Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1095
“Darn if I savvy, altogether. Didn’t you hear any of our talk?”
“No. I reckoned the less I heard the better. Then Hank couldn’t razz me. But I had a hunch of what he was up to.”
Jim did not press the question. He carried his rifle back into the cabin, rather ashamed of his over-haste and feeling already curious enough to call on Heeseman. Later, Happy Jack went hunting in the hope of packing in a haunch of venison. Jim had the place to himself until sunset, when the cook returned, staggering under his load.
“Like shootin’ cows,” he said, depositing his load. “Got a nice fat buck. I skinned out a ham an’ hung up the rest. We’ll take a hoss tomorrow an’ pack it down.”
They had supper, after which Jack smoked and talked, while Jim listened. Evidently Happy Jack had taken a liking to him. Jim went to bed early, not because he was sleepy, but to keep from calling on that fellow, Heeseman.
How many nights Jim Wall had lain down under the dark trees to wakefulness, to the thronging thoughts that must mock the rest of any man who had strayed from the straight and narrow path! It tormented him at certain times. But that never kept the old concentrated pondering over tomorrow from gaining control of his consciousness. Men of his type made a complexity of self-preservation.
There had been no hesitation about Hank Hays declaring himself in regard to Heeseman. Callous, contemptuous; Hays had indicated the desirability of ridding the range of Heeseman. But Heeseman had been subtle.
Unquestionably his motive had been to undermine Hays in Jim’s regard. And a few questions, and an assertion or two, had had their effect. Jim made the reservation that he had not accepted Hays on anything but face value. Still, the robber had gradually built up a character of intent force, cunning, and strength. These had crashed, though there was no good reason for that. Jim had not accepted Hays’ word for anything.
Reduced to finalities, Jim found that Heeseman’s last suggestive statement was at the bottom of the trouble. Not that Hays had been a rustler partner of Heeseman, not that he had been or was still a Mormon, but that he was not a square partner! This stuck in Jim’s craw.
Why this seemed true puzzled Jim. He knew nothing about Mormons. And now he guessed they were secretive. Heeseman had simply verified a forming but still disputed suspicion in Jim’s mind — that Hank Hays had evil designs upon Herrick’s sister. Heeseman and Hays had probably known for weeks that this English girl was expected to arrive.
Suppose he had! What business was that of Jim’s? None, except that he now formed one of Hays’ band and as such had a right to question activities. Rustling cattle, at least in a moderate way, was almost a legitimate business. Ranchers back to the early days of the cattle drives from Texas had accepted their common losses. It had been only big steals that roused them to ire and action, to make outlaws out of rustlers. Nevertheless, it was extremely doubtful, out here in the wilds of Utah, that even a wholesale steal would be agitating. To abduct a girl, however, might throw Western interest upon the perpetrators. Hays’ object assuredly was to collect ransom. In that case he would be pretty much of a hog.
Still, that had not been Heeseman’s intimation, nor had it been Jim’s original suspicion. He gave it up in disgust. Time would tell. But he did not feel further inclined to call upon Heeseman. He would stick to Hays, awaiting developments.
The ensuing day passed uneventfully. No one of Smoky’s outfit showed up, nor did Hays return. Jim waited for Herrick to give him orders, which were not forthcoming. The rancher was chasing jack rabbits and coyotes with the hounds.
Next morning Jim made it a point to ride over to the barns. The rancher came down in a queer costume. The red coat took Jim’s eye. A motley pack of hounds and sheep-dogs was new to Jim, as he had not seen or heard any dogs about the ranch. Jim was invited to ride along with Herrick and the several cowboys. They went by Heeseman’s camp, which was vacant. Jim was to learn that the rancher had put the Heeseman outfit to work on the cutting and peeling of logs up on the slope, preparatory to the erection of a new barn.
Jack rabbits were as thick as bees. The cowboys led the dogs, which soon became unmanageable and bolted. Then the race was on. Where the ground was level and unobstructed by brush or cut up by washes Herrick did fairly well as to horsemanship, but in rough going he could not keep to the English saddle. He would put his horse at anything and he had two falls, one pretty jarring.
