Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 900
“Marvie, I admire Rose for that,” said Hettie, earnestly. “I think she’s a square girl, even if she is a Hatt.”
“Now, Hettie, don’t you go talkin’ like dad or mother,” burst out Marvie, warningly.
“Oh, Marvie, I won’t,” declared Hettie, ashamed of the fact that she had been about to do so. By Marvie’s warning she estimated his regard for her.
“I don’t care a damn about myself — even when I do love her turrible,” went on Marvie, passionately. “But what’s to become of Rose?”
In the sincerity and inevitableness of youth he had hit upon the thing that mattered most.
“I understand, Marvie,” said Hettie, gravely. “You make me ashamed. Rose is not to blame for her family, for her surroundings, for — anything.”
“Now you’re talkin’ like Hettie Ide,” returned Marvie, fervently. “And I’m givin’ you a hunch. If Rose really loves me I’ll stick to her. In spite of dad or Ben or anyone!”
Hettie dropped her head. Here was a problem. What should she say? Marvie’s confidence in her suddenly meant more than ever before. He needed something from her.
“What knocks me flat is — I’m afraid she doesn’t love me,” went on the lad. “I’m goin’ to find out, though, if I have to ride right under Cedar Hatt’s nose. . . . Last night I believed she didn’t. This mornin’ I thought she did. If not — if she was only a little hussy — why’d she say she had a bad name and wouldn’t meet me no more?”
Hettie had no quick reply to his passionate query. Owing to her own stress of emotion during the last twenty-four hours, she was far from being her old logical self. But she was fighting a conviction that Rose Hatt had shown nobility and sacrifice in her attitude toward Marvie’s advances. If those attributes did not spring from love, Hettie did not know what to call it.
“Tell me, Hettie,” begged Marvie, with soul-searching eyes that hurt her, “don’t you think Rose cared really? Wasn’t that good in her — givin’ me up? Wasn’t it because she — she liked me too well to go on with what she thought might disgrace me an’ you an’ Ben?”
“Marv, I can’t be sure, but I think so.”
“Thanks — Hettie,” choked the lad, sitting up straight and facing ahead. A light crossed his somber youthful face. “You hit me right here.” And he put his hand to his breast. “Sure I couldn’t tell nobody else but you. It’s helped a lot.”
“Marvie, how in the world did all this come about?” asked Hettie, in wondering sympathy.
“Like a story, Hettie. I met Rose over a month ago. Went huntin’ on a Sunday. Rode a long way, then walked. I got after some turkeys. They were awful wild. I followed them a long ways, down into a big grassy canyon where a stream ran. Most beautiful place. Deer, elk, beaver all along. But I wanted one of them big old gobblers. So I kept on. And I run plump into a girl. She was cryin’. I spoke to her — sat down with her. After a while she began to talk. First she was sore an’ hot at her brother, Cedar Hatt, who beat her. Showed me black-and-blue marks on her bare legs. I said somebody like Jim Lacy ought to come along and kill him. Funny, wasn’t it — me sayin’ that? Well, we got real friendly. She said she’d meet me again, but farther away. That place was too near home. So she told me where a trail ran and how I could find it. I never told her who I was that time. Forgot. Anyway, I kept the day she set, and sure enough she came. . . . It was different that day. I reckon I fell in love then — not the first day. And she — but never mind. . . . I met her three times more. And last time, night before last at the dance. That’s all.”
“It’s quite enough, isn’t it, Marvie?” said Hettie.
“It sure is. I forgot to tell you. At the dance, when she said first she wouldn’t meet me no more, I said I was goin’ to our place Wednesday at the same time as before. I’m goin’, too.”
“Marv, if what I know of girls holds true — if she really cares — she’ll come. Rose is too young to stick to a hard decision like that, if her heart’s involved.”
“Hettie, you’re a comfort,” cried Marvie, gratefully, almost hugging her. “I’ll hope she’ll come. I’ll believe it. Maybe that’ll let me eat and sleep.”
“You’ll tell me everything?” asked Hettie, earnestly.
“You bet I will. Now I’ll go and crawl to Ben.”
