by Zane Grey
“Jan, did it ever occur to yu thet yu’ve broken some hearts yoreself?”
“Don’t add insult to injury,” she cried, passionately.
“Wal, I figured thet yu an’ June needed a lesson—a dose of yore own medicine,” said Brazos slowly. But he felt June’s eyes upon him and inwardly he began to weaken in this preposterous deceit. “This game of yores—bein’ one girl when yu air really two girls—thet’s shore not fair to us boys. We never could tell yu apart. An’ yu built yore house of mirth on thet. Yu were havin’ fun at our expense. Yu dressed exactly alike an’ talked an’ looked an’ acted thet way. Yu played tricks on us. . . . I reckon thet would have been all right when yu were kids—but yu’re grown girls now—women in face an’ form an’ feelin’, an’ most distractin’ lovely. An’ thet makes yore trick pretty damn low-down, in my way of thinkin’. . . . Every cowboy on this range, an’ I’ll gamble a lot of older men, air lovesick over yu two. . . . So little Brazos rode along an’ thought he’d break up yore game.”
“If you hadn’t saved Dad—made him happy again—I’d kill you!” burst out Janis, in helpless rage.
“Jan, you see,” interposed June, gravely, her hands going out to her sister. “I always told you it would get us into trouble.”
“It has—ruined me,” sobbed Janis, covering her face. “June—I’m sorry. But it was such fun—until this devil came He never played any game—for fun. . . . He was deadly earnest—and he m-made me l-love him so—horribly I know now—maybe he served me right. . . . But that doesn’t help—this—this——”
She left off and suddenly uncovered her convulsed face, to fasten a gaze on Brazos that appeared to blaze through tears.
“You carried your poor joke too far. . . . You’re a heartless villain—a shameless trickster. You disgrace the very name of cowboy.”
Brazos winced under that last jibe, the justice of which he recognized; and he was fighting to keep up his shallow pretense when June confronted him with soul-searching eyes. She came close. She laid a steady hold on him, looking up with the clearest, the most solemn eyes he had ever met. Their expression changed on the instant. In their amber depths came a shining little glint of woman’s divination.
“Brazos Keene, you lie!”
“Aw—June!”
“You’re lying. You’re trying to save us—to make us despise you. But you can’t do it.”
Brazos sat down on a log as if his legs had weakened as had his will. His cigarette fell from shaking fingers—his sombrero rolled on the grass. And he dropped his head, unable longer to stand June’s look of love and pity. His very life seemed to fall a wreck about him.
“Shore. I’m—a liar . . . an’ a miserable hombre.”
“Brazos!” Janis darted to him and knelt, one hand on his shoulder. “What did she mean? What do you mean?”
“Aw, Jan, it’s no use. June saw through me. . . . I fell in love with yu both. I cain’t tell you apart. . . . I’ve been honest with June—an’ with yu, too. I did ask her to marry me. An’ when—those times I’ve been alone with yu—I thought yu was June! . . . But now I know yu, it doesn’t make no difference. I love yu just the same—just as tumble An’ after last night—when yu let yoreself go—
Aw! I’m a gone goslin’.”
“You loved me—thinking I was June?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“I reckon I did.”
“But you love me, too?”
“Yes, I love yu, Jan.”
“Just as much as you do June?”
“I cain’t tell my love apart any more than I can yu girls.”
“But Brazos,” cried Janis, frantically. “We can’t be absolutely the same to you.”
“Yes, yu air. Only June makes me happy, quiet, shore of myself—an’ yu drive me wild with yore kisses. . . . Jan, I’d go to hell for one of those kisses.”
Janis slipped her other arm around Brazos and embraced him passionately, as if she could never let him go. Then she looked up at her sister in anguish. “June, I forgive him. We—I am most to blame. But I can’t hate him now. . . . I can’t bear to let him go Oh, merciful heaven, what can I do?”
“Jan, you need not give Brazos up,” said June, her voice strong and sweet. “You shall marry him.”
Brazos heard aright and he sprang up, almost lifting Janis with him.
“What’s thet?” he demanded, roughly.
“Jan shall have you, Brazos.”
He stared at her, only conscious through sight of her drawn face and wonderful eyes that for the first time he was realizing the true June Neece.
“I cain’t consent to thet.”
“Nor I, June,” added Janis. “It wouldn’t be fair. To cheat you of everything? No, no! All my life I have let you put me first. I won’t do it here. . . . But I’m not big enough to give him to you. . . . We must be brokenhearted together.”
