Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1193
On the bus the following morning, however, he had nothing to do but think. It took Lance practically all that long ride to reason out the futility of any further interest in Uhl. Lance did not want to drive any more questionable trucks. Aside from an interesting experience, this meeting with Uhl had no warrant to absorb him. It was the singular connection with the college girl that kept him wondering and conjecturing, and thinking that he should warn her somehow. But he did not even know her last name. And to go back to Los Angeles on such a fanciful assumption seemed absurd. Nevertheless his conscience bothered him. That passed, however, leaving Lance with only the increasing pang of regret. When at Douglas he went out to see Umpqua, and quite provokingly he conceived a picture of Madge on his beautiful horse, he almost gave way to rage at his sentimentality. All the same, thought of the girl persisted, and Lance finally reconciled himself to being haunted.
Riding northeast from Douglas the Arizona desert land magnified its proportions of color and wildness and rugged grandeur to such a degree that Lance was loath to travel on and turn his back to ranges that dwarfed those he had ridden in Oregon. What a grand country he was entering! Ahead of him were mountains, peaked and lofty, purple in the distance, growing black and gray as league after league he neared them. Lance took his time stopping to ask questions, but the several little hamlets along the way failed to yield much information. He spent one night at Chiricahua, which town appeared to be in the center of a vast green and gray range surrounded by mountains. He had begun to see cattle in considerable numbers, though not one hundredth as many as the country might have supported. He rode on and on over a rolling and lovely valley.
Darkness overtook Lance. He had inquired at Apache about towns farther north. He had been told they were few and far between. It looked as though his preoccupation with the solitude and beauty of this upland valley was going to make him spend a night in the open. He did not mind that. The day had been hot and the night still remained warm. However, three hours after sunset he sighted lights ahead and soon entered a place called Bolton. Unlike most of the other towns, this one appeared to be comparatively new and located on both highway and railroad. There was a wide main street with bright lights and many parked cars, stores and cafés, a hotel and an inn, a bank and motion-picture theater. Lance rode on through to the outer zone of garages and autocamps. Umpqua, staunch as he was, had begun to tire. Lance was pleased to see several horses tethered beyond a garage off the main street, and next a livery stable. The garage, evidently, also provided the facilities of a service station and was quite modest compared to showy places Lance had passed.
“Howdy, cowboy,” drawled a pleasant voice. “Git down an’ come in.”
“Hello, yourself,” replied Lance, greeting a sturdy bow-legged young man who had appeared from somewhere. There was enough light to make out a lean tanned face from which shone narrow slits of eyes, keen and friendly.
“My Gawd! — Where’d you steal thet hawse?” queried this individual.
“Are you kidding me or is that the way horsemen are greeted here?” asked Lance.
“Shore kiddin’, cowboy. We got some grand hawses in this country an’ thet’s why I got fresh. But on the level where did you find him?”
“Oregon bred. He was given us when he was a colt. And I raised him.”
“You from Oregon?” went on the other, walking around the horse in a way that betrayed a love of horseflesh. It was an open sesame to Lance’s friendliness.
“Yes, rode him all the way.”
“Don’t tell. I’ll be dog-goned.... Wal, lookin’ him over I ain’t so surprised. All hawse, cowboy, an’ I’d trade you my garage for him.”
“Sounds cowboy,” laughed Lance.
“Shore I was — I am a cowboy. Been ridin’ Arizona ranges all my life. But these hard times I had to make a livin’ for my mother an’ me.”
“Gee, that’s bad news. I came to Arizona to find a job with some cattle outfit.”
“Wal, you’re jest outa luck. Cowboys air scarce these days. As scarce as jobs. Plenty of cattle all through heah. An’ the outfits thinned down to two or three riders. My job for three years before this bust-up hit us was with Gene Stewart. Finest rancher in these parts. Used to run eighty thousand haid. But of late years Gene has lost out. An’ as I couldn’t ride no more for nothin’ I had to take this place. Pays fair, but I just hate it.”
“Don’t blame you.... How about me bedding down Umpqua in this livery stable?”
“Umpqua? What a name! Where’n hell did you git thet?”
“It’s Indian. Name of a river in Oregon. Means swift.”
“Swell handle at thet. Shore, this stable is okay. I’ll go in with you.... What’d you say your name was? Mine’s Ren Starr.”
“I didn’t say yet. It’s Lance Sidway.”
