Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Yes. But, come to think of it, that’s just prolonging the agony. . . . Girls, how about it? Couldn’t you get out of here in two weeks?”

  “Oh dear!” cried Hettie, helpless before this rush of events and the wonderful stir it roused.

  “Yes, Ben, we could. The sooner the better,” replied Ina, wide-eyed with the seriousness of this decision.

  “Good!” ejaculated Ben. “Then I’ll go with the horses. You can pack what you want to take, send it to Klamath to be freighted. Then you and Hettie can fetch Blaine and mother by way of Frisco.”

  “They can take the Santa Fé from Los Angeles,” interposed the sheriff.

  “And be landed somewhere in wild Arizona to wait weeks for you,” asserted Ina.

  “Ben, if you go overland I’m going with you,” added Hettie, spiritedly.

  “We’ll all go with you,” added Ina, a spot of red showing in each pearly cheek.

  “Aw, girls, that’ll never do,” expostulated Ben. “It’s — it’s a crazy idea.”

  “We could stand it,” returned Ina, gathering courage with the growing conception. “I think we’d have fun. Back to the pioneer days! Remember how our mothers used to brag about the wagon-team into Oregon?”

  “It would be great,” added Hettie, in low voice, and she felt her breast heave.

  “Say, you’re laying it on thick,” declared Ben, at his wits’ end. Plain it was he had at once set his heart upon riding overland. “You girls might do it, but think of Blaine and mother.”

  “Mother would not only like it, but she could go through with it,” said Hettie, jumping up. “I’ll ask her.”

  She ran in to lay the point before her mother.

  “Well, daughter,” came the reply, with unusual animation, “reckon that’s the first sensible idea Ben has thought of, if it did come from him. It’d do me good. Work an’ livin’ outdoors is what I need.”

  Hettie rushed outside triumphantly to announce her mother’s opinion, at which Ben threw up his hands.

  “I’ll have to give up that plan,” he said, regretfully.

  Whereupon he took the sheriff off for the corrals, leaving Hettie and Ina deep in a discussion of this important phase of their exodus into a new country. On Blaine’s behalf, Ina could not see any reason why he should be a deterrent. And Hettie found innumerable arguments in favor of the overland journey.

  “We can pack a wagonload of trunks and chests and boxes with the things most dear to us, and ship the rest,” averred Ina. “It’d be a safer way.”

  Hettie agreed wholly with Ina on the economic and practical aspects of the matter, and did not slight the romance, or the adventure side. In the end they convinced each other that the overland journey was the one they wanted to take.

  “Leave Ben to me,” concluded Ina.

  “Oh, what will Marvie say to this?” added Hettie, with shining eyes.

  As Hettie had suspected, her brother was not so easy to persuade as Ina had confidently anticipated. During the two days of this deadlock the affairs of the ranch went topsy-turvy. What time Ben was not listening and gradually weakening to Ina’s importunities he lounged around the corrals, not in a very approachable mood.

  At daylight on the third morning Ben pounded on Hettie’s door.

  “Wake up!” he shouted, gayly. “You’ll make a fine wife for a pioneer.”

  “Oh, Ben, what’s the matter?” cried Hettie, sitting up in alarm.

  “Roll out. There’s work to do, young lady.”

  “Are you — have you—” faltered Hettie.

  “I reckon. We leave June first,” he replied, deep-voiced.

  “Overland?”

  “Sure. And Marvie goes with us. Ina’s father was pretty decent, for him. Agreed to let Marvie come with us for a year, on trial. I had to give my word of honor I’d send him back if he went wild.”

  “Marvie won’t go wild — that is, not much,” replied Hettie. “Oh, I’m glad! Ina loves him best of all her family. . . . Ben, then we’re — really going?”

  “You bet, unless you girls four-flush on me,” rejoined Ben, and then he thumped away down the hall with rapid stride.

  Hettie gave a little gasp and fell back on her pillow. She seemed suddenly weak. What a wonderful prospect, yet terrifying for all its thrill! Before she recovered Ina came running in, fully dressed, with wild dark eyes of radiance.

