The Man of the Forest

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER IV

  Helen Rayner had been on the westbound overland train fully twenty-fourhours before she made an alarming discovery.

  Accompanied by her sister Bo, a precocious girl of sixteen, Helen hadleft St. Joseph with a heart saddened by farewells to loved ones athome, yet full of thrilling and vivid anticipations of the strange lifein the Far West. All her people had the pioneer spirit; love of change,action, adventure, was in her blood. Then duty to a widowed motherwith a large and growing family had called to Helen to accept this richuncle's offer. She had taught school and also her little brothers andsisters; she had helped along in other ways. And now, though thetearing up of the roots of old loved ties was hard, this opportunity wasirresistible in its call. The prayer of her dreams had been answered. Tobring good fortune to her family; to take care of this beautiful, wildlittle sister; to leave the yellow, sordid, humdrum towns for the great,rolling, boundless open; to live on a wonderful ranch that was some dayto be her own; to have fulfilled a deep, instinctive, and undevelopedlove of horses, cattle, sheep, of desert and mountain, of trees andbrooks and wild flowers--all this was the sum of her most passionatelongings, now in some marvelous, fairylike way to come true.

  A check to her happy anticipations, a blank, sickening dash of coldwater upon her warm and intimate dreams, had been the discoverythat Harve Riggs was on the train. His presence could mean only onething--that he had followed her. Riggs had been the worst of manysore trials back there in St. Joseph. He had possessed some claim orinfluence upon her mother, who favored his offer of marriage to Helen;he was neither attractive, nor good, nor industrious, nor anything thatinterested her; he was the boastful, strutting adventurer, not genuinelyWestern, and he affected long hair and guns and notoriety. Helen hadsuspected the veracity of the many fights he claimed had been his,and also she suspected that he was not really big enough to be bad--asWestern men were bad. But on the train, in the station at La Junta, oneglimpse of him, manifestly spying upon her while trying to keep out ofher sight, warned Helen that she now might have a problem on her hands.

  The recognition sobered her. All was not to be a road of roses to thisnew home in the West. Riggs would follow her, if he could not accompanyher, and to gain his own ends he would stoop to anything. Helen felt thestartling realization of being cast upon her own resources, and thena numbing discouragement and loneliness and helplessness. But thesefeelings did not long persist in the quick pride and flash of hertemper. Opportunity knocked at her door and she meant to be at home toit. She would not have been Al Auchincloss's niece if she had faltered.And, when temper was succeeded by genuine anger, she could have laughedto scorn this Harve Riggs and his schemes, whatever they were. Onceand for all she dismissed fear of him. When she left St. Joseph she hadfaced the West with a beating heart and a high resolve to be worthy ofthat West. Homes had to be made out there in that far country, so UncleAl had written, and women were needed to make homes. She meant to be oneof these women and to make of her sister another. And with the thoughtthat she would know definitely what to say to Riggs when he approachedher, sooner or later, Helen dismissed him from mind.

  While the train was in motion, enabling Helen to watch the ever-changingscenery, and resting her from the strenuous task of keeping Bo well inhand at stations, she lapsed again into dreamy gaze at the pine forestsand the red, rocky gullies and the dim, bold mountains. She saw the sunset over distant ranges of New Mexico--a golden blaze of glory, as newto her as the strange fancies born in her, thrilling and fleeting by.Bo's raptures were not silent, and the instant the sun sank and thecolor faded she just as rapturously importuned Helen to get out the hugebasket of food they had brought from home.

  They had two seats, facing each other, at the end of the coach, andpiled there, with the basket on top, was luggage that constituted allthe girls owned in the world. Indeed, it was very much more than theyhad ever owned before, because their mother, in her care for them anddesire to have them look well in the eyes of this rich uncle, had spentmoney and pains to give them pretty and serviceable clothes.

  The girls sat together, with the heavy basket on their knees, and atewhile they gazed out at the cool, dark ridges. The train clatteredslowly on, apparently over a road that was all curves. And it wassupper-time for everybody in that crowded coach. If Helen had not beenso absorbed by the great, wild mountain-land she would have had moreinterest in the passengers. As it was she saw them, and was amusedand thoughtful at the men and women and a few children in the car, allmiddle-class people, poor and hopeful, traveling out there to the NewWest to find homes. It was splendid and beautiful, this fact, yet itinspired a brief and inexplicable sadness. From the train window, thatworld of forest and crag, with its long bare reaches between, seemed solonely, so wild, so unlivable. How endless the distance! For hours andmiles upon miles no house, no hut, no Indian tepee! It was amazing, thelength and breadth of this beautiful land. And Helen, who loved brooksand running streams, saw no water at all.

