Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1363
“That’s a big order, son,” said Thorpe thoughtfully, “But I reckon we’ll be up to it.”
“Then it’s settled!” exclaimed Lincoln. He stood up and shook hands heartily with the trapper. “Sorry we can’t make a longer visit, Ben. There’s too much to see and talk over, besides I want Lucy to get home before dark.”
“Wal, I reckon so. I haven’t anything to offer you to eat except elk meat, and I’m out of flour and coffee.”
“We’ve got a bit of lunch with us,” said Lucy rising. “But just think, I will be up here next week for good! Good-by till then, Ben.”
Mounting their horses, they rode back toward the bench. Lucy appeared to be in a seventh heaven. But now that the plans were made, Lincoln suffered a sinking sensation in his breast. It now seemed possible that their beautiful plan would work out, but he could no longer put off the inevitable showdown with Lucy’s aunt. Why should he want to? He knew his own mind and his own heart. And now that he no longer felt the paramount importance of avenging his friend’s murder, there was no longer any need to propitiate that beautiful woman. It galled him to think of how he had kept Kit Bandon dangling. It made his and Lucy’s love seem almost stealthy and ashamed. He would —
“Dearest,” complained Lucy suddenly, “you aren’t listening to me.”
“No, I wasn’t. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“I was talking about the furniture and fixings for our cabin. They will have to be ordered.”
“That’s easy, darling. I’ll get a catalogue at the store in town first thing, and then you’ll be busy.”
“But I still want to show you that wonderful place I was telling you about — my place, where I used to hope and dream about the future... and lately my dreams there all have been about you, dearest. It’s a perfect spot to have our lunch. And I’m hungry — even though I am in love!”
They rode along the bench until they came to a grassy promontory overlooking the valley. Lincoln made a seat for Lucy with his coat and while she spread the lunch, still talking excitedly like a happy child, he took his first look at the valley from that point.
From the great waterfall leaping through the cleft down to the narrow green-choked gateway below their valley lay spread before them. Never had Linc seen in one place such a panorama of natural scenery, such a variety of color, in which green and gold and purple were predominant, and with the pool and stream mirroring the azure sky and white fleecy clouds. He became aware that Lucy was tugging at his leg.
“Sit down and eat,” she begged. “I made this lunch especially for you.”
He, too, discovered that he had an appetite after all and while he relished the tasty meal his wife had prepared he could not help gazing speechlessly from time to time upon the beauty of this valley of paradise. Lucy watched him, happy that he was so thrilled by her beloved spot. The towering mountain range loomed sublime and awe-inspiring in the distance; but the canyons and belts of timber, the waterfalls and stained, weather-beaten cliffs did not seem so aloof; near at hand there were more pastoral scenes: green meadows dotted by elk and moose where he envisioned one day his herd of cattle would be grazing. Following the line he had made with his eye across the valley, the Nebraskan made out a narrow rocky ledge where the stream took its final white plunge into the valley floor below. At this point the gully could be bridged and thus a dry road made across the valley directly from the one outlet to the bench on this side, where the range house was to stand. To a prospective cattleman such as Bradway felt himself to be, the valley below him offered many square miles of magnificent pasturage where thousands of cattle could be raised and fattened and cared for at a minimum of expense.
Lucy, reveling in Lincoln’s rapture over her chosen homestead, ceased to talk and watched him with her heart in her eyes. After a time he became aware of other familiar pleasant sensations that began to register their impression in his consciousness. It was easy to locate the musical rhythm of softly falling water but that was not the only sound which brought exquisite memories back to him. Golden pine needles drifting down from above reminded him that a forest of pines was near. The wind in the pines! It was a soft, sad sound which he had been used to during all his years in the West. How many times had he been lulled to sleep on the high lonely ranges by this wilderness murmur. There would probably never be a moment when the wind would not be working in those pine tops; it would range from this gentle sweet summer zephyr he now was hearing to the fierce winter gales when the legions of the storm kings were crashing through those branches. Still, this was not all that intrigued him: there was no sound in nature like the fluttering of the quaking asps. Softly, almost silently, every leaf was quivering on its stem and the millions of leaves in that little grove united into a song that was gay on a day like this one, but sad on a day that was cloudy and cold. The sun had moved around to the west; flecks of gold touched Lucy’s hair and the gray rock and the mats of pine needles. The poet has said that “The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.” Lincoln Bradway’s thoughts, inspired by the beauty that surrounded him, ranged far and wide — from the days of his boyhood in Missouri down through the rough and lonely years to the sweet security of this moment. A warm tide of thankfulness swept over him.
