The Light of the Western Stars

by Zane Grey

  VII. Her Majesty's Rancho

  FIVE months brought all that Stillwell had dreamed of, and so many morechanges and improvements and innovations that it was as if a magic touchhad transformed the old ranch. Madeline and Alfred and Florence hadtalked over a fitting name, and had decided on one chosen by Madeline.But this instance was the only one in the course of developments inwhich Madeline's wishes were not compiled with. The cowboys named thenew ranch "Her Majesty's Rancho." Stillwell said the names cowboysbestowed were felicitous, and as unchangeable as the everlasting hills;Florence went over to the enemy; and Alfred, laughing at Madeline'sprotest, declared the cowboys had elected her queen of the ranges, andthat there was no help for it. So the name stood "Her Majesty's Rancho."

  The April sun shone down upon a slow-rising green knoll that nestled inthe lee of the foothills, and seemed to center bright rays upon the longranch-house, which gleamed snow-white from the level summit. The groundsaround the house bore no semblance to Eastern lawns or parks; there hadbeen no landscape-gardening; Stillwell had just brought water and grassand flowers and plants to the knoll-top, and there had left them, as itwere, to follow nature. His idea may have been crude, but the resultwas beautiful. Under that hot sun and balmy air, with cool water dailysoaking into the rich soil, a green covering sprang into life, andeverywhere upon it, as if by magic, many colored flowers rose in thesweet air. Pale wild flowers, lavender daisies, fragile bluebells, whitefour-petaled lilies like Eastern mayflowers, and golden poppies, deepsunset gold, color of the West, bloomed in happy confusion. Californiaroses, crimson as blood, nodded heavy heads and trembled with the weightof bees. Low down in bare places, isolated, open to the full power ofthe sun, blazed the vermilion and magenta blossoms of cactus plants.

  Green slopes led all the way down to where new adobe barns and sheds hadbeen erected, and wide corrals stretched high-barred fences down to thegreat squares of alfalfa gently inclining to the gray of the valley. Thebottom of a dammed-up hollow shone brightly with its slowly increasingacreage of water, upon which thousands of migratory wildfowl whirred andsplashed and squawked, as if reluctant to leave this cool, wet surpriseso new in the long desert journey to the northland. Quarters for thecowboys--comfortable, roomy adobe houses that not even the lamest cowboydared describe as crampy bunks--stood in a row upon a long bench ofground above the lake. And down to the edge of the valley the cluster ofMexican habitations and the little church showed the touch of the samerenewing hand.

  All that had been left of the old Spanish house which had beenStillwell's home for so long was the bare, massive structure, andsome of this had been cut away for new doors and windows. Every modernconvenience, even to hot and cold running water and acetylene light,had been installed; and the whole interior painted and carpentered andfurnished. The ideal sought had not been luxury, but comfort. Every doorinto the patio looked out upon dark, rich grass and sweet-faced flowers,and every window looked down the green slopes.

  Madeline's rooms occupied the west end of the building and comprisedfour in number, all opening out upon the long porch. There was asmall room for her maid, another which she used as an office, then hersleeping-apartment; and, lastly, the great light chamber which she hadliked so well upon first sight, and which now, simply yet beautifullyfurnished and containing her favorite books and pictures, she had cometo love as she had never loved any room at home. In the morning thefragrant, balmy air blew the white curtains of the open windows; atnoon the drowsy, sultry quiet seemed to creep in for the siesta that wascharacteristic of the country; in the afternoon the westering sun peepedunder the porch roof and painted the walls with gold bars that slowlychanged to red.

