Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

“I’ll be on my way. Thank you, Gene Stewart,” he said.

  “Hold on, Sidway. You wouldn’t let my daughter’s taunt. ...”

  “No, it’s not that, altogether. I know you didn’t believe me — that I didn’t come here on — on Miss Stewart’s account. And under the circumstances I don’t want to stay.”

  “No, I didn’t believe you,” rejoined Gene, seriously, searching the troubled face.

  “See heah, cowboy,” interposed Nels, descending from the porch with clinking slow steps. “Don’t ride off hot-haided. Air you on the level? You didn’t know this was Majesty’s Rancho an’ thet the lass you done a favor for in Los Angeles was Madge?”

  “Nels, I did not,” replied Sidway, forcibly.

  After a keen scrutiny of Sidway’s face the old cowman turned to Gene: “Boss, he’s tellin’ the truth. Don’t let him go.”

  “Hanged if I don’t believe it myself.”

  “Stewart, I swear that I am on the level. I didn’t know. It was just an infernal coincidence,” rejoined Sidway huskily.

  “Okay then. Let’s shake on it.... Maybe your infernal coincidence will turn out well for me and this ranch problem. I’ve a hunch it will.”

  Sidway appeared too poignantly affected to voice his manifest relief and gladness. Gene’s conviction was that the young man felt too strongly for the mere misunderstanding. There was more behind it. Gene liked this cowboy, and that Nels did also added a good deal of satisfaction.

  “What’d you say yore fust name was?” drawled Nels.

  “Lance. It’s screwy, I know. Bad as Umpqua.”

  “Not so orful bad.... Gene, yore supper bell has rung. I’ll look after Lance. He can hev supper with me, an’ the bunk room next to mine.... Whar’ll I hev Jose put his hawse?”

  “Not in the pasture tonight. Better in the barn.... Say, wouldn’t it be funny if we could bed him down in Madge’s car?”

  “Not so damn funny in the mawnin’.”

  Dusk was settling under the pines when Gene mounted the slope to the house. A ruddy glow faded over the peaks in the west. Coyotes were wailing somewhere low down. Plodding up the low ascent, Gene was revolving in mind the events of the day. He had to side with the cowboy against Madge. She was willful and spoiled. That came out when she could not have her own way. He recalled the tone of her voice, her imperious look, her temper; and he shook his head sadly. But what could have been expected of the girl, their only daughter, adored and petted, born with a gold spoon in her mouth, and left a million when she was fifteen? But Gene reflected that despite these faults she seemed to be irresistible. If only one or more of his own besetting sins did not crop up in her! The cowboy Lance was in love with her — there was no doubt about that, even if he had not found it out yet. Gene, remembering that Madge had always had what she wanted, was heartily glad that Sidway had been strong enough to brook her will. He had good stuff in him, that lad. Gene’s yearning for a son, long buried, had a rebirth. If Lance Sidway turned out as fine as he promised he would come somewhere near the ideal Gene had dreamed of.

  By the time Gene had washed and changed, the second supper bell rang. He found Madeline and Madge waiting. The girl wore white, some clinging soft stuff that made Gene catch his breath. He thought of what little chance he had or Sidway or Nels, or any man, to resist this lovely and bewildering creature. Not a trace of the recent mood showed on her face.

  “... and he wouldn’t part with Umpqua, the sap!” she was saying to her mother. And as Gene entered she extended a hand to him with a radiant smile. “Dad, I’m telling Mom about my hero and his wonderful horse. What a liar he is! He found out who I am and where I lived. I can’t get what possessed him to deny that. He needn’t. It was a clever stunt. Intrigued me. After I fell so hard for him that day he rescued me!... Well, I fell for his horse a thousand times harder. Oh, Mom, what a beautiful horse! Has it all over Cedar and Range and Bellefontaine — all of them. I wanted Umpqua so badly that I could have murdered the cowboy... . At first I had a kick out of it. Never occurred to me that I couldn’t buy the black. But it turned out that I couldn’t. Then I lost my temper. I’m afraid I reverted to feline type with claws out. Did Mr. Sidway jar me? I’m constrained to admit that he did. Made me feel selfish, mean, rotten. Which I was. But I’d do worse to get that horse. And all the time I was so mad I had a sneaking respect for Lance, though I hated him. He’s just swell, Mom. Don’t you agree, Dad?”

