by Zane Grey
“Hey, Ioway, the Fourth is past an’ you still packin’ hardware,” he commented in surprise, his hawk eyes taking Ernest in from gun to face.
“Sure boss, but there are a lot of things that are not over yet,” replied Ernest, endeavoring to grin.
“What, for instance?”
“Trouble.”
“Iowa, I’11 bet ten pesos you’re the galoot who blacked Dude’s eye,” replied Siebert, as if suddenly enlightened.
“Can’t say. I haven’t seen his eye. But I sure pasted him hard enough to black both his eyes, only I had an idea it was his chin I connected with.” He looked down at his still-swollen hand.
“I’d a-gambled on it. You son-of-a-gun. Tickles me powerful deep,” replied Hawk. “I reckoned mebbe Nebraskie did it. Wal, loway, go put up your six-shooter–Dude was awful drunk last night. Raved an roamed around, lookin’ for the feller who hit him. Funny part of it is he doesn’t know.”
“What? He called me by name, before I busted him,” said Ernest incredulously.
“Wal, by gosh, he’s forgot. An’ if you don’t give yourself away no one’ll be any the wiser. Hope you didn’t tell anyone else?”
“Only Nebraskie.”
“Wal, we can keep him quiet. So put your gun away.”
“Hawk, don’t you honestly think I ought to pack my gun from now on, and practice throwing it and shooting whenever I get a chance?”
“Aw, loway, I hoped I’d have one decent cowboy on this ranch,” declared Siebert regretfully. “I took a shine to you.”
“I am decent, boss. And I’ve sure obeyed you–taken your advice in everything. You’re my only friend around here, outside of Nebraskie.”
“Wal, if you put it thet way I’m up a stump,” acknowledged the foreman resignedly. “I reckon trouble is brewin’.”
“You’re dead right, boss. But I can’t confide in you. Not all my trouble,” said the Iowan soberly.
“I peeped in at the dance last night. Seen you dancin’ with the dazzlin’ Anne. loway, you’ve shore gone the way of all the Others, and it’s a doggone shame.”
“Which way is that, boss?”
“Plumb loco.”
“I’m sorry it was so plain.”
“loway, had you been drinkin’?”
“Nary a drop. Whatever addled my brains didn’t need any stimulant to help it along.”
“I savvy. Damn! Like your cool way of takin’ it, though. . . . Ioway, have you any kin–anybody who cares anythin’ for you?
“Nope. I’m all alone in the world,” lied Ernest with a straight face.
“Boy, I hate to see you goin’ to the bad this way. For that girl will drive you to drink shore as shootin’. An’ you’re the kind who won’t last out heah.”
“She will not,” declared Ernest passionately, and he felt the hot blood flush his cheek. In that denial he was also answering his second accusing self.
“Shore she will. If ever there was a girl mad to take the scalps of men Anne Hepford is the one. Why, Ioway, she’s even made eyes at me, many a time. But I’m a cute old fox. I been hit a couple of times, years ago.”
“Ahuh. But, Hawk, aren’t you speakin’ disrespectfully of our employer’s daughter?”
“Reckon I am, Ioway. An’ I shore wouldn’t talk this away to everybody. But I like you powerful well, an’ I still have an idea mebbe I can steer you a little straighter. An’ heah I’m goin’ to give you a hunch. Things are not so good between me an’ Hepford. I’m leavin’ presently, an’ when I pull out, I’d like to take you an’ Nebraskie with me.”
“Thanks, Hawk. That’s good of you. I’m surprised, though. What’s wrong between you an’ the rancher?”
“I jest don’t like the way he runs cattle,” replied Siebert tersely.
“Ahuh. Well, I don’t know much about cattle. But, to come back to the girl, aren’t you a little hard on her?”
“Wal, I’m darned if I know,” rejoined Siebert. “Mebbe she’s got some good in her. You know what I mean, Ioway. But the way she dresses–or undresses I ought to say–an’ flirts with the boys–it’s shore scandalous. Why, I used to dandle thet girl on my knee, when I first came to Red Rock. It seems long ago, but it ain’t. Even then she could cock them green eyes at a feller. She’s the kind thet goes to your haid. I just hope you ain’t serious, Ioway. If you are–go to her like a man an’ ask her to marry you. It sounds plumb crazy, but do it. She told me onct thet all the boys made turrible love to her, but not one of them asked her to marry him. Funny thet.”
“Humph. They didn’t dare. They knew darn well she wasn’t serious.”