  Madeline Hammond cherished a fancy that the transformation she hadwrought in the old Spanish house and in the people with whom she hadsurrounded herself, great as that transformation had been, was asnothing compared to the one wrought in herself. She had found an objectin life. She was busy, she worked with her hands as well as mind, yetshe seemed to have more time to read and think and study and idleand dream than ever before. She had seen her brother through hisdifficulties, on the road to all the success and prosperity that hecared for. Madeline had been a conscientious student of ranching and anapt pupil of Stillwell. The old cattleman, in his simplicity, gave herthe place in his heart that was meant for the daughter he had never had.His pride in her, Madeline thought, was beyond reason or belief orwords to tell. Under his guidance, sometimes accompanied by Alfred andFlorence, Madeline had ridden the ranges and had studied the life andwork of the cowboys. She had camped on the open range, slept under theblinking stars, ridden forty miles a day in the face of dust and wind.She had taken two wonderful trips down into the desert--one trip toChiricahua, and from there across the waste of sand and rock and alkaliand cactus to the Mexican borderline; and the other through the AravaipaValley, with its deep, red-walled canyons and wild fastnesses.

  This breaking-in, this training into Western ways, though she had beena so-called outdoor girl, had required great effort and severe pain; butthe education, now past its grades, had become a labor of love. Shehad perfect health, abounding spirits. She was so active hat she had totrain herself into taking the midday siesta, a custom of the countryand imperative during the hot summer months. Sometimes she looked inher mirror and laughed with sheer joy at sight of the lithe, audacious,brown-faced, flashing-eyed creature reflected there. It was not so muchjoy in her beauty as sheer joy of life. Eastern critics had been wont tocall her beautiful in those days when she had been pale and slender andproud and cold. She laughed. If they could only see her now! From thetip of her golden head to her feet she was alive, pulsating, on fire.

  Sometimes she thought of her parents, sister, friends, of how they hadpersistently refused to believe she could or would stay in the West.They were always asking her to come home. And when she wrote, which wasdutifully often, the last thing under the sun that she was likely tomention was the change in her. She wrote that she would return to herold home some time, of course, for a visit; and letters such as thisbrought returns that amused Madeline, sometimes saddened her. She meantto go back East for a while, and after that once or twice every year.But the initiative was a difficult step from which she shrank. Oncehome, she would have to make explanations, and these would not beunderstood. Her father's business had been such that he could not leaveit for the time required for a Western trip, or else, according to hisletter, he would have come for her. Mrs. Hammond could not have beendriven to cross the Hudson River; her un-American idea of the wildernesswestward was that Indians still chased buffalo on the outskirts ofChicago. Madeline's sister Helen had long been eager to come, as muchfrom curiosity, Madeline thought, as from sisterly regard. And at lengthMadeline concluded that the proof of her breaking permanent ties mightbetter be seen by visiting relatives and friends before she went backEast. With that in mind she invited Helen to visit her during thesummer, and bring as many friends as she liked.

  * * *

  No slight task indeed was it to oversee the many business details of HerMajesty's Rancho and to keep a record of them. Madeline found the courseof business training upon which her father had insisted to be invaluableto her now. It helped her to assimilate and arrange the practicaldetails of cattle-raising as put forth by the blunt Stillwell. She splitup the great stock of cattle into different herds, and when any of thesewere out running upon the open range she had them closely watched. Partof the time each herd was kept in an inclosed range, fed and watered,and carefully handled by a big force of cowboys. She employed threecowboy scouts whose sole duty was to ride the ranges searching forstray, sick, or crippled cattle or motherless calves, and to bring thesein to be treated and nursed. There were two cowboys whose business wasto master a pack of Russian stag-hounds and to hunt down the coyotes,wolves, and lions that preyed upon the herds. The better and tamermilch cows were separated from the ranging herds and kept in a pastureadjoining the dairy. All branding was done in corrals, and calves wereweaned from mother-
cows at the proper time to benefit both. The oldmethod of branding and classing, that had so shocked Madeline, had beenabandoned, and one had been inaugurated whereby cattle and cowboys andhorses were spared brutality and injury.