  “Rather cottoned to him myself,” replied Gene to this long monologue.

  “So did Nels, the traitor,” she retorted.

  “I am indeed interested to meet this paragon among cowboys. And see his Umpqua,” said Madeline, with a smile. “Madge, in the succeeding days of trial I might be of service to you. I’ve had some experiences!” Madeline threw a laughing glance at her husband.

  “Mom darling!” expostulated Madge. “Falling for Mr. Sidway doesn’t mean a thing in the world. I’ve done that nineteen times this last semester.... But will I give that big boy a ride? It’ll be a kick. And I’ll have that horse if — if...”

  “Well, if what, my girl?” taunted Gene.

  “If I have to marry him.”

  Madeline neither reproved her nor showed surprise, but she remarked that cowboys must have vastly more than horses to be eligible for marriage.

  “But I could divorce him next day,” Madge flashed bewilderingly.

  * * * * *

  Next morning Gene was out early enough to catch Nels and Sidway at a sunrise breakfast.

  “Wal, look who’s heah,” drawled the old cowman. “Mawnin’, Gene. You ain’t got oot this early fer years.”

  “Neither have you, old-timer,” returned Gene, jocularly. “Shall we put it down to our lately acquired cowboy, Mr. Sidway?”

  “You shore can. The son-of-a-gun kept me up till eleven o’clock tellin’ stories, an’ then, by thunder, he rustled me oot before sunup.”

  Manifestly Nels and the newcomer had gotten along famously. Sidway appeared fresh and eager, and having donned his old outfit, he looked a lithe and striking rider.

  “Don’t call me Mr. Stewart,” Gene replied to his greeting. “I’m Gene, or Boss, or Stewart.”

  “Okay, Boss. I sure appreciate falling in with you. And I’m asking if I may have the day on my own.”

  “On your own? What do you mean?” inquired Gene, puzzled.

  “If you give me the day, I’m pretty sure I can tell you where your cattle have been rustled lately.”

  “Gene, he made some such crack as thet to me,” drawled Nels. “Jest young hot blood. But I don’t know.”

  “Sidway, are you hinting that you can find out what Nels and I and Danny Mains couldn’t?”

  “No, I’m not hinting. I’m telling you,” replied the cowboy, with an engaging smile.

  “You don’t lack nerve,” returned Gene, shortly.

  “Boss, I don’t mean to be fresh. I just think you men have been hunting for rustlers in an old-fashioned way.”

  “Old-fashioned?” echoed Gene, while Nels ha-ha’d vociferously.

  “Listen, young man, rustling is rustling. Cattle don’t fly. They have to be driven. On their hoofs. And hoofs leave tracks.”

  “Only so far. I’ll bet you tracked yours as far as a macadamized road, and no farther.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Or I should say, Jose and Manuel tracked them.”

  “Then what?”

  “Wal,” interposed Nels, “Them two riders split an’ rode east and west fer twenty-odd miles, an’ never found the place where them hoof tracks left thet highway.”

  “Swell!” ejaculated Sidway, clapping his hands. “That’s exactly what I wanted to be sure of. Saves me the trouble.”

  “Of what?”

  “Bothering with tracks on the highway. They never left the highway short of Douglas or Tucson.”

  “Listen, son,” returned Nels, his drawl more pronounced than ever, and very patient. “Shore you’re talkin’ to a couple of old cowmen, oot of date, an
’ I reckon pretty dumb, as you youngsters say. Will you talk a language we know? These heah modern days air hell on speed, shore, but cattle cain’t be drove on a cement road fer hundreds of miles.”

  “Sure they can. It’s a cinch. Your cattle were so driven.”

  “Dog-gone!” complained Nels, turning to Gene. “An’ I was kinda takin’ to this lad.”

  “Nels, he’s got something on us,” declared Gene. “See here, Lance, just how were my cattle driven along the highway?”

  “Simple as a, b, c. — In trucks.”

  “Trucks!” burst out Gene, incredulously.

  Nels swore, and dropped one of his galvanized utensils on the floor. “Gene, it’s shore simple. But we’d never guess such two-bit rustlin’ of twenty or forty-odd haid would be done thet way.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Sidway, how’d you find that out?” added Gene.

  “I’ve seen inside one of these cattle trucks. Fact is I drove one of them,” explained the young man.

  “Yes? Wal, I reckon you’ll be tellin’ us next you’re one of these newfangled rustlers,” drawled Nels, dryly.

