Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 697
“Oh, you can!” murmured Sue, wanting to laugh.
“I never asked Ora — or any of them — to marry me,” he declared, in solemn triumph.
This liberated Sue’s laugh, but it was not hearty. His earnestness touched her.
“You never asked me, either,” she retorted, and then could have bitten her tongue.
“No, but I’m asking you now,” he flashed back at her.
“Chess!” exclaimed Sue, aghast.
“You needn’t be so surprised. I mean it. I’m old enough to love you — and big enough to work for you. I’ve thought it all out. You’re too wonderful a girl to mind my being poor; you’re...”
“My dear boy, don’t say any more,” interrupted Sue, forced to gravity. His clean brown face had turned white. “I’m sorry I teased you — didn’t take you seriously. But — Chess, I feel like — like a mother to you. I can’t marry you, boy.”
“Why — not?” he asked, swallowing hard.
“Because I don’t love you,” replied Sue, earnestly.
“I knew that, but I — I hoped you might come to it,” he said, bravely struggling with his emotions.
Sue watched him, rather dubiously inquiring into her memory. Had she been unduly friendly to this impulsive lad? But, though she felt a kind of remorse, she did not have a guilty conscience. She saw Chess fight down his cherished dream. Then it seemed he turned to her with a stranger earnestness, with more eloquent eyes and eager lips.
“All right, Sue. I’ll take my medicine,” he said, hurriedly. “But I want to ask you something just as important.”
“What is it?” she asked, curiously.
“If you won’t marry me, will you wait for my brother Chane?... You can’t help but love him!”
“Why, Chess!...” murmured Sue, and then she halted. She had never been quite so astounded in her life. There had come a sudden change in the boy’s voice — in his big dark eyes — so eloquent and beautiful that it was impossible to consider his request as ridiculous. Sue did not know how to answer him.
“Chane has gone to the Indian reservation — over the canyons,” went on Chess. “He went to buy horses to sell to the Mormons. I wanted to go, but he wouldn’t let me. He tried to make me stay at my job in St. George. But I saw you — and I asked your dad for work so I could be near you.... Now Chane, as soon as he gets rid of those horses, he’ll be hitting my trail. He always hunts me up. He thinks I’m still a boy. He still calls me Boy Blue. He’s afraid I’m going to the bad.... Well, when he finds me he’ll see you, and he’ll fall in love with you. Chane never fell in love with a girl, to my knowledge. But you’re the sweetest, wonderfulest girl in the world. He just can’t help himself.... And then I could have you for a sister.”
The swift words rushed out in a torrent, and the simplicity of them touched Sue to the heart. Indeed, she had not known Chess Weymer. Less than boy — he was a child! But now she understood better why she had liked him.
“I — I’ll be your sister, anyhow,” said Sue, trying to think of something to say that would not hurt him. She sensed a singular relation between him and this older brother who called him Boy Blue. It thrilled Sue. There must be a wonderful love between them. It made her curious to hear more about this brother, yet, in view of Chess’s proposal, she did not quite like to ask. Perhaps that would not be necessary, so she waited.
“Sue, you just can’t help but love Chane,” began Chess, his face lighting. “I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. I know what you care about. But any girl would love Chane. I’ve never been anywhere with him where there was a girl — that she didn’t fall in love with him. Without his even looking at her!”
“Indeed! Well, this brother of yours must be a — quite a fellow,” replied Sue. “What’s he like?”
“Oh, Chane’s grand,” burst out Chess, thus encouraged. “He’s like my father, only he’s got mother in him, too, which makes him finer. He’s tall and dark, and, say! he looks right through you. Chane’s got the sweetest, gentlest disposition. But he’s a fighter. It’s because of his kindness that he’s always getting into fights. He’s had some worse than fist-fights, I’m sorry to say. He’s ridden all over and has been in many outfits. He hates cattle and loves horses. I guess the Weymers were all horse lovers. My father was born in Kentucky. Chane never settles down. He goes more and more to the wild places. He’s a lonely sort of fellow — gets restless where there’re lots of people. Somebody will get into trouble and then Chane takes up that trouble. He’d never have any trouble if he’d keep away from people — and me. I give him most trouble. I’m always in hot water; then, sooner or later Chane rides up and gets me out of it.”
