by Zane Grey
“Meanin’ for me an’ Jim an’ Happy to fall in with you?” queried Hays, tersely.
“Shore, onless you think thet ain’t so good.”
“Wal, it’d mean leavin’ Star Ranch sudden,” cogitated the robber chief.
“Shore. An’ thet’s good.”
“But I don’t want to pull out of here sudden,” declared Hays.
“Why not, if we git away with ten thousand head?” queried Smoky, astounded.
“Thet ten thousand won’t close the deal I’m on.”
“What’ve you up your sleeve, Hank?”
“Thet’s my business. Yours is drivin’ cattle.”
“You mean to rob the Englisher? Fer Gawd’s sake, Hank, don’t be a hawg!”
“Hays, if you’ll excuse me I’m thinking Smoky talks sense,” interposed Jim, quietly.
“Wal, I’m listenin’, but I reckon you can’t change me,” returned Hays.
“If we put it to a vote, Hank, you wouldn’t be nowhere. I don’t want to buck ag’in’ you. But you’re way off on this. . . . Listen. I had the gall to tip Hadley off thet he’d better run up to Salt Lake an’ get a big lot of cash. He took the hunch. Said he’d go an’ thet he’d guarantee buyin’ us out, every damn hoof.”
“Thet’s all right. It’s good figgerin’. Only I see no call for rush.”
“But we do. We’re all on edge fer it. Brad thinks it wise. He doesn’t like this English deal, anyway. An’ now Jim Wall backs us up.”
Hays knocked the bowl of his unsmoked pipe on the table, and he arose, gaunt and virile, to stalk up and down the room, plainly a victim of conflicting tides of feeling. But indecision did not last long. His gesture, abrupt and passionate, not only indicated the men who opposed him, but infinitely more.
“My mind’s made up. We’ll stick to our first idee. You fellers make drive after drive, goin’ slow. . . . Thet’ll give me time—”
“Ahuh. So you’ll risk goin’ ag’in’ the whole outfit,” interrupted Smoky, with a curious gaze at his superior.
“Wal, hell, yes, if you put it thet way,” replied Hays, and he stalked out.
“No help fer it, men,” said Smoky, presently. “Somethin’s got into the boss. Reckon I’ll hit the trail fer camp. Didn’t intend to leave till mornin’. But it’s jest as well. Jim, don’t you want to come along?”
“I’d like to, at that. But how’d Hays take it?”
“He’d swear you was double-crossin’ him. I hope to Gawd he doesn’t do the double-crossin’.”
“Smoky, will you start that second drive tomorrow?” asked Wall.
“I’ll lay it up to my outfit. Wal, so long. See you soon, one way or another.”
He went out. Jim heard a few sharp words pass between Smoky and Hays, and then silence. Happy Jack looked at Jim, shaking his head dubiously. Jim waited awhile, hoping that Hays would return, but as he did not, Jim went to bed. For once he hated to be alone in the dark and quiet. In his inmost heart he realized that he was tremendously upset by the advent of this Herrick girl.
Next day he went back to work on the new barn. A subtle change in Hank Hays augmented his suspicion of that individual. Jim let him alone. He did not require much more to satisfy himself about Hank Hays.
While Jim worked with the cowboys he watched, and he had the eyes of a hawk. Herrick was around as usual, interested in every detail of the building. Hays had gone off with the cowboys across the valley to put them upon some job there, which no doubt was a ruse to keep them away from Limestone Springs, where most of the stock grazed. He did not see Hays until supper. And the day had ended without one glimpse of Helen Herrick. Jim measured the incredible fact of his desire to see her by the poignancy of his disappointment. Then he cursed himself for a fool. His mood changed as subtly as had Hays’, with the result that he and the moody leader made poor company.
This night Jim deliberately set himself to study the robber near at hand and to watch him from a distance. At table and round the fire Hays apparently made some effort to be his former self. But the effort betrayed constraint. And out in the dark, when Hays imagined no one saw his actions, he seemed a hounded man. What was on his mind? What further plot was he hatching? Could it be possible that intent to rob Herrick of money, and any valuables procurable, could obsess him to this extent? After all, Jim did not know Hays well. He had to give him the benefit of a doubt.
