by Zane Grey
Chapter 6
ENTER JACK BLOME
Strange that the narrating of this incident made Diane Sampson unhappy.
When I told her she exhibited one flash of gladness, such as any womanmight have shown for a noble deed and then she became thoughtful, almostgloomy, sad. I could not understand her complex emotions. Perhaps shecontrasted Steele with her father; perhaps she wanted to believe inSteele and dared not; perhaps she had all at once seen the Ranger in histrue light, and to her undoing.
She bade me take Sally for a ride and sought her room. I had mymisgivings when I saw Sally come out in that trim cowgirl suit and lookat me as if to say this day would be my Waterloo.
But she rode hard and long ahead of me before she put any machinationsinto effect. The first one found me with a respectful demeanor but aninternal conflict.
"Russ, tighten my cinch," she said when I caught up with her.
Dismounting, I drew the cinch up another hole and fastened it.
"My boot's unlaced, too," she added, slipping a shapely foot out of thestirrup.
To be sure, it was very much unlaced. I had to take off my gloves tolace it up, and I did it heroically, with bent head and outward calm,when all the time I was mad to snatch the girl out of the saddle andhold her tight or run off with her or do some other fool thing.
"Russ, I believe Diane's in love with Steele," she said soberly, withthe sweet confidence she sometimes manifested in me.
"Small wonder. It's in the air," I replied.
She regarded me doubtfully.
"It was," she retorted demurely.
"The fickleness of women is no new thing to me. I didn't expect Watersto last long."
"Certainly not when there are nicer fellows around. One, anyway, when hecares."
A little brown hand slid out of its glove and dropped to my shoulder.
"Make up. You've been hateful lately. Make up with me."
It was not so much what she said as the sweet tone of her voice and thenearness of her that made a tumult within me. I felt the blood tingle tomy face.
"Why should I make up with you?" I queried in self defense. "You areonly flirting. You won't--you can't ever be anything to me, really."
Sally bent over me and I had not the nerve to look up.
"Never mind things--really," she replied. "The future's far off. Let italone. We're together. I--I like you, Russ. And I've got to be--to beloved. There. I never confessed that to any other man. You've beenhateful when we might have had such fun. The rides in the sun, in theopen with the wind in our faces. The walks at night in the moonlight.Russ, haven't you missed something?"
The sweetness and seductiveness of her, the little luring devil of her,irresistible as they were, were no more irresistible than thenaturalness, the truth of her.
I trembled even before I looked up into her flushed face and arch eyes;and after that I knew if I could not frighten her out of this daringmood I would have to yield despite my conviction that she only trifled.As my manhood, as well as duty to Steele, forced me to be unyielding,all that was left seemed to be to frighten her.
The instant this was decided a wave of emotion--love, regret,bitterness, anger--surged over me, making me shake. I felt the skin onmy face tighten and chill. I grasped her with strength that might haveneed to hold a plunging, unruly horse. I hurt her. I held her as in avise.
And the action, the feel of her, her suddenly uttered cry wroughtagainst all pretense, hurt me as my brutality hurt her, and then I spokewhat was hard, passionate truth.
"Girl, you're playing with fire!" I cried out hoarsely. "I loveyou--love you as I'd want my sister loved. I asked you to marry me. Thatwas proof, if it was foolish. Even if you were on the square, whichyou're not, we couldn't ever be anything to each other. Understand?There's a reason, besides your being above me. I can't stand it. Stopplaying with me or I'll--I'll..."
Whatever I meant to say was not spoken, for Sally turned deathly white,probably from my grasp and my looks as well as my threat.
I let go of her, and stepping back to my horse choked down my emotion.
"Russ!" she faltered, and there was womanliness and regret tremblingwith the fear in her voice. "I--I am on the square."
That had touched the real heart of the girl.
"If you are, then play the game square," I replied darkly.
"I will, Russ, I promise. I'll never tease or coax you again. If I do,then I'll deserve what you--what I get. But, Russ, don't think me a--afour-flush."