“Janis, neither of us needs be brokenhearted. He shall marry you and we’ll all be happy.”
“But—but—” faltered Janis.
“What yu got in yore haid, girl?” interposed Brazos, sternly, and letting go of Janis he squared toward June, studying her pale face with narrow piercing eyes. She was proof against his scrutiny. She was the strongest of the three.
“Brazos, I’d give my very life to make Jan happy.”
“Shore. But it cain’t be done.”
“Jan shall be your wife, Brazos . . . and you can have me, too.”
Janis leaped to her. “June! . . . I—he—Oh, if it could only be!”
“It can, sister.”
Brazos seized her shoulders in rough grasp. He felt the blood rush back to his heart leaving his skin tight and cold.
“What air—yu sayin?” he demanded, huskily.
“I said Jan shall be yore wife . . . and you can have me too. We’re twins, you know, almost the same as one girl. . . . I’d never marry. I’d always be true to you, Brazos. No one would ever know.”
“My Gawd!” gasped Brazos and he fell back overcome. June’s solution to their problem was as dazzling and blinding and shocking as a thunderbolt. It caught him unprepared. He had no time to think, to weigh, to reason before he was caught in a tumultuous wave. The blood that had crowded back to his heart, numbing his senses, suddenly leaped like wildfire through his veins. Burning, dizzy, he saw the twins through dim reddened sight. “Aw, June! for Gawd’s sake! don’t say thet!”
“I do. I mean it.”
“But girl! . . . listen. I’m only human. I love yu turrible. . . . I love Jan wuss. An’ I cain’t stand up—like a man—against such temptation as thet. . . . I beg yu—
June “
“No! I will be yours—too.”
“Jan, yu cain’t accept thet. . . . Say so. . . . The girl is mad . . . yu heahed her say she’d give her life for yu. . . . An’ now she’d give me—her all—for me! Jan, if yu love me, save me from myself. I’m only a pore loneridin’ cowboy. . . . I’m —”
Shaken, spent, Brazos faced them in eloquent importunity, holding out his hands, mute with the appalling thing he divined.
“Oh, Brazos—how can I save you—when I’m lost myself?” cried Janis, rapt with ecstasy, scarlet with guilt. “If June can be happy so—Oh, Brazos! . . .”
Brazos bowed to that, utterly beaten. A man might contend with one woman—fight to save her from the havoc of love—but two women—twin girls, young, beautiful, physically perfect and equally fascinating, one of them deep, the other shallow—one of them sweet and noble, the other sweet and bad—how could he ever beat down the insupportable fact of being loved and desired by both? It was too much for Brazos Keene. He had lived unloved and lonely for this miracle. He bowed to what he could not break. And even the arraignment of self and fate could not detract from his transport.
“Wal, girls, yu’ve knocked the pins oot from under me,” he said finally, after he had recovered his sombrero and stood brushing it when it did not need brushing. Then at length he stood erect with steady eyes on them. The
y stood each with an arm around the other, and though one face was opal white and the other glowing crimson he again had the sense of confusion as to their identity. “Yu wonderful girls! I’ve shore had glorious fortune thrust upon me. . . . I’ll slope along now an’ see if I cain’t find the Brazos Keene who used to be.”
CHAPTER
14
BRAZOS’ first intimation that there were other men in the world, other dramas than his own, came as he slid off his horse at Pedro’s corrals, when the Mexican said something about a shooting fray in town.
“What’s thet, Pedro?” queried Brazos, blankly. He had ridden all the way from Twin Sombreros in a chimera in which, if a still small voice of conscience made itself heard, a clamor of passionate exultance howled it down.
“Thar ees beeg shoot’ in the town thees day.”
“Ahuh. Yu see it, Pedro?”
“No, señor. I hear the gun—the yell. Then thees men she run.”
“Who got bored?”
“I don’t hear, señor.”
“Take my hawse, Pedro.”
Brazos wended his way uptown in a gathering thoughtful mood. Shooting frays were not uncommon. To be sure, Las Animas was not Dodge or Lincoln, where seldom a day passed without a smell of brimstone, and never a week without some man biting the dust with his boots on. Nevertheless this news of Pedro’s stuck in Brazos’ consciousness. He argued that it was because, for very long, it seemed he had forgotten the vital relation of guns to Brazos Keene. But before he turned into the main street he had a regurgitation of keen perception. After midday the street appeared mostly deserted and the warm autumn air drowsily hung upon the stores and saloons.
