Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1325
“Wagons and horseback. We can buy wagon outfits for next to nothing. There’s a corral full of them at Black’s. Second hand, but good enough.”
“Mother an’ Lucy will be glad. They hate this country. I don’t mind wind if it’s not too cold.”
“There! Isn’t that Lucy at the gate now?” suddenly queried Pan, with piercing gaze ahead.
“Reckon it is,” replied his father. “Ride ahead, son. I’ll take my time.”
Pan urged the sorrel into a lope, then a gallop, and from that to a run. In just a few rods Pan took the measure of this splendid horse. Swift, strong, sure footed and easy gaited, and betraying no sign of a mean spirit, the sorrel won Pan. What a liar Blinky was! He had lied to be generous.
Lucy waved to Pan as he came clattering down the road. Then she disappeared in the green foliage. Arriving at the gate he dismounted and went in. He expected to see her. But she had disappeared. Leading his horse he hurried in toward the house, looking everywhere. The girl, however, was not to be seen.
Bobby was occupied with little wooden playthings on the porch. Pan’s gay shout to him brought forth his mother, but no Lucy.
He dropped his bridle, and mounted the porch to embrace his mother, who met him with suppressed emotions. Her hands were more expressive than her words.
“Oh, I’m all here, Mother,” he laughed. “Where’s Lucy? She was at the gate. Waved to me.”
“Lucy ran through the house like a whirlwind,” replied his mother, with a smile. “The truth is, my son, she has been quite beside herself since she heard of her father’s release from jail. She knew you got him out. She stared at me with her eyes black and wide. ‘Mother, he laughed at me — at my fears. He said it’d be easy to free Dad.’...So she knows, Pan, and I rather think she didn’t want us to see her when she meets you. You’ll find her in the orchard or down by the brook.”
“All right, Mother, I’ll find her,” replied Pan happily. “We’ll be in to dinner pronto. There’s a lot to talk about. Dad will tell you.”
Pan did not seek Lucy in the orchard. Leaping upon the sorrel he loped down the sandy hard-packed path toward the brook and the shady tree with its bench. Pan knew she would be there. Dodging the overhanging branches he kept peering through the aisles of green for a glimpse of white or a golden head. Suddenly he was rewarded. Lucy stood in the middle of the sunny glade.
Pan rode to her side and leaped from the saddle. Her face was pale, and wet with tears. But her eyes were now dry, wide and purple, radiant with unutterable gladness. She rushed into his arms.
Dinner that day appeared to be something only Bobby and Pan had thought or need of. Mrs. Smith and Lucy, learning they might have to leave in two weeks, surely in four, became so deeply involved in discussion of practical details of preparation, of food supplies for a long wagon trip, of sewing and packing, that they did not indulge in the expression of their joy.
“Dad is hopeless,” said Pan, with a grin. “He’s worse than a kid. I’ll have to pack his outfit, if he has anything. What he hasn’t got, we’ll buy. So, Mother, you trot out his clothes, boots, some bedding, a gun, chaps, spurs, everything there is, and let me pick what’s worth taking.”
It was indeed a scant and sad array of articles that Pan had to choose from.
“No saddle, no tarp, no chaps, no spurs, no gun!” ejaculated Pan, scratching his head. “Poor Dad! I begin to have a hunch how he felt.”
It developed that all his father possessed made a small bundle that Pan could easily carry into town on his saddle.
“We’ll buy Dad’s outfit,” said Pan briskly. “Mother, here’s some money. Use it for what you need. Work now, you and Lucy. You see we want to get out of Marco pronto. The very day Dad and I get back with the horses. Maybe we can sell the horses out there. I’d take less money. It’ll be a big job driving a bunch of wild horses in to Marco. Anyway, we’ll leave here pronto.”
To Lucy he bade a fond but not anxious good-by. “We won’t be away long. And you’ll be busy. Don’t go into town! Not on any account. Send Alice. Or Mother can go when necessary. But you stay home.”
“Very well, boss, I promise,” replied Lucy roguishly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BEFORE DARK THAT night Pan had most of his preparations made, so that next morning there would be nothing to do but eat, pack the horses, saddle up and ride.