“Shore, an’ thet’s why she couldn’t take them serious. Mebbe she is not so black as she’s painted. ’Fore you know it you’ll hev me stickin’ up for her. Anyway thet’s how I’d tackle Anne. It’d be somethin’ new to her. An’ quien sabe, you can never tell aboot a woman.”
“Maybe I’ll take your hunch, Hawk. It’s sort of fascinating.”
“Wal, do it now. I just came from the house. She’s on the porch in the hammock. The old man is with Anderson, thet buyer from over the mountains. They’re havin’ a session, believe me. Hepford fired me out pronto. Take my hunch, Ioway, an’ go now.“
Ernest leaped up as if he had been propelled by a catapult. What persuaded him to take Hank Siebert’s advice he had no idea, but it was instant and overpowering.
“Hawk, here goes,” he said, and stalked off.
“I’ll be waitin’,” called Siebert, after him.
Ernest took that walk to the ranch house like a man in a trance. He weighed nothing. He just wanted to see. What he liked most about the idea was the fact that it would place him in a different position from the other cowboys who adored Anne, but knew that the situation was hopeless.
The late afternoon was losing its heat. Shafts of sunset gold shone low down through the pines. An eagle was soaring above the red crags. But the Iowan was completely unconscious of these things. He reached the house. The front and left side of the angled porch were unoccupied. Ernest mounted the steps noiselessly. The door was open. From within came Hepford’s caustic voice. “That’s my price, Anderson. And you drive the stock.”
Ernest walked round to the left wing of the porch, where he espied Anne lying in a hammock under the generous shade of the pines that grew close to that side of the house. He approached, to find her asleep, and most appealing in that unguarded moment. The instant he gazed down upon her, to realize her charm anew, and strangely different, he realized that he had made another blunder. At that moment he had an irresistible desire to kiss her eyes open. She wore white, which brought out the beauty of her gold-tinged skin and the glorious red hair. Her position in the abandon of sleep was not as modest as it might have been. Ernest, catching his breath, hastened to awaken her.
Then, suddenly, he was gazing down into wide, sleepy green eyes. They blinked. The sleepiness gave place to lazy wonderment.
“Why, hello, Iowa. How long have you been heah?”
“Just a–second,” replied Ernest, swallowing hard. Removing his sombrero he sat down on the rustic chair that faced the hammock. The amazing fact seemed to be that she was neither offended nor scornful nor amused by his presence. Perhaps she was not yet quite fully awake. Then a sudden feeling of coolness and dignity and poise came over Ernest, he had no idea from where. “Anne, I’ve come to apologize for my conduct last night and to explain,” he heard himself saying.
“Oh, you have. Well, that’s interesting,” she drawled. But the faint color which streamed into her cheeks denied the indifference of her words. Ernest had never seen Anne Hepford as she was then, and for the first time since he had known her he looked at her without suspicion.
“I was not drunk,” he went on. “I just gave way to the overpowering love I felt for you. You didn’t know that. Neither did I, then. But you must realize that I meant no insult. I was not trifling, or taking advantage of the moment. I apologize for my violence. . . . And I ask you to marry
me.”
She stared. The color in her face deepened to pink. Her eyes opened wider, to become singularly beautiful, with the thought and emotion that darkened them.
“Ernest Howard!” she murmured.
“It’s a shock, I know. But I’m not apologizing for that or my presumption. Only for the way I acted last night.”
“You–love me, Iowa?”
“I’m afraid I do,” he replied, through tightening lips, for only then had he wholly realized the hopeless fact and nature of his infatuation.
“And you ask me to marry you?” she went on, lingering almost dreamily over the words.
“I sure do.”
Then she underwent a subtle transformation which turned her in a twinkling into the Anne Hepford he knew.
“You crazy cowboy! If Dad heard you he’d throw you off the porch,” she replied, swinging her feet to the porch floor, with a gay little laugh.
“I daresay. But what’s your answer, Anne?”
“Are you plumb loco, Iowa? To imagine I might marry you, an odd-job cowboy at forty dollars per!”
“My financial condition is not the point,” he replied with dignity. “I asked you because I owed it to you and to myself. Probably you can’t understand that.”
“I understand you’re the most surprising cowboy who ever rode a grub-line into Red Rock Ranch. And that’s a compliment, Ioway.”
“Thank you for that, anyway,” replied Ernest rising. “Good afternoon, Anne. Ill not annoy you further.”
