Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Say, Madge, where’d you hit on this concoction? Pretty nifty,” observed Rollie Stevens, who considered himself a connoisseur.

  “New to me, Rollie.”

  “Soft and minty,” interposed Brand. “I’ll bet it’ll lead you on.”

  “Tame, if you ask me,” said Allie, loftily, and that from her was a source for mirth. Allie could not stand liquor at all.

  “Swell punch,” observed Elwell. “What do you say, Bu?”

  “Hand me another,” replied the redhead.

  “Majesty, are you kidding us with this stuff?”

  “I’m sorry, Brand. But this is my home, you know. And remembering your capacities I wanted something weak.”

  “Weak or not let’s have another.”

  Madge finally dragged her friends out. While dancing and resting the next hour she contrived to keep tabs on that punch bowl. Just as she had suspected, her friends were succumbing to this insidious drink. Once with Rollie she almost burst in upon her father, Nels, Danny Mains, Starr and Sidway, but she drew her escort back behind some decorations in the corridor. With intense interest and fiendish glee she watched them and listened, holding Rollie back with imperious hand.

  Manifestly this group of gentlemen had been in there before.

  “Gene, we shore lived too soon,” drawled Nels, regretfully.

  “Shades of Monty Price and Nick Steel!” ejaculated Stewart. “Nels — Danny, what would our old pards have thought of this drink?”

  “My Gawd, I dunno.... Fill me up another, waiter.”

  “Boss, this heah punch is nectar an’ honey an’ hell all mixed up together,” said Starr.

  “Where does the hell come in?”

  “Wal, I hadn’t noticed thet until this last drink, which was my sixth.... Pard, how many have you had?”

  “Enough,” replied Sidway, tragically.

  “Why, you dawg-gone kill-joy! Cain’t you hold your likker?”

  “Ren, I can’t hold this liquor — and I can’t take it!”

  “Lissen, pard. I’m gonna put a couple of these under Bonita’s belt,” whispered Ren, behind Danny Mains’ back.

  “Don’t. You’ll lose her right then.”

  “Umpumm! Thet’s when I’ll win her. Pard, Bonita is funny tonight. Been cryin’ an’ turrible upset.”

  “Come here, you geezer!” And Sidway dragged Ren out of the room.

  “Gene, any drink that can make an old man young again is one to tie to,” said Nels.

  “I agree with you. But, pards, even if my daughter hadn’t sprung some destroying drink on us, I’d have to get drunk with you for old times’ sake.”

  “Wal, ole El Capitan again!” ejaculated Danny Mains. “If the ootfit was only heah!”

  Madge had heard enough to give her a twinge of conscience. But only gay and rapturous thoughts could abide in her mind. She went back to dancing. Rollie with more drinks than were good for him had begun to grow demanding and bossy. Soon came an added interest in Sidway’s presence upon the floor. He was taller than her college friends, slim and erect in his black suit, broad-shouldered, quite the handsomest boy there. He had started in dancing with Bonita, and from her to Bu Allen was only a short step. Then he cut in on the boys and apparently enjoyed thoroughly her girl friends. Naturally she expected him to gravitate to her. But he did not approach her or look at her, an omission that did not go unnoticed. It was rude of him, Madge thought, as she was his hostess, but it seemed between them there was no observance of rules. From that hour Madge’s feeling of happiness underwent a change. Visits to the punch bowl kept up her spirits. By midnight some kind of a climax seemed imminent. Her father and his friends, despite their visits to the living room, were still steady on their feet. Stewart appeared to have lost his gaiety. Madge saw her mother apparently remonstrating with him, to no avail. Thereafter Madge did not see her mother. Madge was glad and she hoped her father would retire soon. There would be no fights such as Stewart had known in the early days, when he was El Capitan, but Madge knew something was bound to happen, and she repented now that she had been responsible for it.

  It came in the nature of a surprise. Bu Allen sat down on the floor, a cup of punch in her hand, and turned a somersault. She did not spill any liquor. The boys and girls howled at the sight. Thus encouraged, she turned somersaults all across the living room. Nels and Danny Mains were in hysterics; Ren Starr whooped like the cowboy he was; Sidway strode out of the room. Stewart, his face like a thundercloud, threw up his hands like a man who had been vainly fighting facts, and lunged out into the patio.

