Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “I get it,” she said, soberly, dropping those penetrating eyes. “I’ve always understood Majesty’s Rancho was mine. You know, just in a vain and playful way, perhaps. How about that, Dad — seriously?”

  “Of course this ranch is yours — or will be someday, which is just the same. And a white elephant — my daughter.”

  “Not for little Madge. What do you suppose I went to college for? What did I study economics for?... Dad — Mom, I tell you I’m home for good. I’m crazy about my home. It has been swell to have unlimited money. Let me play around this summer — entertain my friends — then I’ll hop to the job.”

  CHAPTER IV

  IN THE AFTERNOON Gene rode out on the range toward Bolton with one of his half-Mexican riders, Manuel Mains, son of Danny, the only one of Danny’s four youngsters that Gene thought was worth much. Bonita, the eldest, was distractingly pretty, to be sure, but that seemed to be a bad thing for the girl.

  Gene wanted to find out how many telephone poles were down on the short cut of the line across the valley and over the ridge. From that point on in to Bolton, both the survey of the line and the necessary repair work could be done by truck. Manuel and he met some horses later, and the sum of their report was an agreeable surprise to Gene. Less than a dozen poles were down and there was only one break in the wire. Several days’ labor, after the new poles had been snaked down from the foothills, would put the telephone in working order again, which Gene saw was important in view of Madge’s return and the activity presaged for the summer. Then it would be very necessary to go over the road and make that safe for automobilists. The problem of help occupied his mind. That, added to his other difficulties seemed an insurmountable fact, yet somehow, Madge’s presence counteracted it, and made that afternoon sojourn in the colorful and fragrant sage as pleasant as it was serious. Riding back he thought that he could not succumb to gloom and hopelessness.

  Manuel turned off at the village to get his supper. Bonita, whose sharp eyes always saw everybody and everything, waved a red scarf at Gene, as if he had been a cowboy with whom to flirt. Gene waved back at her. Despite her deviltry, she was lovable. “Gosh! there’ll be young fellows in Madge’s crowd,” suddenly exclaimed Gene. “What Bonita will do to them! But I’ll gamble on her.”

  It was almost sunset when Gene turned his horse over to Jose. He saw Madge’s golden head blazing from the top of the pasture fence. Nels’ white locks appeared brighter by contrast. They were watching Madge’s horses, which no doubt had been turned loose. Gene, about to join them, was deflected by the sight of a strange rider coming down the lane. Instead Gene proceeded to the square where one of the vaqueros and some Mexican boys surrounded a black horse in front of the blacksmith shop. Gene ascertained that the horse was lame. He examined the leg, which proved not to be badly sprained, and upon rising he saw that the strange rider had arrived. Gene’s first glance at the handsome young man in his flashy cowboy attire occasioned him some amusement. A forerunner of the range contingent that inevitably would throng there to see Madge!

  The rider got down, and introduced himself, saying bluntly that he wanted a job. Gene looked him over, favorably impressed. He seemed under twenty-five, tall and lithe, powerful of limb and shoulder, and he had a strong open countenance and fine hazel eyes, medium dark and very penetrating. His black horse would have been an asset for any cowboy.

  Gene read a letter of recommendation from Ren Starr, and it was not many moments till he liked Lance Sidway’s looks, his words, and had given him a job on the ranch.

  Meanwhile one of the lads had taken the black horse down the lane for a drink. Gene anticipated results from that procedure and he was tinglingly prepared for Madge’s ecstatic squeal. That girl had cowboy blood in her. Then Gene, with malice aforethought, sent the unwilling Sidway in Madge’s direction. They met, so precipitously that Madge ran into Sidway and almost fell out of his arms. Astounded, plainly stunned for an instant, Madge’s vivid face suddenly flashed radiance. Recognition and rapture were evident in her speaking eyes.

  “You!... Oh, if it isn’t my hero!” she cried in intense excitement. “Of all the surprises I ever had! You darling!” And with swift action that matched her voice, she lifted her gauntleted hands to Sidway’s shoulders and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him warmly. Evidently she had aimed at his lips, but she missed them, leaving half of a red bow to the side.