“Boss, shore as the Lord made little apples you’ll kill yourself with thet pancake,” said one of the long-legged cowboys, most solicitously.
“You are alluding to my saddle?” queried Herrick, standing to be brushed off.
“Thet’s no saddle. It’s a pancake,” was the reply.
Then ensued a most interesting argument which Herrick, despite his persistence, certainly lost. He appealed to Jim.
“Mr. Herrick, in this rough country you want a cow-saddle,” replied Jim. “You see, aside from heavy cinches and stirrups, and room to tie your rope, canteen, rifle-sheath, saddle-bags, and slicker, or even a pack, you want something to stick on. For so much of the riding is up and down steep hills.”
Notwithstanding this, Herrick finished out the hunt. He was funny and queer, but he was game, and Jim liked him. On the way back Jim amused the Englishman by shooting running jack rabbits with his Colt. He managed to kill three out of five, to Herrick’s infinite astonishment and admiration.
“By Jove! I never saw such marksmanship,” he ejaculated.
“That was really poor shooting.”
“Indeed! What would you call good shooting, may I ask?”
“Well, riding by a post and putting five bullets into it. Or splitting the edge of a card at twenty feet.”
“Let me see your gun?”
Jim Wall broke his rule when he handed it over, butt first.
Herrick looked at it with mingled feelings. “Why, there’s no trigger!” he exclaimed, in utter astonishment.
“I do not use a trigger.”
“Thunderation, man! How do you make the pistol go off?”
“Look here. Let me show you,” said Jim, taking the gun. “I thumb the hammer . . . like that.”
“By Jove! But please explain.”
“Mr. Herrick, the cocking of a gun and pulling the trigger require twice as much time as thumbing. For example, supposing the eyesight and the draw of two men are equal, the one who thumbs his hammer will kill the other.”
“Ah! — Er — Yes, I see. Most extraordinary. Your American West is quite bewildering. Is this thumbing a common practice among you desperadoes?”
“Very uncommon. So uncommon that I’ll be obliged if you will keep it to yourself.”
“Oh! Yes, by Jove! I see. Ha! Ha! Ha! I grasp the point. . . . Wall, you’re a comforting fellow to have round the place.”
Herrick was evidently a free, careless, impressive man who had been used to fulfilling his desires. His eccentricity was not apparent, except in the fact of his presence there in wild Utah. He liked horses, dogs, guns, the outdoors, physical effort. But he had no conception whatever of his remarkable situation in this unsettled country.
When they arrived at the barn he asked Jim to ride up to the house, where they would have a brandy and soda and look over some English guns.
The big living-room had three windowed sides and was bizarre and strange to Jim, though attractive. Herrick had brought with him a quantity of rugs, skins, pictures, weapons, and less easily named articles, which, along with Western furniture and blankets, an elk head and a bear skin, made the room unique.
“I’ve sworn off drinking,” said Jim, lifting his glass. “But one more, Mr. Herrick. To your good luck!”
The heavy English guns earned Jim’s solemn shake of head. “No good at all here, Mr. Herrick. Not even for grizzly. Get a forty-four Winchester.”
“Thank you. I shall do so. I’m fond of the chase.”
Herrick had his head near a window, and upon it, standing out in relief from books, papers, ornaments, was a framed picture of a beautiful, fair-haired, young woman. The cast of her features resembled Herrick’s. That was a portrait of his sister.
Jim carried a vision of it in his mind as he rode back down the bench. He cursed the damned fool Englishman who was idiot enough to bring such a girl out to Utah. This was not Africa, where a white woman was safe among cannibals and Negroes, so Jim had read. Then he cursed Hays. And lastly he cursed, not himself, but the predicament into which he had allowed himself to become inveigled.
“I’ll have to stick it out,” he muttered, that fair face and shining hair before his inward eye. “I might have chucked this outfit.”
CHAPTER 6
“WAL, I RUN into Smoky’s outfit over the divide,” announced Hays, complacently. “Damme if they wasn’t drivin’ over two thousand head.”
Jim had nothing to say, though there were strong queries on his lips. Hays’ plans were carrying through. The robber had a peculiar radiance.
“Dumplin’s! Dog-gone, Happy, but I’m a hawg. Gimme some more.”