  Madge, frightened at the lightning of his eyes, watched him disappear with a sinking of her heart. Had she gone too far? But she had not known Beulah Allen would disgrace her party. And if Snake Elwell had not violently jerked the girl to her feet and dragged her out Madge felt that she would have had to adopt extreme measures. That event saw the disintegration of the party. The dancing grew desultory, except in the patio where the range guests still held forth.

  Finding Barg and Maramee asleep in each other’s arms in a corner, and some of the other couples fading from the living room to the benches, Madge realized her party was about over. And it had been a failure. She knew when she had had enough to drink. But in her bitterness, she overstepped her habit. With Rollie she drank two more cups of punch. And as she went outdoors with him, wrapping a mantle around her bare shoulders she realized two things — that Rollie was pretty drunk and that a gaiety had overcome her gloom. Good to have the blue devils fade away! Lance Sidway had not come near her! To hell with him! Rollie was a pal, and on the way out under the pines, Madge not only permitted his extravagant embraces but returned his kisses. She felt just on the verge of being giddy and dizzy. But she did not want to think. After all she could do worse than marry Rollie Stevens.

  In an open space, shaded by spreading pines and surrounded by low foliage, they found a bench covered with blanket and pillows. The moonlight streaked through rifts in the branches to lend a silver glamour to the glade. Rollie sat down and drew Madge upon his lap. At first she felt silly and soft at his love-making, and experienced a pleasant glow of excitement.

  “You’re going to marry me,” he said, thickly, between kisses.

  “Is that so? Who told you?” laughed Madge.

  “I’m telling you,” he replied, more violently.

  “Rollie, you’re drunk.”

  “If I am it’s your fault.”

  “You all fell for that punch. My secret, Rollie!”

  “Yeah?... Your line, Madge — secrets! I’ll give you another one.”

  The edge on his voice, accompanying some rough handling of her awakened Madge to the situation. But her lackadaisical good nature was such that she made only feeble resistance to his ardor.

  “You love me — don’t you?” he demanded fiercely.

  “‘Course I love you — Rollie — as a pal — old friend, and what have you?... but...”

  “Nuts! I’m tired of that dope.” And the hot kisses upon her mouth and neck grew more violent. Madge was no longer returning his kisses. From that to remonstrating with him was only a short step. It appeared to inflame him. Locked in his arms she was at a disadvantage. A rattling of her pearls alarmed her. The fool would break the necklace.

  “Let me — go!... You’re drunk — boy.... this is ...”

  “So’re you — drunk,” he panted, and pushed her back off his lap upon the cushions. Madge’s utterance was stifled by his kisses. She twisted her face away. But Rollie only grew more violent.

  Furiously she flung him aside, and sprang off the bench. In the dark she fell over someone she took to be Rollie and had to clutch his arm to regain her balance. He appeared to be sitting against a tree trunk. But there at the end of the bench was Rollie, mumbling and cursing.

  “Oh! — What? — Who?” screamed Madge, leaning forward on her knees to peer at this man she had fallen against. He had his hands over his eyes and ears. They fell, and Madge recognized Lance Sid
way.

  She managed to arise despite a paralyzing dismay, that gave place to a terrific shame and rage.

  “You!” burst out Madge.

  He rose rather slowly and pulled himself erect. A slant of moonlight fell across his face. It was ashen white, and out of it glittered eyes as black as coal and as sharp as daggers.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Who else in hell could have such rotten luck?” he returned, with exceeding bitterness.

  “Lance Sidway! you waylaid me!”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” he flashed, hotly. “I’d left your drunken outfit. On the way to my lodgings, I stopped here to — to smoke. But after I’d finished, I lingered, like the sap I am. I saw you coming and made sure you’d pass. But you didn’t. Ha! Ha!”

  “Oh, you lie! And you laugh at me!” exclaimed Madge, beside herself with rage.

  “No, I don’t lie,” he retorted. “But I’ve the laugh on you, Madge Stewart.”

  Rollie had clambered up, hanging to the bench, evidently more than ever under the influence of liquor.

  “Whosis?”

  “Rollie, it’s Lance Sidway. He was sitting here all the time,” declared Madge.

