by Zane Grey
IX. The New Foreman
Toward the end of the week Stillwell informed Madeline that Stewart hadarrived at the ranch and had taken up quarters with Nels.
"Gene's sick. He looks bad," said the old cattleman. "He's so weak an'shaky he can't lift a cup. Nels says that Gene has hed some bad spells.A little liquor would straighten him up now. But Nels can't force himto drink a drop, an' has hed to sneak some liquor in his coffee. Wal, Ithink we'll pull Gene through. He's forgotten a lot. I was goin' to tellhim what he did to me up at Rodeo. But I know if he'd believe it he'dbe sicker than he is. Gene's losin' his mind, or he's got somethin'powerful strange on it."
From that time Stillwell, who evidently found Madeline his mostsympathetic listener, unburdened himself daily of his hopes and fearsand conjectures.
Stewart was really ill. It became necessary to send Link Stevens for aphysician. Then Stewart began slowly to mend and presently was able toget up and about. Stillwell said the cowboy lacked interest and seemedto be a broken man. This statement, however, the old cattleman modifiedas Stewart continued to improve. Then presently it was a good auguryof Stewart's progress that the cowboys once more took up the teasingrelation which had been characteristic of them before his illness. Acowboy was indeed out of sorts when he could not vent his peculiar humoron somebody or something. Stewart had evidently become a broad targetfor their badinage.
"Wal, the boys are sure after Gene," said Stillwell, with his hugesmile. "Joshin' him all the time about how he sits around an' hangsaround an' loafs around jest to get a glimpse of you, Miss Majesty. Sureall the boys hev a pretty bad case over their pretty boss, but noneof them is a marker to Gene. He's got it so bad, Miss Majesty, thet heactooly don't know they are joshin' him. It's the amazin'est strangething I ever seen. Why, Gene was always a feller thet you could josh.An' he'd laugh an' get back at you. But he was never before deaf totalk, an' there was a certain limit no feller cared to cross with him.Now he takes every word an' smiles dreamy like, an' jest looks an'looks. Why, he's beginnin' to make me tired. He'll never run thet bunchof cowboys if he doesn't wake up quick."
Madeline smiled her amusement and expressed a belief that Stillwellwanted too much in such short time from a man who had done body and minda grievous injury.
It had been impossible for Madeline to fail to observe Stewart'ssingular behavior. She never went out to take her customary walks andrides without seeing him somewhere in the distance. She was aware thathe watched for her and avoided meeting her. When she sat on the porchduring the afternoon or at sunset Stewart could always be descried atsome point near. He idled listlessly in the sun, lounged on the porchof his bunk-house, sat whittling the top bar of the corral fence, andalways it seemed to Madeline he was watching her. Once, while goingthe rounds with her gardener, she encountered Stewart and greetedhim kindly. He said little, but he was not embarrassed. She did notrecognize in his face any feature that she remembered. In fact, on eachof the few occasions when she had met Stewart he had looked so differentthat she had no consistent idea of his facial appearance. He was nowpale, haggard, drawn. His eyes held a shadow through which shone a soft,subdued light; and, once having observed this, Madeline fancied it waslike the light in Majesty's eyes, in the dumb, worshiping eyes of herfavorite stag-hound. She told Stewart that she hoped he would soon be inthe saddle again, and passed on her way.
That Stewart loved her Madeline could not help but see. She endeavoredto think of him as one of the many who, she was glad to know, likedher. But she could not regulate her thoughts to fit the order herintelligence prescribed. Thought of Stewart dissociated itself fromthought of the other cowboys. When she discovered this she felt a littlesurprise and annoyance. Then she interrogated herself, and concludedthat it was not that Stewart was so different from his comrades, butthat circumstances made him stand out from them. She recalled hermeeting with him that night when he had tried to force her to marry him.This was unforgettable in itself. She called subsequent mention of him,and found it had been peculiarly memorable. The man and his actionsseemed to hinge on events. Lastly, the fact standing clear of all othersin its relation to her interest was that he had been almost ruined,almost lost, and she had saved him. That alone was sufficient to explainwhy she thought of him differently. She had befriended, uplifted theother cowboys; she had saved Stewart's life. To be sure, he had been aruffian, but a woman could not save the life of even a ruffian withoutremembering it with gladness. Madeline at length decided her interest inStewart was natural, and that her deeper feeling was pity. Perhaps theinterest had been forced from her; however, she gave the pity as shegave everything.
Stewart recovered his strength, though not in time to ride at the springround-up; and Stillwell discussed with Madeline the advisability ofmaking the cowboy his foreman.
"Wal, Gene seems to be gettin' along," said Stillwell. "But he ain'tlike his old self. I think more of him at thet. But where's his spirit?The boys'd ride rough-shod all over him. Mebbe I'd do best to waitlonger now, as the slack season is on. All the same, if those vaquero ofDon Carlos's don't lay low I'll send Gene over there. Thet'll wake himup."