“Who said you annoyed me? Sit down, Iowa. I want to ask you something.” Her eyes were shining and only the part he had sleeted to play kept him from surrendering completely to them. He did not take the chair at her invitation, but remained standing, gazing down upon her. “Tell me, did you fight with Dude Hyslip last night?”
“No.”
“Doggone!” she exclaimed with genuine regret. “I hoped it was you who did. Someone gave him the most beautiful black eye. Oh, he was a sight.”
“Well, I gave him the black eye all right, but there was no fight. Only two blows struck. The one when I hit him and the other when he hit the ground.”
“Iowa! I knew you did it. And I knew why, too.”
“Did you?” queried Ernest, who plainly saw that she knew nothing of the kind.
“It was because of me. You were out there in the garden. I’ll bet you followed us. Dude was half drunk, you know. You must have seen him get gay with me. Oh, he was nasty. And when I ran off you must have jumped out to let him have it.”
“Very well, if you know all about what happened, why ask me?”
“No reason, now I’m sure you did it. . . . Except, Iowa–you may kiss me if you wish.” She held out an unwavering hand. He caught no other sign of feeling, except the swell of her breast, but she was wonderful then. The thrill that vibrated through Ernest’s veins warned him of the peril of that moment. Something warned him that this was no moment for Ernest Selby to yield to Anne Hepford. In the sharp spiritual conflict which he suffered then he made some amends for the deceit he had perpetrated upon her.
“You’re generous, Anne,” he replied, striving to quell his emotion. “But I certainly wouldn’t jeopardize your good name a second time. Last night was enough. I didn’t come for more of the same. I came to propose marriage. But I can see, Anne, that’s something that doesn’t interest you.”
“Iowa, you’re right. And I’m a darned fool. Thank you again.”
“Don’t mention it. So long. Ill go now,” replied Ernest, as he bowed and backed away.
“Iowa–you–” But she did not conclude her speech. The Iowan believed that he saw her bite her tongue. Her great eyes were blazing, too, if not with pique then Selby was completely wrong in his deduction. He turned to go round the angle of the porch. “Iowa–” she called after him roguishly, “all the same that offer stands.”
Ernest felt that he wanted to run. He did step off the porch and down the lane at a swift stride. Once in the grove he slowed down. “Whew! That was a close shave,” he whispered. “What a girl! ... I’m worse off than ever. But I’m glad–by thunder I am! If Anne Hepford is not an utterly heartless coquette that will make her think.”
By the time he arrived at the bunkhouse, where Siebert awaited him on the porch, he was outwardly composed.
“How aboot it, cowboy? Any luck?” queried the genial foreman, with a flash of his hawk eyes.
“Nope. Guess I was lucky to get away alive,” replied Ernest fervently.
“Say, Ioway, you didn’t really ask Anne, did you?” continued Siebert, incredulously.
“I sure did. Got laughed at for my pains. But, Hawk, I’m glad you put me up to it. Honest I am. It was an experience I’ll never forget.”
“Ahuh. Say, Ioway, you got me guessin’. There’s somethin’ queer aboot you.”
Here Nebraskie appeared in the doorway of the bunkhouse. His ruddy face wore a warm smile and his big blue eyes looked fondly upon Ernest.
“Whatthehell’s goin’ on around heah?” he demanded. “What you been askin’ Anne Hepford an’ why you totin’ thet six-shooter?”
Siebert laughed shortly, as he stepped off the porch. “Ioway, you’ve got a rep to live up to now. Reckon I’ll send you over tomorrow with Anderson’s outfit.”
“Sure, I’d like that,” replied Selby, quickly.
“Boss, my pard cain’t go nowheres without me. Savvy?”
“All right, I’ll send you both. Anderson is short of riders. They won’t be back, an’ thet drive starts soon as it’s light enough to see in the mawnin’.”
“Fine, Hawk. It ain’t a bad idee,” called Nebraskie, as the foreman sauntered away. “Jest as well for us to be scarce around heah. How long can we take?”
“Wal, three days goin’ an’ two comin’ back,” returned the foreman.
Whereupon Nebraskie wrestled and pummeled Ernest into their small lodging room, after which he closed the door.
“Pard, I lay in heah an’ heerd every word you an’ Hawk said,” he announced.
“What of that, Nebraskie?” asked Ernest, with a sheepish grin.
“You amazin’ son-of-a-gun! You most perfiderous strange galoot! I cain’t savvy you atall. But, my Gawd, how I admire you!”
