Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Hyar we are,” said Mr. See, halting before a pretentious brick building. “This is the new hotel, Molly. Now, wife, make the best of our good trip in. Take Molly in the stores. I’ll look after the horses, get our rooms, an’ meet you hyar at six o’clock.”

  Molly leaped out of the buckboard with a grim yet happy realization that she would not need much longer to be ashamed of her shoes and stockings.

  Three hours later, Molly, radiant and laden with bundles, tagged into the hotel behind Mrs. See, likewise laden, to be greeted vociferously by Mr. See.

  “For the land’s sake! Have you robbed a store or been to a fire? — An’ hyar me waitin’ for supper!”

  “Caleb, it happens seldom in a lifetime,” replied his beaming wife. “Help us pack this outfit to our rooms. Then we’ll have supper.”

  Molly had a room of her own. She had never even seen one like it. Loath to leave her precious purchases, she lingered until they called her from the hall. It struck her again how warmly these old people looked at her. Molly guessed she was a circus and ruefully admitted reason for it.

  The dining-room might have been only “fair to middlin’,” as Mr. See put it, but it was the most sumptuous place Molly had ever entered. Sight of it added to the excitement of the few hours’ shopping effectually robbed her of appetite.

  “Wal, I reckon Molly wants a biscuit an’ a hunk of venison,” remarked Mr. See.

  Molly did not know quite how to take that remark. She became aware, too, of being noticed by two young men at a nearby table. They were certainly not cowboys or timber-rangers. Molly was glad to get out and upstairs to the privacy of her, room.

  There she unpacked the numerous bundles and parcels, and laid out her newly acquired possessions upon the bed. How quickly her little hoard of money had vanished! Still, it had gone farther than she had anticipated. Mrs. See had been incredibly generous. A blue print dress, a white dress with slippers and stockings to match, the prettiest little hat Molly had ever seen in her life, ribbons and gloves and what not — these had been the expansion of the good woman’s promise.

  But not only the pleasure of looking and buying had Molly to think of. She had met more people than she had ever met before. She had been asked to serve in one of the booths at the fair. One of the storekeepers had offered her a position as clerk in his dry-goods department. And altogether the summing up of this day left Molly staggered with happiness.

  “Oh, dear!” she said. “If it’s true it’ll spoil me.” And she cried a little before she went to sleep.

  Another morning probed deeper into Molly’s faculties for enjoyment and wonder. Mrs. See had relatives and friends in Flagerstown, and they made much of Molly. Not the least of that morning’s interest was a look at Jim Traft, cattle king of the range. It was in the bank, where Molly and Mrs. See had visited with Mr. See.

  “Thar’s the old reprobate,” whispered See to Molly. “Jim Traft, who’s fencin’ off West Fork from the range!”

  Molly stared. She saw a big man in his shirt sleeves and dusty top boots. He had a shrewd weather-beaten face, hard round the mouth and chin, but softened somewhat by bright blue eyes that certainly did not miss Molly. If he had not been Jim Traft it would have been quite possible to like him.

  As they turned to go out he hailed See.

  “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  “Well, I reckon I know you, Traft,” returned See, not over-civilly. “I’m Caleb See.”

  “Shore. I never forget faces. You live down in the Cibeque. Glad to meet you again. If you’re not in a hurry I’d like to ask you some questions about your neck of the woods.

  “Glad to accommodate you, Traft,” returned See, and then he indicated his companions. “Meet my wife...An’ this is our little friend, Molly Dunn. Her first visit to Flag since she was a kid.”

  Traft shook hands with Mrs. See, and likewise Molly. He was quaint and genial, and his keen eyes approved of Molly.

  “Wal, wal! I’m shore glad to meet you, young lady,” he said. “Molly Dunn of the Cibeque. I think I used to know your father. An’ this is your first visit to Flag in a long time?”

  “Yes, sir. It seems a whole lifetime,” replied Molly.

  When Molly got outside again she exclaimed, breathlessly: “Oh, Mrs. See, he looked right through me!...I don’t want his pity...But I’m afraid the Dunns of the Cibeque have a bad name.”