  Gene, utterly astonished as he was at his daughter’s impetuous action, yet did not fail to catch the reaction in the boy. When she ran into his arms he gave a violent start and uttered a gasp. Then at her words of surprise and delight, followed by that impulsive kiss, his face turned a dusky scarlet. It receded as she drew back until he was pale.

  “My God!... You?... Not you!”

  “Yes — me!” she replied, sweetly.

  “You can’t be — be Stewart’s daughter?” he implored. “You can’t be Madge — not Majesty Stewart!”

  “I am. And you know that, you clever devil,” she returned, in positive admiration. “You put one over, didn’t you — meeting me here? No crowded noisy parking place for you, Mr. Oregon. You wanted to keep that date here, at my home, on the Arizona range. Romantic — individual — beautiful! I figured you perfectly, my campus champion. I knew you weren’t ordinary. And almost I can forgive you for not keeping that date.”

  “I — I did keep it,” he gulped.

  “You did?” she echoed, her violet eyes wide and dark. “Then you didn’t disgrace me by being the first fellow ever to break a date with Madge Stewart?”

  “I came — Miss — Miss Stewart,” replied Sidway, still overcome. “I was there — long before you came. In a car.... I saw you drive in. Then that — that fellow followed you....”

  “You saw him — heard us?”

  “Yes, I was quite close.”

  “Why didn’t you jump out and let him see you were my date? He would have acted true to type — and you could have socked him, too. I’m afraid you lost a golden opportunity.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Stewart,” he said, in awkward though sincere regret. “But I was — sort of paralyzed. I never got over it until after you drove away with him.”

  “Then I do forgive you. What is your name?”

  “Lance Sidway.”

  She touched his arm and turned him toward Gene, who had leaned against a post, taking it all in. Gene had no idea how he looked, but he felt highly amused at this clever ruse of Sidway’s.

  “Dad, isn’t it just darling?” said Madge. “This is my hero — the young man whom I told you and Mom about — who rescued me at the campus riot.... Lance Sidway — my father, Gene Stewart.”

  “Madge, we haven’t been introduced, but we’ve met,” replied Gene, genially, and he eyed Lance as if he had been taken in a bit.

  “Of course. How silly of me! He just rode in and you...”

  “I gave him a job,” interposed Gene.

  “What?... To ride for you! — He is a fast worker.... Lance Sidway, I don’t know just what to make of you.”

  “That goes for me, too,” replied Gene, with a smile which softened the doubt.

  “Mr. Stewart, I am on the spot,” burst out Sidway. “I told you I’d never met your daughter — never heard of her till I met Starr. How could I guess she was that one?... I did meet her — as she told you.... I’m innocent of...”

  “Sidway, don’t take it so hard,” went on Gene, kindly. “I was young once. It didn’t turn out just as you planned. But I’d have liked you better if you’d told me...”

  “I did not lie to you,” declared the cowboy, with such vehemence that Gene began to feel sorry for him. Then Madge claimed Sidway’s attention.

  “I get you, Mr. Lance Sidway. But I’ve been kidded by experts,” she said, with laughing eyes. She was pleased with his subterfuge.

  “Yeah? You get what?” he demanded bluntly, and it appeared that his awkwardness was vanishing.

  “What is so obvious.”

  “Miss Stewart,
it may look obvious that I knew who you were — that I deliberately rode out here because of you. But it is not true.”

  “Oh, so you are ashamed to be caught?” she taunted. “You’re a pretty smooth actor, cowboy, but you can’t fool little Madge.”

  “You may be pretty smart but you’re wrong this time,” he retorted, and there was plainly resentment in his tone.

  “Let’s skip it,” she returned, without the archness. And at that moment Nels, and the lad leading Sidway’s horse, came around the corner.

  “Nels, shake hands with Lance Sidway,” interposed Gene, glad to relieve the growing strain between the young couple. “He hails from Oregon. And I’ve just given him a job.”

  “Howdy,” drawled Nels, and shook hands with the flustered lad. Gene was of the opinion that Sidway had no conception how he was being looked over by the keenest eyes in Arizona. Gene’s conclusion was that the cowboy showed up favorably in a most trying situation. When Madge saw the black horse again, her swift reversal of mood eased the situation. Like a true range rider she walked around the black, all eyes, placing a careful yet confident hand on him, and never saying a word until she had made a second circuit.

