by Zane Grey
The stage rolled on. Evidently the ladies in front had talked themselves out for the time being. Miss Hepford seemed pensive. He was certain that she had not noticed him. He felt curious about the moment when she would actually recognize him; he did not know just why, but he imagined something might hang on that. Chance had thrown together the real owner of Red Rock Ranch and the girl who had dreamed herself into owning it. Here Ernest, proving he was a dreamer himself, indulged in a pretty little boyish fancy of how he went unknown to Red Rock, and as a poor cowboy, saved the red-haired lass from being robbed, and in the end won her hand to present her with the ranch she loved so well as a wedding gift.
That dream lingered with Ernest for many miles, far across the valley which had enchanted him, and up a long slope to a rugged summit. The spectacle that met his eyes from this point dispelled Ernest’s daydreams. He gazed in awe at the far-flung ranges, and continued spellbound until the stage rolled down into another valley. It pulled into a picturesque little hamlet and came to a stop before a low one-story inn.
“Concha,” called the driver. “Only an’ last call for lunch.”
Mrs. Jones awoke and Miss Hepford came out of her own reverie. Ernest pulled the wide brim of his sombrero far down over his eyes. He divined, as the girl turned around, that she meant to speak to him.
2
ALL Selby could see of the young redheaded lady from under his sombrero was her shapely, gloved hand, in the extended palm of which lay some silver coins. “Please get me some ham sandwiches,” she was saying.
Ernest took the money, mumbling his pleasure, and leaping out of the stage he went into the tavern. A buxom, middle-aged woman delivered the sandwiches to him, not without a speculative glance. The Iowan was thinking that he might as well not seek any longer to deceive the young lady in the stage; and he went out with his sombrero tipped back and a smile on his face.
But Miss Hepford was not looking and did not notice him until he handed her the sandwiches. Then her green eyes opened wide with a puzzled, searching expression. The look of surprise changed into a twinkle. “Well!” she ejaculated, and then she laughed outright. Her vanity had been tickled. Ernest surmised at once that she imagined he had followed her and that such circumstances were customary in her range life. Her assumption nettled him. He watched her whispering something to her companion, who exclaimed: “For land’s sake!” After which Mrs. Jones gave Ernest the benefit of an amused stare. Not to be outdone, Selby returned the compliment with a smile and a wink.
At this juncture the two tough hombres in the second seat ahead claimed Ernest’s attention. It struck him that his return had been untimely for them. Probably with the stage driver and himself absent they had thought the time propitious for the planned move.
The larger of the two, a hulking fellow with hard eyes and a beard that did not hide his cruel lips and craggy chin, shoved a dollar at Ernest.
“Hey, sonny, fetch us some of the same,” he said.
Ernest shoved the dirty hand away.
“Hey yourself. Who was your dogrobber this time last year?” he retorted.
Both men seemed to take distinct umbrage at this rebuff, or at the refusal which may have militated against an opportunity to carry out their plan.
“You insultin’ hayseed of a Mizzouri tenderfoot!” ejaculated the one who had requested the sandwiches.
“Make him get them sandwiches, Bill, or bust his pretty mug,” growled the other hombre.
Whereupon Bill threw a silver dollar at Selby who was standing by the back wheel. It struck him hard and jingled on the hard ground.
“Pick thet up an’ fetch them sandwiches,” he ordered.
“Say, you are a couple of lazy skunks,” replied Ernest angrily.
Bill started to clamber out of the stage, coming over the wheel instead of passing the women, who had now become aware of the argument and were watching the three men intently. Out of the tail of his eye Selby saw Miss Hepford watching him and that certainly added to his determination not to back down. He quite forgot that he carried a gun or he would have found the moment a judicious one to draw it. He sensed battle and with the girl looking on he was eager to give these thugs all the fight they wanted.
Once upon the ground, Bill picked up his dollar and pocketed it. Then he shot out a hand to clutch Ernest’s shirt.
“Come along hyar. I’ll show you who’s a skunk,” he growled, and then turned to give his companion a meaningful glance. The latter, acting upon it, stood up. He was a short, stocky man with yellow eyes and teeth that protruded.