“No wonder he calls you Boy Blue!” said Sue, impulsively.
“He doesn’t any more, to my face. I hate it,” declared Chess, darkly.
“Is this brother a wild-horse hunter?” asked Sue.
“Chane’s been everything, but he loves horses best. They don’t have to be wild. They just have to be horses, tame or wild, good or bad, young or old. But I reckon lately the wild- horse wrangling has gotten more into Chane. It’s been sort of a fever across Nevada and Utah, you know. Two years ago he saw that great wild stallion, Panquitch. You’ve heard of him. Well, Chane was actually dotty over that wild horse.”
“I can understand the thrill of chasing wild horses. I’ve felt that when I’ve ridden out to watch you riders. But I can’t bear to see horses hurt, whether wild or tame.”
“Chane’s the same way, Sue,” rejoined Chess. “Oh, you and he are a lot alike. Just wait ‘til you meet him. Just wait ‘til you see him handle horses.”
“Very well, Chess, I’ll try to possess my soul in peace — until Chane trails you up,” replied Sue, laughing gayly. “Good night now. I’m sorry if I hurt you — yet, I’m glad you told me about yourself — and Chane.”
Sue left him sitting there in the dusk and returned camp fireward. But she did not tarry in the ruddy circle where the men were talking and laughing, nor did she go to her tent. She went off alone into the deep shadow of the cottonwoods. The air was crisp and cold, sweet with its wild tang; white stars were burning in the deep-blue vault above; the leaves were rustling in the night breeze; the late crickets were chirping with a melancholy note of coming frost; far out in the lonely darkness coyotes were howling.
“So I must wait for this wonderful brother Chane who calls him Boy Blue,” murmured Sue, dreamily.
She had been strangely, profoundly stirred, and could not grasp just why. She reasoned at first that it was because this boy Chess had paid her the highest honor possible, and then because she felt sorry for him, and then, at the revelation of such a beautiful attachment between brothers. These, however, were not conclusive. Chess’s words had struck at a hitherto untouched chord in her heart — the romance, the glory and dream of some love to come, vague, deep, latent, mysterious. Absurd indeed was the boy’s hope and assurance that she could not help but love Chane. What an odd name! She had never heard it before. In spite of her common sense, and her appreciation of Chess’s boyish sentiment, there had come into her mind a sudden strange establishment between her vague dream hero and this lonely desert rider, this horse lover so eloquently portrayed by his adoring brother. Sue scouted the inception. But it was there.
“Oh, it was so silly — his talk,” she whispered. “Who ever could guess what was in that wild boy?”
Sue at last turned away from the lonely night and the speaking stars, and repaired to her little tent. She went to bed not quite mistress of her vagrant fancies, not wholly sure of herself. Night always had that effect upon her; on the morrow she knew she would be her old, practical, sensible self. But the hour at hand, when sleep did not come readily, held her at the mercy of the unknown, the calling voices, the dim awakenings of instinct.
CHAPTER IV
THE SETTLING OF Melberne’s outfit into permanent camp at Stark Valley was characterized by the advent of perfect weather, a welcome change from the storms and winds of the past weeks. The rainy season had lingered late. It was most beneficial to the desert, but hard on wild-horse wranglers and others exposed to the elements. But the very day after Melberne pitched camp in the cottonwood grove it seemed the wonderful Indian summer of Utah smiled its golden purple-hazed welcome. It made camp life a joy, whether there was work or not, especially if some of the time could be idled away. Sue heard Loughbridge say that they might expect such weather to last for a month and possibly longer.
Melberne was not an experienced wild-horse hunter. This game was comparatively new to him. But he had great force and energy and he could handle men. Whatever his weakness, which perhaps was mostly a susceptibility to suggestion, he was just and fair in his dealings. The riders would not take orders from Loughbridge.
