Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1128
“Slinger, I’ll see Molly — home,” said Jim, and for the life of him he could not keep the elation out of his voice.
“Shore, Jim, you see her home,” drawled Slinger, meaningly. And he leaned over the side of the sleigh. “Sister, you’ve messed up things considerable. But somehow Jim still loves you, an’ I reckon I do, too. We jest cain’t help it. All the same, don’t go triflin’ with strange fellars no more. I’ll see you in the mawnin’.”
“Slinger, you lay off Darnell,” insisted Jim, forcefully.
“All right, Boss. But I’ll jest watch him a little. Shore is an interestin’ cuss. I seen him gettin’ gay with one of them rich gurls.”
Jim laughed and told the Mexican boy to drive straight out the main street.
“It’s closer, turnin’ heah,” spoke up Molly, a little alarmed. As yet, however, she had no inkling of the plot.
“More snow out this way. This bare ground is hard on the runners,” replied Jim, and indeed the rasping sound of iron on gravel was irritating to nerves as well.
Jim felt for Molly’s hand under the robe, and found it, an ungloved cold little member. She started and tried to draw it away. In vain! Jim held on as a man gripping some treasure he meant to keep. Soon they were on the snow, and then the sleigh glided smoothly with the merry bells ringing. Soft heavy flakes were falling, wet and cool to the face.
“Heah — turn down heah,” called Molly, as they reached the last side street.
“Boy, drive straight out to the Traft ranch,” ordered Jim.
Molly stood up, and would have leaped out of the sleigh had not Jim grasped her with no uncertain hands, and hauled her down, almost into his arms. She twisted round to look up at him. The darkness was thick, but he could see a pale little face, with great staring eyes.
“You — want to get somethin’ before takin’ me home?” she asked.
“Why, of course, Molly. This is Christmas, you know,” he returned, cheerfully.
“I — I didn’t know you could be like this.” And Jim imagined he had more cause to be happy.
No more was said. Jim endeavoured to secure Molly’s hand again, but she had hidden it somewhere. Thwarted thus, Jim put an arm round her. When they reached the big pine trees, black against the snow, Jim knew they were nearing the ranch. He nerved himself for the crisis. There was no use of persuasion or argument or subterfuge. Then the ranch-house loomed dark, with only one light showing. The bells ceased jangling in a crash.
“Molly, come in for — a minute,” said Jim easily, as he stepped out.
“No, thanks, Jim,” she replied, with pathos. “I’ll stay heah. Hurry, an’ remember — I — I cain’t accept no Christmas presents.”
Jim leaned over, as if to rearrange the robe, but he snatched her bodily out of the sleigh.
“All right, boy, drive back,” he ordered, and as the bells clashed again he turned with the kicking Molly in his arms. He heard her voice, muffled in the furs, as he pressed her tight, and he feared she used some rather strong language. Up the steps, across the wide veranda and into the dark ranch-house he packed her, fighting all the while, and on into the dim-lighted living-room, where he deposited her in his uncle’s big armchair. Then he flew to lock the door. It was done. He felt no remorse — only a keen, throbbing, thick rapture. He turned up the lamp, and then lighted the other one with the red shade. Next he removed the screen from before the smouldering fire, to replenish it with chips of cedar and pine cones.
“Jim Traft — what’ve you done?” cried Molly huskily.
Jim turned then, to see her in the chair, precisely as he had bundled her.
“Fetched you home, Molly,” he said, with emotion.
“It was a trick.”
“Reckon so.”
“You didn’t mean to take me to my boardin’-house?”
“I’m afraid I never thought of that.”
“An’ thet damn Slinger! He was in the deal with you?”
“Yes. Slinger was implicated — to the extent of getting the sleigh.”
“Wal, now you got me heah — what you think you’re goin’ to do?” she demanded.
“Oh, wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.”
“Jim — honest I wish — you the same,” she responded, faltering a little.
“Thanks. But it’s not Christmas yet,” rejoined Jim, consulting his watch. “Only eleven o’clock. At midnight I’ll give you the other Christmas present.”
“Other? — Jim Traft, are you loony? Or am I dreamin’? You didn’t give me nothin’. You tantalised me with thet — thet ring, which was shore low down. But thet’s all.”
