by Zane Grey
“By the Lord Harry! It’s Brazos Keene.”
Brazos turned on his heel to meet Neece, a transformed man he scarcely recognized.
“Howdy, old-timer,” drawled Brazos, feeling his heart swell. Not since Cap Britt had bade him good-by had any man looked at him like that.
“Son, there ain’t any use to try—tellin’ you . . .” began the rancher, with strong emotion.
“Wal, then, don’t try,” interrupted Brazos, with his old slow smile. “I’ll take yore word for it. . . . Neece, yu shore look—wal, like what yore twins’ Dad ought to look.”
“By Gad! I forgot. If we’re ketched talkin’ to you before they have their turn . . .”
The call of an excited girl cut Neece short. It came from the front of the ranch house, no doubt through the open door of the sitting room.
“Henry . . . Henry!” called the same voice, imperiously. “Come in here!”
As young Sisk hurried across the porch to enter the room, Brazos had a glimpse of a pale sweet face with wild dark eyes drawing back from the door.
“Girls, don’t be bashful. Come out,” called Neece, gaily.
Henry reappeared precipitously, as if vigorous arms had given him impetus.
“Keene, you’re wanted inside,” he said, gruffly. Apparently the ordeal was painful for him.
“Who wants me?” queried Brazos, both to gain time and to see what further puzzling effect this circumstance had on Sisk.
“June—and Janis. They want you alone.”
“Aw!” exclaimed Brazos, and his heart leaped. Yet he had leaden feet as he crossed the porch.
Sombrero off, Brazos crossed the threshold. One of the twins stood in the center of the room; the other closed the door behind him. Then they both met in front of him, pale, tremendously excited and inhibited, amber eyes darkly dilated. Brazos could not tell one from the other.
“Howdy—girls,” he said, huskily. “It’s shore turrible good to see yu—heah.”
“Oh—Brazos!” gasped one.
“Cowboy!” cried the other.
Manifestly they knew him, yet it was obvious he appeared strangely at variance with what they had expected. Brazos bore little semblance to a wild and ruthless cowboy; none at all to a bloody gunman. Even his gun did not show. His tanned face wore the old guileless smile. The month of labor and solitude, with their weaning him from the dark and deadly mood, had removed years from his face. Youth shone upon him.
He had every reason to be happy that he was Brazos Keene.
“Wal, I reckon I feel a little queer, too,” he drawled, and laying his sombrero upon the table he made pretense of interest in the big sitting room. “Gosh, what a fine place! Most as nice as Don Carlos’ Rancho, I shore—”
“Brazos!” Twin voices in unison, deep, rich with emotion, drew him as a magnet. If it had been a feminine shrinking or a check to impulsive feeling that had momentarily frustrated the twins, it went into sudden eclipse. They were upon him, murmuringly, and soft cool lips touched his cheek at the same instant that sweeter lips, on fire, met his own. Then Brazos, in a trance, found himself with two girls in his arms, and he felt throbbing breasts against his. The room whirled around him for a moment. If he thought at all, he did not care which was June and which was Janis. He did want to prolong that moment. It ended, presently, however, with the girls drawing back, one of them scarlet, the other white. And Brazos, recovering his equilibrium, made the observance that the white-faced twin was the one who had kissed his mouth.
Then they both talked at once, with identical voices that spoke different meanings, not any of which gave Brazos a clue to which was his fiancée. But he gathered that their great and measureless gratitude had to do with the salvation and rejuvenation of a dearly beloved father. For the rest, the ranch had not meant so much at first but had grown to be home—the relinquishment of actual work in their restaurant had been strangely regretted—the pleasure of fixing up rooms and changing the ranch house—the fun, at first, of seeing innumerable cowboys who applied to their father for jobs—the troops of horses and mustangs and colts—the building of the huge barn and the idea of a dance destined to make history on the range—all these and more poured out upon Brazos until the twins exhausted breath.
“Ahuh. Grand—just grand!” ejaculated Brazos, bewildered. “But will yu tell me which of yu is June an’ which is Jan?”
“Guess,” cried one, with radiant smile.
“Does it make so much difference who is who?” asked the other, wistfully, with a devil in her eyes.
Brazos suffered a flash of that old recurrent havoc. He sensed, if he did not realize, that only a hair’s breadth separated him from something appallingly nameless and incredible.