  “Get up, you lazy girl,” she said, hugging and pulling at Hettie. “It’s all settled. Ben was over home till late. I was asleep when he got back. He woke me at four o’clock and told me he’d decided. We’re to go overland. We’ll have a regular wagon-train. Oh, I’m so excited I’m silly. . . . I believe it was Marvie who turned the scales. He can do anything with Ben — he’s so like Nevada. Wasn’t it bright of me to enlist Marvie in our cause?”

  “Bright? You’re wonderful! The Ide outfit wouldn’t be complete without Marvie.”

  That dawn was the beginning of excited, full, strenuous days. Hettie did not know where the hours flew. If anything inspired her more than her own secret longing that she might meet Nevada but in Arizona, it was the interest and enthusiasm shown by her mother. They wasted as much time in choosing what to take as they worked hard and late in packing. Ben sold most of the furniture almost over their heads. As the first of June drew swiftly and fearfully on, Hettie realized she must spare time to see a few old school friends before she left. As it turned out, however, they called to see her.

  Ben bought several new, large, deep-bodied wagons, which he had covered with canvas stretched over high hoops. One for Hettie and her mother, and another for himself, Ina, and Blaine, he had fitted out so that they made comfortable little rooms. What tingling pleasure Hettie derived from climbing into her wagon, that must be her home for weeks, possibly months! It was almost like, when she had been a little girl, playing at keeping house.

  Wherefore furnishing this wagon-house proved both a joy and problem. Hettie arranged curtains just behind the wide driver’s seat in front. The two single cots had a narrow aisle between them, which was covered with a strip of carpet. Underneath the cots Hettie stowed bags and boxes. At the rear of the wagon was space enough for a low chair, a bureau with mirror, a tiny washstand, and an improvised cloth-curtained wardrobe in which to hang clothes.

  The morning of departure was like a nightmare for Hettie. But after she had passed through Hammell, which passing was in the nature of a parade, Hettie began to recover. Her mother lay quietly on her cot, wearied, but not manifesting any signs of deep grief. Hettie parted the front curtains and got out on the high seat with the driver, one of the older men, who had worked for the Ides as long as Hattie could remember. She did not want to cry, and thought that outside she might better keep from it.

  A string of horses, mostly bays and blacks, among which California Red shone like fire in the sun, led the cavalcade up the long hill road. They were in charge of three of Ben’s best riders. Next came the chuck wagon, and after it the one containing extra supplies, both of which were drawn by four horses. Ben’s wagon came third, and Hettie’s last.

  She had a powerful impulse to look back, but she resisted it until they had passed over the hill. When at last Hettie turned to look her eyes were so wet that she had to wipe them so she could see. How far they had already come! The cluster of houses that constituted the village of Hammell lay at the foot of the long hill. Beyond widened the green valley, for miles and miles, with its threads of bright water and its shining remnant of lake, and the great squares of grain, waving in the wind. She located the Ide ranch, the fields, the barns, the dark patch of maples, the white house. Home! She was leaving it, surely forever. Yet she whispered to herself that she was glad to go; her heart had almost broken there; she would never return unless — unless . . .

  Hettie had overestimated her powers of resistance. That one lingering last look back at Tule Lake was her undoing. She crept through the curtains again and sought her couch, where she hid her face and let emotion have its sway
. Following that, a relaxation from the weeks of excitement and work set in, and she was glad to rest and sleep. Late in the afternoon she awoke, refreshed and calm, soon to feel a lively interest in the present.

  At this juncture a halt was made for the first camp. Hettie saw that wagons and horses had stopped off the road in a level place where gnarled oaks stood far apart and a trickling stream wound between green banks. She walked here and there to stretch her legs, conscious of the return of a vague delight. She had always loved camping out, of which she had experienced but little. This indeed was to be a real camping adventure. The horses were rolling on the ground, in all kinds of violent action to scratch and dust their sweaty backs. Some of the more spirited animals were being hobbled. Ben was coaxing California Red with a nosebag of grain. The driver of the chuck wagon, who was also the cook, staggered under a load of firewood. Rolls of bedding were being thrown from another wagon.

  When Hettie got back to her wagon and Ben’s, which were close together, she found her mother, Ina, and Blaine all out, smiling and interested. Just then Marvie Blaine strode up with an ax on his shoulder. He was a tall, well-built youth, freckled and homely, with fine clear eyes. He wore overalls, high boots, long spurs, and he packed a gun. Ina espied this latter simultaneously with Hettie.