Several days passed. Hettie took to horseback-riding again, venturing perhaps farther away from the ranch than Ben would have allowed, had he known. But Hettie seemed driven. On Wednesday she rode with Marvie for five miles back into the forest toward the brakes, and that was the greatest ride she ever enjoyed. Ridge and canyon, the aspen thickets, the wonderful swales where the turkeys and elk lived, the beaver dams and bee trees, the first coloring of vines and sumach in the open spots, the deep dark thickets where the horses scented bear and reared to turn back, the roar of water over boulders and the wind through the pine tops — these things enchanted Hettie and won her more than ever to the wilderness of Arizona.
On the last stretch back home, where the trail was fairly level and open, she urged her horse to his best speed. That race satisfied, for the time being, a restlessness and need of violence. Her blood danced hot; wind and sun burned her cheeks; the tang of the woods acted like wine. Thus she rode down into the clearing and on to the barn and corrals. And she ran pell-mell into Ben, Raidy, Dillon, and Tom Day, scattering them like quail.
“Hey there, you Indian!” yelled Ben, and he climbed a corral fence, the better to tease her.
Hettie reined her mount and, wheeling him, trotted back, and slid from the saddle.
“He’s a — fine horse, Ben,” she declared, patting the wet neck.
“Wal, he suits you, lass,” said Tom Day, admiringly, as he took her in from boots to sombrero.
“Miss Hettie, strikes me this hyar Arizonie has got into your blood,” added old Raidy, shaking his head dubiously. “Reckon I don’t like it. Day says it ain’t safe for you to ride out alone. So does Dillon.”
“What do you say, Ben?” queried Hettie, archly.
“Not a darn thing. I quit long ago tryin’ to run you,” returned Ben.
Dillon leaned against the corral, in the background, without entering into the conversation. The discoloration round his eye had not wholly disappeared.
“Miss, can’t you be happy ridin’ on the ranch, without headin’ off into the woods?” asked Raidy.
“Do you think I’d ride inside a fence? Not much.”
“Wal, Hettie Ide, I sure know what you need,” declared Tom Day.
“To be spanked, I suppose,” laughed Hettie. “But seriously, what’s the danger?”
“Wal, lass, mebbe there ain’t any real danger,” replied Day, thoughtfully. “But we’re sort of locoed these days. Reckon it’s far-fetched to think hoss-thieves an’ rustlers might take a notion to steal you.”
“Kidnap me for ransom?” queried Hettie, incredulously.
“Wal, yes, an’ for other reasons, too,” rejoined the old cattleman, significantly. “You don’t ‘pear to know it, but you’re a mighty handsome girl.”
“Thank you, Uncle Tom. That’s a fine compliment. But it’s not scaring me.”
“Hettie, look here,” interposed Ben, gravely, stepping to her with a piece of paper in his hand. “Read this.”
Hettie took the coarse dirty paper and read:
Ben Ide
Sir.
Fire your foreman Dillon or dig a grave for him.
X.
Without a word Hettie returned the slip to her brother.
“We found that nailed on the bunkhouse door,” he said, angrily. “It’s a threat. Dillon recovered another bunch of my cattle yesterday. Only a few head, but enough to make these rustlers sore. To-day we found where they’d been camping in an old cabin, on my own land. Of all the nerve! I’ve been reasonable about this cattle-stealing. I expected it. But when these thieves grab my best horse and camp right under my nose — it’s time for me to get sore.”
“See, Miss Hettie,” added Raidy. “That’s why it ain’t safe for you to ride out so far.”
“I’ll be careful hereafter,” replied Hettie, soberly, handing her horse over to Raidy. “Mr. Day, won’t you stay for supper?”
“Sorry, lass, but I’ve got to be goin’ home.”
“Good-by then. Come soon again,” said Hettie, turning away. She was proceeding up the lane, revolving in mind that threatening note Ben had showed her, when he caught up with her and fell into her step.
“Hettie, on the square now — did you write this note and stick it up on the bunkhouse?” he asked.
“Ben Ide! Are you crazy?” Hettie cried, incredulously. Then she burst out laughing. “Of all things! . . . Brother, I fear the loss of your cattle and California Red has caused you to lose your head.”