  “Reckon they have, Molly dear,” rejoined Mrs. See, practically. “But so far as you are concerned it can be lived down.”

  “But, Mrs. See — I’d have to stick to dad an’ Arch,” said Molly, suddenly confronted with a lamentable fact.

  “Shore. In a way you’ve got to. I wouldn’t think much of anyone who couldn’t stand by her own kin.”

  Not until afternoon on the ride out to the fair-grounds did Molly quite forget Jim Traft’s look and the ignominy of the Dunns. But once arrived there she quite lost her own identity. This girl in blue at whom everybody stared was some other person. Crowdsof people, girls in gay apparel, cowboys in full regalia, Indians in picturesque attire, horses, horses, horses, and prize cattle, and every kind of a vehicle Molly had ever heard of, appeared to move before her eyes.

  Quite by magic, it seemed, she found herself separated from the smiling Mrs. See and conducted to a gaily decorated booth. There she was introduced to a girl about her own age, with whom she was to share the fascinating work of serving the public with sandwiches and coffee. Fortunately for Molly, her partner was nice and friendly, and certainly gave no indication that she had ever heard of the Dunns of West Fork.

  Under her amiable instruction Molly, who was nothing if not expert at waiting at table, acquitted herself creditably. But she could not get used to the marvellous gown she had on, and was in a panic for fear she might get a stain upon it. She did not, however, have so much work that she could not see what was going on, and presently she was having a perfectly wonderful time.

  Once she served three cowboys. They were hardly a new species to Molly. Nevertheless, she had not seen such brilliant scarves and fancy belts. She noticed, too, that these young men, like Arch and Seth, packed guns in their belts, a custom she had hardly expected to find at a fair. One of them made eyes at Molly.

  After a while they came back, when Molly’s partner had left, and if ever Molly had seen the devil in the eyes of a youth she saw it in one of these customers. Still, he was not bad-looking and Molly could not help liking him.

  “Miss — Miss — What’d you say your name was?” he asked as he straddled the bench before the counter.

  “I didn’t say,” replied Molly.

  “Oh, ex — cuse me. My mistake,” he returned, crestfallen at the subdued glee of his comrades. “Have you any pop?”

  “No,” replied Molly.

  “Or ginger ale?”

  Molly shook her head.

  “Not any pink lemonade?”

  “Only coffee an’ sandwiches an’ cake.”

  “Cake? Well, give us cake an’ coffee,” ordered the cowboy. She served them swiftly and discreetly, deftly avoiding the bold hand that sought to include her fingers as she passed a cup. “Do you live here?” he asked presently.

  “You know quite well I’m a stranger in Flag, else you wouldn’t be so impertinent,” returned Molly severely.

  “Aw!” He subsided with that exclamation. And his comrades proceeded to enjoy themselves at his expense. Molly’s keen ears lost nothing of the banter. They were just brimful of fun. Evidently the bold one enjoyed something of a reputation as a lady-killer, and had at last met defeat. Presently, as he could not get Molly to notice him, and grew tired of listening to his friends, he threw some silver on the counter and said, loftily, “Keep the change, Little Snowflake.” Then he strode away, and after a few moments the others followed.

  From this time Molly was kept busy, and only gradually did it dawn upon her that a string of cowboys kept coming and going, for the very obvious reason of getting a look at her. More than once she h
eard the name Snowflake. Still, none of them were rude. Manifestly they had taken her for a guest of some prominent family in the town, and a lady of quality. Molly enjoyed it hugely, though she had more than one melancholy reservation that it might have been different if they had guessed she was only one of the Dunns of the Cibeque.

  Soon she was relieved by the young lady, Miss Price, who shared the booth with her.

  “You’ve got the boys guessing,” said this smiling worthy. “They’ve nagged me to death. I don’t know them all, though. Just keep it up.”

  “I — I don’t do anythin’ but wait on them,” gasped Molly.

  “That’s it. Guess they think you’re cold when you’re only shy,” went on Miss Price. “But you can have a heap of fun. Keep on freezing them. Tomorrow night you’ll have the time of your life.”

  “Tomorrow night?” faltered Molly.