  Then darkness settled down over the slow-moving panorama; a cool nightwind blew in at the window; white stars began to blink out of the blue.The sisters, with hands clasped and heads nestled together, went tosleep under a heavy cloak.

  Early the next morning, while the girls were again delving into theirapparently bottomless basket, the train stopped at Las Vegas.

  "Look! Look!" cried Bo, in thrilling voice. "Cowboys! Oh, Nell, look!"

  Helen, laughing, looked first at her sister, and thought how most of allshe was good to look at. Bo was little, instinct with pulsating life,and she had chestnut hair and dark-blue eyes. These eyes were flashing,roguish, and they drew like magnets.

  Outside on the rude station platform were railroad men, Mexicans, anda group of lounging cowboys. Long, lean, bow-legged fellows they were,with young, frank faces and intent eyes. One of them seemed particularlyattractive with his superb build, his red-bronze face and bright-redscarf, his swinging gun, and the huge, long, curved spurs. Evidentlyhe caught Bo's admiring gaze, for, with a word to his companions, hesauntered toward the window where the girls sat. His gait was singular,almost awkward, as if he was not accustomed to walking. The long spursjingled musically. He removed his sombrero and stood at ease, frank,cool, smiling. Helen liked him on sight, and, looking to see what effecthe had upon Bo, she found that young lady staring, frightened stiff.

  "Good mawnin'," drawled the cowboy, with slow, good-humored smile. "Nowwhere might you-all be travelin'?"

  The sound of his voice, the clean-cut and droll geniality; seemed newand delightful to Helen.

  "We go to Magdalena--then take stage for the White Mountains," repliedHelen.

  The cowboy's still, intent eyes showed surprise.

  "Apache country, miss," he said. "I reckon I'm sorry. Thet's shore noplace for you-all... Beggin' your pawdin--you ain't Mormons?"

  "No. We're nieces of Al Auchincloss," rejoined Helen.

  "Wal, you don't say! I've been down Magdalena way an' heerd of Al....Reckon you're goin' a-visitin'?"

  "It's to be home for us."

  "Shore thet's fine. The West needs girls.... Yes, I've heerd of Al.An old Arizona cattle-man in a sheep country! Thet's bad.... Now I'mwonderin'--if I'd drift down there an' ask him for a job ridin' forhim--would I get it?"

  His lazy smile was infectious and his meaning was as clear as crystalwater. The gaze he bent upon Bo somehow pleased Helen. The last year ortwo, since Bo had grown prettier all the time, she had been a magnet foradmiring glances. This one of the cowboy's inspired respect and liking,as well as amusement. It certainly was not lost upon Bo.

  "My uncle once said in a letter that he never had enough men to run hisranch," replied Helen, smiling.

  "Shore I'll go. I reckon I'd jest naturally drift that way--now."

  He seemed so laconic, so easy, so nice, that he could not have beentaken seriously, yet Helen's quick perceptions registered a daring, asomething that was both sudden and inevitable in him. His last word wasas clear as the soft look he fixe
d upon Bo.

  Helen had a mischievous trait, which, subdue it as she would,occasionally cropped out; and Bo, who once in her wilful life had beenrendered speechless, offered such a temptation.

  "Maybe my little sister will put in a good word for you--to Uncle Al,"said Helen. Just then the train jerked, and started slowly. The cowboytook two long strides beside the car, his heated boyish face almost on alevel with the window, his eyes, now shy and a little wistful, yet bold,too, fixed upon Bo.

  "Good-by--Sweetheart!" he called.

  He halted--was lost to view.

  "Well!" ejaculated Helen, contritely, half sorry, half amused. "What asudden young gentleman!"

  Bo had blushed beautifully.

  "Nell, wasn't he glorious!" she burst out, with eyes shining.

  "I'd hardly call him that, but he was--nice," replied Helen, muchrelieved that Bo had apparently not taken offense at her.

  It appeared plain that Bo resisted a frantic desire to look out of thewindow and to wave her hand. But she only peeped out, manifestly to herdisappointment.