  Madeline established an extensive vegetable farm, and she plantedorchards. The climate was superior to that of California, and, withabundant water, trees and plants and gardens flourished and bloomed ina way wonderful to behold. It was with ever-increasing pleasure thatMadeline walked through acres of ground once bare, now green and brightand fragrant. There were poultry-yards and pig-pens and marshy quartersfor ducks and geese. Here in the farming section of the ranch Madelinefound employment for the little colony of Mexicans. Their lives had beenas hard and barren as the dry valley where they had lived. But as thevalley had been transformed by the soft, rich touch of water, so theirlives had been transformed by help and sympathy and work. The childrenwere wretched no more, and many that had been blind could now see, andMadeline had become to them a new and blessed virgin.

  Madeline looked abroad over these lands and likened the change in themand those who lived by them to the change in her heart. It may havebeen fancy, but the sun seemed to be brighter, the sky bluer, the windsweeter. Certain it was that the deep green of grass and garden was notfancy, nor the white and pink of blossom, nor the blaze and perfume offlower, nor the sheen of lake and the fluttering of new-born leaves.Where there had been monotonous gray there was now vivid and changingcolor. Formerly there had been silence both day and night; now duringthe sunny hours there was music. The whistle of prancing stallionspealed in from the grassy ridges. Innumerable birds had come and, likethe northward-journeying ducks, they had tarried to stay. The songof meadow-lark and blackbird and robin, familiar to Madeline fromchildhood, mingled with the new and strange heart-throbbing songof mocking-bird and the piercing blast of the desert eagle and themelancholy moan of turtle-dove.

  *****

  One April morning Madeline sat in her office wrestling with a problem.She had problems to solve every day. The majority of these wereconcerned with the management of twenty-seven incomprehensible cowboys.This particular problem involved Ambrose Mills, who had eloped with herFrench maid, Christine.

  Stillwell faced Madeline with a smile almost as huge as his bulk.

  "Wal, Miss Majesty, we ketched them; but not before Padre Marcos hadmarried them. All thet speedin' in the autoomoobile was jest a-scarin'of me to death fer nothin'. I tell you Link Stevens is crazy aboutrunnin' thet car. Link never hed no sense even with a hoss. He ain'tafraid of the devil hisself. If my hair hedn't been white it 'd be whitenow. No more rides in thet thing fer me! Wal, we ketched Ambrose an'the girl too late. But we fetched them back, an' they're out there now,spoonin', sure oblivious to their shameless conduct."

  "Stillwell, what shall I say to Ambrose? How shall I punish him? He hasdone wrong to deceive me. I never was so surprised in my life. Christinedid not seem to care any more for Ambrose than for any of the othercowboys. What does my authority amount to? I must do something.Stillwell, you must help me."

  Whenever Madeline fell into a quandary she had to call upon theold cattleman. No man ever held a position with greater pride thanStillwell, but he had been put to tests that steeped him in humility.Here he scratched his head in great perplexity.

  "Dog-gone the luck! What's this elopin' bizness to do withcattle-raisin'? I don't know nothin' but cattle. Miss Majesty, it'samazin' strange what these cowboys hev come to. I never seen no cowboyslike these we've got hyar now. I don't know them any more. They dressswell an' read books, an' some of them hev actooly stopped cussin' an'drinkin'. I ain't sayin' all this is against them. Why, now, they'rejest the finest bunch of cow-punchers I ever seen or dreamed of. Butmanagin' them now is beyond me. When cowboys begin to play thet gamegol-lof an' run off with French maids I reckon Bill Stillwell has got toresign."

  "Stillwell! Oh, you will not leave me? What in the world would I do?"exclaimed Madeline, in great anxiety.

  "Wal, I sure won't leave you, Miss Majesty. No, I never'll do thet. I'llrun the cattle bizness fer you an' see after the hosses an' other stock.But I've got to hev a foreman who can handle this amazin' strange bunchof cowboys."

  "You've tried half a dozen foremen. Try more until you find the man whomeets your requirements," said Madeline. "Never mind that now. Tell mehow to impress Ambrose--to make him an example, so to speak. I must haveanother maid. And I do not want a new one carried off in this summarymanner."

  "Wal, if you fetch pretty maids out hyar you can't expect nothin' else.Why, thet black-eyed little French girl, with her white skin an' prettyairs an' smiles an' shrugs, she had the cowboys crazy. It'll be wusswith the next one."

