Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  She hung up the receiver and stood a moment longer, ponderingly. Then she wheeled swiftly and almost ran up to Cal. It was not the same girl. A blush dyed out the red tints in her cheeks.

  “Mr. Cal,” she began, “sister has explained — about my aunt’s picture — how your brothers and cousins refused to meet me — that you alone were kind enough — good enough to come. That those boys had framed up some trick to play on you.... I apologize for what I said. I’m ashamed. Won’t you forgive me — and take me to Mary?”

  She had seemed to come closer all the time she was speaking, until her appealing hand touched his arm. She lifted her face that suddenly became beautiful and sweet in Cal’s dawning sight. Her violet eyes held him. They were darkening with thought, troubled, sincere, yet audacious. And it seemed that before them, all in a flash, he fell crashing to the first headlong love of his life. After that nothing was clear. The sweet face floated before him, hazily, the face of a dream. He spoke, trying to tell her he would be glad to take her home. Then — proudest moment he had ever known — she was holding his arm, walking beside him out of the door, across the porch, with her beautiful head erect, looking up at him, seeing none of the gaping bystanders, gliding so coolly and disdainfully past Wess and his comrades, oblivious of the crestfallen Hatfield — down the steps and out to the car.

  There Cal became again possessed of some semblance of rationality. But how he thrilled! How bells rang in his ears!

  “May I ride in front beside you?” she asked, as if that was what she most wanted to do of all things in the world. She looked it. She spoke sweetly, audibly to the listeners on the porch. But she apparently did not know of their existence. She did not hear the shuffling of their boots as they began to stir forward.

  “Sure can,” replied Cal, trying to catch his breath. “I’ll pack your bags in back.”

  At this juncture Tuck Merry loomed up, carrying his canvas bag. His cadaverous face did not betray that he and Cal had met, though deep in his eyes gleamed a twinkle of fun and zest over the situation.

  “Buddy, would you give a fellow a lift along the road?” he inquired.

  “Sure. Pile in with your pack,” replied Cal, heartily. Right then and there he wanted to hug this lanky new-found friend.

  Merry and his pack and the girl’s numerous pieces of baggage comfortably filled the after section of the Ford. Then Cal cranked the engine. It started with a strange sound, entirely foreign to him. Was it only the confusion of his brain? Anyway, it started. Cal climbed in beside the girl, tremendously aware of her presence, of her perfect self-possession and poise, of the smile that enveloped him. His hands shook a little. Then when he tried to drive off he was dumbfounded to see that the car would not budge an inch. The engine had stopped.

  CHAPTER IV

  CAL SAT THERE at the wheel, suddenly realizing that what he had anticipated had begun to happen. He swore under his breath, and for an instant he hated the curious crowd lined up on the porch. This feeling, however, was only a flash. No matter what happened, Georgiana May Stockwell was with him. That would be balm for much more injury he might suffer.

  “You stalled the engine,” she said, brightly.

  “Stalled? Well, that’s a new one on me,” he replied. Then in lower tone he added: “Your sister told you Wess an’ his gang had put up a job on me, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. That’s one reason why I was so ashamed.”

  “I’ve got a hunch they’ve fooled with the engine when I left the car at the garage,” whispered Cal. “It’s sure comin’ to me. An’ it’s hardly fair to ask you to stick by me. But I’m askin’ you to. It’s started bad for me, but will you stick to me an’ be game?”

  “Game is my middle name,” she whispered back, with a flash of fun and fire in her eyes. “I’ll stick if we have to walk. Don’t worry about me. This’s great. You keep your nerve and we’ll give them the merry ha-ha.”

  The look of her as she faced him, young and eager and defiant, the quick whispered words that established her championship of him — these more than compensated Cal for the humiliation he had suffered and completely vanquished the dread that had hung over him. He seemed suddenly to acquire an exalted strength, a something which welled up out of his new-born emotion.

  “Reckon I’d better confess I’m no mechanic. I don’t know an engine from a fence-post,” he said.

  Her low laugh was cut short by Wess Thurman drawling out, “Wal, Cal, do you want a team of hosses?”

  “Cal, air you drivin’?” queried Arizona, with a grin.

  Tim Matthews sauntered down the porch steps with nonchalant confidence.

