Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1194
By noonday Lance calculated that he had covered at least twenty miles, two thirds of the distance to Stewart’s ranch; and soon he had surmounted the divide Starr had mentioned. The scene was so splendid that Lance halted to gaze and gaze spellbound. He saw a moving dust line from a car creeping across this vast gray-purple bowl under him which must be the southern end of Bernardino Valley. Rocky areas and clumps of cedars and darker patches of trees relieved the monotony of that range, sweeping away and upward to the mountains that must be the Peloncillos. Then Lance’s keen eyes sighted the forested knoll and the old Spanish mansion built by Don Carlos. Ten miles away still, it appeared to stand out with a magnificence that Starr had hinted of. A lake, blue as a gem, shone in the sun, and its circle of green let out a branch that wound down across the gray, to make a wide bend around the rocky ridge Lance had surmounted. This, of course, was the stream he had encountered below. It was a big country. How vast this country must be when here lay only a mountain-walled valley! Heading down the trail Lance thought gravely, yet somehow with exaltation, that he was won forever. He would find or make a home there, and felt that he owed Ren Starr infinite gratitude.
* * * * *
By midafternoon Lance rode into a pretty little Mexican village at the foot of the knoll. Columns of blue smoke arose slowly. The half-naked children, the burros and dogs, the natives in colored raiment watching idly from the low porches, all appeared to have a leisurely air. Lance ventured a question to one group. An exceedingly pretty Mexican girl, whose big dark eyes shone bright and roguishly upon Lance replied to him: “Buenos dias, señor.”
“No savvy. Can’t you talk United States?” asked Lance, mildly, smiling at the girl.
“Yes, cowboy, Mr. Stewart is home.”
“Thank you, señorita. I think I’m going to like it here.”
Her dusky eyes snapped with mischief, and quick as their flash she retorted: “It didn’t take you long, señor.”
Riding away up the gentle slope Lance cogitated that remark of the Mexican lass’s. “Say! what did she mean? Can’t make out, but sure she was kidding me. Some little peach! Okay by me, señorita. I’ll be seeing you.”
Lance had not proceeded beyond where the road turned up the wooded knoll when a boy overtook him to inform him that Señor Stewart was at the corrals, toward which he pointed. Lance threw him a quarter, and kept to the right along the base of the knoll, to come at length into view of log barns and sheds and corrals, a long mossy-roofed bunkhouse, old and weathered, picturesquely falling to decay. A piercing whistle from an unseen horse brought a snort from Umpqua. Lance rode down a lane of tumble-down poles, to turn into a kind of court, at the immediate right of which stood a blacksmith shop; in front of this were several Mexican riders, and a thoroughbred black horse so glossy and well-groomed that he did not appear to belong there. Then a tall white man stepped out from behind the horse. He had a superb build, a dark intent face, deeply lined, piercing dark eyes, and there was white hair over his temples. Lance did not need to be told that this was Gene Stewart. As Lance rode up he caught first a relaxing of this stern face into a smile that warmed it attractively, and then a keen interest in both rider and horse.
“Howdy, cowboy,” the rancher greeted Lance, in pleasant deep voice. “You got the jump on them.”
“Who... what?” stammered Lance. “Are you Gene Stewart?”
“Yes, I’m Stewart. And who’re you?”
“Lance Sidway. I want a job.”
“Fine.... May I ask if you have been recommended by my daughter?”
“No — indeed, sir,” replied Lance, recalling Starr’s talk, and suddenly filled with dismay. “I don’t know your daughter.”
“That’s quite possible. But might not her return home today have something to do with your asking for a job?” asked Stewart, with a twinkle in his piercing eyes.
“It might, judging from the Arizona cowboys I’ve met,” rejoined Lance, recovering coolness at the fun evidently enjoyed at his expense. “But in my case it hasn’t.”
“Indeed? Well, in your case then I’ll listen.”
“Here’s my letter of introduction,” went on Lance, producing it.
Stewart opened and read it, suddenly to beam upon Lance. “Pard of Starr’s, eh? You sure can’t be all Ren says. But if you’re anyways near as good...”