“Molly, you have one of your presents. You’ve got it on...That fur coat.”
Uttering a cry of surprise and consternation, she bounced out of the chair to slip out of the rich, dark, fragrant coat. She handled it with awe, almost reverence, stroked it, and then with resignation laid it over the table.
“Pretty nice, don’t you think?” queried Jim, pleasantly. “Becomes you, too.”
“I’m findin’ out you’re as much of — of a brute as any cowboy,” she asserted, tearfully. “How’m I to get back to my boardin’ house? When Glory comes? You’ll send me then, Jim?”
“Molly, you’re not going back to your boarding-house — tonight or ever again,” he replied, confronting her and reaching for her, so that Molly backed into the armchair and fell into it.
“I am — too,” she retorted, but she was vastly alarmed.
“No, this is home, till you’ve grown out of your school-girl days.”
“Kidnappers — you an’ Slinger!”
“I reckon we are, Molly.”
“You’re wuss than Hack Jocelyn,” she cried, wildly. “Are you goin’ to hawg-tie me heah?”
“No. I don’t believe you’ll want to leave, after tomorrow when you see Uncle Jim and Glory.”
“Jim — I cain’t see them. It’d hurt too bad. Please let me go.”
“Nope...You hurt me, didn’t you?”
“All fer your good, Jim...Cain’t you see thet?”
“Indeed I can’t. You just almost broke my heart, Molly Dunn. If it hadn’t been for Uncle and Glory — Well, never mind. I don’t want to heap coals of fire upon your head.”
“What did Uncle Jim an’ Glory do?” she asked poignantly.
“They both have faith in you. Faith!”
“I cain’t stand thet, Jim, I cain’t,” she wailed.
He slipped into the big chair and gathered her in his arms. What a tight, quivering little bundle!
“Molly, both Uncle and Glory love you.”
“No — no. Thet’s not so,” she cried, half-smothered. “Let me go, Jim.”
“Ha ha! I see myself...Hold up your head, Molly.”
“If you dare kiss me — Jim Traft — I — I...Oh—”
“Don’t you dare kiss me, Molly Dunn,” added Jim, quite beside himself now. Molly’s lips were sweet fire, and she could not control them. But she was strong, and as slippery as an eel. Jim had to confine his muscular efforts to holding her merely.
“Molly, you are mussing a perfectly beautiful little dress,” he said, mildly, “besides, darling, you’re making a very indecorous, not to say immodest, display of anatomy.”
“I don’t care,” panted Molly, red of face, blazing of eye. But she did care. She was weakening.
“Darling,” Jim divined this word had considerable power; at least enough to make Molly hide her face.
“Sweetheart,” he went on.
And this appeared to end her struggling. “Don’t you love me, Molly?”
“Thet has been — all the trouble...Too much — to disgrace you,” she replied, haltingly, and she looked up with wet eyes and trembling lips. Jim was quick to kiss them, and when he desisted this time, she lay back upon his arm, her eyes closed, heavy-lidded, her face pale and rapt.
“Don’t you want to stay, Molly?” he went on, tenderly.
“No — no...But I’m a liar,” she replied, brokenly, without stirring.
“To be my wife?”
She was mute and therefore won. Jim found the little box in his pocket, and extracting the diamond ring from it he slipped it upon her finger, where it fitted tight and blazed triumphantly.
“There!”
Moreover, it had potency to make her eyes pop open. She stared. Slowly transformation set in. She became ecstatic and ashamed, filled with sudden wild misery and joy, all at once.
“Oh, I — I’ve been — jest what Slinger called me,” she cried.
“What was that?”
“It’s too turrible to tell...How can you be so good — to make me love you more?...Jim, honest I thought I was thinkin’ only of you. If I was fit for you I wanted to — an’ sometimes deep down in me I reckoned I was, because love ought to count — I wanted to make myself unfit...Yet when thet mouthin’, pawin’ Darnell laid hold of me — when I had my chance to disgrace you an’ degrade myself — I couldn’t. My very soul went sick. An’ then I only wanted to get free of him at any cost. I did. An’ afterwards he begged so hard, an’ I longed so to go to the dance, thet I went.”