A few days afterward Stillwell came to Madeline, rubbing his big handsin satisfaction and wearing a grin that was enormous.
"Miss Majesty, I reckon before this I've said things was amazin'strange. But now Gene Stewart has gone an' done it! Listen to me. ThemGreasers down on our slope hev been gettin' prosperous. They're growin'like bad weeds. An' they got a new padre--the little old feller fromEl Cajon, Padre Marcos. Wal, this was all right, all the boys thought,except Gene. An' he got blacker 'n thunder an' roared round like adehorned bull. I was sure glad to see he could get mad again. Then Genehaids down the slope fer the church. Nels an' me follered him, thinkin'he might hev been took sudden with a crazy spell or somethin'. He hasn'tnever been jest right yet since he left off drinkin'. Wal, we run intohim comin' out of the church. We never was so dumfounded in our lives.Gene was crazy, all right--he sure hed a spell. But it was the kind ofa spell he hed thet paralyzed us. He ran past us like a streak, an' wefollered. We couldn't ketch him. We heerd him laugh--the strangest laughI ever heerd! You'd thought the feller was suddenly made a king. He waslike thet feller who was tied in a bunyin'-sack an' throwed into thesea, an' cut his way out, an' swam to the island where the treasureswas, an' stood up yellin', 'The world is mine.' Wal, when we got up tohis bunk-house he was gone. He didn't come back all day an' all night.Frankie Slade, who has a sharp tongue, says Gene hed gone crazy forliquor an' thet was his finish. Nels was some worried. An' I was sick.
"Wal' this mawnin' I went over to Nels's bunk. Some of the fellers wasthere, all speculatin' about Gene. Then big as life Gene struts roundthe corner. He wasn't the same Gene. His face was pale an' his eyesburned like fire. He had thet old mockin', cool smile, an' somethin'besides thet I couldn't understand. Frankie Slade up an' made aremark--no wuss than he'd been makin' fer days--an' Gene tumbled him outof his chair, punched him good, walked all over him. Frankie wasn't hurtso much as he was bewildered. 'Gene,' he says, 'what the hell struckyou?' An' Gene says, kind of sweet like, 'Frankie, you may be a nicefeller when you're alone, but your talk's offensive to a gentleman.'
"After thet what was said to Gene was with a nice smile. Now, MissMajesty, it's beyond me what to allow for Gene's sudden change. Firstoff, I thought Padre Marcos had converted him. I actooly thought thet.But I reckon it's only Gene Stewart come back--the old Gene Stewart an'some. Thet's all I care about. I'm rememberin' how I once told you thetGene was the last of the cowboys. Perhaps I should hev said he's thelast of my kind of cowboys. Wal, Miss Majesty, you'll be apprecatin' ofwhat I meant from now on."
It was also beyond Madeline to account for Gene Stewart's antics, and,making allowance for the old cattleman's fancy, she did not weigh hisremarks very heavily. She guessed why Stewart might have been angry atthe presence of Padre Marcos. Madeline supposed that it was rather anunusual circumstance for a cowboy to be converted to religious belief.But it was possible.
And she knew that religious fervor often manifesteditself in extremes of feeling and action. Most likely, in Stewart'scase, his real manner had been both misunderstood and exaggerated.However, Madeline had a curious desire, which she did not wholly admitto herself, to see the cowboy and make her own deductions.
The opportunity did not present itself for nearly two weeks. Stewart hadtaken up his duties as foreman, and his activities were ceaseless. Hewas absent most of the time, ranging down toward the Mexican line. Whenhe returned Stillwell sent for him.
This was late in the afternoon of a day in the middle of April. Alfredand Florence were with Madeline on the porch. They saw the cowboy turnhis horse over to one of the Mexican boys at the corral and then comewith weary step up to the house, beating the dust out of his gauntlets.Little streams of gray sand trickled from his sombrero as he removed itand bowed to the women.
Madeline saw the man she remembered, but with a singularly differentaspect. His skin was brown; his eyes were piercing and dark and steady;he carried himself erect; he seemed preoccupied, and there was not atrace of embarrassment in his manner.
"Wal, Gene, I'm sure glad to see you," Stillwell was saying. "Where doyou hail from?"
"Guadaloupe Canyon," replied the cowboy.
Stillwell whistled.
"Way down there! You don't mean you follered them hoss tracks thet far?"