“Forgive me, Hettie,” returned Ben, contritely. “I imagined you might have done that, just to plague me. And honest, I wish you had.”
“Ben, why in the world can you wish such a thing as that?”
“Because if you had I wouldn’t worry. I hoped you’d done it. Reckon I am loco, as these riders say. But, Hettie, I don’t like this situation I’m in.”
“Neither do I, Ben,” retorted Hettie. “But nobody can tell you anything.”
“Aw now, Hettie, that’s not nice of you,” said Ben, reproachfully. “I told Ina about your affair with Dillon — your side of it, mind you. She pitched into me like sixty. I can’t stand havin’ both of you against me.”
“We’re not against you, Ben,” returned Hettie, earnestly.
“Yes, you are,” he said, doggedly. “An’ I’m getting sore at everybody. I’m going against your advice and Ina’s, even Tom Day’s. I’ve offered a reward of one thousand dollars for the return of California Red. Posted notices along the trails. Tom didn’t like that. Said some one would bring the horse back, then steal him again.”
“What did Dillon say?” asked Hettie, curiously.
“He approved my offering the reward. You know Dillon said he could get Red back. And he was away two days, after he returned from Winthrop. I don’t know where he went. He’s worked with most of these outfits along the Mogollons. He knows them all, anyway, and no doubt some of them are clanny with the horse and cattle thieves. That’s the worst of this country. You really don’t know who is honest. Well, Dillon came back and said he couldn’t find out anything about Red. So I decided to offer a reward. And Dillon himself took the notices out on the range.”
“You’ll get Red back,” returned Hettie, hopefully.
“I’ve got another idea,” he went on. “I want to send for several well-known sheriffs and put them on the track of these rustlers. Pat Garrett, of New Mexico. If I could get him, and a couple from Phoenix, and hire a gang of hard-shooting cowboys, I’ll bet they’d clean out the rustlers. But Tom Day yelled murder at the very idea. And Dillon, he hit the roof. Swore they’d burn me out instead of just rustling a few cattle. Few? By George! I’d like to know what Dillon would call a lot of cattle.”
“Ben, you should listen to Tom Day, at least,” replied Hettie. “He knows the country.”
“I’m listening, Hettie. But I want some action,” he retorted. “If I don’t get Red back inside of ten days there’ll be hell to pay by somebody.”
Marvie did not return to the ranch till late. Hettie sat up waiting for him, trying to read, but mostly gazing into the wood fire with dreamy, sad eyes. She heard his swift step on the porch, and a jingle of spurs, then a quick knock.
“Come in, Marvie,” she called expectantly.
In he rushed, like the wind, but quietly, and he startled her with his pale face crossed by black smudges, and his piercing, radiant eyes. He carried a rifle and quirt and gloves in his hands; and altogether he appeared a striking, thrilling figure. Hettie knew before he spoke what had happened.
“She was there!” he whispered, dramatically.
“Marv, I knew that the instant you entered,” said Hettie, with a smile. There was a contagion in his spirit.
“Hettie, I’m sure the happiest an’ miserablest man in the world,” he added.
“Sit down, Marvie, and tell me all about it.”
“Not a great deal to tell, but what there is of it is tumble,” he returned, coming to the seat beside her. Then in a low voice, full of suppressed emotion, he went on: “Rose was there. She’d been there for hours, waitin’, cryin’, fearin’ I wouldn’t come. She said her heart broke. She’d found out she loved me. I was the only one who’d ever cared for her — been good to her. She said she could give me up — to save me disgrace — but she’d have to kill herself. I swore I’d stick to her — marry her. I talked an’ talked. An’ then I told her I’d fetch you down the trail next Wednesday. She was tumble scared at that. But I told her you’d help us. An’ finally she agreed. She’s to ride down a trail we know, till we meet her. . . . That’s all, Hettie. An’ for God’s sake—”
Marvie broke off huskily, his voice failing.
Hettie impulsively kissed him. “Marvie, I think you’re pretty much of a man,” she said. “I’ll go. And I’ll find some way to solve your problem.”