  “I might have been without knowing, if the truck had been loaded.... On the way over here to Arizona I went broke at Douglas. Hung around for any kind of a job. Well, it came along, and it was to drive a big canvas-covered truck to Tucson. I was paid a hundred bucks, and told to expect to be held up somewhere along the road. I was held up all right, a little ways out of Tucson, by a gang who expected just what I’d figured out — that the truck was full of booze. But it wasn’t — and were they burned up? These highjackers corroborated my suspicions.... All right now. To come short with it, by figuring, and asking questions I found out that a string of trucks go through Douglas east about once in six weeks. Presumably they go east loaded with bootleg liquor and come back west loaded with bought or stolen cattle. My hunch is that this gang used to buy cattle for a blind to their real operations, but finally turned to rustling. Just easy money!... On the other hand it may be that only one of the trucks is loaded with booze, and possibly it may come west, along with the cattle. We can safely gamble, however, on this — that your cattle have been stolen in this manner.”

  “Wal, what air we comin’ to?” ejaculated Nels, scratching his white head. “Gene, shore we can look forward to be robbed by airplanes next.”

  “Fake rustling, likely,” added Gene. “What’d the money for a few cattle mean to these bootleggers?”

  “Nothing to the big shots,” rejoined Sidway. “I’ve had a hunch that maybe the drivers of these trucks are grabbing a little money on their own hook. What I want to find out now is who drives the cattle to the highway. That’d have to be done on horses.... Boss, give me some idea where these last cattle tracks were made. I’ll ride out and see if I can pick up some horse tracks. If I do I’ll measure them, make sure I’ll know them again, and then ride all over this darned range.”

  “Fork your horse and hit — No, let Umpqua rest. Tell Jose to saddle Range for you.”

  “I’m on my way,” replied the cowboy, and he strode out of Nels’ bunkhouse. Presently he passed off the porch carrying his saddle and accessories.

  Nels went on wiping his utensils. Presently Gene said: “What do you know about that?”

  “Gene, that feller proves how much old-time cowboys like us want to figger on new angles. Since the war, you know, we’ve jest been goin’ back. Smart, this boy Sidway. If we only had Ren oot here now!”

  “Yes. We know Ren Starr,” replied Gene, ponderingly.

  “Gene, did you ever know me to be fooled aboot a cowboy?”

  “You mean his being straight?... I can’t remember one, Nels.”

  “Wal, if this Oregon lad can ride an’ shoot, he’ll be a Gawd-send to you.”

  After that encomium from the old cattleman Gene felt himself convinced. He talked a while longer with Nels, went to the store with him, and presently set about an inspection tour of the barns and sheds and corrals, the reservoir, the lake, the irrigation ditches, the fences, and all pertaining to the ranch. He had divined that Madge would be coming to him presently and he wanted to be well posted. This survey was a melancholy task. He saw now why for years he had neglected it. In some degree verdure around the water hid the rack and ruin of the wooden structures. Those built of adobe were also damaged. And in fact repairs were badly needed everywhere.

  Upon returning to the store Gene found Madge there with Nels. She wore overalls, high-top boots and spurs, and a blue sweater with a red scarf. The mere sight of her flushed and disheveled, and clad as she was, chased away Gene’s gloom.

  “Mawnin’, Dad,” she drawled. “I caught Nels drinking red likker.”

  “She did, at thet,” admitted Nels, ruefully. “An’ I’m darned if she didn’t ask me for some.”

  That was a touchy point with Gene, which he passed by. “How’d you find your horses?” he asked.

  “Cedar wild as a March hare. Bellefontaine as sweet as ever. Range was gone, and I learned from Jose that our new cow hand took him,” returned Madge, and the dangerous tone of the last words were not lost upon Gene. He hastened to explain that he had told Sidway to saddle Range.

  “Oh.... What’s the matter with your own horses?”

  “Sold most of my saddle stock. Your horses are fat and lazy, Madge. They need to be worked out.”

  “Indeed they do. That was okay, Dad. I thought Mr. Sidway, seeing he is so fresh, might have taken Range on his own.... Dad, his horse Umpqua came right to me. Oh, I was tickled pink. He likes me. I’ll have no trouble winning him from his owner. And will I do it?”

  “Madge, that’d be a dirty trick.”