“Wal, men, we’re heah,” announced Melberne, cheerfully, after breakfast that first morning at Stark Valley. “An’ now let’s rustle. I’m not goin’ to drive this valley till I’ve a plan mapped out. Some way to trap a lot of horses. I’ll ride with Alonzo an’ Jim down into the valley an’ get the lay of the land. Reckon I can give you-all plenty to do.... Jake, you keep charge of camp an’ help the womenfolks. Build a stone oven, make a stand for the big kettle, pack water, an’ whatever offers.... Captain, saddle your horse an’ snake in a lot of dead hardwood. My boy Tommy will help you saw it. He just loves the end of a cross-cut saw. Ha! Ha!... An’, Miller, you an’ Utah ride up into some of them canyons that open into the valley. Take stock of any place where there’s sign of wild horses.... Chess, you like to hunt. Now we’re out of meat an’ I look to you as provider. Don’t hunt alone. That’s bad business. Take Bonny with you. There shore ought to be lots of game heah.”
“In a pinch we can eat wild-hoss meat,” observed Utah, with a drawl. “It shore ain’t bad.”
“Dad, you wouldn’t kill a beautiful wild horse to eat!” exclaimed Sue, in horror.
“Wal, lass, I never did,” he replied. “Fact is I never tasted horse flesh. Is it good, Alonzo?”
“Señor, I don’t know,” answered the Mexican vaquero, almost curtly. Manifestly the suggestion was not to his liking.
“I’d starve first,” added Sue, spiritedly.
Her father laughed good-naturedly and gave order for the saddle-horses to be brought in. Chess went whistling his pleasure at the duty assigned him, and taking his bridle up he halted before Sue.
“Little Girl Gold,” he said, gayly, “do you want your pony fetched in?”
“No, thanks, Chess. I’ve a heap of mending — washing to do.... And why did you call me that? I’m not little. I weigh — or did — a hundred and thirty. My hair is chestnut, not gold.”
“It had nothing to do with looks,” replied Chess, mysteriously.
“Oh, very well, little Boy Blue,” returned Sue, lightly.
“Say, I can stand that from you,” flashed Chess, “but don’t say it before anybody.”
“You’ll see. Wait till your brother Chane rides in on your trail,” said Sue, teasingly.
“I wish I hadn’t told you,” he replied, with regret. “Because if you do I’m going to get mad.”
“Chess, you have called me a number of names, and none of them suited me.”
“Mrs. Chess Weymer would suit fine, but you’re hard to please,” he retorted, with a laugh. Then he went whistling on his way, leaving behind him a pleasant sense of something fine and gay and irresponsible in him. Sue reflected that it was rather inconsistent of her to note he apparently had not been cast down by her rejection. Sometimes she regarded some of her thoughts and feelings quite dubiously.
She set about her own necessary duties, which, however, were all personal. She was not often called upon to help in the general camp chores. First she got Jake and Bonny to lift her chest out of the wagon and place it in the back of her tent.
“Now, Sue, I’ll bet you’ve got some pretty dresses in here,” ventured Jake, his tanned face wrinkling. He had big brown eyes, full of the kindliest expression.
“A few, Jake. And all the other possessions I have in the world,” she replied.
“No wonder you were afraid I’d drive the wagon over a bank,” responded Jake, with tremendous interest. “Some day you’ll dress up for us, won’t you? I’d like awful well to see you. My little girl, if she’d lived, would be about your age now.”
“Yes, Jake, I will if it would please you,” said Sue.
“Please me! Well now, listen to her!... Bonny, wouldn’t you like to see Sue all dressed up?”
“Shure, Miss Sue, it’d be g-g-grand,” replied the Irishman, with the most intense gravity. “I’d like to see you knock out the black-eyed wench.”
Jake and Bonny stooped out under the tent flaps, leaving Sue on her knees beside her precious chest. “These men.... It’s funny how they give Ora a little dig now and then. She’s pretty. But, no, I guess it’s not funny.”
Sue dragged her tarpaulin and roll of blankets, and her chaps, spurs, gloves, gun, slicker, coat — all her belongings except the big chest, out into the sunlight. She spread the blankets in the sun.
“Jake,” she called, “I want you to help me some more.”