All the long ride home we did not exchange another word. The travelinggait of Sally's horse was a lope, that of mine a trot; and therefore, tomy relief, she was always out in front.
As we neared the ranch, however, Sally slowed down until I caught upwith her; and side by side we rode the remainder of the way. At thecorrals, while I unsaddled, she lingered.
"Russ, you didn't tell me if you agreed with me about Diane," she saidfinally.
"Maybe you're right. I hope she's fallen in love with Steele. Lord knowsI hope so," I blurted out.
I bit my tongue. There was no use in trying to be as shrewd with womenas I was with men. I made no reply.
"Misery loves company. Maybe that's why," she added. "You told me Steelelost his head over Diane at first sight. Well, we all have company. Goodnight, Russ."
That night I told Steele about the singular effect the story of histreatment of Vey had upon Miss Sampson. He could not conceal hisfeelings. I read him like an open book.
If she was unhappy because he did something really good, then she wasunhappy because she was realizing she had wronged him.
Steele never asked questions, but the hungry look in his eyes was enoughto make even a truthful fellow exaggerate things.
I told him how Diane was dressed, how her face changed with eachemotion, how her eyes burned and softened and shadowed, how her voicehad been deep and full when she admitted her father hated him, how muchshe must have meant when she said she was between two fires. I divinedhow he felt and I tried to satisfy in some little measure his cravingfor news of her.
When I had exhausted my fund and stretched my imagination I was rewardedby being told that I was a regular old woman for gossip.
Much taken back by this remarkable statement I could but gape at mycomrade. Irritation had followed shortly upon his curiosity andpleasure, and then the old sane mind reasserted itself, the old sternlook, a little sad now, replaced the glow, the strange eagerness ofyouth on his face.
"Son, I beg your pardon," he said, with his hand on my shoulder. "We'reRangers, but we can't help being human. To speak right out, it seems twosweet and lovable girls have come, unfortunately for us all, across thedark trail we're on. Let us find what solace we can in the hope thatsomehow, God only knows how, in doing our duty as Rangers we may yet bedoing right by these two innocent girls. I ask you, as my friend, pleasedo not speak again to me of--Miss Sampson."
I left him and went up the quiet trail with the thick shadows all aroundme and the cold stars overhead; and I was sober in thought, sick atheart for him as much as for myself, and I tortured my mind in fruitlessconjecture as to what the end of this strange and fateful adventurewould be.
I discovered that less and less the old wild spirit abided with me and Ibecome conscious of a dull, deep-seated ache in my breast, a pang in thebone.
From that day there was a change in Diane Sampson. She became feverishlyactive. She wanted to ride, to see for herself what was going on inLinrock, to learn of that wild Pecos county life at first hand.
She made such demands on my time now that I scarcely ever found an hourto be with or near Steele until after dark. However, as he was playing awaiting game on the rustlers, keeping out of the resorts for thepresent, I had not great cause for worry. Hoden was slowly gathering mentogether, a band of trustworthy ones, and until this organization wascomplete and ready, Steele thought better to go slow.
It was of little use for me to remonstrate with Miss Sampson when sherefused to obey a distracted an
d angry father. I began to feel sorry forSampson. He was an unscrupulous man, but he loved this daughter whobelonged to another and better and past side of his life.
I heard him appeal to her to go back to Louisiana; to let him take herhome, giving as urgent reason the probability of trouble for him. Shecould not help, could only handicap him.
She agreed to go, provided he sold his property, took the best of hishorses and went with her back to the old home to live there the rest oftheir lives. He replied with considerable feeling that he wished hecould go, but it was impossible. Then that settled the matter for her,she averred.
Failing to persuade her to leave Linrock, he told her to keep to theranch. Naturally, in spite of his anger, Miss Sampson refused to obey;and she frankly told him that it was the free, unfettered life of thecountry, the riding here and there that appealed so much to her.