He mumbled something incoherent and rushed out of the room, neglecting to close the door. Hettie watched him stalk away in the moonlight, then shutting the door she drew her chair nearer the fire and fell into grave and sympathetic pondering over Marvie’s love affair.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HETTIE, EARLY RISER as she was, outdid herself on this Wednesday morning, which was the day on which she had agreed to ride down into the brakes with Marvie.
There were tasks to see to, some of which she performed before her mother called her to breakfast. Hettie was still at the table when whoops outside alarmed her. Then she recognized Marvie’s “Whoopee!”
“Gracious! Is the poor kid celebrating the arrival of this day?” ejaculated Hettie, mirthfully.
Nevertheless, she ran out on the porch, followed by her mother.
“For the land’s sake!” cried Mrs. Ide. “Has Marvie gone daffy!”
They saw him running wildly bareheaded, up the walk toward Ben’s house. Once up on the ridge, Marvie espied Hettie, and waving to her he yelled:
“Look down in the pasture!”
Hettie did so, at least toward the near pasture, but as her view was most obscured by pine trees she did not see anything unusual.
“Whoopee!” yelled Marvie again. “Hey, Ben!”
Hettie realized now that something was up, so she started to run across the log bridge. When she got halfway she saw Ben rush out on the porch, in his shirt sleeves, rifle in hand.
“What’s the matter, Marv?” he shouted.
“CALIFORNIA RED’S BACK!” bellowed Marvie, coming to a halt.
Hettie saw Ben start as if struck. Then he ran to meet Marvie. Hettie lost little time getting over the bridge and across the grassy bench. Breathless and excited she arrived in time to see Ben sink down on a log, as if overcome. Ina came running in her dressing-gown.
“Oh, Ben — who — what is it?” she cried, in alarm.
“Glory be! Ina, Red is back.”
“That all? I thought we were attacked by rustlers. Marvie, you can yell like a demon.”
“Ben, I’m — so glad,” panted Hettie.
“Boy, you’re not playin’ a trick on me — because I was sore on you?” implored Ben of Marvie.
“Nope, I saw him sure. An’ I was tickled to death.”
“Aw! . . . Reckon Dillon fetched him back,” sighed Ben, in unutterable gratitude.
“Dillon, hell!” exclaimed Marvie, evidently provoked out of his radiant pleasure of being the first to inform his boss about the return of his beloved favorite. “Dillon is in bed. There’s nobody up but me.”
“Ahuh! By George! Did you see anyone?”
“Not a soul.”
“Well! That beats me. Let’s go down. Ina, get some clothes on if you’re comin’. Tell the kid. This’ll sure tickle him.”
Ben and Marvie, with Hettie trying to keep beside them, stalked down off the ridge, into the lane, through the courtyard, and on to the corrals. Three times during that swift walk Ben asked the same question and three times Marvie made the same reply. Raidy appeared on the bunkhouse porch and he carried a rifle.
“Boss, what’s the bellarin’ about?” he queried, as he joined the trio. Marvie led the way through two corrals, and then across the wide square to a high pasture fence, up which he scrambled like a squirrel.
“There!” he shouted, pointing.
Ben surmounted the fence ahead of Hettie, and his wondering exultant cry prepared her.
California Red stood not far distant, down along the fence. Nervously he jerked up at Ben’s cry, and wheeled with head high, ears up, eyes wild. How sensitive, splendid he looked to Hettie!
Ben whistled and began to call: “Red — Red, old boy, come here, Red!”
The stallion lost his alarm, and laying down his ears he approached slowly, step by step. Ben kept calling. Red knew the voice and showed increasing gladness. He whinnied. Then he trotted straight to where Ben straddled the fence. He looked the worse for his absence. Ragged, scratched, muddy, somewhat thinner, he showed the effect of hard travel and probably harsh treatment.
“Ben, somebody’s been mean to him, else he wouldn’t come hankerin’ to you thet way,” declared Raidy.
“By Heaven! if that’s true!” cried Ben, fiercely, and reaching out his hand he called again. “Come, Red. Come, old boy. Don’t you know your boss?”
But Red would not come all the way. He halted uncertain, pawing the ground. His dark eyes shone softly. Again he whinnied. Ben guardedly got down off the fence, speaking all the time, and slowly went up to Red, finally encircling the noble neck with his arm. Then he buried his face in the red mane.