“Doggone if I’ll guess!” he replied, stubbornly.
“Foolish boy! Don’t you wish we were just one girl? . . . I am June.”
At this juncture the girls’ aunt entered to welcome Brazos; and she was so sincere and kind, so apparently oblivious of his status and the violence which had reinstated them at Twin Sombreros, that Brazos found himself at last.
“Wal, it was aboot time somebody rescued me,” he drawled. “Miss Neece, yu just couldn’t guess how glad I am to see yu.”
“Thank you. I’d scarcely have known you, Brazos Keene.”
“Isn’t he wonderful, Aunt Mattie?” asked June, with a blush. “I discovered him.”
“Well, little Jan was around when it happened,” said her sister, subtly. “Come, Brazos, let me show you my room.”
“And mine, too,” added June.
One at each arm they dragged the bedazzled cowboy from one beautiful room to another, then all over the house, and out into the yard, out toward the corrals, past the group of gaping cowboys, at last to the barn. June held forth on what a marvelous place it would be for her horses when winter came and Janis dilated on its desirability for their dance.
“Now you’re here we can have it! When?” exclaimed June, delightedly.
“June Neece, were yu gonna have thet dance withoot me?” demanded Brazos.
“You bet she was,” declared Janis. “She and Jack Sain were keen on it.”
“Why, Jan Neece!” contradicted June, red as a rose. “I wasn’t. . . . It was you and Henry who got Jack to nag me.”
“Wal, never mind thet,” interposed Brazos, seeing he had struck a discordant note. “I’m heah—an’ ararin’ to dance. . . . Doggone! I’ll bet I’ve forgot how.”
“Everybody is waiting,” concluded Janis, who was the dominating one. “Let’s say Friday night. That’ll give us two days to decorate the barn with autumn leaves and flowers. And get the supper ready. Dad has a surprise for us—I don’t know what. This will be the welcome home he had planned for us, June.”
“Friday night—two days,” queried June, dreamily, her eyes on Brazos. “It will be full moon.”
They marched Brazos back to the house to announce with gay acclaim the date for the dance. Henry Sisk reluctantly obeyed their command to take the cowboys and go into the forest to fetch an abundance of autumn leaves and pine cones and ferns for ornament. The girls rushed in to confer with their aunt. Janis poked her head out to call: “Cowboy, don’t you go riding away!”
“Son, when will you take charge?” asked Neece.
“Yu mean of yore ootfits? Gosh!”
“I mean of mine. Henderson has his own foreman. An’ Sisk his. They’ve got pretty good outfits, in my judgment. But I depend a lot on Bilyen.”
“What’s Hank job gonna be?”
“Hank will buy an’ sell cattle.”
“Fine. He’s a shrewd hombre an’ honest as noonday. Coglan told me yu was runnin’ eighty thousand haid. Is thet so, boss?”
“More by a few thousand.”
“Ahuh. I don’t know as thet is so good,” rejoined Brazos, thoughtfully.
“Hank wasn’t so keen about it, either. But I am. I’d rather have Henderson in with me with all his money an’ bankin’ interests, an’ young Sisk,
than tackle it alone with only the ten thousand head Surface left me.”
“Neece, yu’re an old-timer. It’ll mean drawin’ rustlers like molasses draws flies.”
“There won’t be any more wholesale rustlin’. I’ve been thirty years on the frontier. An’ I’ve seen the cattle business grow. It’s about at its peak now. An’ I’ve never seen big raids on any range but once. Did you?”
“Wal, come to think aboot it—I reckon no. But all the same a steady stealin’ of stock in small bunches cain’t be sneezed at.”
“Brazos, I’ll lose less throwin’ in with my pardners, an’ runnin’ a hundred thousand head, than if I stay out an’ run one-tenth of that number.”
“Sounds sensible. Why isn’t Hank keen aboot it?”
“Bilyen is not against it, but he’s not crazy about it. Says such big herds invite all kinds of range trouble from stealin’ by rival combines an’ out an’ out rustlers to corruptin’ cowboys.”
“Wal, Hank is shore right.”
“Brazos, we’re goin’ to find out before the snow flies.”
“Heah comes Hank now, in a buckboard. . . . Gosh, them blacks look kinda familiar!”