  “So it would be. But I’m crazy about the horse — and Nels said I couldn’t do it. Added fuel to the flame!... Besides,” she pouted, “Nels has fallen for that cowboy in a most unaccountable way.”

  “So have I, Madge.”

  “Et tu, Brute,” she returned, reproachfully.

  “I can account for it in more ways than one. Let me tell you just one.... First thing this morning he told Nels and me how we had been losing stock so mysteriously.”

  “How?” she queried, suddenly intent. Gene liked that instant response.

  “Driven away in trucks. That was a new one on us. It floored Nels. Sidway...” Here Gene briefly told her about the cowboy’s experience on the trip over, and how swiftly he had put two and two together. “He’s gone off down the valley to get a line on horse tracks.”

  “I told you he was a regular guy,” declared Madge, enthusiastically.

  “Yes, you did. But it turned out — you don’t like him,” said Gene, casually.

  “Unfortunately, it did. You saw me kiss him. I was just delighted. If it had not been for him I’d have had to go to court.... But my feelings don’t matter. If Sidway doesn’t start something round here he may be a big help to you and Nels. Between the two of us, we will put this ranch on its feet.”

  “Wal now, lass. What you mean — start somethin’?” interposed Nels, greatly interested.

  “Nels, you old spoofer. You know what I mean.”

  “He’s already started somethin’ with thet hawse.”

  “I’ll say. But I meant particularly what invariably happens to fresh cowboys when I’m here.”

  “Ahuh. An’ thet poor devil will hev to go draggin’ himself off withoot his hawse — an’ his heart.”

  “Nels! You’re the same old darling!” she cried, gleefully as she left them. Presently she turned a happy face over her shoulder. “Dad, it’s swell to be home!”

  “Oh! that’s good, Madge. It’s sure swell to have you.”

  Madge looked in at the open shed where they had parked her car, then crossed the court and disappeared up the path. Gene observed that Nels’ eyes had never left her while she was in sight.

  “Gosh!... Nels, I wouldn’t be in that poor devil’s boots for a lot.”

  “Wal, you jest bet I would,” averred Nels. “If I know cowboys, this Sidway
feller will give Majesty a run for her money.”

  “Humph! He doesn’t strike me as the fortune-huntin’ breed.”

  “All cowboys air fortune hunters. You was, Gene. An’ if I remember you, old El Capitan, this Oregon boy has you tied fer all ‘cept drinkin’ hard an’ shootin hard. I reckon no hombre ever beat you at thet.”

  “Nels, you’re a sharp old rascal. I’ve relied upon you for years. But let’s not get sold on this stranger so pronto.”

  “Wal, I’m sold now — same as Majesty is. Reckon it’d be a good idee for you to keep yore haid.”

  “Madge sold on Sidway?” ejaculated Gene.

  “Shore. Only she has no idee atall aboot it yet.”

  “You romantic old geezer!... It’d just suit you now — if Madge would take to a man of our kind, wouldn’t it?... Well, to be honest, I’d like it, too. But I think that’s only a dream. Madge will marry some city man, tire of us and our simple life here on the open range — and go for the fleshpots of Egypt.”

  “Natural for her Dad to hev sich pessimistic ideas. But ump-umm!”

  “Why natural?” demanded Gene.

  “‘Cause you reckon she has inherited a lot of yore no-good blood.”

  “Right again, old-timer. I am afraid.”

  “Thet lass will turn oot like her mother. But I ain’t sayin’, Gene, thet we won’t hev hell with her before she turns oot.”

  * * * * *

  During the afternoon Gene persuaded Madge to drive him up the old road toward the foothills, where was located the big spring that fed the lake and provided irrigation for the ranch. As the road was rough they did not get back until toward the end of the afternoon. Passing through the little Mexican village, the inhabitants of which had once depended solely upon the ranch, Gene said to Madge: “Thanks, daughter. You’re almost as good a driver as you are a horseman. I’ll stop off at Danny Mains’ and walk home from there.”

  “Oh — oh!” said Madge, presently. “Look who’s here.”

  Then Gene espied Sidway, on foot, leaning on the gate talking to Bonita Mains. Range, bridle down, stood near by. There was no more denying the cowboy’s demeanor than Bonita’s delight. The dusky-eyed maiden radiated charm and coquetry. That Sidway was not in the least embarrassed by their arrival somehow gave Gene a tingle of expectancy and satisfaction. The car stopped. Gene stepped out.