“Excuse me, Stewart,” interposed Lance, hurriedly. “I’m not sailing under false colors. Starr doesn’t know me any better than you do. Met him only last night! We liked each other right off. He told me you might take me on. Offered a letter of introduction.”
“I see. That’s like Ren. Get down and come in.”
Lance stepped out of the saddle to drop the bridle. Stewart spoke to one of the admiring native lads: “Pedro, water him and rub the dust off him.... Cowboy, you’ve a grand horse. I can’t see a fault in him. Any rancher in the West would give you a job to get a chance to buy him or steal him.”
“Umpqua is swell,” replied Lance, as the rancher led him to a seat on the porch of what appeared to be a store.
“Nels, come out,” called Stewart, into the wide-open door of the old building. Receiving no answer he said plaintively: “Nels must be out back with my daughter, looking at her horses. Cowboy, you’ll have hell keeping that horse.”
“Oh, I see,” laughed Lance, thrilled at the intimation that the rancher might take him on. “Any girl who loves horses would want Umpqua, naturally. But she’ll have to take me with him.”
“Old-time cowboy spirit! I was that way, once.... Where you from?”
Lance briefly told of his home in Oregon, his experience on the ranges there, modestly enumerating his abilities and skipping the Hollywood experience.
“Did you ever hear of this range and my ranch?”
“Only from Starr. It’d be a great place to work. Please give me a trial, Stewart.”
“I’d sure like to,” returned the rancher, kindly but gravely. “Once I had the best and wildest outfit on the border. But times have changed.... Starr says in his note that wages are no object.”
“I’ll be glad to work for my board.”
“Are you rich?”
“Lord, no! I have a few dollars in my pocket. And Umpqua. Yes, I should have said I am rich.”
“Sidway, I couldn’t let you work for nothing.”
“But sir, if it’s money don’t let that keep you from hiring me,” importuned Lance.
“Tell me straight. I’ll like you the better if you confess you want this job on account of Madge.”
“Madge! — Who’s she? Oh, of course, your daughter.... Mr. Stewart, on my honor I swear I never heard of her until Starr raved about her last night.”
“But that might have been enough. You’re cowboy brand, all over.”
“It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anything. Women are not in my troubles.”
“Don’t perjure yourself. Girls are always cowboys’ troubles.... I’ll take you on, Sidway, and pay you a few dollars a month till the cattle business looks up.”
“Thank you. I’ll sure do my best for you.”
“Did Ren mention he might come back to me?”
“Yes, he did. He wants to. I’ll bet he’ll come, soon as he saves a little more money.”
“I hate to ask him. But with you hard-riding youngsters to help me and Danny, and my vaqueros we might save the herd. You see, Sidway, there’s been some queer rustling....”
Stewart was interrupted by a sweet high-pitched voice that came from round the corner of the porch, down the lane.
“Nels!... For Pete’s sake look at this black horse! ... Oh, what a beauty! — Oh! Oh!”
Clinking spurs attested to the slow steps of a rider.
“Well, lass, I never set eyes on thet hawse before,” drawled a quaint voice. “You’ll shore hate me when I say he’s got yore nags beat to a frazzle.”
“Nonsense! — But he is.... Nels, I want him. I’ll have him if it costs ten thousand.... Dad! Dad!”
Stewart whispered: “Step around and tell her here’s one horse she can’t buy. It’ll be fun.”
“Certainly, sir,” replied Lance, dubiously. It was his first order from his boss. Besides he seemed curiously struck by the situation or that sweet voice. As he moved to the corner he heard pattering footsteps. Then a vision flashed into sight to plump squarely into his arms.
“Oh!” she screamed, and staggering, would have fallen had she not caught Lance with swift hand. A girl — bareheaded — golden hair flying — lovely flushed face, strangely familiar — violet eyes widening, darkening! “Who on earth?... You!... Of all the miracles! If it isn’t my hero!”
Lance recognized her. His girl of the campus adventure and the mad ride through the streets of Los Angeles. As she enveloped him, with gay trill, and her red lips came up nearer to meet his in a cool sweet kiss, his breast seemed to cave in.