At breakfast the following morning Hays surprised Jim.
“Was the Herrick girl out yesterday?” he inquired.
“Didn’t see her,” replied Jim, setting down his cup.
“You didn’t say what kind of a looker she was. An’ the other night she had her face hid by some contraption. Might as wal wore a mask. I seen her hair, though. Like sunflower! An’ she shore has a shape.”
“Oh, that!” laughed Jim. “I forgot or didn’t think you were interested. She’s a washed-out, pink-and-white thing. No blood. Consumptive or anemic, I reckon.”
“Consumptive! With thet breast?” rejoined Hays, scornfully. “Wal, I’d like to see her once before our deal’s off here.”
“Are you thinking better of Smoky’s idea?”
“Not of thet. But I’m worryin’ about him.”
Hays had his wish fulfilled next day. He was at work on the new barn, on the far side from where Jim was occupied, when Miss Herrick came down with her brother. Jim stared as if his eyes deceived him. An English riding-habit was known to him only from pictures. She looked queenly. Jim did not look at her face. Besides, he wanted most to see the effect upon Hank Hays. That worthy’s hawk-like head was erect, but Jim could not see the tell-tale eyes. Hays stood transfixed, then, suddenly, in strange gesture, as of finality, he flung down the tool he had been using. Was that his satisfaction having seen this wonderful girl? Was it hail and farewell to such beauty as might once only come under the gaze of a man of his class? Most certainly it was repudiation of something.
Herrick and his sister walked toward Jim’s side of the barn. They talked. Jim heard that laugh again. He seemed to be bewitched. Then she approached.
“Good morning,” she said. “So you are a carpenter as well as a vigilante?”
Jim doffed his sombrero and stood up straight. His gun struck the scantling with a perceptible little thud. She could not help noticing that and it gave her pause.
“I’m not at my best with this kind of hammer,” replied Jim, with a smile, after greeting them.
“Apropos of that, Bernie told me how you shoot bob — no, jack rabbits from the saddle,” she said, admiringly. “I want to see you do that. And I want to learn how. Will you show me?”
“I’d be pleased, Miss Herrick,” he returned. “But I can’t guarantee you’ll hit any of them.”
“I may surprise you. Tomorrow, then, you will ride with me?”
“I’m at your service,” replied Jim, hearing his voice as something far off.
“Wall, you’ll oblige me by riding with my sister when it suits her,” said Herrick. “By Jove! I can’t live on the back of a horse, and I don’t want her to ride alone.”
“Yes, sir,” returned Jim, gazing across at the statuelike Hays.
The couple moved off toward the open yard where mounted cowboys were leading out saddled horses. Presently Jim heard them ride away with the barking dogs. He looked up, however, when Hays accosted him, at his elbow.
“I seen her, Jim,” he said, as if the event were epic. “She walked right by me. I smelled her.”
“Oh, hello! You startled me,” replied Jim, essaying a laugh. “What if you did, Hank?”
“Nothin’. Only you gave me a wrong idee. Pink-an’-white washed-out thing, you said. My Gawd!”
“Hank, I’ve no use for blond women,” replied Jim, testily, tired of the deception.
“Hell! you needn’t bite my head off,” said Hays. “I’ll bet you haven’t any use fer any color women. . . . What was she sayin’ to you?”
“It seems Herrick told her about my shooting jacks from
my horse, and she wants to see it done.”
“Wal, I’ll be jiggered! You’re goin’ ridin’ with her? . . . The luck of some men!”
“Hank, I’d a darn sight rather they’d asked you,” declared Jim, and then a keen idea struck him, which would, if Hays was not wary, clear up a knotty question. “Shall I tell Herrick you’ll go in my stead?”
“Nix, much as I’d like to. I can’t hit jumpin’ rabbits. An’ I wouldn’t want to be showed up bad.”
“Like as not I’ll be rattled and miss a lot,” returned Jim, lowering his eyes lest the thought in them might be read. Then he went back to work. Hays hung around the barn, mostly idle, watching the valley, until the Herricks returned to ride up the hill toward the house. The cowboys brought the horses down. Whereupon Hays abruptly left. And he did not come back. From that hour he became an elusive man. Jim, preoccupied with his own troubles, barely noticed this circumstance until that night.