  "Oh dear!" sighed Madeline.

  "An' as fer impressin' Ambrose, I reckon I can tell you how to do thet.Jest give it to him good an' say you're goin' to fire him. That'll fixAmbrose, an' mebbe scare the other boys fer a spell."

  "Very well, Stillwell, bring Ambrose in to see me, and tell Christine towait in my room."

  It was a handsome debonair, bright-eyed cowboy that came trampinginto Madeline's presence. His accustomed shyness and awkwardness haddisappeared in an excited manner. He was a happy boy. He looked straightinto Madeline's face as if he expected her to wish him joy. And Madelineactually found that expression trembling to her lips. She held it backuntil she could be severe. But Madeline feared she would fail of muchseverity. Something warm and sweet, like a fragrance, had entered theroom with Ambrose.

  "Ambrose, what have you done?" she asked.

  "Miss Hammond, I've been and gone and got married," replied Ambrose, hiswords tumbling over one another. His eyes snapped, and there was a kindof glow upon his clean-shaven brown cheek. "I've stole a march on theother boys. There was Frank Slade pushin' me close, and I was havin'some runnin' to keep Jim Bell back in my dust. Even old man Nels madeeyes at Christine! So I wasn't goin' to take any chances. I just packedher off to El Cajon and married her."

  "Oh, so I heard," said Madeline, slowly, as she watched him. "Ambrose,do you--love her?"

  He reddened under her clear gaze, dropped his head, and fumbled withhis new sombrero, and there was a catch in his breath. Madeline sawhis powerful brown hand tremble. It affected her strangely that thisstalwart cowboy, who could rope and throw and tie a wild steer in lessthan one minute, should tremble at a mere question. Suddenly he raisedhis head, and at the beautiful blase of his eyes Madeline turned her ownaway.

  "Yes, Miss Hammond, I love her," he said. "I think I love her in theway you're askin' about. I know the first time I saw her I thought howwonderful it'd be to have a girl like that for my wife. It's all beenso strange--her comin' an' how she made me feel. Sure I never knew manygirls, and I haven't seen any girls at all for years. But when she came!A girl makes a wonderful difference in a man's feelin's and thoughts.I guess I never had any before. Leastways, none like I have now.My--it--well, I guess I have a little understandin' now of PadreMarcos's blessin'."

  "Ambrose, have you nothing to say to me?" asked Madeline.

  "I'm sure sorry I didn't have time to tell you. But I was in somehurry."

  "What did you intend to do? Where were you going when Stillwell foundyou?"

  "We'd just been married. I hadn't thought of anything after that.Suppose I'd have rustled back to my job. I'll sure have to work now andsave my money."

  "Oh, well, Ambrose, I am glad you realize your responsibilities. Do youearn enough--is your pay sufficient to keep a wife?"

  "Sure it is! Why, Miss Hammond, I never before earned half the salaryI'm gettin' now. It's some fine to work for you. I'm goin' to fire theboys out of my bunk-house and fix it up for Christine and me. Say, won'tthey be jealous?"

  "Ambrose, I--I congratulate you. I wish you joy," said Madeline. "I--Ishall make Christine a little wedding-present. I want to talk to her fora few moments. You may go now."

  It would have been impossible for Madeline to say one severe wordto that happy cowboy. She experienced diffi
culty in hiding her ownhappiness at the turn of events. Curiosity and interest mingled with herpleasure when she called to Christine.

  "Mrs. Ambrose Mills, please come in."

  No sound came from the other room.

  "I should like very much to see the bride," went on Madeline.

  Still there was no stir or reply

  "Christine!" called Madeline.