A little hand crept into his, and suddenly he descended from the clouds. With a start he turned to look at Lucy’s sweet face. A warm flush was added to its tan; her gold-flecked short curly hair tumbled rebelliously about her forehead and temples. Having appeased her hunger she was wiping the crumbs from her lips, and her laughter rang out as she saw the expression on Linc’s face. This man beside her was her husband, a stranger no longer. She was unutterably happy. She could not have asked for more in this world. The days of her unhappiness, of her insecurity were past. This man, whose hand she held, was her happiness and her security now. For a little space she met his embraces and caresses with an unrestrained fervor and joy, but her ardor and strength were nothing compared to his. Holding her close in his arms he was taking his last toll of those warm lips and cheeks when he heard a tinkle of a spur. For a moment he thought it might be one of his or Lucy’s, but suddenly his sharp ears caught another sound. He drew back from Lucy’s lips, suddenly freezing as immobile as stone. He sensed something that was not explained by the switching of an aspen branch. He sat bolt upright, and with his hand on his gun turned his eyes toward the aspens. At the same instant he heard what sounded as though it might be the sharp intake of someone’s breath. There before him he saw Kit Bandon, standing not twenty steps away, holding herself rigid between two aspen saplings.
CHAPTER XIV
LUCY MUST HAVE felt her companion’s violent shock and sudden immobility, for she cried quickly, “What is it, Linc?”
Lincoln stared. His scattered wits began to function. “Ah — Kit,” he said hoarsely.
Kit Bandon’s face was that of a rattlesnake about to strike. Linc could see that the two little saplings to which she clung were trembling in her grasp. When she let go of them they came together with a violent swish that set the leaves to quaking and dancing. It was as if they were alive.
Kit moved forward slowly as if some great weight were holding her back. She was garbed in a black riding habit which made her look slim and somber. There was a gun in her belt sheath. She was bare-headed, her face white as paste, and her eyes resembled black banked furnaces. He scarcely knew her. It was as though she were wearing a mask.
“Why — Kit,” began Lincoln haltingly, “where did you — come from?”
“I knew you were here,” she replied in a cold, even tone. “Emery came out this morning. He saw you climbing the ridge out of South Pass. Then later he saw Lucy riding up the Sweetwater trail. But I never thought to find this — this.”
Lucy uttered a little strangled cry and scrambled to her knees. A burning scarlet wave swept over her face from neck to brow. Her eyes shone with terror.
Lincoln hastily got up, spurs clinking, boots scraping. He noticed then that Kit wore gauntlets and carried a whip in her hand. She was peering past the cowboy at the kneeling girl.
“You double-crossing little cat,” she snarled, her lips writhing.
“Oh,” cried Lucy, as if stunned.
“Look here, Kit,” expostulated Lincoln. “No more of that talk, please. Don’t blame Lucy. This is my doing!”
Kit stepped aside from Lincoln to confront Lucy. “So you’re the fine decent little girl who wouldn’t kiss the cowboys,” taunted Kit, her cold, even voice rising. “Look at your face! Look at your hair! Look at your blouse! You — who were so — so damned prudish and proper and horrified when Jimmy Weston—”
“You — you — are mistaken, Aunt Kit,” faltered Lucy, her hands going to her open blouse.
“I should smile. I was mistaken about you, you little alleycat, you—” spat out the raging woman. “Is this the thanks I get for bringing you up, for giving you a home, for—” Suddenly she raised her arm and lashed Lucy across the face with the whip.