“I’ll have to hoof it up to see the boss tonight,” he said, after finishing the late supper. “Put me wise to what’s come off in my absence.”
“We’ve had no sign of Smoky’s outfit. So we don’t know where his camp is.”
“I do. It’s not more’n a mile from where I showed you the brakes of the Dirty Devil.”
“Up or down?”
“Up. Back up in a canyon. Good place an’ out of sight. I gave Smoky orders to pack supplies back from Grand Junction every trip.”
“Hank, reckon you’re figger’n on a long hole-up somewheres,” said Happy Jack, with a grin.
“Have you run into Heeseman?” went on Hays, ignoring Jack’s hint.
“Yes. He called on us,” replied Jim, casually.
“What?”
“I told you, Hank. Heeseman came down to see us.”
“Hell you say!” ejaculated Hays, certainly astounded. “Tryin’ to pick a fight?”
“Not at all. I think he was curious to look me over.”
“Wal! What satisfaction did he get?”
“He’s pretty shrewd, Hank. He sized me up. If that is why he called, he got satisfaction all right.”
“Did he say anythin’ about me?” demanded Hays, sullen fire lighting his eyes.
“That was the funny part of it,” replied Jim, frankly lying. “He never mentioned you.”
“Humph! I don’t savvy that dodge. It’s no good. Heeseman is the slickest customer in Utah. Just tryin’ to scrape acquaintance, eh?”
“I think so. It struck me that he might be wanting to throw his outfit with yours.”
“Ahuh. I had thet hunch. It might wal be,” replied Hays, meditatively. “Won’t hurt for us to lay low, lettin’ him make advances. Heeseman’s a slow cuss. But he’s as sure as a rattler.”
“Herrick put Heeseman’s outfit to cutting and peeling logs. He wants more horses, and a barn for them.”
“Thet’s good. It’ll keep that outfit from ridin’ down Limestone way. An’ the cowboys — where have they been?”
“Plenty of work around, but little riding, except after the hounds. I had a chase after jack rabbits with the boss.”
“Hounds an’ jacks! What next? However, it’s not so bad. Anythin’ for us but regular ranchin’. Haw! Haw!”
“Herrick took me up to see his guns,” went on Jim, easily, with furtive eyes on Hays. “Have you seen them?”
“Shore. Cannons, I’d say. Worse than the old buffalo needle-gun.”
“I’d hate to be bored by that five-hundred express, I think he called it.”
“Humph! If I gotta be bored, the bigger the bullet the better.”
“That’s a beautiful living-room of Herrick’s. Have you been in there?”
“Yes. He makes that his office. Funny lot of knick-knacks. There’s one thing I’m a-goin’ to own, though.”
Jim laughed. He did not need to ask any more. Suddenly then a tigerish sensation shot through his vitals. It was like an unexpected attack.
“I’d like to own all that stuff,” he said, carelessly. “Well, what’s on the cards now? You’re back. Smoky’s outfit is on the job. Heeseman is stalled, I think, though I’ll not swear to that.”
“We’ll aim to keep everybody workin’ hard around this neck of the woods. An’ we’ll pitch in ourselves. That’s all on the cards for the present.”
Three days of genuine labor around the ranch, more especially in construction of the new barn, left Jim so happily tired each night that he would have liked it to go on indefinitely. Work was good. Jim could handle tools, and that soon became manifest. But on the fourth day, toward the close, Herrick approached Jim.
“Wall, I want you to go to Grand Junction tomorrow after my sister,” he said. “Take the cowboy Barnes with you. His home is in Grand Junction. Have him hitch the black team to the buckboard and start early. My sister will not arrive until the following day or the next. Usually that stage gets into Grand Junction before ten o’clock. Start back at once and come speedily.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Wall, resuming his work. But out of the tail of his eye he saw Hays.
“Boss, I reckon I’ll go along with Wall,” he said, coolly.
“Hays, I did not ask your services,” returned Herrick. “You are needed here.” His tone as much as his words settled the matter.
Jim purposely delayed his hour of quitting, in order to avoid Hays. His state, not improbably, was identical with Hays’, but Jim did not care to have the robber know that. By the time he had arrived at their cabin, however, he had himself well in hand, though still perplexed and vaguely startled that he had been chosen by Herrick. He sustained some other feeling, too; and if it were not a crowing over Hays he failed to interpret what it was.