"All the way from Don Carlos's rancho across the Mexican line. I tookNick Steele with me. Nick is the best tracker in the outfit. This trailwe were on led along the foothill valleys. First we thought whoever madeit was hunting for water. But they passed two ranches without watering.At Seaton's Wash they dug for water. Here they met a pack-train ofburros that came down the mountain trail. The burros were heavilyloaded. Horse and burro tracks struck south from Seaton's to the oldCalifornia emigrant road. We followed the trail through Guadelope Canyonand across the border. On the way back we stopped at Slaughter's ranch,where the United States cavalry are camping. There we met foresters fromthe Peloncillo forest reserve. If these fellows knew anything they keptit to themselves. So we hit the trail home."
"Wal, I reckon you know enough?" inquired Stillwell, slowly.
"I reckon," replied Stewart.
"Wal, out with it, then," said Stillwell, gruffly. "Miss Hammond can'tbe kept in the dark much longer. Make your report to her."
The cowboy shifted his dark gaze to Madeline. He was cool and slow.
"We're losing a few cattle on the open range. Night-drives by thevaqueros. Some of these cattle are driven across the valley, others upto the foothills. So far as I can find out no cattle are being drivensouth. So this raiding is a blind to fool the cowboys. Don Carlos is aMexican rebel. He located his rancho here a few years ago and pretendedto raise cattle. All that time he has been smuggling arms and ammunitionacross the border. He was for Madero against Diaz. Now he is againstMadero because he and all the rebels think Madero failed to keep hispromises. There will be another revolution. And all the arms go fromthe States across the border. Those burros I told about were packed withcontraband goods."
"That's a matter for the United States cavalry. They are patrolling theborder," said Alfred.
"They can't stop the smuggling of arms, not down in that wild corner,"replied Stewart.
"What is my--my duty? What has it to do with me?" inquired Madeline,somewhat perturbed.
"Wal, Miss Majesty, I reckon it hasn't nothing to do with you," put inStillwell. "Thet's my bizness an' Stewart's. But I jest wanted you toknow. There might be some trouble follerin' my orders."
"Your orders?"
"I want to send Stewart over to fire Don Carlos an' his vaqueros off therange. They've got to go. Don Carlos is breakin' the law of the UnitedStates, an' doin' it on our property an' with our hosses. Hev I yourpermission, Miss Hammond?"
"Why, assuredly you have! Stillwell, you know what to do. Alfred, whatdo you think best?"
"It'll make trouble, Majesty, but it's got to be done," replied Alfred."Here you have a crowd of Eastern friends due next month. We want therange to ourselves then. But, Stillwell, if you drive those vaquerosoff, won't they hang around in the foothills? I declare they are a badlot."
Stillwell's mind was not at ease. He paced the porch with a frownclouding his brow.
"Gene, I reckon you got this Greaser deal figgered better'n me," saidStillwell. "Now what do you say?"
"He'll have to be forced off," replied Stewart, quietly. "The Don'spretty slick, but his vaqueros are bad actors. It's just this way. Nelssaid the other day to me, 'Gene, I haven't packed a gun for yearsuntil lately, and it feels good whenever I meet any of those strangeGreasers.' You see, Stillwell, Don Carlos has vaqueros coming and goingall the time. They're guerrilla bands, that's all. And they're gettinguglier. There have been several shooting-scrapes lately. A rancher namedWhite, who lives up the valley, was badly hurt. It's only a matter oftime till something stirs up the boys here. Stillwell, you know Nels andMonty and Nick."
"Sure I know 'em. An' you're not mentionin' one more particular cowboyin my outfit," said Stillwell, with a dry chuckle and a glance atStewart.
Madeline divined the covert meaning, and a slight chill passed over her,as if a cold wind had blown in from the hills.
"Stewart, I see you carry a gun," she said, pointing to a black handleprotruding from a sheath swinging low along his leather chaps.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why do you carry it?" she asked.
"Well," he said, "it's not a pretty gun--and it's heavy." She caughtthe inference. The gun was not an ornament. His keen, steady, dark gazecaused her vague alarm. What had once seemed cool and audacious aboutthis cowboy was now cold and powerful and mystical. Both her instinctand her intelligence realized the steel fiber of the man's nature. Asshe was his employer, she had the right to demand that he should not dowhat was so chillingly manifest that he might do. But Madeline couldnot demand. She felt curiously young and weak, and the five months ofWestern life were as if they had never been. She now had to do with aquestion involving human life. And the value she placed upon humanlife and its spiritual significance was a matter far from her cowboy'sthoughts. A strange idea flashed up. Did she place too much valueupon all human life? She checked that, wondering, almost horrifiedat herself. And then her intuition told her that she possessed a farstronger power to move these primitive men than any woman's stern ruleor order.
"Stewart, I do not fully understand what you hint that Nels and hiscomrades might do. Please be frank with me. Do you mean Nels would shootupon little provocation?"
"Miss Hammond, as far as Nels is concerned, shooting is now just amatter of his meeting Don Carlos's vaqueros. It's wonderful what Nelshas stood from them, considering the Mexicans he's already killed."
