by Zane Grey
“What’s it named from?” he asked.
“Wal, some say a Mexican found gold heah. An’ others thet it’s named from the color of the water,” replied Nebraskie.
“Not so far from the ranch, is it?”
“Aboot a mile, if you jump off the cliff. Three mebbe by trail.”
“Gosh, then it’s on Hepford’s–I mean on Red Rock land?”
“Shore. It belongs to the ranch.”
“Then why in the name of common sense didn’t Hepford pipe water down to the house and bunkhouse and barns?”
“Big expense, an’ Hepford ain’t interested in improvin’ the land. The fact is, Ioway, these foremen an’ superintendents jest work for their own interests.”
“Nebraskie, if I–if I owned that ranch the first thing I’d do would be run this wonderful cold water down there.”
“Ump-umm. Scuse me, pard, fer disagreein’. The first thing you’d do would be to go lopin’ to your knees before the redheaded lady. Wal, it’d be a cinch you’d get her then. Haw! Haw!”
Wherewith Ernest threw the first article he could get his hands on, which happened to be a can of milk. It hit Nebraskie, who wheeled quickly, presenting that part of his anatomy where the shot from the rancher’s gun had landed. He forthwith was treated to some extremely robust language. The two partners wound up with roars of laughter which must have shocked a peaceful-minded Gila monster dozing in the dust.
They had supper, unrolled their beds, haltered the horses with a nosebag of grain, after which tasks they climbed up and out on the rim of the cliff that overlooked the valley. Twilight lay shadowy and mysterious beneath them. The slope was a deep blue. Across on the other side, the red crags stood up, sunset-flushed and unbelievably beautiful. The silence was profound. Ernest could not detect a single sound, except the excited beating of his heart. The sweet solitude of that height settled upon him like a restful mantle. He resolved to come to this place often– to give it a name for himself alone. But no felicitous one suggested itself to him.
“Mighty nice rondevoo fer lovers,” Nebraskie remarked sentimentally.
“Pard, you’re right. But never the time and the place and the loved one all together!”
“Thet ain’t the gurls’ fault.”
This cowboy certainly expressed a lot of pertinent and thought-provoking ideas. But at the moment Ernest wanted to watch and feel and dream, so he shut up Nebraskie by the sad prophecy that neither Daisy nor Anne were for them.
He was roused from his reverie by Nebraskie’s call from the darkness behind: “Hey, what you gonna do–moon out there all night?” Reluctantly he clambered back to join his comrade, and was soon snug under his blankets, no longer inclined to resist sleep.
Next morning Nebraskie had the laugh on him, for the cowboy was up, and when he rolled out of his blankets there stood the horses saddled, coffee was steaming on the fire, and the bacon was sizzling.
“Mawnin’ kid,” drawled Nebraskie. “Wake up an’ heah the birds. Roll your bed an’ get outside some provender. An’ we’ll rustle down to find out what gazabo has made love to Anne last.”
“Joy-killer!” was the reply.
They were halfway down the zigzag trail by the time the sun rose over the eastern foothills. And they got in just as Jeff, the cook, was calling the outfit to breakfast.
“Pard, take your time slippin’ the pack an’ saddle, while I get a line on Hyslip,” said Nebraskie, when they halted before their door in the bunkhouse.
“Uhuh,” grunted Selby. He was beginning to sense a protective thoughtfulness in his comrade and it made him feel warm deep inside. Of late Nebraskie seemed to have greatly matured. No longer was he the rollicking carefree rider! Perhaps trouble had brought out the latent strength of his character. It struck Ernest anew that Nebraskie would make a bad enemy. He leisurely slipped the saddles and turned the horses loose in the corral. When he came back Nebraskie was waiting for him.
“Reckon nuthin’ to make you feel worried,” said that worthy. “But the outfit’s sore as a boil. Hawk has a long face. I’ll bet two bits Hepford has been razzin’ them plenty.”
They went in to breakfast, and straddled the long bench to face some of the cowboys on the other side of the wooden table. Ernest shouted a cheery good morning to everybody. Shep Davis and Steve Monell replied, as did the foreman Siebert. But Hyslip, with his cronies, Lunky Pollard and Bones Magill never even batted an eye. Hyslip could not very well have batted one of his eyes, for it appeared to be hidden in a large black swelling. The regularity of that handsome face had been sadly marred. The Iowan felt a satisfaction that he was sure his expression betrayed, so he bent low over his plate.