“Air you gonna hang about heah a spell?”
“Yes, if I can find work.”
The livery stable man turned out to be an old fellow with an unmistakable cattle range air about him. He was almost as enthusiastic over Umpqua as Starr had been. For the first time in a long while Lance began to feel at home with his kind.
“Ump, old boy, this barn smells good, doesn’t it?” said Lance, and giving his pet a parting smack he went out with Starr. “Where can I eat and sleep?”
“Several places, but outside the hotel, you’ll like Mrs. Goodman’s café. Nice woman, dotes on cowboys, an’ runs a swell little chuck house.”
“Won’t you come with me? I’d like to talk.”
“Wal, shore. I’ve had my supper. But I can always eat. An’ it’s closin’ time for my place anyway.”
Presently Lance was ushered into a clean fragrant little shop, with more of a homey than a café look, and introduced to a portly woman of kind and genial aspect. Evidently she had a warm spot in her heart for cowboys.
“Wal, Oregon, I’d shore like to see you stop heah,” said Starr, eagerly. Manifestly he had taken to Lance as Lance had to him.
“All the way up from Apache I’ve liked the range more and more.”
“Hell, this ain’t nothin’. You ought to see thet range down along the west slope of the Peloncillo Mountains. Swell deer an’ antelope huntin’. Bear an’ cougar up high. Trout fishin’, oh boy! Grass an’ sage ranges.”
“Sounds more than swell. Is that where your Gene Stewart runs cattle?”
“Used to, when he had ten outfits. But now he’s only got about a thousand haid left, not countin’ yearlin’s an’ calves. He jest lets them graze around his ranch, with a couple of Mexican kids ridin’ for him.”
“How far away is his ranch?”
“I reckon about thirty by trail. The road runs round an’ up an’ down. Cars register forty-two miles. No road work this spring makes tough goin’, an’ I don’t mean mebbe.”
“Wonder what chance I’d have getting on with him? Wages no object for a while. I want to ride open country, and have a square meal often, with pasture for Umpqua. You see he was raised to fare for himself. Alfalfa and grain would spoil him.”
“My idee of trainin’ a hawse right.... I’ll tell you, Sidway, there’s a pretty shore chance for you out with Gene. He needs riders most damn bad. I’ll give you a note to him in the mawnin’. Thet’ll cinch it, if you really want a job for nothin’ ‘cept board. He’ll be glad. Only you gotta approach him sorta careful.... Sensitive fellow, Gene is, but the salt of this range. For two bits I’ll sell out an’ go with you.”
“That’d be swell. Why don’t you?”
“It’d be all right with Mom. She wants to get out of this hot country for a while. But I’m makin’ money an’ I reckon I ought to save plenty before hittin’ the trail again.”
“All right, Ren. Thanks for the hunch. I’ll go. Maybe we can see each other sometimes. I’d like that.”
“Me too. Shore we can. Gene would give you a Sunday off now an’ then. I’d run out after you.”
“What kind of ranch does Stewart own?”
“Gee whiz! I reckoned every puncher in the West had heahed of it. Close to the border. Used to belong to a Mexican named Don Carlos. He was shot long before I come to this part of Arizona. I was hardly borned then. But I’ve heahed the story. Durin’ the Mexican Revolution around twenty-five years ago Don Carlos had thet ranch. It was a Spanish grant. An’ he was sellin’ contraband along the border. Gene Stewart was a tough cowboy them days. Great with the rope an’ hawse — a daid shot — an’ nerve, say! they didn’t come no cooler than thet hombre. Wal, he joined up with the revolutionists. They called him El Capitan. After Madero was assassinated Gene come back heah. About thet time a rich girl from Noo Yoork come along. She bought Don Carlos’ Ranch. Stillwell, the foreman then, corralled the hardest bunch of cowboys thet ever rode a range. But nobody could boss them until he put Gene on the job. They run Don Carlos an’ his band off the range. An’ they made thet ranch the finest in the West. It’s as beautiful as ever, but turrible run down these last two years... Wal, Gene married his boss, the rich girl from the East, an’ was thet a romance!”
“Darned interesting, Ren. I’m going to like Stewart.”
“You shore will, an’ if you turn out as good as you look — excuse me bein’ personal — Gene is goin’ to cotton to you. He was grand to me. An’ I just love him as if he was my dad. He always stops in to see me, hopin’ I’ll come back. But he never says so. He was in town today, worried plain about somethin’! He said it was only cause he was losin’ a few cattle.”
