Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1104
The robber chieftain did not see any levity in the circumstance.
“Hell, no. We don’t want Jim shootin’ at us any more’n he wants us shootin’ at him.” That was a distinction with a difference. But Smoky was sincere, Lincoln was dubious, and Hays was deceitful.
“Fellows, make all the fun you want out of my perfectly good intention of supplying meat for supper,” he said, genially. “But don’t joke about my shooting. I’m sensitive.”
“Can you hit a bottle in the air?” queried Smoky.
“I wouldn’t if it was full.”
“Aw, no foolin’. Can you, Jim?”
“Whenever you want to bet, come on.”
“Hey, save your ammunition, you cowboys,” interrupted Hays, gruffly. “We’ll git all the shootin’ you want, mebbe. . . . Jim, take a snack of grub, an’ then come to work with us.”
CHAPTER 11
WHILE THEY WERE at it Smoky suggested they erect a sun and rain shelter for the prisoner, and Jim casually seconded the proposition. Hays consented with a bad grace. So before dark they built one for Miss Herrick that would add materially to her comfort.
“Reckon this cottonwood grove is her private grounds, fellers,” added Smoky.
In the main they were kindly disposed and amenable. Lincoln’s bitterness toward the chief, however, rather augmented, if anything. He said, “I got it figgered thet Hank reckoned this grove was his private grounds.”
“Wal, he figgered wrong, then,” snapped Smoky. “It ain’t no fault of ourn if this gurl is hyar. But since she is, we’ll see she gets treated like a lady.”
That was strong speech, yet passed over by Hays. He had resourcefulness, after he had accomplished his design in getting the girl there.
The shelter extended from the edge of the grove, where her tent stood, out far enough to permit of other conveniences. A tiny stream ran out from under the trees. Jim banked it up with clean red rocks, forming a fine little pool of clear cold water. Smoky, who had skill and artistry, deftly fashioned a rude armchair, which, when covered with saddle-blankets, made an acceptable chair. Hays, not to be wholly outdone, cut and carried a great armload of ferns.
“Come out, miss,” he called into the tent. “We’re makin’ you comfortable. An’ heah’s some ferns to put under your bed.”
Helen emerged quickly enough, her eyes suspiciously red, but that did not mar the flash of them. Jim tried to turn away, only he could not. Hays carried the bundle of ferns inside and spread them out.
“I’ll make my bed, please,” she called, impatiently, whereupon the robber chief crawled from the tent.
“Hays, am I to gather from this kindly service that my enforced stay here with you will be indefinite?” she queried.
“Wal, it looks like thet. But what else can I do?” returned Hays, avoiding her gaze.
“You can send Jim Wall and another of your men back to Star Ranch. I’ll write a letter to my brother to pay and ask no questions nor make any moves.”
“Shore I reckon Jim would go. It’s easy to see thet. But none of my regular men would risk it,” returned Hays.
“There’s a better way, Hank,” spoke up Smoky. “Send Jim an’ me back with the girl. If she’ll promise ‘t we’ll get the money.”
“I give my word,” swiftly agreed Miss Herrick.
“It ain’t to be thought of,” returned the robber, dryly.
Jim watched his opportunity to give Helen a warning look when Hays could not see. She had forgotten his cautioning her. And that halted whatever retort she had on her lips. Smoky, however, was making good Jim’s estimate of him — that he was deep, and would answer unexpectedly to any situation.
“Hell you say, Hank. It is to be thought of,” he rejoined, coolly. “You nor nobody else can think my thoughts.”
“Wal, I mean I’m not thinkin’ that way, an’ as I’m boss of this outfit, what I say goes. Do you savvy?”
“Shore. Thet’s short an’ sweet.”
“Wal then, let’s have no more to say. When it suits me — which is when it’s safe to send fer thet ransom money — I’ll do it, an’ not before.”
He stalked away toward the cook shelter, evidently to secure a bucket and basin for Miss Herrick. Happy Jack loudly disclaimed any intention of letting go any of his few and precious utensils. Jim heard the chief say: “Wal, at thet she don’t need a bucket. Them two lady-killers dammed up the brook for her. I’ll take a basin an’ call it square.”
During this interval Helen had appealed to Jim with eyes so eloquent of fear and hope that he almost threw up his hands in despair.