Then Lincoln, emerging from his paralysis, reached forward and snatched the whip so violently from Kit that her glove came away with it.
“Have you gone completely mad?” cried Lincoln.
Kit paid no heed to him. She still faced the cowering girl. She was trembling as if suffering from an attack of ague.
“You wouldn’t take a lover from your cowboy friends,” snarled Kit, her voice gathering passion. “You always threw yourself at mine... now you’ve made a fool out of the only man I ever cared for.”
“It’s a lie,” cried Lucy rising, white and furious, from her knees. “Everything you said is a lie. I never — Linc and I—”
“You know what I mean, Lucy Bandon. Your innocence! I wonder that I could be so blind. No woman can blame a man, but you—”
Lucy stepped forward to confront her aunt, one hand on the red welt across her cheek. “Kit, I didn’t betray you. Lincoln Bradway doesn’t care anything for you. He never did! Tell her the truth, Lincoln.”
“You brazen little bitch!” burst out Kit, all control now gone.
“Enough of this, Kit,” interrupted Lincoln harshly. “I won’t have you abusing my, my — I think it’s my turn to talk now.”
“Listen, you double-crossing sneaking spy! I’ll talk to you when I get through with her.”
“That’s right, take it out on me if you want, but leave Lucy alone.” He put his arm protectingly around his wife, who now was weeping bitterly.
“Leave her alone!” shrilled Kit, beside herself. “Why the dirty little—”
Lincoln slapped her so hard across the lips that it brought blood. The blow staggered her. He took care to keep close to her. His quick action had liberated him from the strange inhibition that had bound him during the powerful scene. Now he was cool and capable of coping with the situation.
“You struck me — for her?”
“Yes, and I’m liable to hurt you worse if you keep on screaming like a madwoman. Lucy is honest. She’s done nothing wrong. If there’s any blame it’s mine.”
“Hear the loyal champion. You’re as rotten as she is.”
“I did come to feel great respect for you, Kit, but I never loved you. I couldn’t help it if you imagined things.”
“You talk just like every cowboy caught in the act.”
“I tell you I had no love for you such as I feel for Lucy.”
“You fling it in my teeth?” shrieked Kit.
Bradway realized that there was no further possibility of keeping the truth from her. The time had come to end this wretched secrecy and dissemblance. He took Lucy’s hand and together they faced the hate-contorted Maverick Queen.
“I’m sorry, Kit,” he said, “that you have to learn the news in this wise. Lucy and I are married. Lucy is my wife!”
She regarded him as if she had not heard aright or as if he were crazy. “What?” she demanded, utterly incredulous.
“Yes, Kit Bandon,” interposed Lucy, passionately, “ever since that first day in Rock Springs — when you were so busy with Hank Miller that you left us alone.”
“You’re both liars,” shrieked Kit.
“No, Kit, it’s the truth. Look here,” cried Lincoln hurriedly. And producing their marriage certificate, which he had always carried, he thrust it before Kit’s eyes, which looked suddenly old and beaten.
She saw it, read it, then gasped. “How? When?”
“Kit, it was early in the evening just about dark while you were so busy with that cattleman,” replied Lincoln.
“Was that — the first time — you met?”
“No. I bumped into Lucy in the street the first day I was in South Pass and fell in love with her at first sight.”
“And you — Lucy Bandon?”
“It was the same with me.”
“Oh, I see,” returned Kit trembling in every muscle. “But you never told me.”
“I asked Lucy to keep it quiet for my sake. It would have been easy to pick up our feet and leave for Nebraska without saying a word to anyone. But I had a job to finish before I could go—”
Kit still faced her niece. “You let me fall in love with this man knowing he was yours. You might have saved me from letting me make a shameless fool of myself. I can never forgive you for that. You have both wronged me.”
“We did not,” cried Lucy. “It was your monstrous vanity. It was the same vanity that made you take Jimmy Weston away from me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Kit,” interposed Lincoln giving way to anger. He was afraid of what was forming in her mind. “It is you who have made the blunders. And the worst blunder you made was what you did to Weston.”