At suppertime Charley Brown and Mac New, alias Hurd, called at the camp. The latter was a little the worse for the bottle. Charley was sober, hard, gloomy.
“Howdy, boys. Help yourself to chuck. Then we’ll talk,” said Pan.
The outcome of that visit was the hiring of both men to go on the wild-horse drive. Brown’s claim had been jumped by strangers. It could not be gotten back without a fight. Brown had two horses and a complete outfit; Mac New had only the clothes on his back.
“Fired me ‘thout payin’ my wages,” he said, sullenly.
“Who fired you, Mac?” inquired Pan.
“Hardman, the —— —— —— !” replied Mac New.
“Well! That’s strange. Does he own the jail?”
“Huh! Hardman owns this heah whole damn burg.”
“Nix,” spoke up Blinky. “Don’t fool yourself there, pardner. Jard Hardman has a long string on Marco, I’ll admit, but somebody’s goin’ to cut it.”
Brown had an interesting account to give of his meeting with Dick Hardman down at Yellow Mine. The young scion of the would-be dictator of Marco fortunes had been drunk enough to rave about what he would do to Panhandle Smith. Some of his maudlin threats, as related by Brown, caused a good deal of merriment in camp, except to Blinky, who grew perfectly furious.
“Hey, cowboy, are you goin’ to stand fer thet?” he queried, belligerently.
Pan tried to laugh it off, but Blinky manifestly had seen red at the mention of Dick Hardman’s name. He was going over to the Yellow Mine and pick a fight. Pan, finding Blinky stubborn and strange, adopted other tactics. Drawing the irate cowboy aside he inquired kindly and firmly: “It’s because of Louise?”
“What’s because?” returned Blinky, blusteringly.
“That you want to pick a fight with Dick?”
“Naw,” replied Blinky, averting his face.
“Don’t you lie to me, Blinky,” went on Pan earnestly, shaking the cowboy. “I’ve guessed your trouble and I’m your friend.”
“Wal, Pan, I’m darn glad an’ lucky if you’re my friend,” said Blinky, won out of his sullenness. “But what trouble are you hintin’ aboot?”
Pan whispered: “You’re in love with Louise.”
“What if I am?” hissed Blinky, in fierce shame. “Are you holdin’ thet agin me?”
“No, I’m damned if I don’t like you better for it.”
That was too much for Blinky. He gazed mutely up at Pan, as a dog at his master. Pan never saw such eyes of misery.
“Blinky, that girl is wicked,” went on Pan. “She’s full of hellfire. But that’s only the drink. She couldn’t carry on that life without being drunk. She told me so. There’s something great about that little girl. I felt it, Blink. I liked her. I told her she didn’t belong there. I believe she could be made a good woman. Why don’t you try it? I’ll help you. She likes you. She told me that, too.”
“But Louise won’t ever see me unless she’s drunk,” protested Blinky sorrowfully.
“That’s proof. She doesn’t want you wasting your time and money at the Yellow Mine. She thinks you’re too good for that — when she’s sober...Talk straight now, Blink. You do love her, bad as she is?”
“So help me I do!” burst out the cowboy abjectly. “It’s purty near killed me. The more I see of her the more I care. I’m so sorry fer her I cain’t stand it...Dick Hardman fetched her out heah from Frisco. Aw! She must have been bad before thet, I know. But she wasn’t low down. Thet dive has done it. Wal, he never cared nothin’ fer her an’ she hates him. She swears she’ll cut his heart out. An’ I’m afraid she’ll do it. Thet’s why I’d like to stick a gun into his belly.”
“Marry Louise. Take her away. Come south with us to Arizona,” replied Pan persuasively.
“My Gawd, pardner, you’re too swift fer me,” whispered Blinky huskily, and he clutched Pan. “Would you let us go with you?”
“Sure. Why not? Lucy and my mother know nothing about Louise. Even if they did they wouldn’t despise a poor girl you and I believe is good at heart and has been unfortunate. I’d rather not tell them, but I wouldn’t be afraid to.”
“But Louise won’t marry me.”
“If we can’t talk her into it when she’s sober, by heaven we’ll get her drunk...Now Blink, it’s settled. Let’s stay away from there tonight. Forget it. We’ll go out and do the hard riding stunt of our lives. We’ll sell horses. With some money we can figure on homes far from this bitter country — homes, cowboy, do you savvy that? With cattle and horses — some fine open grassy rolling country — where nobody ever heard of Blinky Moran and Panhandle Smith.”