  “Marvie Blaine!” cried Ina, pointing at the gun. “What’s that?”

  “Why, my six shooter, of course!” retorted Marvie, with importance.

  “What’re you going to do with it?” queried his sister, in consternation.

  “Ina, I’m sure not wearing it for ornament,” replied the lad.

  “Gracious! It might go off and hurt somebody!”

  “Ahuh! That’s the whole idea of packing a gun,” replied Marvie, and strode on.

  “Hettie, did you hear him?” asked Ina, wide-eyed.

  “I sure did,” said Hettie, with a laugh. “Marvie’s awakened to reality.”

  “And Ben swore to dad he’d keep that boy from going wild,” ejaculated Ina.

  Ben, who approached on the moment, heard his wife’s exclamation, and he picked up little Blaine to toss him up and catch him. “Ha! Ha! reckon here’s another gunman in the making.”

  “There’s nothing funny about that remark,” said Ina, reproachfully.

  Just then the cook came shuffling up to Ben, manifestly in a high state of dudgeon.

  “Boss, your mother says she’s a-goin’ to do the cookin’, an’ thet I can wait on table an’ wash dishes,” he asserted.

  “By George! I forgot about mother,” rejoined Ben, struggling with his mirth. “Now, Hank, that’s nonsense, of course. But you must use some tact. Mother wants to help along. Can’t you let her putter around?”

  “Putter, hell!” sputtered Hank. “She calls me dirty an’ greasy — throws out my sour dough — an’ snooks into everythin’. . . . Now, boss, I’m a-goin’ to quit.”

  “Hank, you wouldn’t go back on me,” returned Ben, in alarm. “Come, I’ll talk to mother.”

  When Ben had gone with the irate cook, Ina and Hettie burst into merry peals of laughter.

  “Hettie, I wouldn’t have — missed this trip — for the world,” said Ina.

  “Neither would I. But I’ve begun to have glimmerings.”

  “Of what?” asked Ina, curiously.

  “Of lots besides fun,” replied Hettie, soberly.

  Presently Ben returned, somewhat crestfallen. “By George!” he said, throwing off his sombrero and pulling at his dark locks. “I fixed it up, but I’m scared stiff. I reckon all camp cooks are more or less rough and not very particular. It’s sure fire mother won’t stand for dirt. She knows, too. I forgot she used to travel with dad years ago. She wouldn’t even consider the plan Hank and I had agreed on — that we’d eat first, then the men. No, says mother. Waste of time and work. We’ll all eat together.”

  “That’s sensible,” replied Ina.

  “I am reminded that I’m starved,” interposed Hettie.

  “I’s hungry,” chirped up little Blaine, from the grass.

  “We all are, son,” agreed Ben.

  Presently they were called to supper. The picturesque significance of that scene was vividly impressed upon Hettie — the smoking fire, and smell of burnt wood, the steaming pots, the new white tarpaulin spread under an oak, the hot biscuits, and sizzling bacon with its savoury fragrance; the tall, lean, dark-faced young riders, still in chaps and spurs; her mother, bustling and happy as Hettie had not seen her in years; young Marvie with his shining freckled face and conscious air; Ina, with violent eyes alight; and the tumbling, disheveled Blaine, at last in his element, and Ben, both gay with the zest of this journey and thoughtful with its responsibility.

  Then after supper came the hour beside the camp fire. As dusk settled down and the night wind arose there were comfort and pleasant sensation in the heat from the red logs.

  Hettie watched and listened, conscious of a mounting interest in all that pertained to this overland journey. The men talked with Ben about the practical details of travel, the need of shoeing a certain horse, the greasing of a wagon wheel, the night-watches, and especially of the road ahead.

  “We’ll have fust-rate goin’ fer a couple of days,” said Raidy, one of Ben’s older hands. “I’ve been over this hyar road lots of times, far as Jefferson. We turn off, howsomever, about day after to-morrer. An’ that road used to be a terror for a wagon. Over the foothills into Nevada. But I heerd in Hammell thet it’s been improved by travel. There’s new minin’ towns sprung up, Salisbar is quite a town.”

  “How about that thar border place, Lineville?” asked one of the riders.