  “Mebbe yore out of gas,” he said, and his whole serene countenance masked the lie of his knowledge.

  Wess Thurman strode down off the porch and to the car.

  “Cousin,” he drawled, “I reckon you want Miss Stockwell to get home for dinner?”

  “Sure. An’ I’ll get her there,” returned Cal.

  “Wal, not in thet vehicle, you won’t,” averred Wess. “We’ve got room in the big car for her an’ her packs.”

  “How about me?” inquired Cal, with sarcasm.

  “Wal, there won’t be room, Cal,” replied Wess, spreading wide his hands. “We’ve shore got a load as it is.... Mebbe Tim or Pan Handle or Arizona might stay in town an’ let you go with me.”

  “I gotta get back tonight,” said Tim.

  “Cal, your dad gave me one day off an’ no more. I cain’t afford to lose my job,” said Pan Handle.

  “Pard, you shore know I’d do a heap for you, but I come in jest on purpose to get medicine for my hoss,” said Arizona.

  It was the usual response, the apparent innocence. Cal saw how Georgiana was studying them, wonderingly, as if fascinated. She saw through them. She was biting her red lips to hold back her merriment. Then Cal thrilled to see Tuck Merry unlimbering his long length out of the back of the car. Cal had forgotten his other passenger.

  “Buddy, let me give this can the once over,” he said. “I used to run a cheese-cutter for the Smith Condensed Milk Company.”

  His dry, droll manner of speaking apparently jarred on the ears of Wess and his comrades. They hardly knew what to think, and sight of this remarkably tall, thin personage silenced them. They watched him with undisguised amazement. Tuck leisurely went round to the front of the car and threw back the cover of the engine, and craning his long neck he bent his head clear out of sight. He was whistling. Then he straightened up to look over and handle parts of the engine. The crowd took him seriously. But Cal divined that Tuck had more in mind than a possible knowledge of how to start the engine. He rattled things. He turned this and that, with the air of a master mechanic.

  “Haw! Haw!” roared the cattleman Bloom from his post on the porch. “Shore this’s a side-show.”

  Merry paid no attention to him, or to the others who laughed at his sally, but went on leisurely examining the engine.

  “I don’t know what’s comin’ off, but I’ve a hunch,” Cal whispered to the girl.

  “Oh, he’s just too funny,” she whispered back. “Mr. Cal, I believe he’s kidding these boobs.”

  Finally Merry straightened up, and with his hand on the machine, stood in the posture of an orator about to speak.

  “Buddy, this here engine has been monkeyed with by some one who doesn’t know the combination,” he said, blandly. “The carburrettor has been detached from the ventriculator and the trolley wire is off. The ignition system has been jammed in the midriff. Then the juice no longer coincides with the perambulator, and as a consequence the spark plug is nix. Outside of that the engine is all right.”

  “Gee! Isn’t there anythin’ more out of whack?” asked Cal, almost bursting with glee. Moreover, there was something marvelous happening. His hand had dropped to the seat and the girl, in her excitement, was squeezing it.

  “That’s all I can see offhand,” replied Tuck, “except some parts are missin’. But I can make her run, all right, all righ
t.”

  That remark appeared to release Wess from whatever it was that had inhibited him.

  “Say, stranger, are you tryin’ to josh me?” he queried, with a note of resentment in his drawl.

  “I was addressing myself to the gentleman who offered me a ride,” replied Tuck, waving a huge hand at Cal.

  “Wal, what’d you mean by thet crack aboot some one monkeyin’ with this car?”

  “Mister, I meant what I said. Somebody has monkeyed with it.”

  “Ahuh! Wal, I’m tellin’ you thet strangers in these parts better be careful what they say,” declared Wess, belligerently.

  “Why so? Ain’t this a free country?” asked Merry, meekly.

  “Reckon it is, but we’re shore particular,” growled Wess. “An’ we ain’t havin’ our fun mussed up by any long-legged bean-pole of a scarecrow like you.”

  “Oh, I see,” replied Merry, still more meekly, almost abjectly. “I didn’t mean any offense — just telling the truth that way.”

  “Who’n hell are you, anyhow?” inquired Wess, curious, now that he had apparently intimidated the fellow.

  “My name’s Merry and I’m looking for a job.”