  Then it was as if a little whirlwind of flying feet and entreatinghands and beseeching eyes blew in upon Madeline. Christine was small,graceful, plump, with very white skin and very dark hair. She had beenMadeline's favorite maid for years and there was sincere affectionbetween the two. Whatever had been the blissful ignorance of Ambrose, itwas manifestly certain that Christine knew how she had transgressed.Her fear and remorse and appeal for forgiveness were poured out in anincoherent storm. Plain it was that the little French maid had beenoverwhelmed. It was only after Madeline had taken the emotional girl inher arms and had forgiven and soothed her that her part in the elopementbecame clear. Christine was in a maze. But gradually, as she talked andsaw that she was forgiven, calmness came in some degree, and with ita story which amused yet shocked Madeline. The unmistakable, shy,marveling love, scarcely realized by Christine, gave Madeline reliefand joy. If Christine loved Ambrose there was no harm done. Watching thegirl's eyes, wonderful with their changes of thought, listening to herattempts to explain what it was evident she did not understand, Madelinegathered that if ever a caveman had taken unto himself a wife, if evera barbarian had carried off a Sabine woman, then Ambrose Mills had actedwith the violence of such ancient forebears. Just how it all happenedseemed to be beyond Christine.

  "He say he love me," repeated the girl, in a kind of rapt awe. "He askme to marry him--he kees me--he hug me--he lift me on ze horse--he ridewith me all night--he marry me."

  And she exhibited a ring on the third finger of her left hand. Madelinesaw that, whatever had been the state of Christine's feeling for Ambrosebefore this marriage, she loved him now. She had been taken forcibly,but she was won.

  After Christine had gone, comforted and betraying her shy eagernessto get back to Ambrose, Madeline was haunted by the look in the girl'seyes, and her words. Assuredly the spell of romance was on this sunnyland. For Madeline there was a nameless charm, a nameless thrillcombating her sense of the violence and unfitness of Ambrose's wooing.Something, she knew not what, took arms against her intellectualarraignment of the cowboy's method of getting himself a wife. He hadsaid straight out that he loved the girl--he had asked her to marryhim--he kissed her--he hugged her--he lifted her upon his horse--he rodeaway with her through the night--and he married her. In whatever lightMadeline reviewed this thing she always came back to her first naturalimpression; it thrilled her, charmed her. It went against all theprecepts of her training; nevertheless, it was somehow splendid andbeautiful. She imagined it stripped another artificial scale from herover-sophisticated eyes.

  Scarcely had she settled again to the task on her desk when Stillwell'sheavy tread across the porch interrupted her. This time when he enteredhe wore a look that bordered upon the hysterical; it was difficult totell whether he was trying to suppress grief or glee.

  "Miss Majesty, there's another amazin' strange thing sprung on me.Hyars Jim Bell come to see you, an', when I taxed him, sayin' you wastolerable busy, he up an' says he was hungry an' he ain't a-goin' to eatany more bread made in a wash-basin! Says he'll starve first. Says Nelshed the gang over to big bunk an' feasted them on bread you taught himhow to make in some new-fangled bucket-machine with a crank. Jim saysthet bread beat any cake he ever eat, an' he wants you to show him howto make some. Now, Miss Majesty, as superintendent of this ranch I oughtto know what's goin' on. Mebbe Jim is jest a-joshin' me. Mebbe he's goneclean dotty. Mebbe I hev. An' beggin' your pardon, I want to know ifthere's any truth in what Jim says Nels says."

  Whereupon it became necessary for Madeline to stifle her mirth and toinform the sadly perplexed old cattleman that she had received from theEast a patent bread-mixer, and in view of the fact that her householdwomen had taken fright at the contrivance, she had essayed to operateit herself. This had turned out to be so simple, so saving of time andenergy and flour, so much more cleanly than the old method of mixingdough with the hands, and particularly it had resulted in such goodbread, that Madeline had been pleased. Immediately she ordered moreof the bread-mixers. One day she had happened upon Nels making biscuitdough in his wash-basin, and she had delicately and consideratelyintroduced to him the idea of her new method. Nels, it appeared, had agreat reputation as a bread-maker, and he was proud of it. Moreover,he was skeptical of any clap-trap thing with wheels and cranks. Heconsented, however, to let her show how the thing worked and to samplesome of the bread. To that end she had him come up to the house, whereshe won him over. Stillwell laughed loud and long.

