Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  With rifle in hand Jim headed toward the western exit. Not until he was out in the valley did he realize that he carried his rifle. The fact surprised him. There was plenty of fresh meat in camp. He had no idea of hunting. That act had been instinctive and it puzzled him. But there was a release of a clamped tension within. This day would see events, and he felt almost elated.

  Perhaps that had something to do with a singular sense of the mounting beauty of the morning, of the magnified solitude, of the rarefied atmosphere that gave the buttes and mountains a most deceiving nearness. The outside world of Utah seemed to be encroaching upon this wilderness of canyon brakes.

  The sun was still beneath the rim of the escarpments in the east, but its approach was heralded by a magnificent glory of red and gold, of flushed peaks and rose-shrouded mesas, of burning faces of the zigzag walls along distant ramparts.

  Jim had never before been up high here at such an early hour. Any man would have been struck by the spectacle. He felt that if he were to die that day he would be leaving earth without having fully realized its sublimity, its mystery, its solemn warning, its inscrutable promise. And there ran through his mind a thought of how Miss Herrick would have reveled in this glorious scene.

  “Well, I am loco,” he soliloquized, blankly, suddenly brought up sharply by the absurd reflection. Excitement and emotion had reacted so powerfully upon him that he was not himself. Right then he made the stern decision that when he started back to camp, to face Hays again, he would be a thousand times his old self.

  The sun-shelter he had erected had once before toppled over, and this morning he found it again flat, except one of the poles. Jim gathered up the dry brush and made a seat and back-rest of it. He did not examine into his premonition that the shelter had served its turn. Then he sat down to watch.

  It was as if he had never seen a sunrise. There was no comparing it with any other he could recall. And one magnifying look through the field-glass was more than enough. Nature’s exaggeration of color and loveliness and transparency and vastness, was too great even for the normal gaze of man.

  But that superlative grandeur passed, leaving something Jim could accept and gloat over as actual.

  From this lofty perch he gazed with narrowed eyes across the shaded hole below, into which no ray of sun had yet penetrated. The black mouth of the gorge yawned hungrily. Above it on all sides spread the gray and red rock ridges, dotted with dwarf cedars, with white washes between, and on to spotted red ragged hummocks that fringed a green level, yellow with sunflowers, which led to an abrupt break into a canyon. The walls showed brown, rust-colored, hard as iron, with dark lines and shadows, beyond which stood up the pyramids and bluffs of the brakes. Here gloomed suggested depths and corrugated slopes, then the infinitely wild, obscure, stratified space terminating in the Henry Mountains, looming colossal in the lilac light of morning, ghostly, black, unscalable, piercing the pale-blue sky.

  To their left the lifting sun, losing its gold for red, spread a transparent curtain over the line of level escarpments and mesas, finally to dazzle the canyon country under it to blinding rays. To the right shone many leagues of rock ridges and mounds, broken at intervals by pale gleams of washes and alkali flats and banks of gray clay, ending in the dim, wandering White Bluffs.

  Loneliness was paramount. There was no sound — only an immense silence. No life at all! Not a winged creature hovering over that ghastly region! But over this scene of desolation slowly spread the solemn blight of heating, blazing sun, soon to mantle all in illusive copper haze.

  Before that hour arrived, Jim Wall took up the field-glass. Below in the camp the men were lazily stirring to a late breakfast. The door of the cabin was open. A glint of gold crossed the dark aperture. Then the tall form of Hays stalked out. He yawned. He stretched wide his long arms. His ruddy face gleamed in the glass to that sight. Wall’s whole being leaped.

  “By God!” his voice rang out, as if to all which had just enchained him. “Hays, that’s your last morning’s stretch. . . . Before this day’s done you’ll stretch forever!”

  Let his men have their hour, thought Jim, darkly, but if they did not mete out justice to their chief, the end was nevertheless fixed and unalterable.

  Jim settled back and raised the field-glass more from habit than any semblance of the old watchfulness. There was nothing to see but the stark denudation of the brakes.

  Suddenly into Jim’s magnified circle of vision crept dark objects — a long line of them.

  He was so startled that the glass waved out of line. He moved it to and fro, searching. What could that have been? An error of sight, a line of cedars, a conception of idle mind!