“Where are you goin’, Hank?” queried the rancher, as Bilyen drove to a halt.
“Town. Got a list longer’n yore laig—all for thet darn dance.”
“Hank, I’ve been talkin’ with Neece heah. He says yu’re not keen on his combine an’ the big herd.”
“Wal, air yu, Brazos?” parried Bilyen.
“Shore I am. The more the merrier.” Brazos deliberately contradicted his opinion to Neece for reasons of his own.
“To be honest I feel all right aboot it now, ‘cause yu’re heah. Brazos.”
“Ahuh. Wal, what was on yore chest before I got heah?”
“Mebbe I’m a little personal. I got a grudge against Bodkin. An’ I ain’t so damn friendly toward this new cattleman Knight.”
“Bodkin kinda rubs me the wrong way, too, boss,” returned Brazos broodingly. “He was crooked. I know. I heahed him talk with two men I didn’t know. But all of them was in thet deal, an’ all of them was ready to double-cross Surface. It was from them I heahed aboot the bag of gold I got back for yu. They were all huntin’ for thet. . . . An’ Coglan told me the talk had it thet this man Knight is the hombre who shot Surface.”
“Wal, they’ve side-tracked thet talk. . . . Brazos, do yu reckon Bodkin’s bein’ elected sheriff will make him go straight?”
“Not in a million years!”
“Thet will simplify the problem for Neece,” declared Bilyen, gathering up his reins. And he drove off without another word.
“What’d thet sore-haided Texan mean, anyhow?” queried Brazos, irritably, when he knew perfectly well what Bilyen meant.
“Drive Bodkin out of Colorado,” replied Neece, grimly. “Thet’d break up this range ring.”
“Yu cain’t drive thet hombre oot of Las Animas.”
“Brazos, you can’t kill him,” declared Neece, seriously. “Bodkin has been elected sheriff by the citizens of this county. This time he wasn’t appointed. He’s our first elected officer. If you kill him you’ll be an outlaw.”
“Ahuh. I was thinkin’ aboot thet.”
“Bodkin is not goin’ to be caught brandin’ calves or dealin’ with rustlers. He’s going to play safe from now on.”
“All the same, he’s crooked, Neece. An’ half the town knows it if the other half is blind. . . . Even if none of them—not even yu or Hank—I know. Absolutelee! . . . An’ it makes a rotten situation for me, if I go to ridin’ for yu.”
“If! . . . For land’s sake, Keene, don’t say you might not. Why, I’m relyin’ on you. Thet’s what got Henderson to throw in with me. . . . Besides you’re goin’ to be a son to me, aren’t you?”
“My Gawd—I’d like to be,” gulped Brazos.
“June told me thet she’d guarantee your ridin’ for me. An’ Jan said she could get you if June couldn’t.”
“Help!” cried Brazos, in a weak voice. Then after hanging his head a moment he looked up to speak feelingly. “Neece, I’m thankin’ yu for yore trust an’ likin’. An’ I’m shore proud thet June—an’ Janis, too—wants me heah—I’ll come, boss, an’ ride my damndest for yu.”
“Good! Thet relieves me. An’ it’ll make the girls happy,” replied the rancher, with great satisfaction, “I reckon it’s a delicate situation for you, Brazos. Wild cowboy an’ gunman thet you are—thank God!—you still have pride an’ honor. You might feel compunctions against askin’ me for June or Janis, because you are who you are. But I’ll declare myself before you ask me—I’d like you to take Allen’s place. . . . Don’t worry about decidin’ between the twins. They’ll settle your hash pronto, an’ it doesn’t make any difference to me. . . . Now thet’s off my mind. Let’s go in an’ drink to it.”
“Wal, I’m kinda in need of a bracer myself,” replied Brazos, rapt and troubled, following his host indoors. Evidently Neece considered the moment propitious for more than one drink. The result was, that when Brazos came out again, his natural reserve was somewhat lessened. And his worry about telling the twins apart did not seem so monumental. Fortunately for Brazos, however, there was a sort of general conference about the dance, in which he and Neece were consulted. After that came dinner, which was a festal board for Brazos. Everybody except Henry Sisk, who sulked over some real or imagined grievance, appeared wonderfully happy. Brazos was lost in the brightness of two pairs of eyes. He was asked, presently, what he thought about their having a huge bowl of punch in the living room the night of the dance.