  “That cowboy cad? Conceited jackass!... Look here, sir, you spy on me. I’ll cane the hide off you,” shouted Stevens, and he struck openhanded at Sidway.

  “Keep your hands off me,” ordered the cowboy, shoving him back. “I’m sorry. But I wasn’t to blame. I didn’t spy on you. You get that?”

  “You’re a liar, Sidway. You’re always spying on Madge. You’re stuck on her.”

  Sidway jerked as if he had been stung. “Stevens, if I were you, I’d be a gentleman about it, which you’re not. I wouldn’t try to take advantage of her when she was drunk. Somebody ought to beat you good. And by God, I will, if you don’t let me out of this.”

  Rollie lunged at Sidway who avoided him, backing against the bench.

  “Let him alone, Rollie. You’re drunk,” cried Madge.

  Sidway had no recourse but to stave off Stevens’ blows. Finally a hearty slap in the face changed the cowboy’s tactics. He seized Stevens by the arms and shook him violently. Then he shoved him back. “Stevens, I warn you. Lay off me, or I’ll sock you.”

  “I’d shoot you if I had a gun.”

  “Yes, if my back were turned. You’re one swell flop, Stevens. ... Stay away from me, I tell you.”

  “Lance, get away from the fool!” implored Madge, who was if anything more infuriated with Stevens than Sidway.

  “Sure, you would ask that. Me run, to save this guy’s face.”

  “It might save my good name.”

  “You can’t save a rotten egg, Madge Stewart. I tell you I’m the insulted one here and I’m getting sore.”

  When Stevens belligerently confronted Sidway again, it was to meet no resistance. The cowboy stood motionless in the moonlight, his arms lowered. But to Madge he looked formidable.

  “You — insufferable cow hand!” shouted Stevens, furiously and he struck Lance twice in the face.

  “Okay, Rollie. Now let’s see if you can take it,” rejoined Sidway, grimly, and he swung hard on the collegian. The blow sounded solid, meaty, and Stevens went down with a thud and did not move.

  “There! Sorry to mess up your lover, Miss Stewart, but as you saw, I couldn’t avoid it.”

  “He lies so still... he’s so white,” cried Madge, in alarm.

  “I hope the sucker croaks,” rejoined Sidway, brutally.

  “What’ll I do?”

  “Well, you might hunt up your dad and Nels, tell them what this guy tried to do to you — and watch them hang him.”

  “What a beast you are, Lance Sidway! It was bad enough to sit there, like a cheap eavesdropper, and listen, let alone...”

  “Hell! I tell you I’m innocent. I didn’t look. I didn’t listen — at least until you got so raw in your love-making...”

  “But you should have made your presence known at once,” cried Madge, poignantly.

  “Right. I’m damn sorry. But I was scared, confused... It wasn’t easy — for me — Madge Stewart.”

  He choked over the last utterance, and gazed down upon her with eyes of terrible reproach, which might have softened Madge but for her own insupportable emotions.

  “That’s no excuse for a gentleman,” she retorted.

  “No! But for God’s sake, do you think you were a lady?”

  “Lance Sidway, I was and I am!” she rejoined, imperiously.

  “And I’m a poor, miserable, crawling louse!” he ejaculated, in desperation.

  “I regard the appellation as fairly felicitous.”

  “And you’re Majesty Stewart, a law unto herself, a lady of quality, a princess who can do no wrong?” he burst out, passionately. “Listen, you! — That college bum there was not drunk. But his decency, if he had any, was gone. And you were not drunk, either, but your dad would have despised you if he had been here in my boots.”

  “Rollie forgot himself — I confess... But I didn’t...”

  “Bah! Why, for a real man you’d have been a push-over,” retorted Sidway, hoarsely.

  Madge slapped him viciously across the lips. The next instant his open hand cracked along her cheek and head, and but for the bench would have upset her. Nevertheless, almost blinded by stars and shock, Madge slapped him again, with all her might.

  “Regular cat, eh?” he burst out, huskily. “But you can’t make a dog out of me.”

  “I — don’t — have — to...” panted Madge.

  He seized her in powerful hands, hard and hot, and dragged her into a ray of moonlight.

  “Majesty — what a travesty that name is! — Madge Stewart, you’re going to hear the truth once in your life.”