  “Nels!” she importuned, as if wanting him to refute her judgment.

  “Wal, I’m shore sorry, lass,” drawled Nels. “He’s a grand hawse. He’s got Cedar beat all holler.”

  “Traitor!” she flashed, her eyes blazing purple fire at Nels. “You’re teasing me. Nels darling, you don’t mean that?”

  “Wal, mebbe I’m exaggeratin’ some. But see heah, Majesty. Even if you been away from the range so long, you know a great hawse when you see him.”

  “I’m afraid I do.... Mr. Sidway, will you please let me get on him?” Her query to the cowboy was tinged with slight sarcasm, yet her desire was deeply sincere.

  “Of course — if you wish.... The stirrups will be long.”

  Madge swung gracefully up into the saddle and Nels beat the cowboy to her side. Presently the stirrups were laced up to fit Madge and she walked Umpqua across the green square, trotted him up the lane a few hundred yards, paced him a little and loped him back. What a picture the black horse and the golden-haired girl made! Turning away from the sight himself, Gene saw it in Nels’ worshipful eyes, and then he caught a gleam of the eternal cowboy in Sidway’s.

  Madge sat the saddle as if reluctant to get off, while she patted the arched glossy neck. She was flushed of face. Her eyes were soft, glowing. At that moment Gene experienced the old fullness of love for her in his heart. She was Madeline’s daughter, but she was western. Presently she sat up in the saddle, the glamorous spell vanished, and she faced the three men coolly. Gene imagined he could read her mind.

  “His trot does not equal Cedar’s, but his pace and lope beat that of any horse I ever rode.”

  “Wal, lass, thet’s strong praise from you,” declared Nels. “Justified, I reckon.”

  “Madge, never go back on your own horses,” warned Gene.

  “I don’t, Dad. But I must be just.... Mr. Sidway, do you know how fine Umpqua is?”

  “Me!” ejaculated the cowboy, amazed. “Nobody can tell me anything about him.”

  “I’ll bet I can.”

  “Go to it.”

  “What’ll you bet?”

  “Aw, the truth is I haven’t anything. Of course I wouldn’t bet Umpqua.”

  “No? Oh, you’re a cowboy. You might some day,” she returned, subtly. “Umpqua reminds me of something I read — that an Arab chieftain said. I didn’t have to commit it to memory. It just stuck in my mind... ‘If in the course of your life you alight upon a horse of noble origin, with large lively eyes wide apart, and black broad nostrils close together, whose neck, shoulders and haunches are long, his forehead, loins and limbs broad, his back and hip-bones and pasterns short, all covered with soft skin, fine hair, and his lungs wide and powerful, and his feet good, with heels high off the ground — hasten to buy or trade or steal that horse — secure him, and always afterward bless Allah for your good fortune!’”

  “Wal, if thet doesn’t beat me,” said Nels, in rapt admiration.

  “Madge, you’ve the high sign on us. But it was good,” added Gene.

  “You win,” chimed in Sidway, reluctantly smiling.

  “It seems superfluous to ask — can he run — is he fast?” asked Madge, tensely.

  “He can beat your Cedar or any other nag you own.”

  “That remains to be seen, cowboy,” returned Madge, darkly.

  “What’s more,” went on Sidway, “he’s the best cowboy horse ever bred in Oregon.”

  “Now yore talkin’,” said Nels. “An Arab is no good to us riders, onless he’s a cow-hawse.”

  “Nels, Umpqua can run over rocks as if they were level ground.”

  “I seen that from his hoofs.”

  Madge slipped slowly out of the saddle, facing Sidway: “No need to ask how you love Umpqua,” she said, with a softness rounding the turn of her words. “You won’t take it amiss if I — almost insult you?”

  Sidway stared at her, and then with something of a gallant gesture he repudiated any possibility of her doing that.

  “What value do you place on Umpqua?” she launched, suddenly keen, vibrant.

  “Value!... None, Miss Stewart.”

  “Every horse has a value. Tell me.”

  “Diamonds, rubies, gold!”

  “Swell! I like you the better for that.... Do you know that you could sell him for five thousand dollars?”