Sampson came to me a little later and his worn face showed traces ofinternal storm.
"Russ, for a while there I wanted to get rid of you," he said. "I'vechanged. Diane always was a spoiled kid. Now she's a woman. Something'sfired her blood. Maybe it's this damned wild country. Anyway, she's gotthe bit between her teeth. She'll run till she's run herself out.
"Now, it seems the safety of Diane, and Sally, too, has fallen into yourhands. The girls won't have one of my cowboys near them. Lately they'vegot shy of George, too. Between you and me I want to tell you thatconditions here in Pecos are worse than they've seemed since you-allreached the ranch. But bad work will break out again--it's coming soon.
"I can't stop it. The town will be full of the hardest gang in westernTexas. My daughter and Sally would not be safe if left alone to goanywhere. With you, perhaps, they'll be safe. Can I rely on you?"
"Yes, Sampson, you sure can," I replied. "I'm on pretty good terms withmost everybody in town. I think I can say none of the tough set who hangout down there would ever made any move while I'm with the girls. ButI'll be pretty careful to avoid them, and particularly strange fellowswho may come riding in.
"And if any of them do meet us and start trouble, I'm going for my gun,that's all. There won't be any talk."
"Good! I'll back you," Sampson replied. "Understand, Russ, I didn't wantyou here, but I always had you sized up as a pretty hard nut, a man notto be trifled with. You've got a bad name. Diane insists the name's notdeserved. She'd trust you with herself under any circumstances. And thekid, Sally, she'd be fond of you if it wasn't for the drink. Have youbeen drunk a good deal? Straight now, between you and me."
"Not once," I replied.
"George's a liar then. He's had it in for you since that day atSanderson. Look out you two don't clash. He's got a temper, and whenhe's drinking he's a devil. Keep out of his way."
"I've stood a good deal from Wright, and guess I can stand more."
"All right, Russ," he continued, as if relieved. "Chuck the drink andcards for a while and keep an eye on the girls. When my affairsstraighten out maybe I'll make you a proposition."
Sampson left me material for thought. Perhaps it was not only thepresence of a Ranger in town that gave him concern, nor the wilfulnessof his daughter. There must be internal strife in the rustler gang withwhich we had associated him.
Perhaps a menace of publicity, rather than risk, was the cause of thewearing strain on him. I began to get a closer insight into Sampson, andin the absence of any conclusive evidence of his personal baseness Ifelt pity for him.
In the beginning he had opposed me just because I did not happen to be acowboy he had selected. This latest interview with me, amounting in someinstances to confidence, proved absolutely that he had not the slightestsuspicion that I was otherwise than the cowboy I pretended to be.
Another interesting deduction was that he appeared to be out of patiencewith Wright. In fact, I imagined I sensed something of fear and distrustin this spoken attitude toward his relative. Not improbably here was theinternal strife between Sampson and Wright, and there flashed into mymind, absolutely without reason, an idea that the clash was over DianeSampson.
I scouted this intuitive idea as absurd; but, just the same, it refusedto be dismissed.
As I turned my back on the coarse and exciting life in the saloons andgambling hells, and spent all my time except when sleeping, out in thewindy open under blue sky and starry heaven, my spirit had an uplift.
I was glad to be free of that job. It was bad enough to have to go intothese dens to arrest men, let alone living with them, almost being one.
Diane Sampson noted a change in me, attributed it to the absence of theinfluence of drink, and she was glad. Sally made no attempt to concealher happiness; and to my dismay, she utterly failed to keep her promisenot to tease or tempt me further.
She was adorable, distracting.
We rode every day and almost all day. We took our dinner and went clearto the foothills to return as the sun set. We visited outlying ranches,water-holes, old adobe houses famous in one way or another as scenes ofpast fights of rustlers and ranchers.
We rode to the little village of Sampson, and half-way to Sanderson, andall over the country.