  “I ain’t never been there,” replied Raidy. “All I know is hearsay. Reckon it’s growed, too, along with the booms. But she shore was a wide-open town once. Not so long ago, either, as time goes. We’ll hit Lineville along late the fourth day from hyar, if my figgerin’ is correct an’ we have any kind of travelin’ luck.”

  “Boss, do you aim to go through Salt Lake City?” queried another.

  “No. We’ll strike Utah far south of Salt Lake,” replied Ben.

  “Then we don’t hit Tombstone?”

  “I’m not sure. How about that, Raidy?”

  “We don’t run into Tombstone,” returned Raidy, “an’ thet’s jest as well. Our trail zigzags across Nevada, workin’ down. Bad road, but passable. We go into Marysville, Utah. Thet burg is pretty far across the line an’ pretty far south. Thar’s a road from Marysville down over the line into Arizona, an’ way around to a crossin’ of the Colorado called Lee’s Ferry. Mormons have been comin’ across the head of the Grand Canyon thar fer years. Reckon we can travel whar any Mormons go, though thet country is said to be the grandest an’ roughest in all the West. It’ll save us a thousand miles.”

  When Hettie retired to her wagon that night she had a clearer realization of the tremendous task of travel Ben had set himself. Almost it daunted her. But there came a strengthening and enduring memory.

  Her little tent room was as cozy and comfortable as she could have wished. Evidently her mother had found it likewise, for she was fast asleep. Hettie prepared herself for bed, put out the lamp, and slipped into her blankets. The novelty and strangeness of the situation precluded sleep for the time being. She lay wide-eyed, staring at the flickering shadows on the canvas. After a while the low voices of the men ceased and the firelight faded. Black night and deep silence enfolded her. What had become of the horses? The wind swept through the oaks, now softly and again with a rush. She felt it blow cold through the curtains, fanning her cheek. Then lonely sharp wild barks made her flesh creep. Coyotes! She was on the edge of the wilderness.

  Ben’s cheery call seemed to rend Hettie’s slumbers. To her dismay, she saw the sunlight gilding the canvas and that her mother had arisen without awakening her. Hettie made such haste that she was not late for breakfast. The men had eaten earlier, despite the law laid down by Mrs. Ide.

  It was a wonderful moment when the horses c
ame trooping in behind the yelling riders. After that all seemed action and noise, color and life. Breakfast over, Hettie helped in what few tasks she could find, then made her bed and was ready for the long day’s ride. She found she had to kill time, however, while the horses were hitched and the chuck wagon packed. So she gathered wild flowers until Marvie rode up on her, proud as a peacock in his chaps and mounted on one of Ben’s spirited horses.

  “Hettie, you don’t want to get left, do you?” he asked, gruffly.

  “I should smile not, Marvie,” she replied, secretly amused at him.

  “Well, rustle to your wagon,” he replied, and spurred his horse away.

  Hettie watched the lad. He could ride. “I wonder,” she mused. “Some Arizona girl will fall in love with him.”

  “Men, here’s the deal,” Ben was saying as Hettie reached the wagons. “We’re in no hurry. Save the horses and stick close together. About mid-afternoon look for water and grass.”

  Then followed days that held increasing interest for Hettie. Once off the main road, swift progress would have been impossible, even had Ben desired it. The road was not merely rough, but narrow and dangerous. Yet it showed signs of considerable travel. But they met not a wagon or horseman going or coming.

  The third day, while climbing the foothills Hettie grew tired of dust and heat and the brush that continually obstructed her view, and she sought the comfort and security of the inside of their little canvas home. Camp was made so late that darkness had intervened. The next day was hard, a long jolting ride downhill, with nothing to see but rough slopes, gullies, and dust.

  They expected to reach Lineville in time to pitch camp early, but sunset had come and gone before they rode into a wide street lined by strange old houses, which constituted the border town. Hettie would have been more curious had she been less fatigued. As it was, the place gave her a queer sensation and she would far rather have gone on to camp in the open.

  The wagons halted. Rough-looking men, some with picks and packs over their shoulders, passed by with bold eyes seeking out Hettie and Ina. Also she saw Chinamen peep from dark portals, and tall white-faced men in black garb and high hats stare fixedly at her. So she sought her tent.