  "Wal, wal, wal!" he exclaimed, at length. "Thet's fine, an' it'spowerful funny. Mebbe you don't see how funny? Wal, Nels has jest beenlordin' it over the boys about how you showed him, an' now you'll hevto show every last cowboy on the place the same thing. Cowboys are thejealousest kind of fellers. They're all crazy about you, anyway. TakeJim out hyar. Why, thet lazy cowpuncher jest never would make bread.He's notorious fer shirkin' his share of the grub deal. I've knowed Jimto trade off washin' the pots an' pans fer a lonely watch on a rainynight. All he wants is to see you show him the same as Nels is crowin'over. Then he'll crow over his bunkie, Frank Slade, an' then Frank'llget lonely to know all about this wonderful bread-machine. Cowboys areamazin' strange critters, Miss Majesty. An' now thet you've begun withthem this way, you'll hev to keep it up. I will say I never seen such abunch to work. You've sure put heart in them."

  "Indeed, Stillwell, I am glad to hear that," replied Madeline. "And Ishall be pleased to teach them all. But may I not have them all up hereat once--at least those off duty?"

  "Wal, I reckon you can't onless you want to hev them scrappin',"rejoined Stillwell, dryly. "What you've got on your hands now, MissMajesty, is to let 'em come one by one, an' make each cowboy thinkyou're takin' more especial pleasure in showin' him than the feller whocame before him. Then mebbe we can go on with cattle-raisin'."

  Madeline protested, and Stillwell held inexorably to what he said waswisdom. Several times Madeline had gone against his advice, to her utterdiscomfiture and rout. She dared not risk it again, and resigned herselfgracefully and with subdued merriment to her task. Jim Bell was usheredinto the great, light, spotless kitchen, where presently Madelineappeared to put on an apron and roll up her sleeves. She explained theuse of the several pieces of aluminum that made up the bread-mixer andfastened the bucket to the table-shelf. Jim's life might have dependedupon this lesson, judging from his absorbed manner and his desire tohave things explained over and over, especially the turning of thecrank. When Madeline had to take Jim's hand three times to show him thesimple mechanism and then he did not understand she began to have faintmisgivings as to his absolute sincerity. She guessed that as long asshe touched Jim's hand he never would understand. Then as she beganto measure out flour and milk and lard and salt and yeast she saw withdespair that Jim was not looking at the ingredients, was not paying theslightest attention to them. His eyes were covertly upon her.

  "Jim, I am not sure about you," said Madeline, severely. "How can youlearn to make bread if you do not watch me mix it?"

  "I am a-watchin' you," replied Jim, innocently.

  Finally Madeline sent the cowboy on his way rejoicing with thebread-mixer under his arm. Next morning, true to Stillwell's prophecy,Frank Slade, Jim's bunkmate, presented himself cheerfully to Madelineand unbosomed himself of a long-deferred and persistent desire torelieve his overworked comrade of some of the house-keeping in theirbunk.

  "Miss Hammond," said Frank, "Jim's orful kind wantin' to do it allhisself. But he ain't very bright, an' I didn't believe him. You see,I'm from Missouri, an' you'll have to show me."

  For a whole week Madeline held clinics where she expounded thes
cientific method of modern bread-making. She got a good deal ofenjoyment out of her lectures. What boys these great hulking fellowswere! She saw through their simple ruses. Some of them were grave asdeacons; others wore expressions important enough to have fitted thefaces of statesmen signing government treaties. These cowboys werechildren; they needed to be governed; but in order to govern them theyhad to be humored. A more light-hearted, fun-loving crowd of boys couldnot have been found. And they were grown men. Stillwell explained thatthe exuberance of spirits lay in the difference in their fortunes.Twenty-seven cowboys, in relays of nine, worked eight hours a day. Thathad never been heard of before in the West. Stillwell declared thatcowboys from all points of the compass would head their horses towardHer Majesty's Rancho.