There was no satisfying Miss Sampson with rides, new places, new faces,new adventures. And every time we rode out she insisted on first ridingthrough Linrock; and every time we rode home she insisted on going backthat way.
We visited all the stores, the blacksmith, the wagon shop, the feed andgrain houses--everywhere that she could find excuse for visiting. I hadto point out to her all the infamous dens in town, and all the lawlessand lounging men we met.
She insisted upon being shown the inside of the Hope So, to the extremeconfusion of that bewildered resort.
I pretended to be blind to this restless curiosity. Sally understood thecause, too, and it divided her between a sweet gravity and a naughtyhumor.
The last, however, she never evinced in sight or hearing of Diane.
It seemed that we were indeed fated to cross the path of Vaughn Steele.We saw him working round his adobe house; then we saw him on horseback.Once we met him face to face in a store.
He gazed steadily into Diane Sampson's eyes and went his way without anysign of recognition. There was red in her face when he passed and whitewhen he had gone.
That day she rode as I had never seen her, risking her life, unmindfulof her horse.
Another day we met Steele down in the valley, where, inquiry discoveredto us, he had gone to the home of an old cattleman who lived alone andwas ill.
Last and perhaps most significant of all these meetings was the one whenwe were walking tired horses home through the main street of Linrock andcame upon Steele just in time to see him in action.
It happened at a corner where the usual slouchy, shirt-sleeved loungerswere congregated. They were in high glee over the predicament of oneruffian who had purchased or been given a poor, emaciated little burrothat was on his last legs. The burro evidently did not want to go withits new owner, who pulled on a halter and then viciously swung the endof the rope to make welts on the worn and scarred back.
If there was one thing that Diane Sampson could not bear it was to seean animal in pain. She passionately loved horses, and hated the sight ofa spur or whip.
When we saw the man beating the little burro she cried out to me:
"Make the brute stop!"
I might have made a move had I not on the instant seen Steele heavinginto sight round the corner.
Just then the fellow, whom I now recognized to be a despicable characternamed Andrews, began to bestow heavy and brutal kicks upon the body ofthe little burro. These kicks sounded deep, hollow, almost like the boomof a drum.
The burro uttered the strangest sound I ever heard issue from any beastand it dropped in its tracks with jerking legs that told any horsemanwhat had happened. Steele saw the last swings of Andrews' heavy boot. Heyelled. It was a sharp yell that would have made anyone start. But itcame too late, for the burro had dropped.
Steele knocked over several of the jeering men to get to
Andrews. Hekicked the fellow's feet from under him, sending him hard to the ground.
Then Steele picked up the end of the halter and began to swing itpowerfully. Resounding smacks mingled with hoarse bellows of fury andpain. Andrews flopped here and there, trying to arise, but every timethe heavy knotted halter beat him down.
Presently Steele stopped. Andrews rose right in front of the Ranger, andthere, like the madman he was, he went for his gun.
But it scarcely leaped from its holster when Steele's swift handintercepted it. Steele clutched Andrews' arm.
Then came a wrench, a cracking of bones, a scream of agony.
The gun dropped into the dust; and in a moment of wrestling furyAndrews, broken, beaten down, just able to moan, lay beside it.
Steele, so cool and dark for a man who had acted with such passionateswiftness, faced the others as if to dare them to move. They neithermoved nor spoke, and then he strode away.
Miss Sampson did not speak a word while we were riding the rest of theway home, but she was strangely white of face and dark of eye. Sallycould not speak fast enough to say all she felt.
And I, of course, had my measure of feelings. One of them was that assure as the sun rose and set it was written that Diane Sampson was tolove Vaughn Steele.
I could not read her mind, but I had a mind of my own.
How could any woman, seeing this maligned and menaced Ranger, whoselife was in danger every moment he spent on the streets, in the light ofhis action on behalf of a poor little beast, help but wonder and broodover the magnificent height he might reach if he had love--passion--awoman for his inspiration?