“Pard, it ain’t — my — right name, either,” mumbled Blinky, leaning against Pan. He was crying.
“No difference,” replied Pan, holding the boy tight a moment. “Brace up, now, Blink. It’s all settled. Go to bed now, I’ll help Gus with the horses.”
Pan left the cowboy there in the darkness, and returned to camp. His conscience questioned him, but he had only satisfaction, even gladness in reply. Blinky had been one of the wild cowboys, and had been going from bad to worse. If an overpowering love gripped him, a yielding to it in a right way might make a better man of him. Pan could not see anything else. He had known more than one good-for-nothing cowboy, drinking and gambling himself straight to hell, who had fooled his detractors and had taken the narrow trail for a woman others deemed worthless. There was something about this kind of fight that appealed to Pan. As for the girl, Louise Melliss, and her reaction to such a desperate climax, Pan had only his strange faith that it might create a revolution in her soul. At least he was absolutely sure she would never return to such a life, and she was young.
Pan sought his blankets very late, and it seemed he scarcely had closed his eyes when Juan called him. It was pitch dark outside. The boys were stirring, the horses pounding, the campfire crackling. He pulled on his boots with a will. Glad he was to return to the life of camps, horses, cold dawns, hard fare and hard riding. He smelled the frying ham, the steaming coffee.
“Mawnin’, pardner,” drawled Blinky. “Shore thought you was daid. Grab a pan of grub heah...An’ say, cowboy, from now on you can call me Somers — Frank Somers. I’m proud of the name, but I reckon it was ashamed of me.”
“Ah-huh! All right, Blink Somers,” replied Pan cheerfully. “You’ll always be Blink to me.”
They ate standing and sitting before the campfire, in the chill blackness just beginning to turn gray. Then swift hands and lean strong arms went at beds and packs, horses and saddles. When dawn broke the hunters were on their way, far up the cedar slope.
Pan gazed back and down upon Marco, a ragged one-street town of motley appearance, its white tents, its adobe huts, its stone buildings, and high board fronts, mute and still in the morning grayness. What greed, what raw wild life slept there!
Far beyond the town he saw the green-patched farm, the little gray cabin where his mother and Lucy slept, no doubt dreaming of the hopes he had fostered in them. Some doubt, some fear, intangible and inexplicable, passed over him as he looked. Would all be well with Lucy? There was indeed much to be feared, and he could never give happiness full rein until he had her safe away from Marco.
Once out of sight of the town Pan forced himself to the job ahead. And as always, to ride a good-gaited horse with open country ahead lulled his mind into content.
Blinky was first, leading a pack horse. Pan followed next, and the other four men strung out behind, with bobbing pack horses between. This ridge was the high ground between Marco Valley and Hot Springs Valley. Soon the trail led down, and it was dusty. The rising sun killed the chill in the air, and by the time the hunters had reached level ground again it was hot. There was alkali dust to breathe, always an abomination. From above, Pan had espied a green spot fifteen miles or more down the valley. A number of dust devils were whirling around it.
“What’s that, Blink?” Pan had asked, pointing.
“Thet’s Hot Springs, an’ the dust comes from wild hosses comin’ to drink.”
They rode across the valley, which appeared to be five or six miles wide, to begin ascending another slope. The pack horses lagged and had to be driven. Up and up the hunters climbed, once more into the cedars. Pan had another view of Hot Springs and the droves of wild horses. He was surprised at their numbers.
“Blink, there must be lots of horses water there.”
“Yep. Three thousand or more at this time of year. Many more later, when the droves get run out of the high country by man. An’ you see Hardman’s outfit has been chasin’ them hosses fer two months. They’ve shore purty well boggered.”
“Are many of them branded?”
“Darn few,” replied Blinky. “Not more’n five or six in a hundred. The Mexicans call them Arenajos. These wild hosses haven’t been worth ketchin’ until lately. Most all broomtails. But now an’ then you shore see a bunch of dandy mustangs, with a high-steppin’ stallion.”