  “There!” he breathed. He had caught it again. Not cedars — not brush, but moving objects! . . . “By heaven!” he muttered. “Am I dotty?”

  Horses! A line of dark horses! His straining eyes blurred. He lowered the glass with shaking hands to wipe the dimness away. “So help me — it looks like riders!”

  A third time Jim caught the objects. He froze the glass on them. Horses and riders — horses with packs! A bursting gush of hot blood ran all over him. The expected pursuit, now long neglected, almost forgotten, had materialized. It looked like Heeseman’s outfit, at least three miles away, approaching slowly by a route far to the south of that over which Hays had come.

  “About three miles,” muttered Jim. “Coming slow. They’re lost. . . . But that wash they’re in heads into the Hays trail. . . . If they strike that they’ll come fast. Not enough rain yet to wash out our tracks. We’ve not time to pack and ride out. . . . By thunder! they’ve cornered us! Now, Hank Hays—”

  Jim took one more straining look. No hope! It was a big outfit, and not traveling so slowly, either. The leader bestrode a black horse. Jim remembered that horse. Snatching up his rifle, he slung the field-glass over his shoulder and ran down off the bluff to the slope. It occurred to him to locate Hays’ horses. He sighted some — six, seven, eight — the others were not visible. Hays would rage like a madman. Then Jim tore down the slope with giant strides. Reaching the valley floor, he ran along the wash, through the entrance into the oval, and once on the grass he fairly flew the remaining distance to camp.

  To his profound amaze he espied Hays bound hand and foot, with a stick behind him and through his elbows. The robber sat in an uncomfortable posture against the woodpile. Moreover, a second glance acquainted Jim with the fact that Hays was gagged and that his visage appeared scarcely human, so malignantly enraged was it.

  “What the hell!” cried Jim, breaking out of his bewilderment.

  Hays gave vent to an inarticulate sound, but it was expressive. Jim wheeled to stalk under the shack, his hand on his gun, as if he half expected Heeseman to have arrived before him. To his further amaze Miss Herrick was sitting at the rude table, eating breakfast. A big gun, that Jim recognized as Hays’ property, lay conspicuously in front of her. Happy Jack, whistling as usual, was serving her.

  “What does this mean?” demanded Jim.

  “Ask the men,” she replied, curtly.

  Outside and below the shack sat Smoky on a rock, with the others standing near. They all had the appearance of having been swayed profoundly.

  “Mawnin’, Jim,” drawled Smoky, with a grin. “You see we’ve got a new chief.”

  “Who hawg-tied the boss?”

  “Reckon I did — with a little help.”

  “What for?”

  “Damn if I know. Our lady prisoner made me do it.”

  “Miss Herrick forced you to tie Hays up?” queried Jim, trying to conceal his exultation.

  “I should shiver she did. Stuck Hays’ hair-trigger gun — cocked — right into my belly, an’ says: ‘Will you tie this villain — an’ swear by your honor not to release him or allow any of these other men to do so — or will you have me shoot you?’”

  “How’d she get that gun?”

  “Wal, she snatched it quicker’n lightnin’, thet’s how. An’ when she cocked i
t with both hands it went off, bang! The bullet went between Hank’s legs. Tickled him. You can see the hole in his pants. Scared? My Gawd! you never see a man so scared. Thet gurl cool as a cucumber cocked the gun again, an’ held Hays up — then all of us. We was sittin’ at table. She made us all stand, hands high, an’ then she performed thet little trick with Hank’s gun ag’in’ my gizzard. Jim, I’d like to die if I didn’t go cold an’ stiff. But I promised on my word of honor — as a robber — thet I’d tie Hank up an’ make the other fellers play square. It was so funny, too, thet I near bust. Hays, soon as he was helpless, got over his scare, an’ then was he mad! I reckon no one on this earth ever saw a madder man. He cussed so terrible thet she made me gag him.”

  “Well, I’ll be — blowed!” gasped Jim.