  “Humph. A movie star offered me that,” returned the cowboy, contemptuously.

  “Yeah?... I’ll give you six thousand for Umpqua.”

  “No.”

  “Seven thousand.”

  “No.”

  “Eight thousand.”

  “No!”

  “Ten thousand!”

  Sidway’s flushed face turned pale, either with anger or some other emotion.

  “Miss Stewart, don’t you know that money can’t buy everything?” he queried, with dignity. “Umpqua is all I own in the world. He has saved my life twice. I love him. We raised him from a colt, and all of us loved him.”

  “I know I’m rotten,” she cried, as if forced. “But no matter. I love him, too.”

  “That’s well. I’m glad you do. But — you can’t buy him.”

  “I always have what I want,” she flashed, imperiously.

  “You probably have had.”

  “But be reasonable.” Madge stamped her booted foot until her spur jingled sharply. Tears of vexation and disappointment burned out of her big eyes and they glowed and dilated like mystic balls. “You admit you’re broke. I offer you a small fortune. You can get a start here on the range. Dad and Nels will help you. I will. You can still go on loving Umpqua. You may ride him — sometimes. You can make me happy. Please, Mr. Lance Sidway.”

  The cowboy gazed at her, listened to her eloquent appeal as if fascinated by something beside and beyond her offer.

  “Really, Miss Stewart,” he said, finally. “You may be Gene Stewart’s daughter, born on this wonderful range, but you don’t know cowboys.”

  Madge betrayed that she could not gainsay that, and it seemed a struggle went on in her between realization and selfishness. The latter evidently conquered. Anger at herself for being so little or at him for frustrating her desire burned out that momentary softness.

  “You won’t sell him?” she queried.

  “I told you — no.”

  “Mr. Sidway, I can’t have you riding around here on a finer horse than — a horse that I want.”

  “That’ll be just too bad,” returned the cowboy, in a tone which brought a hue to her cheeks that matched the carmine on her lips.

  “You appear to be rather dense. Do I have to tell you I will not have you on this ranch?”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything, lady. Your father hired me and he’ll have to fire me.”

  She looked at Gene with great luminous eyes. “Dad!”<
br />
  “Madge, you’re unreasonable,” replied Gene, coolly, smiling upon her. “I need riders badly. Sidway has offered to ride for me at a wage I am ashamed to take advantage of. I couldn’t discharge him just because he refuses to sell you his horse. Could I, Nels?”

  Nels showed plainly that he was between the devil and the deep sea. Madge had been his especial joy and treasure all her life, as Gene well knew, and he had always spoiled her. Gene enjoyed his old cowman’s extreme discomfiture, but knew he would extract himself somehow.

  “Majesty, I shore know how you feel aboot this hawse,” he began, in his slow drawl. “But, lass, you’re bound to respect Sidway for his feelin’s. I reckon you wouldn’t be playin’ the game if you fired him. Shore I never heahed of you bein’ unfair. You used to give hawses to cowboys. An’ I reckon, if yore happiness actooly depends on ownin’ Umpqua, wal, in the nature of things on the range, you know, he’ll jest naturally drift yore way.”

  The persuasive cool voice of the old cattleman, the significant content of his last words, spread oil upon the troubled waters.

  “Very well, Mr. Sidway, you stay,” said Madge, loftily. “I’m sorry if I was unfair. But I will have that horse.”

  The dark passionate glance she bent upon Sidway had infinite and unknown possibilities.

  “Thank you, Miss Stewart. But I do not want to remain under false pretenses. You will not have Umpqua.”

  “I accept your challenge. If you don’t show yellow and ride off — we’ll see.” Then she smiled upon him without malice or resentment, and wheeled to start up the path.

  “Hey, Madge, you’re forgetting your car,” called Gene. “What’ll we do with it?”

  She turned to call back in a sweet high-pitched voice: “Mr. Lance Sidway can use it to bed down his darling Umpqua.” Then she was gone into the foliage.

  “Whoopee,” sighed Gene, and Nels came back with: “Dog-gone, old pard! Seems like old times when you fust came to Majesty’s Rancho, before thet lass was borned.”

  Sidway had been lengthening his stirrups with swift hands. Presently he turned with pale face and hazel eyes shadowed.