  "Do you think he--he'll come to Uncle Al's?" asked Bo.

  "Child, he was only in fun."

  "Nell, I'll bet you he comes. Oh, it'd be great! I'm going to lovecowboys. They don't look like that Harve Riggs who ran after you so."

  Helen sighed, partly because of the reminder of her odious suitor, andpartly because Bo's future already called mysteriously to the child.Helen had to be at once a mother and a protector to a girl of intenseand wilful spirit.

  One of the trainmen directed the girls' attention to a green, slopingmountain rising to a bold, blunt bluff of bare rock; and, callingit Starvation Peak, he told a story of how Indians had once drivenSpaniards up there and starved them. Bo was intensely interested, andthereafter she watched more keenly than ever, and always had a questionfor a passing trainman. The adobe houses of the Mexicans pleased her,and, then the train got out into Indian country, where pueblos appearednear the track and Indians with their bright colors and shaggy wildmustangs--then she was enraptured.

  "But these Indians are peaceful!" she exclaimed once, regretfully.

  "Gracious, child! You don't want to see hostile Indians, do you?"queried Helen.

  "I do, you bet," was the frank rejoinder.

  "Well, I'LL bet that I'll be sorry I didn't leave you with mother."

  "Nell--you never will!"

  They reached Albuquerque about noon, and this important station, wherethey had to change trains, had been the first dreaded anticipation ofthe journey. It certainly was a busy place--full of jabbering Mexicans,stalking, red-faced, wicked-looking cowboys, lolling Indians. In theconfusion Helen would have been hard put to it to preserve calmness,with Bo to watch, and all that baggage to carry, and the other train tofind; but the kindly brakeman who had been attentive to them now helpedthem off the train into the other--a service for which Helen was verygrateful.

  "Albuquerque's a hard place," confided the trainman. "Better stay in thecar--and don't hang out the windows.... Good luck to you!"

  Only a few passengers were in the car and they were Mexicans at theforward end. This branch train consisted of one passenger-coach, with abaggage-car, attached to a string of freight-cars. Helen told herself,somewhat grimly, that soon she would know surely whether or not hersuspicions of Harve Riggs had warrant. If he was going on to Magdalenaon that day he must go in this coach. Presently Bo, who was not obeyingadmonitions, drew her head out of the window. Her eyes were wide inamaze, her mouth open.

  "Nell! I saw that man Riggs!" she whispered. "He's going to get on thistrain."

  "Bo, I saw him yesterday," replied Helen, soberly.

  "He's followed you--the--the--"

  "Now, Bo, don't get excited," remonstrated Helen. "We've left home now.We've got to take things as they come. Never mind if Riggs has followedme. I'll settle him."

  "Oh! Then you won't speak--have anything to do with him?"

  "I won't if I can help it."

  Other passengers boarded the train, dusty, uncouth, ragged men, andsome hard-featured, poorly clad women, marked by toil, and several moreMexicans. With bustle and loud talk they found their several seats.

  Then Helen saw Harve Riggs enter, burdened with much luggage. He was aman of about medium height, of dark, flashy appearance, cultivating longblack mustache and hair. His apparel was striking, as it consisted ofblack frock-coat, black trousers stuffed in high, fancy-topped boots,an embroidered vest, and flowing tie, and a black sombrero. His belt andgun were prominent. It was significant that he excited comment among theother passengers.

  When he had deposited his pieces of baggage he seemed to square himself,and, turning abruptly, approached the seat occupied by the girls. Whenhe reached it he sat down upon the arm of the one opposite, took offhis sombrero, and deliberately looked at Helen. His eyes were light,glinting, with hard, restless quiver, and his mouth was coarse andarrogant. Helen had never seen him detached from her home surroundings,and now the difference struck cold upon her heart.

  "Hello, Nell!" he said. "Surprised to see me?"

  "No," she replied, coldly.

  "I'll gamble you are."

  "Harve Riggs, I told you the day before I left home that nothing youcould do or say mattered to me."

  "Reckon that ain't so, Nell. Any woman I keep track of has reason tothink. An' you know it."

  "Then you followed me--out here?" demanded Helen, and her voice, despiteher control, quivered with anger.

  "I sure did," he replied, and there was as much thought of himself inthe act as there was of her.

  "Why? Why? It's useless--hopeless."