CHAPTER III
IT WAS ALONG about sunset when Gene Stewart drove into the courtyard of his ranch. The drive out from Bolton, despite the old car, had seemed short, and for once he had failed to enjoy the magnificent range that he had loved so well for over thirty years. That day the many familiar spots, memorable of the wild past, failed to start the old dreams. Even the adobe ruins of the Mexican village where Madeline had importuned him to abandon his bad habits and come to work for her, failed for once to remind him of the turning point, the blessed uplift of his life. Trouble indeed gloomed Gene Stewart’s eyes when he could not see the sage flat where, bitter and hopeless, he had pulled Madeline off her horse, and knowing that she was secretly his wife, that though she did not dream of it, she was his, and he was leaving her forever, to ride out on his old hard-shooting, hard-drinking trail to get himself killed, he had kissed her with the mocking passion of renunciation. When Gene, passing the place, did not remember that, though it had been over twenty years ago, he was indeed sore distraught with worries.
Nels, the old Texan who was the last of his great riders of that earlier and wilder day, sat on the porch of the store, smoking and waiting. Gene seemed to see that white head, and the narrow eagle eyes, the lean lined face, with a rare and shocking sense of their age. Nels must be close to seventy now. And all the West showed its life and havoc under that mild mask of tranquillity.
“Wal, you’re late, Gene, an’ come draggin’ along like you was on a bogged hawse,” remarked Nels.
“Yes, old-timer,” replied Gene, wearily, as he sat down on the porch, a folded newspaper in his hand.
“What’s on yore chest?”
“Things have gone from bad to worse, Nels.”
“Heahed from Majesty?” queried the old cowman, eagerly.
“Letter and telegram to me. More for Madeline.... Madge is on her way home. For good!”
“You don’t say? — Aw! Then nothin’ can be bad,” replied Nels, settling back with an air of beautiful relief.
“Bad news from Madge, Nels. But let that go for the moment. There are lesser evils. Lawson has gone into bankruptcy. No hope of the money he owes me. I had banked on that. My creditors are pressing. Money must be raised.”
“Any better market for cattle?”
“Gone down to thirty dollars on the hoof.”
“Boss, I reckon I’d sell.”
“All the herd?” queried Gene, in surprise. Nels would be the last cattleman to sacrifice all his stock. There was not in Arizona a keener judge of matters pertaining to cattle.
“Every horn an’ hide, Gene.”
“But that is an unheard of thing for a rancher to do,” protested Stewart.
“Shore. How aboot these times? Onheard of, ain’t they? Never in my life have I seen the like. Lookin’ far ahaid, Gene, I’ll predict thet the day of the big cattleman is over.”
“Unthinkable!” ejaculated Stewart. The idea somehow hurt him. “What warrant have you for such a prediction?”
“Government interference, sure as shootin’. Then the range land grows less an’ less every year. Last an’ wust, we already have Argentine meat comin’ heah to the U. S., cheaper than we can raise it. Gene, we’re in for bum years. I’ve got a hunch.”
“I always respected your hunches, Nels,” replied Stewart, testily. “But this seems preposterous.”
“Gene, jest how bad in debt air you?”
“I haven’t the nerve to figure it up,” replied Stewart, evasively.
“Wal, if you sold oot at thirty you could pay up, an’ then tide over ontil good times come again. If we live thet long!”
“I might consider selling half my stock,” rejoined Stewart, thoughtfully.
“You’re the boss. An’ you asked my opinion. I forgot to tell you thet Danny Mains rode up today. He ain’t makin’ oot with his cattle raisin’. Been losin’ too many steers. An’ Danny is afeared thet the Mexicans air doin’ the stealin’.”
“But how could a few Mexicans, even if they were crooked, get rid of cattle without leaving any sign?”
“I don’t know, Gene. But there’s shore somethin’ doin’. All of Bonita’s relatives cain’t be good. Some of them won’t be good until they’re daid. Danny’s got a fine wife in Bonita, an’ shore a dandy girl in their daughter, young Bonita. But thet’s aboot all. And he’s scared of her relatives. Asked me plumb oot what to do?”
“And what’d you say, Nels?”