Dusk was falling. The day had been warm for April. The spring frogs were shrilly peeping. Jim stopped a moment on the porch to gaze out over the darkening ranch. Cattle were lowing. This feeling he had now was evasive, but he sustained it long enough to realize regret. He liked ranch work. For years he had missed it. Sighing, he went on to the washbench.
Inside the cabin Hays appeared in a brown study, but he had nothing to say upon Jim’s entrance. At Jack’s cheery call they took their seats.
Hays did not eat as heartily as usual. And at table, when he took a moment to speak, he was jolly. After the meal ended he lighted his pipe, and without facing Jim he said:
“Jim, had the boss mentioned this here trip before?”
“No. I was as surprised as you.”
“Wal, suppose you make some excuse an’ let me go instead?”
“What?” exclaimed Jim, blankly.
“I could use a couple of hours in Grand Junction,” rejoined Hays. “There was one buyer I didn’t see. So this offers a good chance.”
“But Herrick won’t like that, Hays,” protested Jim. “He turned down your proposal cold.”
“Shore, he did. Damn funny, I take thet, too. But if you wouldn’t or couldn’t go, I’d be next choice.”
“He’d think it strange,” said Jim, sharply, trying to pierce through the back of Hays’ head.
“What’n’hell do I care what Herrick thinks?” retorted Hays, losing patience. “It you’ll do what I say I’ll get to go.”
“Hays, you surprise me. Here you are on the eve of a big deal — the biggest of your life. And you risk angering Herrick at this stage. Man, can’t you think? It would be a bad move. A mistake. For heaven’s sake, why are you so keen on going to Grand Junction? What for?”
“I told you,” snapped Hays, taking refuge in anger.
“Hays, I refuse,” declared Jim, shortly. He must keep up his pretence of cautiousness for all their sakes, but he wanted to flash out stingingly with the truth. “Herrick ordered me to go. And I’m going.”
Hays puffed his pipe. He was beaten. And now he must save his face.
Jim turned to the surprised cook.
“Happy, I’ll want breakfast at daylight tomorrow.”
“Any time, Jim.”
Finally Hays veered around heavily, with traces of anger vanishing. “Wal, I reckon mebbe you’re right, Jim,” he said, honestly. “Only it didn’t seem so.”
By sunrise next day Jim Wall was on his way to Grand Junction. Young Barnes, the cowboy, had his hands full with the spirited team.
Frost sparkled on the sage and rocks; the iron-shod hoofs rang on the hard road; the swift pace engendered a stinging wind; deer bounded ahead to disappear in the brush on the slope; bold coyotes stood and gazed.
“Are the horses gun-shy?” asked Jim, his lips near the driver’s ear.
“No. But they’re feelin’ their oats an’ I reckon you hadn’t better shoot yet, leastways fer nothin’.”
Jim had to wrap the robe about him, and then he felt uncomfortably cold, until a rising grade slowed down the team and the sun began to warm his back. Then he applied himself to a twofold task — that of winning the driver’s confidence and gaining what information was available.
He asked numberless questions about the country, in fact whatever popped into his mind. Trails, waterholes, ranchers, riders, the pass they were climbing, timber and game in the mountains — all these claimed their share of Jim’s interest, but he did not yet touch on any other than casual things.
The pass was long, of gradual ascent, and afforded little view. Once over, however, the scene ahead was superb, a great valley ending in a long red and black range. Jim kept sharp watch for a road coming in on the left. He was not greatly concerned about cattle tracks, however, because there were plenty under the wheels of the buckboard. And it was a hard, white gravel-and-limestone road, on which it was difficult to judge tracks.
“I like the country powerful well,” said Jim, frankly. “But I’m not so crazy about my job.”
“Bet you was a cowboy once,” replied Barnes, with a grin.
“You bet. And sure wish I was still. But I got to going wrong, and first thing I shot a man. . . . Heigho! I wasn’t any older than you.”
“What’s yer job hyar?” asked the boy, emboldened by Jim’s confidence.