  He was suddenly so strangely different, so grimly righteous and ruthless, so white and fire-eyed that Madge sustained a sinking of her heart. She tried to retort with some further insult, but failed of coherence. He shook her as he had shaken Stevens.

  “Majesty Stewart! One swell girl, they all think. Proud, blue-blooded, rich. What a mistake! Why you are as false as hell. It was low-down enough before I caught you tonight. Thank God it was I instead of your dad who caught you. He’s had enough of you to stand.”

  “Sidway, what do you — mean?” whispered Madge, and slipping out of his nerveless grasp she sank upon the bench.

  “I mean your splendid father and your loving mother are too damn good for you, Madge Stewart.”

  “Lance, I — I know that.”

  “But you don’t know what you’ve put them through.”

  “Oh! — Not — not money trouble?”

  “Yes, money!” he bit out, bending over her.

  Madge moaned. This it was then that had vaguely haunted her, the conscience which she would not face. She felt it in this man’s intensity, in the bitterness of his voice, the fire of contempt in his eyes. This something had given him power over her, and her spirit seemed to be fainting.

  “It’s fate that I have to tell you this,” he went on, swiftly. “Your dad gave me his books to straighten out. He did not know that in the book he had left your bank statements, checks and what not. I went over these, too. And that is how I learned of your rotten extravagance and the way your parents have ruined themselves for you.”

  “Oh! Lance! — don’t — don’t! You are furious with me. I — I don’t blame you. But for mercy’s sake, don’t say any more...”

  “Listen, girl, I couldn’t say enough,” he interrupted, adamant to the piteous fear in her appeal. “I love your dad. He makes me remember my own father. And your mother — how sweet and loving and thoroughbred! — All for Majesty. That has been the whole story of this ranch.... Madge Stewart, you’re not rich. You have no income any more. Three years ago it flopped. And these parents of yours have let you go on, spending like a drunken sailor, deceiving yourself, sacrificing them for your college career, your clothes and cars, your cocktail dates with gangsters — My God! that is the limit.... And this party of
yours, Miss Stewart, this rare and exotic fiesta to your glory — you have pulled it when you were broke. And your dad rounded up the last of his cattle to sell — to cover your debts... And tonight when the whole country was doing you honor, dancing to your jazz, drinking your wines and punch — that last herd was rustled.”

  Madge sank down to hide her face in the pillows. The blow had fallen. And of all blows it was the mortal one which could crush her.

  “And now, angel-face,” whispered Sidway, almost spent, “your father is ruined — and who’ll pay for this party? Would you like Nels and Ren and me to chip in our savings....”

  Madge stretched out a shaking importunate hand that silenced him. And it seemed amidst the knell of pride and happiness that had fallen in ruins about her, she heard Sidway’s swift footfalls fading away.

  CHAPTER X

  HALFWAY DOWN THE slope Lance halted in his blind hurry. The Spanish music floated softly on the still air; the moon soared pitilessly white. What was it that he had done? He sat down under a pine and battled with his conflicting emotions.

  Brutally he had made impossible any longer stay at Stewart’s ranch. That long-deferred break seemed an unutterable and immense relief. But his conscience flayed him. “What for?” he whispered, huskily. “Why do I feel this — this.... It was — coming to her!” He was glad that he had had the courage to tell her. If she had a grain of good in her the truth would bring it out. Then why this stab in his heart, this clamor of furies in his ears, this still small voice? He would have wanted to tell her like an impassive destiny, letting the iron consequences fall. And he had sunk to the level of a man like Uhl. Perhaps even that philanderer would have been more of a gentleman. Lance struck the low of misery.

  Then attending to his smarting lip he found it cut and bleeding. How about that? And the stinging blows might as well have been re-enacted. He had struck her, a hard openhanded slap that had staggered her. Suddenly it all flashed clear. Jealousy had been at the root of that incredible passion. Loving Madge Stewart to distraction, his damnable fate had been to be compelled to cower there in the shadow, seeing, hearing the kisses she had lavished on that college fellow. Lance tried to blot out the sight. That had seemed a sickening mortal blow, but it was his vile speech to her that stuck like a hot blade in his side — the jealous false word for which she had struck him across the lips. At last Lance uncovered the real trouble.