“Cattle thieves?” exclaimed Lance, quickly.
“Rustlers over heah, Sid.”
“No!”
“Shore. There’s still some rustlin’ all over. Nothin’ heah like it used to be. But you see a dozen haid to Gene now means more’n a thousand, years ago. He was sore because he couldn’t find out how the cattle was stole. An’ old Nels, the last of thet great outfit of cowboys, couldn’t find out either.”
“Too old-fashioned, maybe.”
“Dog-gone, Sid. I had thet very idee.”
“Say, Starr,” spoke up Lance, as if with an inspiration. “Not so many days ago I drove a big truck from Douglas to Tucson. It was empty but it had been full of steers.”
Lance related briefly the circumstances that made it necessary for him to earn some money, but he did not go into detail about the men he had met on that adventure.
“Wal, I’m a son-of-a-gun!... What kind of a truck?”
“A big one, fine make, and canvas-covered. I took the license number and the name of the owner. Which I suspect is not the name of the right owner.”
“Sidway, you’re sayin’ things,” rejoined Starr, growing cool after his excitement. “I’ve seen three or four trucks like thet one pass heah every month or so. One went through north four days ago.”
“Did you pay any particular attention to it?”
“No. Only saw it an’ was sore as usual ‘cause the driver got gas from one of the other stations. You see them fellers never have bought a gallon of gas from me. Thet’s okay, shore. My place is as you saw it.”
“Starr, they passed you up because you were a cowboy.”
“You don’t say! Thet’s an idee. A hot one.”
“Something I heard on my drive gives me a hunch now that these truckmen bought cattle as a blind. Perhaps of late they steal cattle. All kinds of business pretty punk these days.”
“Pard, you are a whiz,” ejaculated Starr, intensely. “Rackin’ my haid I figger thet I haven’t seen them trucks go through heah southbound since last fall. They do go through, shore. I been told thet. But late in the night.”
“We got something to work on.”
“I should smile. I’ll grow curious as hell. Sid, this heah is goin’ to be most damn interestin’ to Gene. You tell him pronto. All about them trucks.”
“You bet. And, Starr, if I get in with Stewart I’ll send you the receipt and money to send for my baggage in Los Angeles.”
“Glad to fetch it out.... Wal, I reckon you ought to hit the hay. Your eyes look tired. Come on an’ I’ll take you to the hotel. Most as reasonable as autocamps, an’ good.”
On the way across the street Starr said: “There’s shore a lot to tell you about Stewart, his ranch an’ all. But I cain’t think of everythin’ all to oncet.... You’ll find Mrs. Stewart jest swell. Still handsome an’ the nicest woman! I most forgot their daughter. No wonder, ‘cause I haven’t seen her for nearly four years. She was only a kid then. But could she cock her eye at a man? Had all the cowboys dotty. Me! I reckoned I had the inside track ‘cause she let me kiss her oncet. But I was wrong, Sid. Thet girl was a hells-rattler, but straight as a string. Jest full of fem.... Wal, Gene told me today thet she was comin’ home. He was plumb excited over thet. Worships the girl! An’ mebbe he was worryin’ about her too.... Sid, if I remember thet girl she will keep you awake nights.”
“Not much,” declared Lance with a laugh. “Boy, I’ve been in Hollywood for a spell, hobnobbing with the prettiest and slickest girls in the world.”
“Hollywood? My Gawd, what’ll you spring on me next? Sid, you are goin’ to relieve the tedium of my days.... Did you fall for any of them stars?”
“Ren, I fell with a dull thud for three. And not stars, either. Just extras prettier than the stars. Harder every fall! And I can’t imagine me falling for a ranch girl. No offense, boy. My sister is a ranch girl and she’s my pride. But you can get what I mean, if you go to the flickers.”
“You mean movies? I go every show an’ sometimes twice.”
“Then you know how safe I’ll be on an Arizona ranch.”
“Safe out heah, if she doesn’t come home, which I don’t believe she will? Pard, I wouldn’t gamble on thet.... Wal, heah’s your hotel. I’ll be sayin’ adios till mawnin’. I’m shore glad we met, Lance.”
“So am I, Ren. It’s just swell. See you early tomorrow. Don’t forget to write that note to Stewart. Good night.”