  "I swore I'd have you, or nobody else would," he replied, and here, inthe passion of his voice there sounded egotism rather than hunger fora woman's love. "But I reckon I'd have struck West anyhow, sooner orlater."

  "You're not going to--all the way--to Pine?" faltered Helen, momentarilyweakening.

  "Nell, I'll camp on your trail from now on," he declared.

  Then Bo sat bolt-upright, with pale face and flashing eyes.

  "Harve Riggs, you leave Nell alone," she burst out, in ringing, braveyoung voice. "I'll tell you what--I'll bet--if you follow her andnag her any more, my uncle Al or some cowboy will run you out of thecountry."

  "Hello, Pepper!" replied Riggs, coolly. "I see your manners haven'timproved an' you're still wild about cowboys."

  "People don't have good manners with--with--"

  "Bo, hush!" admonished Helen. It was difficult to reprove Bo just then,for that young lady had not the slightest fear of Riggs. Indeed, shelooked as if she could slap his face. And Helen realized that howeverher intelligence had grasped the possibilities of leaving home for awild country, and whatever her determination to be brave, the actualbeginning of self-reliance had left her spirit weak. She would riseout of that. But just now this flashing-eyed little sister seemed aprotector. Bo would readily adapt herself to the West, Helen thought,because she was so young, primitive, elemental.

  Whereupon Bo turned her back to Riggs and looked out of the window. Theman laughed. Then he stood up and leaned over Helen.

  "Nell, I'm goin' wherever you go," he said, steadily. "You can take thatfriendly or not, just as it pleases you. But if you've got any senseyou'll not give these people out here a hunch against me. I might hurtsomebody.... An' wouldn't it be better--to act friends? For I'm goin' tolook after you, whether you like it or not."

  Helen had considered this man an annoyance, and later a menace, and nowshe must declare open enmity with him. However disgusting the idea thathe considered himself a factor in her new life, it was the truth. Heexisted, he had control over his movements. She could not change that.She hated the need of thinking so much about him; and suddenly, with ahot, bursting anger, she hated the man.

  "You'll not look after me. I'll take care of myself," she said, andshe turned her back upon him. She heard him mutter under his breath andslowly move away down the car. Then Bo slipped a hand in hers.

&n
bsp; "Never mind, Nell," she whispered. "You know what old Sheriff Hainessaid about Harve Riggs. 'A four-flush would-be gun-fighter! If he everstrikes a real Western town he'll get run out of it.' I just wish myred-faced cowboy had got on this train!"

  Helen felt a rush of gladness that she had yielded to Bo's wildimportunities to take her West. The spirit which had made Boincorrigible at home probably would make her react happily to life outin this free country. Yet Helen, with all her warmth and gratefulness,had to laugh at her sister.

  "Your red-faced cowboy! Why, Bo, you were scared stiff. And now youclaim him!"

  "I certainly could love that fellow," replied Bo, dreamily.

  "Child, you've been saying that about fellows for a long time. Andyou've never looked twice at any of them yet."

  "He was different.... Nell, I'll bet he comes to Pine."

  "I hope he does. I wish he was on this train. I liked his looks, Bo."

  "Well, Nell dear, he looked at ME first and last--so don't get yourhopes up.... Oh, the train's starting!... Good-by, Albu-ker--what's thatawful name?... Nell, let's eat dinner. I'm starved."

  Then Helen forgot her troubles and the uncertain future, and what withlistening to Bo's chatter, and partaking again of the endless goodthings to eat in the huge basket, and watching the noble mountains, shedrew once more into happy mood.

  The valley of the Rio Grande opened to view, wide near at hand in agreat gray-green gap between the bare black mountains, narrow in thedistance, where the yellow river wound away, glistening under a hotsun. Bo squealed in glee at sight of naked little Mexican children thatdarted into adobe huts as the train clattered by, and she exclaimed herpleasure in the Indians, and the mustangs, and particularly in a groupof cowboys riding into town on spirited horses. Helen saw all Bo pointedout, but it was to the wonderful rolling valley that her gaze clunglongest, and to the dim purple distance that seemed to hold somethingfrom her. She had never before experienced any feeling like that; shehad never seen a tenth so far. And the sight awoke something strangein her. The sun was burning hot, as she could tell when she put a handoutside the window, and a strong wind blew sheets of dry dust at thetrain. She gathered at once what tremendous factors in the Southwestwere the sun and the dust and the wind. And her realization made herlove them. It was there; the open, the wild, the beautiful, the lonelyland; and she felt the poignant call of blood in her--to seek, tostrive, to find, to live. One look down that yellow valley, endlessbetween its dark iron ramparts, had given her understanding of heruncle. She must be like him in spirit, as it was claimed she resembledhim otherwise.