“Well, I’m glad you did, since we had to have this ruction. But don’t mention Darnell to me again, at least tonight.”
“After all, people won’t know how bad it was,” she said, with a passion of hope and regret.
“They’ll think it only a lovers’ quarrel,” replied Jim, happily, and he was glad to believe that himself.
“If only Glory will forgive me!”
“Glory! Why, she has already.”
“You don’t know thet lovely sister of yours, Jim...The more she persuaded me I was doin’ wrong, the kinder an’ sweeter she talked, the proud way she looked — the more I wanted to do some-thin’ awful. I wanted to hide thet I loved her, too...Oh, she seemed so wonderful — so far above me. But if she’ll forgive I’ll never do wrong again, so help me Gawd!”
“Molly, that’s a vow. I’ll hold you to it...And now, honey, make up to me for all I suffered — for every miserable moment.”
“I cain’t, Jim,” she replied, mournfully. “What’s done is done. Oh, if I only could.”
“Well, then for every wretched moment you spent with him. Could you count how many?”
“I reckon I could,” she said, thoughtfully. “What’s a moment? Same as a minute?”
“More like a second. Some are utterly precious, like this one. Others are horrible.”
“Wal, with sixty seconds to the minute and sixty minutes to the hour — an’ I reckon aboot five hours, all told — thet would be how much? — A lot to make up for!”
“Will you try? That will be your repentance.”
“Yes,” she promised, shyly, yet fearfully, as if remembering.
“Put your arms up round my neck...There — Now start kissing me once for every one of those heart-broken minutes.”
Molly was not very far on this tremendous penance, considering sighs and lulls, and spasms of quick tender passion to make amends, when a knock on the living-room door startled her violently.
“Well, if that isn’t tough!” ejaculated Jim, and putting Molly down he arose to go to the door. “Must be Gloriana May.”
And she it was who entered, radiant and beautiful, with swift hopeful flash of purple eyes that moved from Jim to Molly, and back again. Curly stepped in behind her.
“Jim, dear, I hope we didn’t intrude,” she said, sweetly, with mischief and gaiety underlying her speech. “Were you aware that this is Christmas?”
“Jim, many happy returns of this heah evenin’ — I mean the last of it,” drawled Curly, as he came forward, so cool and easy, and already within possession of the facts. “Molly, I’ve been shore daid sore at you. But I’m an understandin’ cuss...Suppose I kiss you my Christmas greetin’s.”
And he did kiss her, gallantly, though withal like a brother, while Molly stood stiff, blushing and paling by turns.
“Curly Prentiss, do you kiss every girl on Christmas?” she had spirit to retort.
“Nope. Thet privilege I reserve fer particular gurls,” he drawled, and turned to Jim with extended hand. “Boss, I’m shore glad. This is the second time the Diamond’s near been busted. Never no more!...Good-night, all. I’ll see you in the mawnin’.”
When Jim had closed the door upon him there was an eloquent silence in which Gloriana and Molly gazed into each other’s eyes. Certain it was that Jim trembled. Yet his hopes ran high. Molly approached Gloriana and stood bravely, without trace of the shame Jim knew she felt.
“Glory, I’m heah again — to stay,” she said, simply. “Jim kidnapped me — an’ I reckon saved me when he did it...I’m shore powerful sorry I’ve been such a dumb-haid. But you cain’t doubt my love for Jim, at least...Will you forgive me?”
Gloriana took Molly into her arms, and bending over her spoke with emotion. “I do indeed, Molly, as I hope to be forgiven...Come with me to my room...Goodnight, brother Jim; it’s late. We’ll see you in the morning.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SNELL’S GAMBLING-HALL WAS crowded on the afternoon of Christmas Day, when Jim Traft and Curly Prentiss arrived rather late. Evidently no open sesame was required on this occasion, and no doortender. Curly said this was because the business-men of Flagerstown, who liked to buck the tiger, would be conspicuous for their absence on this holiday. But there would be a big game going, and Darnell would be in it.
Curly appeared to be under the influence of liquor, which Jim knew he was most decidedly not. But Curly excited no interest whatever, for the good reason that he differed very little in garb and manner from other cowboys present. Some, in fact, were hilariously drunk.