“Wonder who?” muttered Brazos, and somehow the query concerned itself more with who had done the shooting than with the person who had been shot. A little somber cast came over him. Mexican Joe’s would be the place to find out. But he had not gone halfway down the block when he encountered Inskip emerging from a store. The instant Brazos met Inskip’s gray eyes, he understood the strange creeping shadow that had come between the vividness of his emotion and his thought. Inskip wore the look of hard Texas brotherhood.
“Howdy, Brazos. Talk aboot the devil an’ he pops up.”
“Howdy, Inskip. Yu been talkin’ aboot me?”
“No. But I jest heahed a man gamble yu wouldn’t be long comin’.”
“Wal, I been pretty long at thet,” said Brazos, ponderingly.
“Yu’re lookin’ for Knight?”
“No. Not particular just this minute.”
“Then yu haven’t heahed?”
“Inskip, fact is I haven’t heahed nothin’ but thet waltzy music oot at Twin Sombreros.”
“Knight shot Hank Bilyen this mawnin’.”
“Aw!” A rending pang in Brazos yielded to leaping fire. “Hank! . . . Daid?”
“No. Pretty close call, though. Doc says Hank ain’t in danger.”
“Wal, thet’s a relief. Shore was sweatin’ cold. . . . This hombre Knight? He shot Surface, yu recollect. . . . What was it all aboot?”
“Hank ain’t tellin’. But Knight has been roarin’ aboot town. He was drunk when he did the shootin’, so I heahed.”
“Drunk! What’n hell was Hank doin’ all the time?”
“He wasn’t packin’ no gun.”
“Ahuh. I’ll shore cuss him. . . . An’ what’s this gunslinger Knight roarin’ aboot?”
“Wal, it sobered him, I reckon. But he’s mad or pretendin’ to be. Tellin’ everywhere he thought Bilyen had a gun an’ was drawin’ it . . . thet he told Bilyen he was goin’ to hold Neece for cattle Surface owed him . . . thet Bilyen began to curse an’ threaten.”
“Ahuh. An’ what’s the talk aboot town?”
“Wal, there’s not much talkin’, but a lot of lookin’. . . . What I heahed, though, was daid agin Knight. He’s not liked by the substantial residents of Las Animas, thet’s shore.”
“Any talk connectin’ Knight with Bodkin?”
“Not thet I heahed. But they’re thick as hops, Brazos. Take it from me.”
“Bodkin is the nigger in the woodpile. Inskip, how yu reckon thet nigger has lasted so long with Texans?”
“Meanin’ me an’ yu an’ Kiskadden? . . . Wal, Gawd only knows how he’s lasted with yu. But Kis an’ I have responsibilities—business an’ family. Then Bodkin had a strong followin’, for a while, long enough to elect him. Sooner or later everybody heah in Las Animas will know he’s crookeder than a rail fence, same as we know now.”
“Where is Hank?” queried Brazos, his brow knit heavily.
“At Gage’s. I’ll go with yu.”
“Reckon yu’d better locate Knight for me.”
“No need. He’s been walkin’ the streets. In stores an’ oot. Shy of saloons. All yu got to do is wait somewhere till he comes along.”
Brazos found his friend Bilyen lying on an improvised bed of blankets on the floor of a room back of Gage’s store. The Texan’s rugged visage lacked color and was clammy.
“Would yu men mind leavin’ us alone with Bilyen?” queried Brazos, to the group present. They left and Brazos knelt by the prostrate man.
“Wal, old-timer, how yu makin’ oot?” he drawled, with deep feeling.
“Howdy, Brazos. I been wonderin’ when yu’d roll in. . . . Me? What’s a gunshot to a Texan? . . . I’m all right. I ducked when he shot, or he’d killed me shore. If ever I seen red murder in a man’s eyes it was Knight’s. An’ I dropped like I was bored plumb center.”
“Ahuh. Yu’re pretty smart when yore hawse has got oot of the barn. . . . Let me see. . . . Right side. . . . Hank, don’t tell me it’s low down.”
“Right under my collarbone an’ clear through. Sorer than a stubbed toe! . . . But it’s nothin’ atall, Brazos. I wouldn’t lie to yu, boy.”
“Spit any blood?”
“Nary a drop. Thet forty-five slug just missed my lung. Doc Williamson says I can be moved tomorrow.”
“Gosh, thet’s fine, Hank. I was kinda worried. . . . How come yu wasn’t packin’ yore gun?”