  “Sure. Big dance after the rodeo. Didn’t my mother tell you? Anyway, you’re going with us.”

  “I — I hadn’t heard. It’s terrible kind of you. But I really couldn’t go. I’m such a stranger. An’ if they — they think—”

  “You dear kid! You are going. Mrs. See promised mother.”

  Molly thrillingly resigned herself to the unknown. The afternoon ended all too soon, and she rode back to town, babbling to the pleased Mrs. See about the adventure she was having. That night they were out to dine with relatives of Mrs. See. No other young person was present and Molly had the relief of being comparatively unnoticed. These serious older people talked about the affairs of the town and the range, all of which found lodgment in Molly’s mind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS SATURDAY afternoon and the rodeo had just begun, which accounted for the deserted appearance of the grounds adjacent. Molly had remained longer than was really necessary. Mrs. See would be waiting for her at the stand. She was about to leave when she saw that she was to have a last customer.

  A young man, in overalls and heavy boots, got off a dusty horse and approached the booth. He asked for something to eat and drink. Apparently he took no notice of Molly. His face wore a troubled look.

  Of all the young men Molly had waited upon in two days, this was the first one who had not looked at her twice, and the only one who had not appeared gay or bold or pleasant. Molly felt a little pique and secondly more than a little curiosity.

  He might have been twenty-two or -three years old and evidently was not a cowboy. Molly judged that he would have been fair-skinned if he had not been so sunburnt. His nose had begun to peel, but these demerits did not exactly keep him from being handsome. Presently he laid his sombrero on the counter, which act disclosed light wavy hair, and a broad brow marred by deep furrows.

  He struck Molly just about right, and considering her vast experience during these two days, she imagined she was a connoisseur in young men. He slowly drank the last of his coffee, and looking up, met Molly’s glance. Then she knew he had not seen her before. He had gray eyes full of shadows.

  “What’d you do if you were just about licked?” he queried suddenly.

  “Sir?” exclaimed Molly.

  He repeated the question, this time more deliberately, as if now he weighed it.

  “I — I’d get up an’ fight some more,” declared Molly, surprised into genuine sincerity.

  He smiled. Then something beside surprise happened to Molly. “You would? Suppose then you got licked sure?”

  “It wouldn’t make no difference,” replied Molly, at last forgetting to watch her speech. And she smiled back at him.

  He saw her really then as a girl, and not as any individual who might propound a personal point of view. Leaning his elbows on the counter, he regarded her with interest verging upon admiration.

  “Very well, I’ll take your hunch. I’ll not quit. If they lick me — I should say when they lick me, I’ll get up and fight some more.”

  His words were severe, his purpose almost grim, yet Molly realized the best compliment she ever had received was being paid her.

  “I never saw you before,” he went on.

  “That isn’t my fault,” replied Molly, demurely, with level gaze on him. What a nice face he had!

  “But you don’t live in Flag,” he protested.

  “No indeed.”

  “Where then?”

  “I’m from the Cibeque.”

  “Cibeque. Is that a town or a ranch or what?”

  “It’s a valley.”

  “Never heard of it. How far?”

  “Two days’ ride.”

  “Just here on a visit?” continued the young man, and it was manifest that every word carried him farther into interest.

  “Yes. We leave in the mawnin’,” said Molly, and sighed. Would she ever come back to Flagerstown? And if so, could it ever be so wonderful?

  “That’s a long while yet,” he returned, and smiled again, with a meaning which made Molly’s heart jump. “I haven’t heard, but of course there’ll be a dance tonight. And you’ll be going?”

  Molly nodded. She had begun to be conscious of confusing sensations.

  “I’ll bet every blame cowboy at this rodeo has a dance with you,” he declared, jealously.

  “Not quite.”

  He gave her a long gaze that began in doubt and ended with trust. Molly felt that he knew every last thing in the world about her and she wanted the earth to open and swallow her.

  “I don’t care for these town dances,” he said. “But I’m going to this one- -if it’s true you’re not engaged for every dance.”

  “To tell the truth I — I haven’t one single dance yet,” she replied.