“Lordy, Nebraskie, but this outfit is sure plumb glad to have us back,” he observed, above the noise of the clattering dishes.
“Shore we’re glad,” returned Shep. “We haven’t seen a smilin’ face fer days.”
Hawk Siebert fixed his penetrating gaze upon Ernest.
“You can hitch up the big wagon an’ rustle fer Holbrook right after breakfast. I’ll give you an order on Babbitt.”
“Fine, boss. I sure am de-lighted. It’ll be great to see town again. All the stores–and all the pretty girls.”
“Haw! Haw!” laughed Hyslip humorlessly, without looking up. It was a cold, exaggerated laugh, full of contempt. It brought that quick flash of heat into Ernest’s veins. Some of the other cowboys gave him a laugh, too, though not insultingly.
“Nebraskie, what you think about that?” inquired his friend.
“Pretty raw. But you’ve only got yourself to blame. Keep your cheery trap shet”
“Come back sort of cocky, didn’t you?” said Siebert shrewdly. “What happened over at Blue?”
“We got shot at and chased off the ranch,” replied Selby laconically, acting upon the cue he and Nebraskie had agreed upon.
“Say, tenderfoot, you’re plumb loco,” accused the foreman. “What’s he talking aboot, Nebraskie?”
“Fact, boss. An’ if you don’t believe it I can show you some black and blue shot marks on my legs.”
“Shot marks! From a shotgun?”
“Shore. An’ before thet we heerd the real old Colt slugs zippin along. You know thet sound, Hawk.”
Hawk leaned forward. All the other cowboys were now intensely interested.
“What fer? Who shot at you? Why?”
“All fer nuthin’, boss,” replied Nebraskie coolly. “Anderson an’ his outfit was mean as hell to us all the way across. An’ once we got there why they didn’t even ast us to set down an’ eat.”
That sort of thing, in the hospitable range country, was to cowmen a heinous omission. More than one muttered curse struck Ernest’s ear.
“Well, what’d you expect?” cut in Hyslip significantly.
“Dude, I’ll do the questionin’. You keep still,” said Siebert sharply. “Go on, Nebraskie.”
“Wal, Ioway an’ me busted into the kitchen anyway an’ set down. They had to feed us. Afterward we was walkin’ around the ranch, smokin’ an’ talkin’ aboot our gurls–which my pard shore likes to do–an’ we goes by the open door of the ranch house. Ioway stopped to listen, an’ course I did too. . . . Wal, we get ketched an’ it was either run or flash guns. So we run. . . . Did they shoot at us? Wal, I should snicker to snort they did.”
Siebert banged the table till the cups jumped and clanged. His keen eyes had little dancing flecks in them, like hot sparks. But that show of feeling did not hide his surprise and curiosity.
“Nebraskie, what’d you hear them talkin’ aboot?” he queried.
“Wal, boss,” drawled the cowboy, “if you scuse me, thet’s our bizness. It concerns Mr. Hepford, an’ when lie gets wind of our little fracas an’ is aboot to fire us–then we may tell him.”
Ernest detected a slight gray shade stealing under Sieberf’s tan. It made the blood surge through his veins. So the foreman was not blind to Hepford’s dereliction after all. Perhaps he was a party to it.
This occasioned Ernest keen regret. He liked Siebert and did not want to lose him.
“Aw, I see,” returned Hawk slowly, and he certainly controlled whatever it was that had actuated him. “Wal, if it’s none of my bizness, I’ve no more to say.”
But half an hour later he pushed open the door of Ernest bunkhouse and, entered, then closed it behind him.
“Where’s Nebraskie?”
“Wrangling the horses.”
“Ioway, suppose you lay the cairds on the table,” began Siebert brusquely.
“What cards, boss?” inquired Ernest innocently.
“Them cairds Nebraskie was braggin’ aboot.”
“Hawk, you’ve been a good friend to me and I like you,” rejoined Ernest, sparring for time to gauge the foreman, and to think how to meet this situation.
That speech made Siebert sit down abruptly on the bunk. He was plainly perturbed. Ernest concealed his surprise.