She dispatched the genial Jake to fetch a tarpaulinful of cedar and piñon boughs; and on second thought, finding she had no task at hand while she waited for him, she followed him up the slope and helped him gather the boughs and drag the loaded tarpaulin back to her tent. Jake was the best of company, and, moreover, he had a way of making one feel more thoughtful and tolerant of others. “I’ll tell you, Sue,” he said, very confidentially, “don’t let Bonny or anybody put you against Ora. She’s a nice girl, if you just like her. She’s been spoiled. It’s plain she was sweet on young Chess, and everybody saw Chess favored you. That’s a hard place for a girl. It brings out feelings we all have.”
“Jake, I liked Ora, but lately she’s different,” protested Sue, and she tried to explain to the earnest old fellow how hard it was to be always sweetly disposed toward Ora.
“Yes, I know. But you’d feel better if you never had hard feelings,” replied Jake.
With Jake’s help Sue laid a mattress of fragrant boughs, a foot deep, along one side of her tent, holding them in place with a small log, cut to fit snugly against the canvas at each end. Upon this she spread the tarpaulin, made her bed of blankets upon it, and pulling the long end of the tarpaulin up she tucked it in all around. That done, she and Jake covered the rest of the floor space in the tent with the remaining boughs. Upon this springy carpet she spread the few Indian blankets she had. Jake fashioned a crude little rack to hold whatever she chose to hang upon it. Her duffle bag she placed in a corner. Then upon the chest, which could serve as a table, she placed her little mirror and the other toilet articles she possessed, her sewing kit, and a bag of sundry materials. Whereupon she surveyed the interior of her canvas home with a great deal of satisfaction, and sat down to consider which of her other numerous tasks she would begin first.
The hours sped apace. It was Melberne’s way in camp to have only two meals, breakfast and supper, and the latter usually came around sunset. Sue heard the men ride in, at different times, and she knew the afternoon was waning. But she kept at her mending until Mrs. Melberne called that supper was ready.
“Sue, you should have been with me,” shouted Chess, the instant she appeared. And with a biscuit in one hand and a cup in the other he burst into the narrative of his adventures. She caught more of his thrilling enthusiasm and excitement than of his story. He was radiant. He had shot his first deer — a buck so big that Bonny had to help him pack it to camp.
The Irishman was evidently an inexperienced hunter. He had wasted a good deal of ammunition on deer, without success.
“Shure, I follered them,” said Bonny, “an’ loike as not I’d soon have hit one. But I saw a bear! He walked roight out of a thicket — a gray furry brute, big as a steer — an’ thot’s all I rimimber.”
“Say, mate, didn’t you heave a shot at him?” queried Captain Bunk.
“My horse run, an’ I thot I’d better run after him,” replied Bonny, seriously.
“Haw! Haw!” roared the seafaring man.
Sue’s father rode in just before dark, dusty and weary, but so elated over his day’s experience that, like Chess, he had to talk before he could eat. He had seen thousands of wild horses that apparently had never been chased, so tame were they.
“If there were only trees or brush down in the valley we could cut them and drag them into long fences leading to a trap!” he ejaculated. “What a haul we’d make! But there’s not a tree in this heah valley, so far as we rode.... Sue, I saw a sorrel today — the finest piece of horseflesh I ever beheld. He was light color, not red or brown, but something between. A stallion with mane and tail that almost swept the ground. He had a whole bunch of bays and blacks. As we rode toward them he drove them on. They shore wasn’t bad scared. He whistled like a bugle note.”
“Dad, you may give him to me,” replied Sue, thrilled by his excitement.
Utah’s report appeared equally interesting to the men. Some ten miles or more down the slope of the valley he had come upon a canyon which he thought it well to explore. At the head of this he encountered a wild, broken-up section of ridges, all sloping down from two converging walls that met above. He discovered fine grass and water, and a drove of wild mules. They were in a natural trap, and it was Utah’s opinion they could be caught in one day.
“Wal, shore that’s fine,” declared Melberne. “We’re going to be busy round heah.”
Miller was the last to come in, and he had his supper by the light of the camp fire. Manifestly he had unusual and good reports to make, but, unfortunately, it happened to be a time when his fatal stuttering affected him most. Once he nearly got launched into clear speech, but Utah, who seemed peculiarly irritated by his rider comrade’s failing, yelled out, “Whistle it, you Chinese poll-parrot!”
That was too much for the exhausted wrangler; casting a baleful glance at Utah he subsided into silence.