  “Merry, huh? Wal, thet’s shore a good handle, for you’re the funniest-lookin’ fellar I ever seen. Reckon you’d make some apple-picker, but it ain’t a good year for apples.”

  With that Wess dropped back beside Cal and resumed his genial air and slow drawl. “Wal, kid, I’ll relieve you of Miss Stockwell an’ get her home for dinner.”

  Cal regarded his cousin for a long moment. Wess was in deadly earnest about his fun.

  “Wess, I’d hate to tell you what I know,” said Cal, with mysterious good nature.

  “Aw, now would you?” queried the other, banteringly. He did not know just how to take Cal’s change of aspect and tone. Then his keen eyes saw Cal’s hand over Georgiana’s and he actually gave a start.

  “Wal, takin’ all in all, you ain’t so slow,” he said. “But considerin’ thet Miss Stockwell must be got home, I’ll have to tag you. Shore it’s a cinch you cain’t take her in this wagon.”

  Whereupon he strode off toward the garage. Arizona and Pan Handle hurried after him, but Tim lagged behind long enough to shoot a hard look at Tuck Merry and a languishing glance at Miss Stockwell. Then he, too, strode after them.

  “Tuck, hurry an’ hook up the engine,” said Cal, to his comrade. “Let’s rustle out of here.”

  Merry bent over the machinery, dexterously using his big hands, while the bystanders stirred and shuffled on the porch. Some of them laughed and exchanged jesting remarks. The incident, however, did not appear to be closed. Cal caught the eyes of Bloom and Hatfield upon him and the girl.

  “Holdin’ hands, heh?” queried Bloom, coarsely, in his loud voice, that instantly called attention to Cal and Georgiana.

  It was Cal who blushed and withdrew the hand that had unconsciously covered hers. Even in the moment of sudden consternation and anger he saw that she showed surprising indifference to the attention thus rudely turned upon her. Merry jerked up quickly from his task over the engine. Bloom must have seen or felt contempt in the girl’s utter lack of embarrassment or shame.

  “Wal, Bid,” he said, just as loudly, turning to Hatfield. “Thet bare-legged chicken is some looker, but you ain’t missin’ so much. Funny aboot these Eastern females — —”

  “Shut up!” yelled Tuck Merry, and moved away from the car toward the porch.

  Cal jerked as if a startling current had shot through him. In a furious anger he strove to get out of the car. But the girl held him. “Please — don’t — don’t — It was my fault,” she whispered, pleadingly. “Don’t let me start a fight the very first thing.”

  “But — he insulted you,” burst out Cal, tensely.

  “Wait! Hold on — please — I beg you,” she added, clasping his arm tight. “Oh — think how my sister will be ashamed of me!”

  Cal might have been proof against her, but he saw that Merry had taken the matter in hand, and suddenly he relaxed to sink back in the car. Georgiana still clung to him.

  “What’n hell’s eatin’ you?” demanded Bloom, striding to the porch steps to confront Merry.

  “I’m a stranger out here,” said Merry, mounting the steps. “I’m from the East and I don’t take kindly to the remark you made. Do Arizona men talk that way about Eastern women?”

  “They shore do when them wimmen have painted faces an’ bare knees like thet girl,” declared Bloom.

  “But, mister, down East a little artificial color and a short skirt don’t call for insults,” averred Merry, gravely. “It’s the style. I’ve a kid sister who wears the same.”

  “Wal, you an’ your sister an’ all sech as thet chicken had better stay where you belong,” said Bloom. “The West won’t stand for you. An’, stranger, let me give you a hunch. The Tonto Basin is shore West clear through.”

  “Mister, I’ve met a lot of men, and with all respect to your Tonto code I’ll say no real man anywhere talks like you.”

  “Say, you starved-lookin’ bag of bones!” roared Bloom, furiously. “You pipe-organ, shootin’ off your mind thet way! Do you hev any idee who yore ravin’ at?”

  “I’m tellin’ you, mister,” replied Merry, his casual voice so marked in contrast to the strident one. “You’re no real Westerner. You’re a poor fish. You’re a big fat stiff — a blow-hard, a bully. I’ll bet you’re yellow clear to your gizzard.”

  Bloom appeared suddenly bereft of reason. Utter frenzied astonishment claimed him. His face turned livid, and he stuttered like a lunatic. Something incredible had happened to him. He apeared to be looking at a monstrosity. With a slow, ponderous motion he swung back his arm.