“Shore I’ve been your friend, more’n you know. I’ve kept you on heah, when the outfit was agin it. An’ I’m shore goin’ to take you an’ Nebraskie with me, as I told you boys once before.”
“Where we going?”
“I don’t know yet, but it’ll be some miles from this range, believe me.”
“Ahuh. Why are you takin’ us, Hawk?”
“Wal, you’re two good boys. I like you. An’ there’s bad blood heah. There’ll be some spilled if you hang on.”
“You mean Hyslip and his pards are against us?”
“I should smile. Only yesterday Dude swore I had to fire you O’ he an’ Bones an’ Lunky would quit.”
“What’d you say, Hawk?”
“I told him to go to hell. No use fer me to fire him, Ioway. Hepford would take him right back.”
“That so? He likes him a lot, then?”
“No, it’s not thet. Dude has a hold on the rancher.”
“Through Anne, you mean?”
“I wasn’t alludin’ to thet hold, if there is one.”
Right there Ernest had an inspiration to unmask his battery. With his gaze hard on the foreman he shot the query: “And you’re leaving Red Rock soon because Hepford is crooked?”
The shot went home. But Siebert was an old hand on the range. With certainty that Ernest really knew something he overcame his slight perturbation.
“Where’d you ever get thet idee, cowboy?” he asked, coolly, and then with a smile he began rolling a cigarette.
“Nebraskie told me.”
“Hell you say! . . . So you’re two bright cowpunchers? I told the boss he was makin’ a big mistake on this last Wilkins cattle drive. He cussed me an’ told me to run the outfit an’ not him.”
“Hepford sure did make a mistake with that drive. And a bigger one to let Nebraskie and me go on it.”
“Ahuh. . . . Wal, what’d you heah over there?”
“You ask Nebraskie after I’m gone. If he wants to tell you it’s all right with me.”
“Ioway, I’m glad you’re listenin’ to Nebraskie. He’s no fool. An he knows cowmen. You’re skatin’ on thin ice, if you’re figgerin’ on scarin’ Hepford or workin’ him. Once he got wise–an’ he’s quick-witted, he’d shoot you before you got two words out. An’ fer thet matter your words wouldn’t have much weight against his.”
“Thanks, Hawk. I appreciate your advice. I’m sure not making any mistakes. . . . How thin is the ice you’re skatin’ on?”
Ernest had launched this last question like a flash. But Hawk never batted an eye. He gazed admiringly at his green hand.
“Now I know why I took a shine to you. I jest sorta felt you was no ordinary clodhopper of a cowpuncher. Reckon you an Nebraskie an’ me had better rustle away from Red Rock, while our health is good.”
“What’s the hurry, Hawk? It’s just getting interesting.”
“Wal, too damn interestin’. . . . Ioway, the ice under me ain’t even froze yet.”
“Hawk, don’t tell me you’re in with Hepford on this queer cattle dealing,” said Ernest, his hand going to the older man’s shoulder. That gesture and his look proved something to Siebert.
“No, by Gawd, I’m not,” he said in a tone that suggested the words had been damned up in him too long. “I’ve only been on to Hepford fer a couple of years. An’ he’s begun to suspect me. Shore, if the new owner of Red Rock would drop in on us sudden like, Hepford would implicate me. An’ Ioway, I’d have a hell of a time provin’ otherwise. I don’t believe I’d even risk goin’ into court.”
“What’d you do, Hawk?”
“Wal, I’ve throwed a gun before this to keep out of goin’ to jail. An’ I could do thet again.”
“Hawk, whatever kept you stayin’ on here, after you were sure Hepford was not strictly a rancher you could respect?”
Siebert laughed, though the red came up in his swarthy cheeks.
“Ioway, I was an old fool. Like all the rest, I was sweet on Anne!”
“For heaven’s sake! Not you, really?”
“Shore. Anne wasn’t above bein’ nice to me, if there was no other rider aboot. She was just a tyke when I came, but when she was sixteen, then. . . . Don’t look so blame disgusted. I go over it, Ioway. An’ then I jest stuck on heah.”
“Like Red Rock much?” went on Ernest, stepping to the window to look out.
“Awful much, Ioway. But we got to go, jest the same.”
Ernest turned round, once more composed and sure of himself.
“I hope we won’t have to leave right off. I’d like to see Anne a couple of more times.”