Lance went to bed glowingly excited and satisfied with the day’s happenings, and its promise. Particularly was he pleased at finding the ex-cowboy, Starr. Lance thought he would be a fellow to tie to. Luck had attended this adventuring into a new and far country.
After an early breakfast next morning Lance made his first Arizona purchases, which consisted of a new riding outfit, and a much needed shaving kit and several other articles. His discarded things he tied in his old coat, so that he could carry the bundle conveniently on his saddle. When he presented himself at Starr’s garage, that worthy stared in comical surprise.
“Mawnin’ Sid,” he drawled. “What you been about? All dolled up. My Gawd! I hadn’t no idee you was such a handsome galoot. On thet hawse you’ll knock ’em cold. Say! I’ve a hunch you’ve either seen or heahed about Gene Stewart’s daughter.”
“Nope, I haven’t. But I needed some clean duds and a shave,” explained Lance. “Couldn’t ask for a job looking like a tramp.”
“I ain’t so shore, Sid,” returned Starr, doubtfully. “Gene likes ’em tough. Why, with thet red scarf an’ all you look like Buck Jones.”
“Ren, I bought the least gaudy outfit that storekeeper had,” protested Lance. “If you think I should change back to...”
“Aw, I was half kiddin’. You look okay. In fact you look grand. But no cowpuncher can fool Gene Stewart. He’ll see right through you, Sid. An’ I’ll bet my shop he’ll take to you same as I did.”
“Well, then, what the hell...”
“Thet’s it. What the hell will come off if you run plumb into Gene’s daughter? She’s on her way home. Gene told my mother so yesterday.”
“Ren, you certainly harp on that subject. Is the heart of Miss Stewart all you’re concerned with?” queried Lance, facetiously.
“Hell no! I’m jest concerned about what’ll happen to you, if she sees you. An’ in this new outfit you shore stand out from the landscape.”
“Like all the Arizona cowboys, aren’t you?” went on Lance. “Oh, I knew a lot of them in Hollywood. Swell fellows, but simply nuts on jokes and tricks and girls!... Next to that they liked to gamble. I’ll bet you five bucks I don’t even see your Arizona cowgirl queen.... Man, I’ve lived in Hollywood for over a year.”
“So you told me before,” replied Starr, dryly. “Thet bet’s on. Heah’s your note to Gene Stewart. I shore hope you turn out half as good as my recommendation.”
“Thanks, Ren. I hope I make good. Now tell me how to find this wonderful ranch.”
“Go out the highway, south, of course. Take the first road — it’s a dirt road — turnin’ left. Stick on thet for about five miles, till you come to a bridge over a crick. Lots of green willows. Anyway, it’s the first bridge you come to, so you cain’t miss it. There’s a trail thet follers the crick, on the right-hand side. Hit thet trail, pard, an’ good luck to you.”
“How’ll I know the ranch when I come to it?”
“Hell! it’s the only ranch out there. The house, old Spanish style, sets on a knoll among trees. Walls used to be white. But you can see it from the divide, ten miles away.”
* * * * *
In very short order Lance was out of Bolton on a road that seemed to climb and lose itself in gray obscurity. Umpqua, scenting something out there, the sage and the open, perhaps, settled down to his fast ground-gaining trot. Lance saw on his right where the highway, a shining ribbon, followed the railroad and line of telegraph poles off to the southwest across the desert. On his left, beyond the green willows bordering the brook, an occasional humble ranch, or adobe Mexican house, gave life to a range gradually growing wilder as he proceeded. Ahead of him on the horizon mountain ranges stood up, some bold, others dim. Lance’s quick eye caught sight of romping jack rabbits and sneaking coyotes, and the white rumps of deer-like animals he concluded were antelope.
Eventually the trail left the brook. Dwarf cedar trees and a line of pale purple marked the zone of sage. Lance was familiar with Oregon and California sage, but neither had the luxuriance and fragrance of this Arizona brand. Umpqua manifestly liked the smell of it. There seemed to be a tang and a zest in this clear air. The sun became hot on Lance’s back; heat veils arose like smoke from the ground; the peaks that had been sharp against the blue appeared to dim in haze. Down to the right, toward the road Lance could still see, herds of cattle dotted the gray. The trail, however, headed more to the left, toward rising land, and rugged bits of outcropping rocks red in color, and back clumps of cedars.