“Wal, I told him to sell. An’ when he bucked on thet I advised him to throw in with you. Then if you hired a couple of good cow hands we could beat this game. At least the stealin’ end. Thet’s the profit-eatin’ cussed part of it.”
“Not a bad suggestion, Nels. But what’d we pay hired cow hands with?”
“Aw, shucks, Gene! It cain’t be thet bad with you,” complained Nels, plaintively.
“I’m sorry, old-timer. But it is. I hate to face Madeline. And especially with this.” Stewart unrolled the newspaper he had twisted in his hands and spread one over the old cowman’s knees. Nels took out his glasses, and adjusting them he read slowly:
COLLEGE CAMPUS RIOT
CO-ED EXPELLED FOR INCITING RIOT BETWEEN STUDENTS AND POLICE
“Wal, I’ll be... !” he ejaculated, jerking up his fine white head. Gene had seen those blue eyes flash fire many a time, though hardly ever like this. Nels divined the truth and his affections were attacked.
“Majesty?”
“Yes, I’m damn sorry to say. But read what it says, Nels.”
“Aw!”
Gene watched that fine lined face as Nels laboriously read the half column in the newspaper. He had seen Nels face death many times and deal it often, with never a gray shade creep over his features nor a convulsive quiver, such as were visible now for a fleeting instant. And he remembered that it was Nels who loved Madge as well as her own father, it was Nels who had long years ago named the imperious child Majesty, who had put her upon a horse and taught her to ride. Nels folded up the newspaper and handed it back.
“Gene, I’d give somethin’ to throw a gun on the cuss who wrote thet.”
“Nonsense, Nels. Are you crazy? This is 1932.”
“Why hell yes! And there’s more shootin’ in the U. S. now than when we come first to this range, thirty years ago for you an’ more for me.... He’s a damn liar, Gene.”
“Who? The writer of this article?”
“Yes. I don’t believe a word of thet dirty part. Aboot her bein’ wild, rich, an’ as hard a drinker as she was a speed demon. Gene, don’t you believe thet an’ fer Gawd’s sake, don’t tell Madeline.”
“I’m sort of sunk, Nels. Kind of a last blow. I don’t know what to think. Madge’s letter admits it. Honest, right out! And her telegrams say she’s on the way home to stay.”
“Gosh! Thet’s the best news I’ve heahed fer a long time.”
“It is good news, Nels. It hurts, though. Looks kind of like disgrace is responsible.”
“Aw no, Gene. Why, Majesty loves this range, this house where she was born. It’s home.”
“I don’t know my own girl,” sighed Stewart. “Remember, Nels, I haven’t laid eyes upon Madge for over three years. You know I was in Mexico the last time she came home. And the summer before that she went to Europe.”
“Wal, I have. An’ I’m gamblin’ on her, Gene. Wild as a young filly, shore she was. But good as gold an’ as true as steel. When she was heah last I had some jars, you bet. I had to figger oot thet times had changed since you an’ me ran after girls. We’ve stayed right in one spot, Gene, an’ this old world has moved on.”
“Right. I’ll bet you we have it coming to us. Madge said in her letter she was having a crowd of college friends come to visit her.”
“Fine. She did thet last time an’ I never had such fun.”
“Nels, you’re a hopeless old fool. Madge will have you eating out of her hand. But I’m her father!”
“Shore. An’ I’m gonna have fun oot of you, Gene.”
Gene slowly walked up the winding green-bordered path toward the ranch house. He had not told Nels all his worries. As a matter of fact he was both overjoyed at the prospect of Madge’s return and greatly dismayed. A crowd of college friends!
Mockingbirds and quail and robins and magpies were rustling and chattering in the thick pines. The last rays of the setting sun burned gold on the flowering vines and the open weathered walls and arches of the old Spanish mansion. The fragrance of roses mingled with that of pine, and the soft sage wind from off the range. Gene felt the fact that the grounds, the great adobe structure, were more beautiful than ever. But the evidence of decay struck Gene most forcibly this evening. The trellises were falling down; the planking of the porches had rotted through in places, the weathering of plaster showed the adobe bricks.