It was the day after this incident that, as Sally, Diane, and I wereriding homeward on the road from Sampson, I caught sight of a group ofdark horses and riders swiftly catching up with us.
We were on the main road, in plain sight of town and passing by ranches;nevertheless, I did not like the looks of the horsemen and grew uneasy.Still, I scarcely thought it needful to race our horses just to reachtown a little ahead of these strangers.
Accordingly, they soon caught up with us.
They were five in number, all dark-faced except one, dark-clad andsuperbly mounted on dark bays and blacks. They had no pack animals and,for that matter, carried no packs at all.
Four of them, at a swinging canter, passed us, and the fifth pulled hishorse to suit our pace and fell in between Sally and me.
"Good day," he said pleasantly to me. "Don't mind my ridin' in withyou-all, I hope?"
Considering his pleasant approach, I could not but be civil.
He was a singularly handsome fellow, at a quick glance, under fortyyears, with curly, blond hair, almost gold, a skin very fair for thatcountry, and the keenest, clearest, boldest blue eyes I had ever seen ina man.
"You're Russ, I reckon," he said. "Some of my men have seen you ridin'round with Sampson's girls. I'm Jack Blome."
He did not speak that name with any flaunt or flourish. He merely statedit.
Blome, the rustler! I grew tight all over.
Still, manifestly there was nothing for me to do but return hispleasantry. I really felt less uneasiness after he had made himselfknown to me. And without any awkwardness, I introduced him to the girls.
He took off his sombrero and made gallant bows to both.
Miss Sampson had heard of him and his record, and she could not help apaleness, a shrinking, which, however, he did not appear to notice.Sally had been dying to meet a real rustler, and here he was, a veryprince of rascals.
But I gathered that she would require a little time before she could benatural. Blome seemed to have more of an eye for Sally than for Diane."Do you like Pecos?" he asked Sally.
"Out here? Oh, yes, indeed!" she replied.
"Like ridin'?"
"I love horses."
Like almost every man who made Sally's acquaintance, he hit upon thesubject best calculated to make her interesting to free-riding, outdoorWestern men.
That he loved a thoroughbred horse himself was plain. He spoke naturallyto Sally with interest, just as I had upon first meeting her, and hemight not have been Jack Blome, for all the indication he gave of thefact in his talk.
But the look of the man was different. He was a desperado, one of thedashing, reckless kind--more famous along the Pecos and Rio Grande thanmore really desperate men. His attire proclaimed a vanity seldom seen inany Westerner except of that unusual brand, yet it was neither gaudy orshowy.
One had to be close to Blome to see the silk, the velvet, the gold, thefine leather. When I envied a man's spurs then they were indeed worthcoveting.
Blome had a short rifle and a gun in saddle-sheaths. My sharp eye,running over him, caught a row of notches on the bone handle of the bigColt he packed.
It was then that the marshal, the Ranger in me, went hot under thecollar. The custom that desperadoes and gun-fighters had of cutting anotch on their guns for every man killed was one of which the meremention made my gorge rise.
At the edge of town Blome doffed his sombrero again, said "_Adios_," androde on ahead of us. And it was then I was hard put to it to keep trackof the queries, exclamations, and other wild talk of two very muchexcited young ladies. I wanted to think; I _needed_ to think.
"Wasn't he lovely? Oh, I could adore him!" rapturously uttered MissSally Langdon several times, to my ultimate disgust.
Also, after Blome had ridden out of sight, Miss Sampson lost the evidenteffect of his sinister presence, and she joined Miss Langdon in payingthe rustler compliments, too. Perhaps my irritation was an indication ofthe quick and subtle shifting of my mind to harsher thought.
"Jack Blome!" I broke in upon their adulations. "Rustler and gunman. Didyou see the notches on his gun? Every notch for a man he's killed! Forweeks reports have come to Linrock that soon as he could get round to ithe'd ride down and rid the community of that bothersome fellow, thatTexas Ranger! He's come to kill Vaughn Steele!"