“My Gawd, thet’s a turrible idee,” quoth Brazos.
After the merry howl had subsided one of the twins asked him gravely:
“Good or bad?”
“Bad.”
“Brazos Keene,” interposed the other twin, “do you think any cowboy would dare drink too much at our dance?”
“Aw, no, not any cowboy,” returned Brazos, rising to the occasion, “but yore Dad will be heah, an’ Hank, an’ Henry—”
“I don’t drink,” snapped Sisk.
“We’ll take a chance on everybody,” concluded Neece, rubbing his hands. “It won’t be an ordinary dance.”
“I should smile it won’t,” agreed Bilyen.
“Holly Ripple gave a dance an’ dinner once years ago,” said Brazos, reminiscently. “Her Dad had kept open house like the old Don, Holly’s grandfather. Thet was a party, folks, believe me. The whole range was invited. Why yu couldn’t find any cowboys for cattlemen, trappers, Injuns, soldiers, freighters, bandits, rustlers, desperadoes. An’ the wonderfullest thing aboot thet party was there wasn’t one single fight.”
“We could not hope to emulate Miss Ripple,” said one of the twins. And the other fixed Brazos with inscrutable eyes. “One range celebrity will be quite all June and I can take care of.”
Amid the laughter Brazos subsided, as much from this retort as from the conviction that he had for the hundredth time taken Janis for June.
After dinner they dragged Brazos, Neece, Henry, Bilyen out to the barn, and collected Sain and the cowboys on the way. Already heaps of evergreen, boughs of pine with the cones intact, and branches of different colored autumn leaves lay upon the floor.
“Not half nor a quarter enough,” declared Janis. “Henry take the wagon and the boys out for more.”
Henry demurred and made a weak suggestion to the effect that Brazos go.
“Brazos can stay here and show us how to balance on a ladder,” replied Janis, demurely.
All that wonderful afternoon Brazos climbed and balanced and nailed, pounded his thumb, made mistakes, fell off the ladder, and proved according to Hank that he might be Brazos Keene but he was the locoedest decorator who ever came over the range.
For once Brazos was meek, so far as taking criticism was concerned. Brazos scarcely heard his old comrade nor any of Neece’s dry remarks. He tried to do the bidding of the twins, blandly oblivious of his
limitations for the job, and thought only of the delicious and bewildering intimacy to which they admitted him. Half the time he was hidden with Janis or June, or both of them, behind great flaming boughs of maple leaves or golden aspens or russet oaks. And Brazos daringly took advantage of his opportunity to make love to June when he was sure he was with her. But, as the afternoon grew apace, in the excitement of fleeting moments, he would not always have staked his life upon a certainty that he was right. Then he was in too deep to get out and he did not care. And they did not help him to discriminate between them. They had perpetrated this innocent mischievous prank since childhood.
Nevertheless, the work progressed rapidly, especially as Neece and Bilyen lent a hand to close the open ends of the barns with brilliant foliage. Then the two kindly men took it upon themselves to attempt more without consulting Janis, which omission brought dire disaster upon their heads, and the patient cowboys from their other tasks. It also left Brazos alone with June in one of the foliage-screened stalls.
“June, this shore has been a thrillin’ day,” said Brazos.
“Indeed it has. But you haven’t been a thrilling good cowboy, not for me,” she observed. “Here—hold this—not my hands!”
“June! I’ve been as good as—as I know how to be,” protested Brazos, aghast.
“Perhaps that’s not very good.”
“What have I done?”
“Led poor Jan on—for one thing.”
“Led pore Jan on!” burst out Brazos, suddenly on fire.
“Brazos, I—I haven’t told Jan or anybody we—we’re engaged. . . . I’m afraid Jan—I-likes you.”
“Good Lord!—’course she liked me. Why not? I’ve been nice to her—an’ I shore—”
“Do you think it’s nice to make sheep’s eyes at her—to smile that devastating smile of yours—to hold her hands—to let your hands. . . . Well, Brazos, your hands have dexterity aside from bridles and guns.”
“June, I hope to die—”
“Don’t play so terribly on words. Women take words seriously from any one they—they like. You don’t hope you may die and heaven knows I don’t want you to. . . . Brazos, I’d be glad if you—you loved Jan too—only not as you do me—and me best!”