“Let go,” ordered Selby sharply, and with a powerful wrench he freed himself. With the same movement he swung a heavy fist. It took Bill square on the jaw and down he went in a heap, a look of blank surprise on his bearded face. He lay there on the ground for a moment, his hand on his face, his eyes filled with mingled shock and hatred.
“Did you hit me, you young jacksnipe?” he roared.
“What’d it feel like?” queried Ernest with a laugh. “Want me to help you up and give you more of the same?”
The ruffian bounded to his feet and charged like a mad bull, shouting something to his comrade. Selby avoided the savage rush by nimbly side-stepping. A hard left-hand jab stopped Bill cold and a harder right swing knocked him between the wheels of the stage.
“Git the money, Bill,” called the man in the stage. “I’ll take kear of this bobcat.”
Then he leaped out of the vehicle, landing heavily on the Iowan’s back and bearing him to the ground. Whether he thought merely to hold Ernest or to beat him into submission the two women in the stage would never know. For the powerful and active young man rolled over with him, and then quickly breaking loose he sprang to his feet. Bill had just arisen but before he could get set Selby had knocked him down again. By this time the short fellow was upon Ernest once more. There followed a furious fight in which the Iowan found himself extremely busy avoiding the bandit’s long gorilla-like arms.
“Rustle—Bill—and git thet gurl’s—bag!” panted Selby’s assailant. “Driver’s—”
Here Ernest twisted loose and swung from the heels. The robber went spinning down with a crash. The younger man waited for him to get to his feet. But his antagonist appeared momentarily stunned.
“Gimme thet bag!” Ernest heard Bill growl.
Wheeling, he was just in time to see Miss Hepford rise from her seat with a scream, while with both hands she clung to a small bag which the bearded man had got a hand on.
“Let go—you thief!” she cried furiously.
It was at this instant that Selby bethought himself of his newly purchased gun. He jerked it out of his pocket and pointed it at the robber.
“DROP IT!” he yelled.
Before the man had time to turn the gun exploded with a loud bang. If Ernest’s tight squeeze of inexperience had caused the discharge, it also kept it from flying out of his hand. He had not intended to shoot.
“Don’t shoot!” yelled the robber hoarsely, letting go of the girl’s bag and elevating his hands. His bloodshot eyes stared wildly at Ernest.
“Run fer it, Bill,” called the shorter man, struggling to his feet. And without a backward glance he took to his heels, his boots thudding over the baked ground.
By this time Bill had jumped clear of the stage and was heading for the brush beyond the rock. Selby, almost as badly scared as the robber, once more was able to grasp the situation and his opportunity. Whereupon he aimed the gun in the general direction of the two fleeing bandits who were about to reach the cover of a clump of sagebrush, and pulled the trigger. Bang! Bang! Bang! The bullets struck up angry puffs of yellow dust. But all they accomplished was to make the robbers run faster. Before Ernest could get in a fourth shot they were out of sight.
At the sound of firing, the stage driver came running out of the havern accompanied by a heavy-booted man. A woman appeared in the doorway. Down the street people could be seen hurriedly getting out of sight.
“Whut
’s all the shooting?” demanded the driver, approaching Selby, whose gun was still smoking.
“Those two men tried to rob me,” declared Miss Hepford angrily, and she extended the bag as if in evidence.
“They’d ’a’ got her bag, too, but for this quick-thinking cowboy,” corroborated the older woman.
“Wal, I’ll be dinged!” ejaculated the man who had run out with the driver.
Ernest put the gun back in his pocket and kept his hand there, so that they would not see it trembling. Otherwise he managed to face them with simulated nonchalance.
“Doggone it! I shore wasn’t fooled much by them fellers,” exclaimed the stage driver. “Never paid me no fare!”
Miss Hepford sat down composedly, though she appeared a trifle pale. The green eyes, magnificent now, were fixed curiously upon the young man in the brand new cowboy outfit.
“Thanks, cowboy,” she said constrainedly. “You shore did me a service. But what’d you shoot for?”
“Well, it seemed about the only thing to do,” explained Ernest, finding his voice. “I couldn’t lick them both. And that fellow had hold of your bag.”