  At length Bo grew tired of watching scenery that contained no life, and,with her bright head on the faded cloak, she went to sleep. But Helenkept steady, farseeing gaze out upon that land of rock and plain; andduring the long hours, as she watched through clouds of dust and veilsof heat, some strong and doubtful and restless sentiment seemed tochange and then to fix. It was her physical acceptance--her eyes and hersenses taking the West as she had already taken it in spirit.

  A woman should love her home wherever fate placed her, Helen believed,and not so much from duty as from delight and romance and living. Howcould life ever be tedious or monotonous out here in this tremendousvastness of bare earth and open sky, where the need to achieve madethinking and pondering superficial?

  It was with regret that she saw the last of the valley of the RioGrande, and then of its paralleled mountain ranges. But the milesbrought compensation in other valleys, other bold, black upheavals ofrock, and then again bare, boundless yellow plains, and sparsely cedaredridges, and white dry washes, ghastly in the sunlight, and dazzlingbeds of alkali, and then a desert space where golden and blue flowersbloomed.

  She noted, too, that the whites and yellows of earth and rock hadbegun to shade to red--and this she knew meant an approach toArizona. Arizona, the wild, the lonely, the red desert, the greenplateau--Arizona with its thundering rivers, its unknown spaces, itspasture-lands and timber-lands, its wild horses, cowboys, outlaws,wolves and lions and savages! As to a boy, that name stirred andthrilled and sang to her of nameless, sweet, intangible things,mysterious and all of adventure. But she, being a girl of twenty, whohad accepted responsibilities, must conceal the depths of her heart andthat which her mother had complained was her misfortune in not beingborn a boy.

  Time passed, while Helen watched and learned and dreamed. The trainstopped, at long intervals, at wayside stations where there seemednothing but adobe sheds and lazy Mexicans, and dust and heat. Bo awokeand began to chatter, and to dig into the basket. She learned from theconductor that Magdalena was only two stations on. And she was full ofconjectures as to who would meet them, what would happen. So Helen wasdrawn back to sober realities, in which there was considerable zest.Assuredly she did not know what was going to happen. Twice Riggs passedup and down the aisle, his dark face and light eyes and sardonic smiledeliberately forced upon her sight. But again Helen fought a growingdread with contemptuous scorn. This fellow was not half a man. It wasnot conceivable what he could do, except annoy her, until she arrivedat Pine. Her uncle was to meet her or send for her at Snowdrop, whichplace, Helen knew, was distant a good long ride by stage from Magdalena.This stage-ride was the climax and the dread of all the long journey, inHelen's considerations.

  "Oh, Nell!" cried Bo, with delight. "We're nearly there! Next station,the conductor said."

  "I wonder if the stage travels at night," said Helen, thoughtfully.

  "Sure it does!" replied the irrepressible Bo.

  The train, though it clattered along as usual, seemed to Helen to fly.There the sun was setting over bleak New Mexican bluffs, Magdalena wasat hand, and night, and adventure. Helen's heart beat fast. Shewatched the yellow plains where the cattle grazed; their presence, andirrigation ditches and cottonwood-trees told her that the railroad partof the journey was nearly ended. Then, at Bo's little scream, shelooked across the car and out of the window to see a line of low, flat,red-adobe houses. The train began to slow down. Helen saw children run,white children and Mexican together; then more houses, and high upon ahill an immense adobe church, crude and glaring, yet somehow beautiful.

  Helen told Bo to put on her bonnet, and, performing a like office forherself, she was ashamed of the trembling of her fingers. There werebustle and talk in the car.

  The train stopped. Helen peered out to see a straggling crowd ofMexicans and Indians, all motionless and stolid, as if trains or nothingelse mattered. Next Helen saw a white man, and that was a relief. Hestood out in front of the others. Tall and broad, somehow striking, hedrew a second glance that showed him to be a hunter clad in gray-fringedbuckskin, and carrying a rifle.