“You — what’s your name?” she asked, turning to Smoky.
“Wal, you can call me Smoky,” drawled that worthy, with an inscrutable smile. But something in her, beauty or purity or spirit, had reached his depths.
“Jim has made you a friend — to help me?”
“I reckon so, but fer Gawd’s sake don’t talk so loud. Try to savvy this deal an’ what’s your part in it.” Smoky wheeled to his task as Hays strode back into earshot.
Miss Herrick entered her tent, where Jim heard her spreading blankets upon the ferns. After that little more was spoken between the men, and presently, at Hays’ suggestion, they quit for the day.
“Whar you bunkin’, Smoky?” inquired Hays.
“Under the cliff with Sparrow. Thet poor devil needs nursin’.”
“Sorry aboot him. But we could have got in a hell of a jam over ther. Figger it out, if we’d been a quarter hour later.”
“Wal, thet’d been the end of Hank Hays an’ outfit,” remarked Smoky, caustically.
“An inch is as good as a mile. . . . Jim, whar you sleepin’?”
“There’s my bed and pack and saddle,” replied Wall, pointing. “I’ll leave them there till it rains.”
Hays made no comment. They repaired to Happy Jack’s shelter and to their evening meal. Later by the light of the camp fire Jim saw Helen come out of her tent to walk up and down in the dusk. And she got nearly as far as where Jim’s things lay in the lea of a low shelf. He wondered if she was keen enough to calculate that he would be nearest to her and that he was the lightest of sleepers.
Darkness soon settled down, and with it the robbers, worn out with their labors. Jim stayed up long enough to see Hays stretch in his blankets under Happy’s shelter. So far so good! A heavy breath of oppression eased off Jim’s chest. It could have been far worse. His impulse to appeal to Smoky had been an inspiration. Still, he had intuition. Smoky was probably as great a rogue as any unhanged, yet he had subtle qualities that men like Jim felt in extremities. Before this game was far spent Smoky would loom splendidly, of that Jim was certain. He went to bed, and for a long hour kept himself awake with poignant thoughts, while he listened and watched.
The next day came, and was like the preceding, with its camp tasks and improvements, the guard duty, attendance upon Sparrow, and the universal if covert observance of Miss Herrick. To do her credit, she kept out of her tent, ate, exercised, and watched with great anxious eyes that haunted Jim.
After that, day after day, full of watching and suspense for Jim, wore on. Every morning dawned with a sense of something about to happen. And he divined that suspense would go on and on. Yet it could not last forever. In the clear light of day, during his watches up on the bluff, he had gone sternly and finally over the situation. He could not attempt anything radical until something happened. And he would adhere to that.
Meanwhile he and Smoky had assumed all the care of Latimer, who had improved for a few days, and then had a relapse. Hays, in his growing absorption, had gladly relinquished the work to Jim. And then Smoky had shared it. Between them they did all that was humanly possible for Sparrowhawk, but he went from bad to worse. Often in lucid moments he asked about Hays and the girl.
“Dog-gone it, Jim,” complained Smoky during a moment when they were alone, “Sparrow’s conscience is hurtin’ him.”
“Yes, and I think he feels Hays’ neglect.”
“Ahuh. He’s been longest with Hays. What’s your idee about somethin’ stickin’ in his craw?”
“Sorry he had a hand in stealing the girl, maybe,” offered Jim.
“Nope. Thet wouldn’t phase Sparrow,” declared Smoky, with decision.
“Well, he killed Progar, you know, and that put Heeseman on our trail. Hays admitted it.”
“Ump-umm. You don’t know Latimer. He’d never think twice about killin’ a man. It’s somethin’ else an’ closer to home.”
That gave Jim an idea, which he was careful to keep to himself. Latimer surely knew that his chief had not divided the last Herrick money fairly. It might be this. Anyway, Jim, though he could not have been any kinder to the wounded man, spent more time with him.
The seventh day, during the heat of the afternoon, while some of the men were asleep and others absent, and Jim was on the lookout from the bluff with his field-glass, Hays began carrying things from the grove to the shack he had built. It had been set some distance away, on a level gravel flat, just out from a notch in the south wall. A deep wash separated it from the camp.