  “No wonder. We was wuss. We’d had breakfast, an’ Hank was tryin’ to face us fellers. I’ll say he came clean, Jim. He divided all the money he got from Herrick an’ his sister, an’ the gold things an’ diamonds. ‘Fellers,’ he said, ‘I could lie an’ say I meant to give this to you later. But I’m not built thet way. I double-crossed you all — first time in my life. I meant to keep it all, an’ the ransom fer the gurl. But now there won’t be no ransom, for I’m not goin’ to give her up. She’s mine, an’ I can do as I want, an’ if any of you don’t like it you can make your kick now.’ . . . Wal, we was so plumb flabbergasted thet we didn’t see the gurl, who came close on the sun side of Happy’s shelter. She heard the whole damn show. . . . Jim, I wish you could have seen her when she stepped up to Hank. I don’t know what did it — mebbe her eyes — but he shore wilted. It was then she snatched his gun.”

  “So that’s the deal!” ejaculated Jim. “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t ask me. I gave my word an’ I’ll keep it. Fer thet matter the rest of our outfit air fer the gurl, ransom or no ransom.”

  Suddenly Jim awoke out of his stupefaction to remember the approach of Heeseman.

  “Smoky, I know what you’re all going to do, and that’s fight,” he flashed, curtly. “I was so surprised I forgot. Heeseman’s outfit is coming. I sighted them perhaps three miles. Traveling slow, but sure. We’ve no time to pack an’ get away. We’ve got to find the best place to stand an’ fight, an’ pack our stuff into it pronto.”

  “Heeseman!” cried Smoky, coolly. “So it’s come. I reckoned on thet. Git busy, men.”

  Jim strode under the shelter to face Miss Herrick. She had heard, for she was white.

  “We’re all but surprised by Heeseman’s outfit,” he said, abruptly. “We must fight. You will be worse off if you fall into their hands. I’m sorry I must release Hays. We need him.”

  “Too late!” she exclaimed.

  “Pack your things quickly and hurry over to the cave on this side.” Then Jim picked up Hays’ gun from the table and ran out. First he removed the gag, and then in terse terms he stated the situation. Next he released the robber from his painful fix, and handed him the gun.

  “Heeseman, huh! Wal, so be it!” Hays said, facing Jim with an air of finality that intimated relief.

  “How far are they away?” Hays then asked.

  “Two miles.”

  “Gawd Almighty — Where? Which way air they — comin’?”

  Facing south, Jim pointed. “Little west — of south. They’re in a — wash that’ll head — into the trail we made.”

  “I know thet. But it’s rough before it heads in. We’ve got half an hour — mebbe. Did you think to look fer the hosses?”

  “Eight horses in the — valley. Others not in sight.”

  “You —— —— — !” cursed Hays, suddenly furious. “Fine scout you air. How come you didn’t spy them soon enough fer us to rustle out of hyar?”

  “I couldn’t have seen them half a mile sooner,” snapped Jim. “They came out from behind a bank.”

  “Hell’s fire. Tell thet to me? You was sleepin’.”

  “You’re a liar,” flashed Jim, leaping clear of the others. “Open your trap to me again like that!”

  “Say, it’s you who’ll shet his trap,” replied Hays, stridently. “Or you’ll git a dose of medicine I gave Brad Lincoln.”

  “Not from you — you yellow dog of a woman thief!”

  Smoky Slocum ran out in time to get in front of Jim.

  “Hyar! Hyar!” he called, piercingly. “Is this a time fer us to fight each other? Cool down, Jim. Make allowance fer Hays, He’s wuss’n drunk.”

  “I don’t care a damn if there’re ten outfits on our trail. He can’t talk to me that way. . . . And, Smoky, I reckon you’re presuming on friendship.”

  “Shore I am,” returned Slocum, hurriedly. “I’ll not do it again, Jim. Hays is what you called him. But leave your dispute till we settle with Heeseman.”

  “All right. You’re talking sense,” replied Jim. He had been quick to grasp the opening made by Hays. “There must be ten riders in Heeseman’s outfit.”

  “Wall, thet suits me,” rejoined the robber, harshly.

  “Now think fast,” snapped Smoky.

  Hays pulled himself together. “Mac, you an’ Jeff run like hell to fetch what hosses you can find quick. . . . Jack, you an’ Smoky an’ Wall hustle the grub, cook-kit, packs, an’ beds into thet cave across the wash. I’ll git up high an’ watch. When I yell dig fer cover.”