They strolled around to watch the faro game, the roulette wheel, and other games of chance or less busy with customers, until they approached a ring of lookers-on which surrounded the heavy poker game. Curly wanted to sit in, provided Darnell was one of the players. By looking over the heads of spectators they ascertained that Darnell was indeed there, and also Bambridge. Then Curly whispered to Jim that the other three gamblers were precisely the same he and Bud had watched yesterday afternoon.
“All set,” concluded Curly, his blue eyes flashing like a northern sunlit sky. “Big game an’ all daid sore. Darnell is ridin’ them high an’ handsome.”
Then he turned to the circle of watchers and lurched into it. “Heah, lemme in, you geezers,” he called out, in a loud and good-natured drawl. “I’m a-rarin’ to set in this heah game.”
But Curly’s action was more forceful. Without waiting for the men to open up he swept them aside. Jim followed until he secured a place just back of the front row, where he could see and yet keep out of sight.
“Gennelmen, I wanna set in,” said Curly. “There’s only five of you heah. Thet shore ain’t no good game. You oughta have six. An’ heah I am.”
Darnell looked up and gave Curly a hard glance. But if it were one of recognition he certainly did not connect Curly with the little meeting in Winslow some time previous.
“This is poker for men of means and not casino for two-bit cowpunchers,” he said.
“Hell you shay,” replied Curly, without offence, as he wiped a hand across his face, after the fashion of the inebriated. “Reckon you don’t savvy I ain’t no two-bit cowpuncher.”
“Get out or I’ll have you thrown out,” snarled Darnell. His concentration on the game was such that an interruption jarred him. Yet even in anger there was no heat in the sharp dark eyes. His cheek and the line of his chin were tight. Here Jim saw the man as a handsome cold-faced gambler.
“My Gawd! man, you must be a stranger heahaboots,” drawled Curly, and he clumsily pulled out the one vacant chair and fell into it, knocking against the table. With one hand he dropped his sombrero beside the chair and with the other he slammed down a huge roll of greenbacks, the outside one of which bore the number one hundred.
“My money ain’t counterfeit, an’ I reckon it’s as good as anybody’s,” said Curly, lolling over the table in the careless laxity of a drunken man. His curly hair, wet and dishevelled, hid his eyes. He gave his mouth and chin the weakness characterising the over-indulgence in drink.
At sight of the roll of greenbacks Darnell’s eyes leaped, but before he could speak, which it was evident he intended to do, Bambridge came out with: “Sure your money’s as good as anybody’s, cowboy. Sit in an’ welcome.”
“Much obliged, Mister,” replied Curly, gratefully, as he snapped the rubber band off his roll. “What’s the game, friends?”
“You make your own game. No limit,” replied the dealer, who happened to be the man from Winslow. “Your ante.”
“Make it five call ten,” drawled Curly, but he laboured long over the huge roll of greenbacks trying to find one of small numeration. “Dog-gone! — This heah legacy of mine is shore dwindlin’ of change.”
The game proceeded then with Curly apparently a lamb among wolves. Still, though betting with reckless abandon, he did not risk much. “Dog-gone-it! Wait till I get some cairds,” he complained, “an’ I’ll show you fellars how a cowboy bets.”
Upon Darnell’s next deal the play was a jack-pot, with the dealer’s privilege of making the ante.
“Throw in one of your hundreds, cowboy,” he said, as he chipped in one hundred dollars.
“Wal, century plants ain’t nothin’ in my young life,” drawled Curly. “There you air, my Mississippi River gazabo.”
Darnell gave a slight start, and eyed the cowboy intently. Curly’s head was bent rather low, as usual, with his eyes hidden under that wave of bright hair any girl might have envied. He was smiling, easy, and happy in the game. Perhaps his remark was merely a chance one and meant nothing. But Jim’s reflection was that Darnell certainly did not know cowboys of the Arizona-range stripe.
The Winslow man opened the jack-pot, the two players between him and Curly stayed, and then Bambridge raised before the draw. Presently they were all in, in a jack-pot carrying more than six hundred dollars. The watchers of the game looked on with intense interest. Each player called for what cards he wanted. Darnell said casually: “Three for myself — to this little pair.” And he slid the three cards upon the table and laid the deck aside.