“Lord, what thet redhaid has got to answer for!” ejaculated Siebert fervently.
“Hawk, do you think–she’s absolutely no good?” asked Ernest, his voice breaking.
“Anne’s all right. Jest boy-crazy. If she ever finds the right feller an’ gets jarred into knowin’ it, wal, she’ll be as big an’ true a woman as this heah West.”
“I’d like mighty well to be that fellow you speak of,” replied Ernest with a sigh. “But to come back to our senses, Hawk. . . . Nebraskie and I talked round our campfire. Just two speculating cowboys, who’d happened on an irregularity. Now just between ourselves, how could Hepford ever be apprehended on whatever slick deals he’s making?”
“Wal, I doubt if we could ever prove anythin’,” replied the foreman dubiously. “These court proceedin’s aboot cattle most always go up in smoke. Talk is cheap. If one witness swears there was two hundred haid of stock sold or stole an’ another witness swears there wasn’t, where does the court get off? But I’ll allow if we could compare the report of this drive Hepford sends back East to the figures we know right now it’d be mighty ticklish for Hepford. He’d sweat blood. On the other hand if weeks an’ months went by an’ then we compared notes on this last drive, wal, it wouldn’t phase him none at all. He’s sold a dozen bunches of cattle this summer.”
“Humph, he’s sure a track-covering hombre,” the Iowan replied.
Nebraskie came tramping in, his eyes bright.
“Get outa heah, you confabin’ road agents. I gotta write to my gurl. Ernie, you’re elected to be mail-carrier fer Anne, too. She sent word down by Jeff fer you to call to take her letters. An’ aboot some errands, too.”
“Anne!”
“Thet’s what I said. Don’t look as if I’d punched you one in the gizzard.”
Siebert laughed and went out. Then Ernest, while Nebraskie sat at the window writing, proceeded speedily into the task of changing, washing and shaving. He put on a new shirt and bright tie, and after brushing his hair again he dashed out to leap off the porch. Siebert was standing talking to some of the cowboys, among whom were Davis and Hyslip.
“Hey, Shep, what is it Miss Hepford wants me to do for her?” he called casually, as if he were used to being a courier for that young lady.
“Mail letters an’ do some tradin’ in town. All of which is a hunch fer you to fetch back a box of candy,” replied Shep, who was not without a sense of humor. Ernest heard Hyslip
muttering a curse. Never had he covered the distance to the ranch house in such short time. As he turned out of the pines he espied Anne sitting on the steps. His heart leaped. But he did not look up until he stood in front of her. He smiled as he bade her good morning, as if there had never been anything in his mind but glad thoughts about her.
“Mawnin’, Iowa,” she replied, as if sight of him made her thoughtful. “You look fresh and rosy for an overworked cowboy.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Had a good trip. That’s wonderful country. Did you ever see Agua d’Oro Spring?”
“Yes, but not for a long time. It is beautiful up there. I’d like to ride up to the spring again sometime. We’ll go someday, when dad’s away.”
“I know I’m not one of his favorite riders,” replied Ernest dryly.
“You shore are not. But you’re mine,” she said, with a bewildering smile. Then she beckoned to him to come up the high steps. “I wish you would mail these for me. Fetch any letters for me at the post office, of course. Never mind any others. Dad is fussy aboot his mail. He’s going in himself next week. And here’s a list of things I’d like you to buy. All written out on a list with money enclosed.”
Ernest received the packet of letters, and the thick envelope, tinglingly conscious of the fact that Anne’s cool fingers touched his and were not hastily removed.
“Anything more?” he asked, looking up at her.
“Well, is there? You’re going to town,” she drawled, her eyes holding his. There did not seem to be any help for it, Ernest groaned to himself.
“I’ll see–if there is,” he rejoined lamely. Why could he not be bold? The truth was that most of the time when he confronted Anne he was exactly what she took him for.
“Don’t you go dallying after my cousin Daisy,” she warned.
“But I must deliver a letter to her from Nebraskie.”
“Is he still moon-eyed over her?”
“I’m afraid so. No wonder. She’s very pretty and sweet.”
“Yes, I saw how you appreciated that at the dance the other night,” she said petulantly, and she flushed. This strange creature could not abide the least turning from her altar.