Jim’s field-glass brought things close — too close for his peace of mind. Hays’ first bundle was his own pack which he took into the cabin. Jim cursed. On the second trip Hays fetched his bed-roll. Like a hawk Jim watched. It was certain that cold sweat broke out all over Jim.
His hour was about up, and leaving the lookout he ran down the slope and into the oval, slowing up when near camp. He came upon some of the men arguing.
“Hell, no!” ejaculated Smoky, as Jim arrived.
“Hell, yes!” returned Lincoln.
“Fellers, it’d be too low-down,” went on Smoky, with passion. “We’re a lot of bad eggs, but Hank ain’t thet bad. . . . Collect the ransom an’ send her home to her brother after degradin’ her!”
“Smoky, you’re a faithful cuss,” rejoined Lincoln, admiringly. “When air your eyes goin’ to open?”
“They’re open, all right,” replied Smoky, doggedly.
“Cheese it. Hyar comes Hays now.”
Jim was satisfied with the slow wearing away of their faith.
“Fellows, I heard you, and I’m agreeing with Lincoln,” he said, hurriedly. “Looks as if Hank is bent on dragging Miss Herrick over to his shack.”
There was an intense silence.
“I’ve been watching through the field-glass,” added Jim.
“Wal, by Gawd!” burst out Smoky, convinced against his will. “I been hopin’ we was hard on Hank. But, hell, let’s give the man a chance. . . . Jim, if he does fer me, you take it up.”
“Let me face him first,” demanded Jim, harshly.
“What the hell, Smoky!” ejaculated Lincoln.
“Shet up! Hyar he comes. Keep out of it now.”
When the chief reached the shelter he would have passed on without noting them, so great was his abstraction.
“Hays, come hyar,” called Smoky, ringingly, as he stepped out. The robber swerved off his course, startled. “We been arguin’ aboot you. Wal, you know me. I’m askin’ you damn straight. Do you mean bad by this Herrick woman?”
“Bad!” echoed Hays, his face changing from red to white.
“Thet’s what I ast,” retorted Smoky.
“Wal, an’ suppose I say I do?” demanded Hays, “if it’s any of your damn bizness!”
“Then you can shoot it out with me, right hyar an’ now!”
“Smoky!” gasped the chief, incredulous.
“An’ if you do fer me you’ve got Jim to take on,” snapped Smoky.
“More double-crossin’!” bellowed Hays, suddenly wild.
“Shore. More from you, Hank.”
The leader spat in his fury; and then it was remarkable to see him pull himself together.
“I jest wanted to know how fer you fellers would go,” he declared. “An’ you’ve shore give me a cud to chew. . . . As fer thet gurl, I’ve no more bad feelin’s toward her than any one or all of you. Savvy? An’ let me say if I heah any more sich talk I’ll be bustin’ up this outfit.”
“It’s busted now, Hank,” replied Smoky, betraying the bitterness of the disillusioned.
Jim sought seclusion until sunset, dragging through one of the most horrible hours he had ever lived. Hays would not fight. Jim’s hands were tied until further complications untied them. Even an overmastering love could not change his creed, and his creed was similar to that of Smoky Slocum. And he was not so sure but that there were others in Hays’ gang who lived up to the honor of thieves. It looked as if Hank Hays had at last broken upon the rock of woman’s lure.
Smoky espied Jim returning, and came to meet him.
“Sparrow’s askin’ fer you,” he said, moodily. “I’m afeared he’s wuss.”
When Jim bent over the wasted Latimer it was indeed to feel a cold apprehension.
“What is it, Sparrow? I’ve been on watch,” said Jim, taking the other’s thin hand.
“Am I a-goin’ to croak?” queried Latimer, calmly, and the look accompanying the words was something to stir Jim.
“You’ve a fighting chance, Sparrow. While there’s life there’s hope.”
“Wal, I’ve been shot before. But I never had this queer feelin’. . . . Now, Jim, if I git to sinkin’, don’t keep me from knowin’. If I’m dyin’ I want to tell you and Smoky somethin’ thet I’d keep if I lived. Savvy?”
Smoky, kneeling at Latimer’s other side, nodded sadly.
“Sparrow, I couldn’t honestly ask for that confession yet,” replied Jim. “You might pull through. But I promise you, and I’m shaking your hand on it.”