“Oh, but you did lick them both,” interposed the older woman stoutly.
“Did you shoot to kill?” asked Miss Hepford, most curiously.
“No, indeed. I—I only wanted to scare him. ... But if he hadn’t let go I reckon I’d filled him full of lead,” Ernest finished off with considerable sang-froid.
“Oh, I see,” replied the girl, but her eyes said she did not see at all. Ernest wondered if they did not look straight through his monstrous pretension. “I’m shore glad you didn’t have to fill them ‘full of lead’ for me.”
“You ought to have been glad if he had,” added her companion vigorously.
“Mrs. Jones, I’ve had cowboys jump at chances to shoot up each other or the town aboot me, and I don’t like it.”
“But, Anne, this is different,” expostulated Mrs. Jones, aghast at the girl’s attitude.
“She thinks me ungrateful, Mr. Gunman,” said Miss Hepford to Ernest, a warm, flashing smile suddenly lighting up her face, “but indeed I’m not. If I seem so it is only because I hate gossip, and now another story aboot me will go the rounds of the range.”
“I’m very sorry if I seem to have compromised you, Miss,” replied Ernest a bit stiffly.
“Anne, this one won’t hurt you a heap,” spoke up the big man, with a laugh.
“Uncle Brooks, I’ll bet you Hyslip will swear this cowboy hired two hombres to pretend to rob me,” protested the girl.
“Haw! Haw! Haw!”
“These cowboys!” exclaimed Mrs. Jones, throwing up her hands in mock dismay.
Selby, however, caught an admiring glance from the older woman. But the Hepford girl was looking in the direction toward which the two bandits had escaped. He got into the stage again, into the last seat. The heavy man, unshaven and smelling of plowed fields and horses, amiably shoved Ernest to the far corner of his seat.
“Don’t mind me. Help yourself,” said Ernest with a smile.
“Young man, age before beauty,” was the reply; and shrewd but not unkind eyes took the young man’s measure.
The driver cracked his whip and called: “All aboord fer Springer.” He gathered up the reins and shouted at his horses. The stage rolled out of Concha; the red-haired girl put her head on Mrs. Jones’ shoulder; and the big man beside Ernest showed disposition to be friendly.
“Where you ridin’, puncher?”
“Springertown,” replied his seatmate, interested to discover how much clothes made the man.
“Not long out in these parts, spite of this gun play?”
“Not very long.”
“Where you from?”
“Iowa.”
“Are you on the grub line?”
Ernest did not know what that was, but he answered in the negative, and added that he was hunting for a job. He was glad to talk, feeling shaky and queer now that the recent excitement was over, and he realized what had actually transpired. He had skinned his knuckles and sustained a bruise on the side of his head, and soiled his new cowboy clothes.
“Wal, I reckon thet’ll be easy. Hawk Siebert, foreman for Red Rock, needs riders. He has a hard time keepin’ his outfit up. Hepford cain’t keep men. An if you don’t get on there I’ll take you on myself. Course I cain’t pay much, but it’s a job.”
“Thanks,” returned Ernest, drawn to this plain, kindly rancher. “Reckon I’ll try Hepford anyhow—heard so much about Red Rock. Why can’t he keep men?”
“Wal, he used to be different, long ago, but late years he’s the kind of cattleman riders won’t ride for unless they have to. You’ll find that out.”
“I see. Not very encouraging—me being new to the far West. Fact is, I’ve heard things not exactly—er—well—very complimentary about the way he runs a ranch.”
“Huh. He’s shore run Red Rock into the ground, as everybody round here knows,” replied the rancher, with some bitterness. “It was shore a great ranch when I had charge.”
Ernest restrained his astonishment. Without appearing too curious he tried to show the natural interest of a cowboy on the loose. He was to learn that his rancher acquaintance was Sam Brooks, who some years back had built up Red Rock for Selby. At one time there were sixty thousand head of cattle, he was told. Brooks’ wife was a cousin of the Hepfords. When Selby bought the ranch he gave Brooks a hundred acres of land at the head of the valley, which land Hepford, when he had ousted Brooks from his job, could not get possession of.