  “Well! Then your best fellow isn’t here?”

  “He doesn’t happen to exist,” said Molly, wistfully. Like all the others, he had taken her for somebody, and if he knew she was only Molly Dunn of West Fork he would not be so nice.

  “Listen. This is a serious matter,” he rejoined, gravely. “Young ladies aren’t always to be believed.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to anyone,” retorted Molly.

  “Honest! You haven’t a best fellow?”

  “I haven’t any fellow,” replied Molly, blushing rosily. “I’m only sixteen. Do you think me as old as Methuselah?”

  “Your age hadn’t occurred to me. But I’d have taken you for eighteen, anyhow. It really doesn’t matter...Have you been in Flag lately?”

  “Not for years. I was a little girl.”

  “Will you dance with me tonight?” he asked, without any pretence.

  “Yes,” replied Molly, equally sincerely.

  “How many times?”

  “I — I don’t know about that. You see, I’m not used to city dances.”

  “Oh, it’d be quite proper, if that worries you. You see I might be taken for your best fellow. I’d sure like, that...Would you?”

  “It’d not be terribly disagreeable to me,” said Molly, archly, and after a roguish glance she looked away.

  But he responded to that differently from what she might have expected. “Thank you,” he rejoined, and stood up, with his gray eyes alight. “Save some dances for me. Good-bye, Miss Cibeque.”

  He strode away and led his horse in the direction of the corrals. Molly stood there tingling, to be disturbed by the arrival of Mrs. See.

  “I had one last customer,” said Molly, as if apologizing for the delay.

  “Child, everythin’ closed at one. The rodeo is on,” returned Mrs. See. “Hurry now, but don’t forget the cash. We’ll turn that over to Mrs. Price...You’ve been a success, Molly. An’ I’m tickled.”

  They hurried into the crowded stand, where someone had kept seats for them; and straightway Molly became absorbed in her first rodeo. After that, time meant nothing. The horse-races left her weak and quite husky, for she yelled in unison with everybody else present. The staid Mrs. See hit a fat gentleman on the head with her umbrella, and that was only a minor indiscretion observed by Molly.

  Then came exhibition trick riding by experts
of the range. Molly could ride a horse herself and she knew what good horsemanship included, but this riding went far beyond anything she could have imagined. One rider, bareback, rode at full speed, and he slipped all over his horse, even underneath. But that appeared less wonderful than the splendid rider who rode two race-horses, standing with one foot on the bare back of each. Molly thrilled to her toes at that performance.

  The roping of calves was not new to her, though she had never believed such swift time possible. The roping of two-year-olds was a sterner game. Next after that came the riding of bucking bronchos. In any horse country there are bound to be some mean horses, and Molly imagined she had seen a few. But she had not even known what a mean horse was like. There was a black devil of a mustang with rolling white eyes that simply made the cold chills run over Molly. Buck! He went six feet into the air, doubled up, and came down stiff- legged. And he threw three successive riders. Yet how these lean, supple, round- limbed, small-hipped cowboys could ride! They stuck on like burrs. But it was dangerous sport. Many were thrown. One red-headed fellow had a horse fall back on him. Another rolled clear over with his horse and still came up in the saddle. At this the crowd roared. Molly saw another boy carried off the field, but she had not observed what had happened to him. When that whirling, dusty, snorting, and yelling mêlée ended it was none too soon for Molly.

  “Bulldoggin’ steers next,” said Mr. See, consulting his programme.

  “Goodness! Do they chase them with bulldogs?” ejaculated Molly, in amaze.

  See laughed heartily. “Wal, thet’s a good one.”

  “Caleb, this is Molly’s first rodeo,” reproved his wife, though it was plain the girl’s remark had tickled her.

  Molly was soon to learn more. A wicked wide-horned steer was let loose, and a cowboy, superbly mounted, came tearing down the field, to drive the steer furiously, catch up with it, and then to dive out of his saddle. He alighted on the neck of the steer, and swinging down by the horns he tumbled it head over heels, and rolled over with it. Molly screamed. But the cowboy came out of the dust unhurt and victorious, for there he sat on the head of the steer, holding it down.