“Good. Thet eases my mind. Gimme a drink of cold, fresh water.”
Smoky took up the dipper and strode down to fetch it.
“Jim, I like you — a heap,” said Latimer.
“Thanks, Sparrow. I’m sure I return it,” replied Jim.
“Fellers like me can only expect to die this way. I always knowed. . . . But it’s different — now it’s hyar. . . . Jim, did you ever think it’d be better to go — back to honest livin’?”
“Not lately,” replied Jim, gloomily.
“Wal, you’re younger’n most of us.”
Smoky returned with the water, and the two men helped Latimer to drink.
“Sparrow, you can’t gain strength on water,” complained Smoky, earnestly. “I’m gonna fetch you somethin’.”
On the walk across the oval Smoky said, very seriously: “Jim, I reckon we better have Sparrow tell us tomorrer — whatever he has on his chest. That is, if we want to know it. Do you?”
“I sure do, Smoky.”
“Wal, I ain’t so damn keen about it myself,” rejoined Slocum, darkly.
“But, Smoky, if it’s something Latimer must confess, it’s something we ought to know.”
“You think so, even if it splits the outfit?”
“If there’s anything that can do that — you bet your life we ought to know,” rejoined Jim, forcibly.
“Not so loud, man. These hyar walls have ears. We’ll see tomorrer.”
That night Jim took his time at supper, and afterwards he lingered around the camp fire, and long after Hays had stalked off into the gloom with a significant parting speech: “Good night all. I’m turnin’ in.”
“Reckon Hank’s tired of layin’ awake nights listenin’ to thet gurl cry,” said Mac.
“Looks like thet.”
“Thet’s what it ‘pears to me,” replied the cook. “I fixed up her supper before callin’ you-all. Hank took it over. He was late comin’ fer his own supper, as you saw.”
“Wal, it’s decent of him.”
Jim moved his bed closer to the grove, farther from the camp fire, and it commanded a view of the rise of ground where any one passing could be detected above the horizon. And he sat on his bed watching until he was too tired to sit up any longer. But even after he had crawled under his blankets he watched. There was an overhanging shelf of rock, black as coal, then a strip of velvet blue sky, studded with stars, and last the dark, uneven rise of ground. A coyote passing along that near horizon would have seemed as large as a horse.
But nothing passed. The hours wore on until the utter loneliness of the deep pit weighed heavily upon Jim’s oppressed breast. Even the crickets ceased to chirp. The wind failed. He might have been lying in a stone sepulcher. He was fixed in a solitude that seemed to be working upon him. But Jim Wall did not believe in ghosts, and always he had scoffed the few intimations of spirit that had whispered to him from nature. Bent unalterably upon dealing death to the robber who had befriended him, he did not listen to still, small, inward voices.
He fell asleep and dreamed that he was riding a gigantic, black horse with eyes of fire, and that there was a white flower growing out from a precipice, and in a strange, reckless desire to pluck it he fell into the abyss. Down, down he plunged into blackness. And suddenly a piercing, terrible cry rose from the depths.
He was sitting upright in bed, his brow clammy with sweat, his heart clamped as in a cold vise. What had awakened him? The night was silent, melancholy, fateful. He swore that a soul-wrecking cry had broken his slumber. Then he remembered the dream. How absurd that he should dream of plucking a white flower and plunging to hell! Nevertheless, it disturbed him. There were things hard to explain. He was not subject to dreams. The rest of the night he dozed at intervals, haunted by he knew not what.
One by one the members of the gang appeared at Happy Jack’s calls to breakfast. With no work to do, no horses to find or rides to make, the robbers were lazy.
Jim was the last to arrive, except Hays, who had not yet appeared.
“Darn good thing we ain’t in an Injun country,” observed Mac.
“Humph! Fer a feller who lays ten hours in bed I sleep damn little,” rejoined Smoky, moodily. “I hear things an’ I’m always waitin’ fer somethin’.”
“Yell fer the boss. My voice is gone,” said Happy Jack.
Nobody took the trouble to comply with this request. The men fell to eating. Brad Lincoln had not spoken, and he kept his eyes lowered. But Lincoln was always morose in the mornings. After the meal, Jim, as was his custom, hurried toward the shelf where Latimer lay. He had gotten about halfway when Slocum caught up with him.