  “You aimin’ to fight or run?” queried Smoky.

  “We might git packed light, if somethin’ holds them up. But we can’t leave the way we come in. Dirty Devil’s too high. Heeseman has stumbled on the next best way. If we had plenty of time. . . . But rustle, everybody.”

  Mac and Jeff were already in lumbering flight up the oval. And Happy Jack, not concerned enough to stop his whistling, was sacking his utensils. Hays made for the notch in the bluff west of the cabin. Jim sprang into action, while Smoky dashed off toward the cottonwood grove.

  CHAPTER 14

  UPON JIM’S FIRST return trip from the cave he encountered the girl, burdened with her effects.

  “Helen, I’ll carry that. Hurry! We’ve no time to lose.”

  At the back of the cave there was a crack deep enough to protect Helen. He directed her to hide inside and await developments.

  “Jim — promise me you’ll shoot me — before letting Hays or any of them — get me.”

  He considered that a moment, then answered, “I promise.”

  Her reply was incoherent, though couched in passionate tones. Jim ran on toward the camp, resolving to withhold a shell in his rifle and to keep a sharp watch on Hays.

  The next quarter of an hour was filled with strenuous and unceasing action. Their united efforts collected all the supplies, utensils, saddles, and packs, and several of the beds in the three-cornered cave back and to one side of the shack. A huge slab of stone lay across the top of this triangular notch in the cliff. The wall had been hollowed by the action of water. A small stream flowed out from the base of the wall. At the extreme apex of the notch there was an opening, but hidden from above by thick bushes. Also bushes of the same kind screened the west side of this notch. Beyond the shack and in close around the opposite corner a corral had been built under that shelving wall. It was the best place for defense in the oval, and Jim believed Hays’ outfit could hold it indefinitely, though not to save the horses. If it came to a siege they could be released.

  Smoky came panting in with Hays’ pack, and started off again.

  “That’s enough, Smoky,” called Jim.

  Slocum returned. “Nothin’ left— ‘cept Hank’s bed,” he panted. “I — couldn’t — locate thet.”

  “Listen!”

  “What do you hear?”

  “Horses.”

  “Sure, I catch it. . . . Which way?”

  “Damn if I can tell.”

  “Grab a rifle. Seems to me if Hays was up on top somewhere he’d hear horses before we could — in that direction.”

  “Shore. Must be Mac an’ Jeff.”

  Smoky had guessed correctly. Half
a dozen horses appeared tearing over rocks and through brush into the oval, with the two men, riding bareback, in close pursuit.

  Then above the noise rose Hays’ stentorian voice: “Ride! Ride fer camp! . . . Let the hosses go!”

  The robber chieftain came plunging down the gap. He was warning Mac and Jeff. There must have been more danger for them, on the moment, than for him.

  “Jim, keep your eye peeled on thet cliff,” said Smoky, and stole forward under cover of the brush.

  Presently a white puff of smoke showed above the ragged rim. Spang! The fight was on. One of Hays’ men — Bridges — let out a hoarse bawl and swayed over, almost losing his balance. Jim looked no more at him, but concentrated his gaze on the rim. Another puff of white! Something dark — a man’s slouch hat — bobbed up. Jim’s rifle, already raised, swerved a trifle — cracked. The hat went flying.

  “Wal, if thet bird didn’t have it on a stick he got scalped, I’ll gamble,” observed Smoky, which remark attested to his keen sight.

  The horses came over the bench, frightened, but not stampeding, and Mac drove them into the corral. This was around the corner from the range of the sharpshooter on the rim. Bridges, reeling on the horse, followed Mac, who ran out of the corral to catch him as he fell. Then, as they came along to the wall, Hays arrived puffing from the other direction.

  “Heeseman — with his outfit — nine in all,” he heaved. “They’re scatterin’ to surround the roost. . . . But they can’t cross — below us — an’ across there it’s — out of range. . . . We’re all right.”

  “Yes, we air! Haw! Haw!” ejaculated Smoky, glaring back.

  Mac half carried the bulky Bridges into the safety zone, and let him down on the ground with his head on a bed-roll.

  “Where’s he shot?” demanded Hays. “I seen thet feller who did it jest a little too late.”