“June an’ Jan—they been coaxin’ me to lay it off,” replied Hank, visibly confused.
“Hank Bilyen, yu listened to those little softies?”
“Hell yes! What’re you gonna do?”
“Wal, yu’re gonna listen to some plain talk. Yu——!————! . . . ——!”
“Thet’ll do, pard,” ejaculated Hank, no longer pallid. “An’ I’m askin’ yu—couldn’t them twins wind yu around their little fingers?”
“Not atall, old-timer,” replied Brazos, imperturbably.
“Humph! Yu’re such a liar, Brazos. . . . ! had it figgered—an’ so did Neece—thet yu was the plumbedest, locoedest, lovesickest damn fool there ever was over June an’ Jan.”
“Yu don’t say? Funny aboot how men think! . . . Hank, I’m doggone glad yu’re not in a bad way. . . . Now let’s get down to business, onless yu reckon yu better leave off talkin’ for a little an’ rest.”
“Cowboy, I shore won’t rest or sleep till yu shoot the gizzards oot of thet black buzzard.”
“Good. If yu talk short an’ sweet I reckon yu can have a sleep in less’n two wags of a lamb’s tail . . . what was it aboot?”
“Nothin’ I said or did. Knight braced me. Said he was demandin’ two thousand haid of yearlin’s. From Neece through me I gave him the laugh till I seen thet red light come to his eye. Then if I’d only had a gun!”
“Did yu say anythin’?”
“I cussed him right pert.”
“Anythin’ more than cussin’?”
“Wal, I was riled. An’ before I seen he meant murder I told him to lay off Neece or he’d have yu to deal with. At thet he gave me the hawse laugh. Said he an’ Bodkin (he’s not smart atall, Brazos. He gave Bodkin away) knowed yore hands was tied. Thet yore gunnin’ for sheriffs was over!”
“An’ what did yu say to thet?”
“I told him we knowed he an’ Bodkin was in cahoots—the
t yu knowed he was the rustler Brad yu heahed with Bodkin thet night at Hailey’s. Brazos, it was a random shot, but it shore went home. I jest guessed it . . . an’ thet crack of mine almost settled my hash. For murder leaped to Knight’s eyes. I seen it an’ shet up pronto. But I was too late. When he drew I ducked.”
“So . . . I’ll shore know if he’s thet Bard the instant I heah his voice. Not thet it matters. But it sort of dovetails in. . . . An’ thet’s what I got on Bodkin.”
“Brazos, this man Brad must have ruled Surface an’ Bodkin both. He struck me strong, cunnin’, vicious. But he’s no gunman. I could have shot him three times runnin’. . . . But Bodkin. I told yu before to lay off him.”
Inskip interposed here. “Right, Bilyen. Unless Brazos has proof—material proof, or a witness, he’d better let Bodkin alone. For he has been elected sheriff by the citizens of this county. He’s an officer of law in this territory.”
“It cain’t be done,” drawled Brazos.
“Have you anythin’ on Bodkin thet’d clear yu in court?”
“I know him.”
“But your word only is not enough, Brazos,” declared Inskip, impressively.
“Pard, Inskip is talkin’ sense,” added Bilyen, earnestly. “Listen, cowboy. If—if things oot at Twin Sombreros air the way they seemed to Neece an’ me—an’ the way we hoped—for Gawd’s sake, leave Bodkin alone. He’ll hang himself pronto.”
“It just cain’t be done. I see thet now,” replied Brazos, strangely.
“Boy, think of June—if it is June,” importuned Hank.
“I am thinkin’ of June—an’ Jan, too,” responded Brazos, as he pressed a strong hand upon Bilyen’s. And Brazos knew, if Hank did not, that gesture was one of affection and farewell. “So long, yu Texans.”
Brazos strode out leaving Inskip there. He passed the group of men, and went through the store to halt to one side of the open door. He wanted another moment to think before he gave all consciousness to a deadly set of faculties. All in an instant, kneeling there beside his friend, Brazos had received a revealing illumination. By its light he saw the unmistakable, the inevitable part left for him to play. A bitterness, a sadness, and yet an ecstasy waved through his soul as he accepted the gauge. It had all been plotted out beforehand for him. He had had his paradise and he had left it fine and pure, the better for his blunder, his love, his renunciation. The truth had been long hidden. He was Brazos Keene. He never could be anyone else but Brazos Keene. And he strode out that open door Brazos Keene again, cold and ruthless, with all his peculiar gifts magnified.