  Then Merry’s right hand shot up so swiftly that Cal could not follow it. But he saw the result. Merry’s fist stopped at Bloom’s nose — not a hard blow, but evidently peculiarly placed. Bloom’s head jerked back, and blood squirted from his nose. He let out a hoarse cry of pain. The spasmodic working of his face likewise attested to a sudden excruciating sensation. Then as he steadied himself on his feet Merry’s left hand shot out. It hit Bloom in the waist somewhere and sounded like a bass drum. Bloom gave a terrible gasp. His mouth opened wide, and his whole face became a network of strained wrinkles. His hands fluttered to his body and he began to sink down. The breath had been expelled from him. Then as he was sagging Merry knocked him in a heap to the porch floor.

  “Where’s that swell motion-picture pard of his?” inquired Merry, of the bystanders.

  “Keep clear of me or I’ll throw a gun,” declared Hatfield, threateningly, moving back into the store.

  “Say, you handsome Tonto masher, you wouldn’t throw anything but a bluff,” retorted Merry, striding across the porch.

  One of the men barred his way. “Stranger, let well enough alone. Bid might throw a gun at thet. An’ seein’ you ain’t packin’ any it’s wiser to hold in. Don’t ever run after any fights in the Tonto. They’ll come to you fast enough.”

  Thus admonished, Merry turned away and went back to the car. Meanwhile the bystanders had crowded round the prostrate Bloom, and Wess, with his comrades, had arrived in the big car. Cal sat perfectly still, but inwardly he seemed to be a riot of nerve and pulse. The girl was clinging to him, and still clung even when Wess leaped out of his car and jumped to accost Cal.

  “Boy, what’s come off?” he demanded, sharply.

  “Wess, it isn’t anythin’ to get riled at, but I’d given a great deal if you’d seen it.... Bloom made an insultin’ remark about Eastern girls, an’ Merry soaked him. That’s all.”

  “Wal, I’ll be gosh-durned!” ejaculated Wess, with the tight coldness of his lean face relaxing. “Thet queer-lookin’ Jasper! Could he hit anybody? It ain’t believable. Reckon he throwed a hammer or wrench, huh?”

  “Oh, Merry threw somethin’, all right,” laughed Cal, and he sat up to look at the girl. She let go of his arm. Her face was pale now except for the
unmistakable signs of paint. Cal saw this red of cheek and carmine of lip with some sensation akin to a pang. But he did not miss the cool, sweet audacity of her smile, nor the darkened purple fire of her eyes. It made him unsteady to look at her. What had come over him?

  Just then the circle of bystanders round Bloom opened to show several of them assisting him to his feet. He was unable to stand alone and assuredly presented a ludicrous figure.

  “Say — fellars — what’d — I — run ag’in’?” he panted, heavily.

  “Wal, Bloom, we calkilate you got hit,” replied one of the men.

  “Aw! — I’m damn — near killed.... What’d he — hit — me with?”

  Merry heard this pathetic query, for he raised his long lean figure up to its full height.

  “You big fat baboon!” he called out, derisively. “I only slapped you.”

  Bloom wrestled with those who held him, but not very effectively, as he evidently was weak. His face was a study.

  “I’ll get — you!” he cried, hoarsely, as the men dragged him into the store.

  Very curiously then Wess Thurman strode up to Merry, and after him came Arizona and Pan Handle, unquestionably friendly. But Wess was particularly concerned with this specimen of the genus homo. He looked Merry up and down, intently, wonderingly. Manifestly he could not convince himself of certain possibilities.

  “Say, what’d you sling at him?” asked Wess, at last.

  Merry paid no heed to Wess and went on working over the engine until suddenly it started.

  “Wal,” continued Wess. “Reckon it’s no matter what you throwed. But that made you a friend of the Four T’s. Savvy? Put her there!”

  He shoved out his hand, and Merry grasped it and gave it a single crunch.

  “Wow!” yelled Wess, jerking his hand loose. “Man, I was aimin’ to be agreeable. Shore I didn’t give my hand to a corn-huskin’ machine.” Dubiously he regarded Merry, smoothing out his hand the while. Then he wagged his head doubtfully.