It flashed through Ernest’s mind then that he was in line to return any and every sentiment Nebraskie might have for him. “I’m sure glad we’re real friends at last,” said the Iowan with deep conviction.
“Set down, doggone you,” ordered Nebraskie, pushing his friend down upon the bunk. “Ioway, you’ve been an’ gone an’ done it. You braced thet green-eyed redhaid an’ ast her to marry you.”
“I did, Nebraskie, so help me Heaven,” rejoined Ernest, weakly.
“Good Lord! ... An’ what fer?”
“I–I don’t know.”
“You fell in love with her, same as me with Dais?”
“Something like that, I guess.”
“Aw, don’t try to fool me. You love her real, an’ true. I seen it.”
“All right, then.”
“Pard, you love her tumble?”
“Yes, turrible.”
“Wal, thet’s tough. Blast the luck anyhow....Ioway, I’m gonna give you a hunch. If you wasn’t a no-good tenderfoot would-be cowpuncher without a hoss or a dollar Anne Hepford would shine up to you. I got a hunch!”
“Bah! You idiot!”
“Wal, I seen it. You cain’t fool me aboot wimmen. Thet was how I seen through Dais’s case with Hyslip. Lord knows she was quiet aboot it–the little mouse. I’ve seen Anne lookin’ at you when you didn’t know. An’ it was in her eyes. Them bootiful betrayin’ eyes of hers. Hell no, she’s never guessed it–yet!”
“Nebraskie, you can dream if you want to. But that’s no hunch. And even if it was, I’ll tell you something! I wouldn’t have Anne Hepford, unless she loved me for what I really am–a no-good tenderfoot–a would-be cowpuncher, without a horse or a dollar.”
“Pard, thet’s onreasonable
. Wimmen don’t love men fer nuthin’. But come to figger it out, you’ve got a lot. You’re damn near as good lookin’ as Dude Hyslip. Dais says you’re manlier, an’ not so pretty. An’ pard, you’re smart. There ain’t no use thinkin’ otherwise. You’ve got a haid on you. No bad habits. An’ you’re young. You’ll be a big rancher someday. Anne could do a heap wuss, an’ you can bet yore last peso I’m gonna tell her.”
“Pard, I’m afraid we are two love-sick hombres,” returned Iowa, gazing at his simple but eloquent champion with affection.
“Shore, we’re sick all right,” agreed Nebraskie, making a wry face. “Let’s throw some grub together an’ then hit the hay. It’s three A.M. fer us tomorrer.”
Two days later, about the same sunset hour, Ernest Selby was squatting before a campfire with Nebraskie and the Anderson outfit, in Bull Tank Park, halfway across the Blue Mountains.
Hard as the riding had been, the Iowan’s appreciation had steadily mounted for this Arizona wilderness and the outdoor life he was leading. He was growing used to the saddle and fond of his horse, slow old nag that he was. Anderson’s cowboys were civil but distant. There were none to laugh at Ernest or ridicule his efforts or to play tricks on him, wherefore the trip grew more and more enjoyable. During those last few hours he and Nebraskie had become as close as brothers. “Wal, Ernie, you shore give me a helluva pain, but aside from all pertainin’ to rangeridin’ you are a guy to pin to,” Nebraskie had said more than once. And Ernest would make reply: “Doggone it, Nebraskie, I wasn’t born in a manger, but why can’t I learn your cowboy tricks?”
“Far as gurls are concerned you can give us cards an’ spades,” Nebraskie had grinned. But loyal as he was he would not look upon Ernest’s awkwardness in the saddle with anything but ill-concealed disgust.
Anderson had ridden with his outfit. He was foreman for the big cattle company across the range, and he struck Ernest as being a hard-faced, shifty-eyed, taciturn boss. He never spoke to the Red Rock boys, except to give them an order, which was sure to be for the worst possible task. Nebraskie complained a good deal, and gave vent to considerable profanity, but his companion seemed to be singularly content. In fact, except when his thoughts reverted to Anne Hepford, he appeared carefree and happy. The ruse which had brought him to Red Rock was succeeding even better than he had dared hope. Almost he believed himself what others thought him–a tenderfoot cowboy at loose ends instead of Ernest Selby, owner of Red Rock. Almost he did not want the inevitable revelation to come. He tried to put it out of his mind as much as possible. He was learning many things that as owner of a ranch he could hardly have discovered in any other way. And he was on the track of Hepford’s elusive machinations.