“Ah, now, cowboy, you’re talking,” declared Pan. “You’re singing to me. It’ll be darn hard for me to sell horses like that.”
“Pard, I reckon we won’t sell ‘em,” replied Blinky. “Cain’t we use a few strings of real hosses down there in Arizonie?”
“I should smile,” replied Pan.
They climbed and crossed that ridge, which could have been called a foothill if there had been any mountains near. Another valley, narrow and rough, not so low as the last, lay between this ridge and the next one, a cedared rise of rock and yellow earth that promised hard going. Beyond it rose the range of mountains, black and purple, and higher still, white peaked into the blue. They called to Pan. This was wild country, and even to see it in the distance was all satisfying.
This narrow valley also showed some wild-horse bands, but not many, for there appeared to be scant grass and water. These horses were going or coming, all on a trot, but when they sighted the hunters they would halt stock-still. Soon a stallion trotted out a hundred paces or more, snorted and whistled, then taking to his heels he led his band away in a cloud of dust. Some of these bands would run a long way; others would halt soon to look back.
The water which they had come to drink was not very good, according to Pan’s taste. His sorrel did not like it. This was Pan’s first experience with hot alkali water. It came out almost boiling, too hot to drink, but a few rods from the spring it cooled off.
The spring was surrounded by low trees still green, though many of the leaves had turned yellow. While the hunters watered there, Pan espied another herd of wild horses that trooped in below, and drank from the stream. He counted ten horses, mostly blacks and bays. The leader was a buckskin, and Pan would not have minded owning him. The others were not bad looking, of fair size, weighing around a thousand pounds, but they showed inbreeding. After they had drunk their fill they pawed the mud and rolled in the water, to come up most unsightly beasts. Pan let out a loud yell. Swift as antelopes the horses swept away.
“Shore they left there!” drawled Blinky. Then talking to his own horse, which he slapped with his sombrero, he said: “Now you smelled them broomies, didn’t you? Want to run right off an’ turn wild, huh! Wal, I’ll shore keep a durn sharp eye on you, an’ hobble you too.”
All the saddle horses, and even some of the pack animals, were affected by the scent of the wild herd. Freedom still lived deep down in their hearts. That was why a broken horse, no matter how gentle, became the wildest of the wild when he got free.
Pan had been right in his judgment of the lay of the land on the next ridge. Climbing it was difficult.
“When we ketch the wild hosses we can drive them down the valley an’ round to the road,” said Blinky, evidently by way of excuse. “It’ll be longer, but easy travelin’. Shore we couldn’t drive any broomtails heah.”
The summit of this ridge was covered with piñons and cedars, growing in heavy clumps around outcropping of ledges. Pan espied the blue flash of deer, through the gray and green. Deer sign was plentiful, a fact he observed with pleasure, for he liked venison better than beef.
It was rather a wide-topped ridge, and not until Pan had reached an open break on the far side could he see what kind of country lay beyond.
“Wal, there she is, my wild hoss valley,” said Blinky, who sat his horse alongside of Pan. “An’ by golly, thet’s the name for her — Wild Hoss Valley. Hey, pard?”
Pan nodded his acquiescence. In truth he had been rendered quite speechless by the wildness and beauty of the scene below and beyond him. A valley that had some of the characteristics of a canyon yawned beneath, so deep and wide that it appeared like a blue lake, so long that he could only see the north end, which notched under a rugged mountain slope, green and black and golden and white according to the successive steps toward the heights.
The height upon which he stood was the last of the ridges, for the elevation that lay directly across was a noble range of foothills, timbered, canyoned, apparently insurmountable for horses. Gray cliffs stood out of the green, crags of yellow rock mounted like castles.
But it was the blue floor of the valley that longest held Pan’s enraptured gaze. It looked level, though to an experienced eye that was deceitful. Grass and sage! What were the innumerable colored rocks or bushes or dots that covered the whole floor of the valley? Pan wondered. Then he did not need to ask. They were wild horses!
“Aw, Blink! This’ll be hard to leave!” he expostulated, as if his friend were to blame for this unexpected and bewildering spectacle.
“You bet your sweet life it will,” agreed Blinky. “But we cain’t hang up heah, moon eyed an’ ravin’. We’re holdin’ up the outfit an’ it’s a long way down to water.”