“Don’t throw that lovesick simpleton in my face.”
“If he was lovesick you made him so,” retorted Lucy. “He did care for me. And you, Kit Bandon, are the one who knows what it cost him.”
“All right, girl. You know there’s no turning back on this trail.”
“Yes, I know,” responded Lucy. “But I’m no longer afraid of you, Kit Bandon. I can tell you right in front of Lincoln — that Jimmy was bad — that he was faithless — that he deserved punishment — but not a disgraceful cowardly death while he was drunk and asleep.”
Kit uttered an inarticulate cry and with face distorted by fear and rage she drew her gun with lightning swiftness. But quick as she was she was not quick enough for the tall Nebraskan. With a sudden lunge he seized the hand that held the gleaming gun and wrenched it upward so that the belching discharge passed harmlessly over Lucy’s head. Lincoln, with both hands on her wrist and the gun, held her arm above her head. She was as strong as a panther. She fought like one. She struck with her free hand. She kicked. She writhed and twisted in his grasp. She bit him on the back of the hand.
“I’ll kill you, Lucy Bandon, for that,” she screamed. “And you, Linc Bradway — I’ll blow your guts out!”
“For God’s sake, Kit, come to your senses,” implored Lincoln. “Drop that gun. Let me have it. Would you murder your own flesh and blood?... Kit!”
“I’ll kill you! You two can’t live on the earth with me!”
She reached for the gun with her other hand and was straining, panting, writhing with extraordinary and insane strength to tear it away from Lincoln. He could feel her muscular body strain and swell and thrash against him. In that moment Kit Bandon revealed her true self. She once had shown him her better nature, but now she was a killer! He gave her gun hand a quick backward twist. She screamed with agony and helpless rage. The gun went spinning beyond over the rock. She fell away from him against the tree and then slid to the ground. She did not move.
“God!” whispered Lincoln. “I guess it was the wrong time — to tell her.... Lucy, she would have murdered us both.”
“I told you, Lincoln! I know — Kit Bandon,” replied Lucy, her face white and drawn. “Is — is she breathing?”
“If she’s dead it was done when her head hit the tree....”
Lucy knelt beside the still form and slipped her hand inside Kit’s blouse. “Oh, she’s alive. Thank heaven, Lincoln. I wouldn’t want you to be the cause of her death — Get some water in your sombrero.”
He snatched up his sombrero and strode to the brook. As he filled the sombrero he noticed how his hands were shaking. No wonder! If he had not suspected her and kept close to her he and Lucy would at that moment be lying dead on the promontory. What kind of a story would Kit have sent abroad about such a tragedy? Probably it would have been made to look like murder and suicide. He hurried back with the water. Lucy began to bathe her aunt’s face with the icy water while Lincoln at Lucy’s instigation began to chafe her wrists. Their joint activities brought Kit to. At first her great dark eyes stared blankly up at Lucy and Linc; then as she recognized them, her color came flooding back into her cheeks.
“What — happened?” she asked, faintly, as her eyes went from one to the other.
“We had a fight, Kit, and I had to disarm you,” returned Lincoln. “You struck your head when you fell and lost your senses.”
“What was I — going to do?”
“Never mind. We want to forget it.”
Kit gave a long, heart-rending sigh. “I remember... you and Lucy — love at first sight — never told me — married at Rock Springs.... Now what is to become of me?” and she broke into an uncontrollable fit of weeping.
Her hysteria was so prolonged and her sobbing so violent that Linc thought she would do herself some injury, but she could not be comforted. Lucy put Kit’s head in her lap and held her and spoke soothingly to the distracted woman. It seemed to Linc that the Maverick Queen had aged ten years in the past half hour. Her secret was out. Her hope of finding love was forever gone. She had come within one frantic instant of murdering in the heat of passion the only two people she ever had loved. As Linc looked down at her he scarcely recognized the woman that was Kit Bandon. She looked old, and sick, and beaten. She sat up presently, and Lucy helped her to her feet.