"Already killed! Stewart, you are not in earnest?" cried Madeline,shocked.
"I am. Nels has seen hard life along the Arizona border. He likes peaceas well as any man. But a few years of that doesn't change what theearly days made of him. As for Nick Steele and Monty, they're just badmen, and looking for trouble."
"How about yourself, Stewart? Stillwell's remark was not lost upon me,"said Madeline, prompted by curiosity.
Stewart did not reply. He looked at her in respectful silence. In herkeen earnestness Madeline saw beneath his cool exterior and was allthe more baffled. Was there a slight, inscrutable, mocking light in hiseyes, or was it only her imagination? However, the cowboy's face was ashard as flint.
"Stewart, I have come to love my ranch," said Madeline, slowly, "and Icare a great deal for my--my cowboys. It would be dreadful if they wereto kill anybody, or especially if one of them should be killed."
"Miss Hammond, you've changed things considerable out here, but youcan't change these men. All that's needed to start them is a littletrouble. And this Mexican revolution is bound to make rough times alongsome of the wilder passes across the border. We're in line, that's all.And the boys are getting stirred up."
"Very well, then, I must accept the inevit
able. I am facing a roughtime. And some of my cowboys cannot be checked much longer. But,Stewart, whatever you have been in the past, you have changed." Shesmiled at him, and her voice was singularly sweet and rich. "Stillwellhas so often referred to you as the last of his kind of cowboy. I havejust a faint idea of what a wild life you have led. Perhaps that fitsyou to be a leader of such rough men. I am no judge of what a leadershould do in this crisis. My cowboys are entailing risk in my employ; myproperty is not safe; perhaps my life even might be endangered. I wantto rely upon you, since Stillwell believes, and I, too, that you are theman for this place. I shall give you no orders. But is it too much toask that you be my kind of a cowboy?"
Madeline remembered Stewart's former brutality and shame and abjectworship, and she measured the great change in him by the contrastafforded now in his dark, changeless, intent face.
"Miss Hammond, what kind of a cowboy is that?" he asked.
"I--I don't exactly know. It is that kind which I feel you might be. ButI do know that in the problem at hand I want your actions to be governedby reason, not passion. Human life is not for any man to sacrificeunless in self-defense or in protecting those dependent upon him. WhatStillwell and you hinted makes me afraid of Nels and Nick Steele andMonty. Cannot they be controlled? I want to feel that they will not gogunning for Don Carlos's men. I want to avoid all violence. And yetwhen my guests come I want to feel that they will be safe from danger orfright or even annoyance. May I not rely wholly upon you, Stewart? Justtrust you to manage these obstreperous cowboys and protect my propertyand Alfred's, and take care of us--of me, until this revolution isended? I have never had a day's worry since I bought the ranch. It isnot that I want to shirk my responsibilities; it is that I like beinghappy. May I put so much faith in you?"
"I hope so, Miss Hammond," replied Stewart. It was an instant response,but none the less fraught with consciousness of responsibility. Hewaited a moment, and then, as neither Stillwell nor Madeline offeredfurther speech, he bowed and turned down the path, his long spursclinking in the gravel.
"Wal, wal," exclaimed Stillwell, "thet's no little job you give him,Miss Majesty."
"It was a woman's cunning, Stillwell," said Alfred. "My sister used tobe a wonder at getting her own way when we were kids. Just a smileor two, a few sweet words or turns of thought, and she had what shewanted."
"Al, what a character to give me!" protested Madeline. "Indeed, I wasdeeply in earnest with Stewart. I do not understand just why, but Itrust him. He seems like iron and steel. Then I was a little frightenedat the prospect of trouble with the vaqueros. Both you and Stillwellhave influenced me to look upon Stewart as invaluable. I thought it bestto confess my utter helplessness and to look to him for support."
"Majesty, whatever actuated you, it was a stroke of diplomacy," repliedher brother. "Stewart has got good stuff in him. He was down and out.Well, he's made a game fight, and it looks as if he'd win. Trustinghim, giving him responsibility, relying upon him, was the surest way tostrengthen his hold upon himself. Then that little touch of sentimentabout being your kind of cowboy and protecting you--well, if GeneStewart doesn't develop into an Argus-eyed knight I'll say I don't knowcowboys. But, Majesty, remember, he's a composite of tiger breed andforked lightning, and don't imagine he has failed you if he gets into afight.
"I'll sure tell you what Gene Stewart will do," said Florence. "Don't Iknow cowboys? Why, they used to take me up on their horses when I was ababy. Gene Stewart will be the kind of cowboy your sister said he mightbe, whatever that is. She may not know and we may not guess, but heknows."
"Wal, Flo, there you hit plumb center," replied the old cattleman. "An'I couldn't be gladder if he was my own son."