That day ended Jim Wall’s carpentry. On the next he was summoned, early after breakfast, to ride with the Herricks. He went. And it would have been idle for him to deny that the event was enthralling. These English people were thoroughbred. Not improbably, in their minds unconsciously, the abyss between them and him was so wide and deep, that it was not thought of at all. That accounted for things. He divined vaguely, however, that for him the abyss did not exist.
Under the stimulation of this girl’s inspiring presence Jim gave an exhibition of swift and accurate shooting that surpassed any he had ever accomplished.
“Marvelous!” she exclaimed, with dark-flashing, admiring eyes on Jim. “It would be suicide for men to oppose you. . . . But poor little jack rabbits! What a pity they are destructive around the ranch!”
“Helen, he’s a bally good shot,” declared Herrick.
That night Hank Hays evinced slight but unmistakable symptoms of jealousy, occasioned, perhaps, by Jim’s report of killing thirteen out of fifteen bounding jack rabbits. Happy Jack, wide-eyed and loud-voiced, acclaimed Jim’s feat as one in a thousand.
“Air you thet good frontin’ a man who you know is swift?” drawled the robber chief.
Jim stared, coming out of his natural gratification. “Hank, I’m not so good then,” he replied, slowly.
“Wal, somebody’ll try you out one of these days,” added Hays, without significance.
“I dare say,” he rejoined, coolly, and sought his seclusion. He refused to let that linger in his mind. Something else haunted him. His slumber was troubled.
Next day Herrick did not accompany his sister on the daily ride, a circumstance which, if anything, gave freer rein to her spirit. Jim had concern for her safety. He could not judge well of her horsewomanship, because of the side-saddle she rode. Bluntly he disapproved of the atrocious thing and said it was worse than the “pancake” her brother rode. But she rode after the hounds just the same, and held her own until she was thrown.
If she had alighted upon rocks or even hard ground she would have been seriously injured, if not killed outright. But when the horse stumbled she hurtled over his head and hit in the sand. Jim was off almost the instant she struck, and he yelled for the cowboys.
Kneeling, he lifted her around and held her head up. She appeared to have been stunned. Her face was gray with sand.
“Water, Barnes!” he called, as the cowboy dashed up.
“There ain’t none close,” replied Barnes.
“I’m all — right,” spoke up Miss Herrick, weakly. “I came — a cropper — didn’t I?”
She sat up, evidently not hurt, though she clung to Jim’s arm. With his scarf he wiped the sand from her face, aware that his hand was not steady. If he had had to rely upon a gun then! The stiff hat she wore with this riding-habit had rolled yards away. Barnes got it. Her hair had come partly loose, to fall in a golden mass on her shoulder. She rearranged it and put on her hat, deftly despite gloved fingers.
“Help me up, please,” she said.
Jim placed a strong arm under hers and lifted her to her feet. She appeared able to stand alone, so he released her. However, she still clung to him.
“Deuced clumsy of me,” she said, flexing her right knee.
“Miss Herrick, are you sure you’re not hurt?” asked Jim, solicitously. “It was a nasty spill.”
“I’m not really hurt,” and letting go of Jim she essayed a few steps to prove it.
Then something cold and tight within Jim let go, and his reaction was to take refuge in anger. “Miss Herrick, I told you that saddle was no good. It’s a wonder you were not killed.”
“Oh, don’t exaggerate. I’ve come many croppers cross-country riding at home.”
“Barnes, back me up in this,” appealed Jim to the cowboy.
“Miss, he’s tellin’ you true,” said Barnes, earnestly. “You was ridin’ fast. If this hyar had been stony ground, like it is lots of places, you’d never knowed what hit you.”
“I believe I did strike pretty hard,” she admitted, ruefully.
“You want a cow-saddle with a double cinch, and overalls,” concluded Jim.
“Overalls!” she exclaimed, and she blushed rosy red. “You mean like these blue — trousers Barnes has on?”
“Yes. Then you can ride. This is the West, Miss Herrick. You like to run a horse. It’s dangerous. I shall have to speak to your brother.”
“Don’t. I’ve never ridden astride, but I’ll do it, since you are so very fearful about me. . . . Please help me up.”