“But he’s never stopped tryin’ to scare me out,” continued Brooks. “I’ve got thet land, though, an’ someday it’ll be valuable. You see the creek head’s on my land, an’ in dry seasons Red Rock shore would run mighty dry but for my spring. I never put any obstacle in Hepford’s way. Selby gave me the land an’ it was right of me to be liberal with my water. But someday—”
Brooks did not complete his sentence, but his massive jaw set hard. Then leaning close to Ernest, he indicated with a large thumb the person of Anne Hepford, and whispered: “Thet’s Hepford’s gal. She thinks she owns Red Rock.”
Ernest discovered through Brooks’ proximity that he had been drinking, which no doubt accounted for his loquaciousness. It seemed to Ernest to be a significant and fortunate chance, this meeting with Brooks, and during the next hour he proceeded to make the most of it. He learned more about Red Rock and the range than he might otherwise have found out in months. Brooks just fell short of intimating that there might be some question about John Hepford’s cattle dealings. There was tremendous bitterness here, if not more, and Red Rock’s new owner became convinced that he was on the track of something. What with Brooks’ talk and the changing and ever growing ruggedness of the scenery the miles appeared to fly by, until at last the stage topped a long rise that looked down into a valley. “Wonderful! exclaimed Ernest.
“You see them red cliffs an’ crags standin’ up across there, under the timber?” queried Brooks. “Wal, when Selby seen them he named his ranch Red Rock. . . . You cain’t see my place yet.”
“How much of this valley does Hepford own—I mean—belongs to Red Rock Ranch?”
“Every darn acre of it, an’ then some, except my hundred up heah.”
“Whew!” exclaimed the young man, gazing around him with wonderment.
Sight of the great ranch evidently had strong effect upon Brooks also, but exactly opposite to Ernest’s. Perhaps Brooks, too, had once entertained ambitions to get possession of Red Rock Ranch. He lapsed into moody silence. The stage rolled down a fine wide road that wound by easy stretches and curves down the mountain and through succeeding belts of pine, cedar, oak and maple to the level valley floor. Ernest saw a glistening stream that ran through green pastures and fields, and led up to a white cottage under a red bluff, where the valley narrowed.
The stage stopped at a lane which ran straight in the direction of the cottage. There Ernest caught sight of
a girl leaning over the bars of the gate.
“Hyar you air, Sam,” bawled the stage driver. “Pile out.”
Brooks clambered heavily out of the stage and Ernest handed down his packages. “Wal, puncher, heah’s where I get off. What’d you say your name was?”
“I forgot to tell you. I—it’s Ernest Howard,” replied the young man on the back seat, luckily glib with his middle name.
“Mine’s Sam Brooks. Ride up to see me if you land a job in the neighborhood.”
“Sure will. And maybe I’ll want that job—if Mr. Hepford won’t take me on,” returned Ernest, loud enough for the benefit of Miss Hepford, who had roused from her nap and was now looking about her.
Meanwhile the girl at the gate was coming rather slowly forward toward the halted stage. She appeared to be about seventeen years old, and she had big, shy, dark eyes. She was barefooted.
“Hello, Dais, heah I am loaded down like a pack hoss,” Brooks greeted her and began to load her with some of the bundles.
“Howdy, Daisy,” spoke up Miss Hepford. “Haven’t seen you for ages.”
“Howdy, cousin,” replied the girl. “I don’t get down much these days.”
Ernest, listening and watching, suspected that there was no love lost between the cousins. And just as the stage started on again, the Brooks girl looked up to meet his curious gaze. She blushed so furiously that he instantly regretted his stare. Miss Hepford saw the girl’s confusion and laughed merrily. After the stage had rolled a few rods down the road the young man looked back, again to be caught staring. But this time he smiled, as if to mitigate his offense, and turning carried with him an impression of dark, melancholy eyes.
The valley was longer and wider than it had appeared from the high point above. Naturally after the first possessive thrill Ernest began to make a closer and more detailed observation of the property which belonged to him. But for the deeds and papers in his bag he certainly would have doubted his senses.
