. “You know you’re a liar. But I can prove it.”
“Slade, stop this damned rantin’,” cried the irate cattleman.
“Stop it yoreself. It’s directed at you,” replied the sheriff testily.
“I won’t stay hyar an’ listen any longer. This Bonnin’ has framed somethin’ with his low-down redheaded puncher pard.”
McCall waved his arm in passionate finality, and lurched into a stride that would take him away from the scene.
“Mac, better stick it out,” warned Stanley.
Andrew leaped to grasp McCall’s coat and spin the cattleman around. “Not so fast, McCall. You started this, and you’ll see it through,” he declared firmly.
“Slade, do you hear this fresh tenderfoot threatenin’ me?” shouted McCall.
“Sure I’m threatening you. You stand your ground or you’ll measure your length on it, and damn pronto.”
Slade interposed a hand. “I’m advisin’ you to hold yore hosses, Mac,” he said hurriedly. “You’re on the track of business, not a fight. An’ I’m tellin’ you, if this slugger nails you one, you’ll think a mule had kicked you.”
“Lost your nerve, hey, sheriff?” queried McCall in furious scorn. “Bluffed by a redheaded cowpuncher! He’s the one you’re ‘fraid of. But neither he nor his pard can bluff me...Now, Bonnin’, I’m damn good an’ fed up. I’ll take a thousand dollars or take over Bligh’s property.”
“You’ll take a stiff poke in your ugly snoot if you don’t cool off. Who the hell do you think you are?...McCall, you don’t represent this Wyoming community or the law. You can’t scare me. I’ve got plenty on you.”
“So you been hintin’! Wal, spit it out!”
“All right,” replied Andrew rapidly, as he glanced around. “Stanley, get this, and you fellows also...McCall, one night late in May, you went on foot out of this town. You met a mounted cowboy on the road, and the two of you left the road to talk without being seen. But you were seen. You leaned against a big rock and the cowboy sat his horse close by you. Somebody saw you, and what’s more — heard you.”
“Aw, hell! What you givin’ me? Some cock an’ bull stuff?” ejaculated McCall, angrily. But it was noticeable that the red of his face had faded.
“Somebody heard every damned word you and that cowboy uttered,” continued Andrew. “And I’m that somebody. I had driven my car off the road behind a thicket. I saw you coming. There was something sneaky about the way you left the road. So I crouched down behind some bushes, not five good steps from you both and I listened. I heard every word of that plot. Now how’d you like to have me tell what you and the cowboy plotted to do in a courtroom?”
“Mistook your man, Bonnin’,” replied McCall hoarsely.
“I heard your name. McCall. I saw your face when the cowboy lighted his cigarette. I recognize you now.”
“Jest a frame-up to save Bligh,” the cattleman muttered. But he was looking down.
“No, it’s not a frame-up. And if you don’t want that story told in court, you lay off Bligh.”
“Bonnin’, I ain’t hankerin’ fer lawsuits or gossip no more’n you. I deny thet I was the man you seen. But such talk won’t do me no good. I’m willin’ to call the deal off.”
“Okay, it’s off. We’ll meet over at the hotel and draw up a little paper to that effect.”
“My word is good,” growled McCall. He had perceptibly weakened and grown restless toward the end of the interview.
Texas Jack flipped away his cigarette and elbowed Andrew aside to confront the cattleman.
“Mac, yore word ain’t wuth a damn!” he drawled. “I been layin’ back heah listenin’. An’ now I say thet’ll be aboot all the fixin’ you fellers will do. Yore deal with Bligh is off. But with me you can bet yore sweet life it’s on!”
The insolent, cool-voiced cowboy manifestly had the power to infuriate McCall.
“You’re responsible for this holdup,” he fumed.
“Ump-umm. I ain’t responsible fer nothin’ nor nobody but myself. Air you gonna fork over my dough?”
“What you aimin’ at — blackmail?”
“I ain’t above aimin’ at you, if you press me, Mac. Come across, you dirty crook!”
“You never rode fer me, Texas Jack. I don’t owe you anythin’. You been drinkin’. Your head’s muddled.”
“Mac, you overlook what kind of a man you’re up agin. I’m wise now. You’re a hawg, a two-bit greedy cattleman who hires grubline cowpunchers to do his dirty work...What’re you gonna do aboot all thet Bligh stock we ironed yore Double X on?”
McCall jerked up as if a galvanized current had coursed up his frame.
“Puncher, I told you I’d have none of your rustlin’ deals,” he shouted stridently, his thick neck bulging purple. “If you put my brand on Bligh’s stock, you did it on your own hook, by Gawd!”
“An’ you deny you was the man Bonnin’ saw meet me thet night?” queried the Texan. “You deny he heahed you make me thet proposition? I was thet cowboy. I agreed to brand mavericks fer you. I took yore message to a cowboy who’d agree to kill Bligh’s cows an’ slap yore brand on his calves...An’ we played yore dirty game. All fer nothin’?”
“You’re lyin’, Texas. You can’t palm your thievin’ off on me.”
“McCall, you’re wuss’n a thief.”
“I’ll blow your laig off — you lyin’ redheaded calf rustler,” roared McCall, his right hand going significantly to his hip.
The cowboy’s brown hand flashed down and out. Andrew saw the barrel of a gun stuck against McCall’s prominent abdomen.
“Don’t move!” His voice was cold.
But McCall did move. It might have been mere nervous contraction or a further action to draw. He quivered. His crooked arm straightened. Then came a muffled report. Texas leaped back to cover Slade.
“My — Gawd! He’s — bored me!” gasped McCall, his working visage distorting. As his big hands came around to clasp his abdomen, a gun clattered to the ground.