That experience left Jim shaky, probably a good deal shakier than it had left Miss Herrick. But it was not fear for her. Jim reveled in the torturing sensations engendered by contact with this beautiful girl. He shook like a leaf at the staggering realization that when she lay on the ground with her arms spread wide, her hair gold against the sand, he longed to snatch her to his breast. A natural impulse, under the circumstances, but for him — idiotic!
Hays was not present that night at supper. This omission in no wise concerned Jim. He was too preoccupied to care or think about the chief. Days passed by, heady or blank, according to whether or not he rode with Miss Herrick.
She took to the Western saddle like a duck to water. She could ride. Moreover, that spirit of which she had hinted certainly overtook her. More than once she ran off alone, riding like the wind, and upon one of these occasions it took the cowboys till dark to find her. That with Hank Hays and Heeseman there to see her gallop away unescorted! Herrick did not seem to mind.
As far as Jim Wall was concerned, however, these rides with her centered him upon the love which had come to consume him; and the several she took alone were more torturing because they roused fear of Hank Hays. It could not be ascertained whether or not Hays followed her, but when the day came that Jim discovered Hays had been riding the trails frequented by Miss Herrick, then it seemed time to act.
This placed Jim in a worse quandary. To act, for a man of his training, at such a time and place, was to do only one thing. But how could he kill his leader upon mere suspicion of sinister intent to kidnap the girl? It was a damnable predicament for a man who had always played fair, alike to honest friend and crooked ally.
Jim paced under his dark sheltering trees, in the dead of night, when he should have been sleeping. Days had passed without his once seeking to avoid disaster; and he had not sought because he knew it was of no use. To wish to be with this blond girl seemed irresistible. More than once he had caught himself in the spell of a daring impulse — to tell Miss Herrick that he loved her. The idea was sheer madness. Yet the thought persisted, and when he tried to shake it the result was it grew stronger in a haunting, maddening way.
His manhood cast this aside. The love of the male, especially a lonely one of the wilds, expressed itself in many thoughts that Jim realized were the heritage of barbarism. They occurred in strange, vague, distorted dreams. They were strong in a man in whom the primitive instincts prevailed. But seldom did they gain ascendancy. Jim remembered his mother and sister; and then he thrust
away from him any possibility of distress coming to this Herrick girl from him.
That was how he met temptation. Then he was to be confronted by the fact that making love to her was insignificant to what Hank Hays might do. Whereupon the battle was fought all over again. He won as before, though with dark doubts in his mind. What could come of this tangled circumstance but disaster?
At breakfast next morning Hays raved about the fact that Smoky had not been there for over two weeks.
“Things air comin’ to a head,” he concluded, gloomily.
“Reckon they ought to have made two drives by now,” rejoined Happy Jack. “I rid down the valley yestiddy eight or ten miles. Cattle thinned out, boss. Any cowboy with eyes in the back of his head would be on to us by now.”
“Shore. Haven’t I kept them workin’ up here? But I’ve no control over this —— hossback-ridin’ after hounds. Pretty soon Herrick will be chasin’ down Limestone way. Then the fire’ll be out.”
“Hank, he wouldn’t know the difference,” interposed Jim.
“Aw, I don’t give a damn,” replied Hays, harshly, and that finality intimated much. “Wait till Smoky’s outfit shows up!”
Every morning when Jim rode down to the corrals he fell back under the spell of something sweeter than wine. The sunny hours with the sage flat ahead, the fragrant pines, the baying hounds, and always out in front this bright-haired girl, were vastly different from the dark hours when the day was done. Nothing could be truer than that this utterly incongruous and bitterly sweet situation could not last. In moments of humility, engendered by the higher emotions this girl aroused, Jim clasped to his breast the fact that he was protecting her from worse men.
Barnes and another of the cowboys had taken the horses for the Herricks up to the house. To Jim’s honest dismay he espied Helen riding ahead, with the cowboys behind, leading her brother’s mount. Herrick was not coming. The hounds bounded and cavorted about her, keen for the chase.
Miss Herrick looked far less proud and unattainable in the boy’s riding-garb she had adopted. Moreover, it had transformed her, yet her femininity appeared more provokingly manifest than ever.
