The Dude Ranger

by Zane Grey

  The living-room door was open. Ernest rapped and then called out. He got no reply, so he stepped across the threshold. At first glance he thought the room was empty. Then he heard stentorian breathing. He entered. The room did not have its usual neat appearance. It reeked of raw whiskey. On the table lay two empty bottles, and beside them a third bottle stood upright. It was half full of liquor. The Iowan’s eyes swept the room. Behind him on the floor lay Brooks, plainly in a drunken stupor.

  Ernest wanted to kick him, but he took out his concern and wrath in a vigorous shaking. Brooks grunted and mumbled.

  “You damned hog!–Where’s Daisy?” he asked anxiously.

  This demand elicited no more from the prostrate rancher than had the shaking. Ernest left off in disgust, and called aloud for Daisy. There were only three rooms in the house. He peered into the kitchen, which was vacant, with the outside door wide open. The third room had a curtain over the doorway. Ernest called again, then peeped in. Indeed this tiny, colorful, and tidy little place could be no one’s but Daisy’s. It spoke of her. But it too was empty. He strode outdoors to look around. She might have gone down to Red Rock. No! Ernest refused to deceive himself. The very air seemed heavy with suspense and suggestion.

  He found himself imitating the habit of cowboys, who always looked on the ground for tracks. He could not find any in front of the house, except his own, and the broad imprint of Brooks’ boot. Then he went around back. In the bare ground near the kitchen door he espied small sharp tracks, made by the heels of a cowboy boot. He got down to examine them. Hyslip! as surely as that the pinto mustang was Hyslip’s. That heel track showed the impress of the heart-shaped piece of metal which Hyslip had nailed onto his boots. He was noted all over the range for that trademark. The cowboys used the fact as a stock subject for badinage. Ernest grimly ascertained the direction of the boot tracks and started following them.

  He was annoyed with Daisy for having allowed herself to walk out along the brookside or the woods with Hyslip. To be sure, the brute was quite capable of taking her by force away from the house. Ernest felt his wrath slowly mount, particularly for Hyslip. He argued that this certainly was his business, as he was Nebraskie’s friend, and Nebraskie’s happiness, if not his honor, was threatened.

  Ernest had been over the ground more than once with Brooks. He well remembered it, by reason of its beauty. The cedars and junipers along the bank made a delightful shade. But Daisy was not to be seen near the house. He went on, around and above the big spring hole, where the water roared out from under the gray, lichened cliff, and up to the pine knoll. There, coming suddenly out of the covert into a sylvan glade, ambermossed and flower-dotted, he espied the two he was seeking.

  Ernest confronted them. Daisy sat on a mossy rock. She uttered a faint cry of dismay at the sight of him. The paleness of her pretty face was marred by several dirty marks. Her hair had come undone and one white shoulder gleamed through a wide rent in her blouse. But telltale as these evidences were, it was her eyes that told the whole story.

  A single glance at Hyslip was enough. His handsome face was hot and streaked with perspiration. His jaw sagged. With a curse of disgust at his failure he turned his back on Ernest.

  “Daisy, here’s the candy Nebraskie asked me to fetch,” spoke up Ernest, extending the box to her. But she made no move to take it, though she murmured thanks. The Iowan dropped the parcel. He was angry and just a little disgusted with this girl who could be one thing with Nebraskie and quite another with this good-looking but dissipated lout. The look on Daisy’s face made him sick with doubt, with sorrow, with disappointment. He felt like turning on his heel and leaving her there with the cowboy. But for his friend’s sake, he made one more attempt to bring her to her senses.

  “Daisy, you’ve broken your word to Nebraskie,” said Ernest gently.

  She nodded her pretty dishevelled head.

  “You–you ought to be ashamed!” he continued. It was a ridiculous speech, for no girl could have manifested deeper shame.

  “Ernest–I–I couldn’t help–it,” she faltered, wringing her hands. “When he came–I wouldn’t see him. I went in the kitchen. He and Dad got to drinking. . . . I–I should have run–but I didn’t think of that–in time. . . . He came in the kitchen–grabbed me–packed me up heah. . . . Oh, Ernest–what could I do?”

  Ernest felt a tigerish leap of every fighting instinct in his blood. He slammed a hard hand on Hyslip’s shoulder and spun him round.

  “If I had my gun I’d shoot you like the yellow dog you are,” he declared coldly.

  “Bah! You wouldn’t shoot a coyote. You meddlin’ tenderfoot. Get out of heah.”

  Hyslip’s expression of surprise at the way things had turned out was changing to anger.

  “Like hob I will. You’re going to be told something, Dude Hyslip. And then–”

  “What business is this of yours?” interrupted the red-faced Hyslip, hotly.

  “Nebraskie is my best friend.”

  “What of thet? If Daisy loves me better than she does him?”

  Ernest seemed to sink inwardly. “Well, friend or not, if that’s true, I’ve no call to interfere. But I don’t believe it.”

  “Wal, ask her, you Ioway hayseed.”

  Ernest turned to Daisy. He did not need to ask the question. Her face was flaming, her eyes were distended with misery and terror. “Once he–he had some kind–of power over me,” she panted. “But I–I never loved–him. . . . And I hate–hate him now! Oh, Ernest, I’m glad you came in time. . . .”

  “You hear that, Hyslip?” snapped Ernest.

  “Aw, thet’s talk. She’s jest out of her haid. Why, when I was packin’ her up heah–kissin’ her–she kissed me back. . . . What you got to say about thet, Dais Brooks?”

  “Did you kiss him, Daisy?” asked Ernest quietly.

  She dropped her head. “I–I–reckon I did. . . . I–I told you– he had some kind of power–over me.”

  Ernest concerned himself no more with her. He thought he understood the situation now. And he let himself go. He had always wanted a chance to get at Hyslip.

  “Dude, the handsome! The lady-killing cowpuncher! You’re sure a fine specimen of a man. My God, but you are a cowardly skunk!”

  “Howard, I won’t take much more from you,” returned Hyslip, his face flushing even more deeply. “I’m shore makin’ allowances fer your natural feelin’s.”

  “You’ll take a hell of a lot more from me, Dude Hyslip,” retorted Ernest. “But before I cuss you as you deserve and give you the licking you deserve–I want to tell you as man to man that your treatment of this girl was too cowardly to let you go unpunished. When they hear about it on the range, they’ll chase you back to Texas with dogs.”

  “Aw, it wasn’t no such thing. She likes to be mauled an’ hurt. Same as other girls.”

  “Good God! What a fine speech for a man to make! But you’re not a man. You’re just a big hunk of bones and meat thrown together with a pleasing effect. You please the eyes of women and you think that entitles you to take what you can get.”

  “Wal, I know what I know,” returned Hyslip doggedly, and he seemed to be surprised with himself that he had done nothing to defend himself against the bitter attack.

  “You pick on a slip of a girl like Daisy, who has no more strength than a kitten. What’d you get when you tried the same thing on Anne Hepford?”

  This was only a random shot of Ernest’s, but it brought the dusky red to Hyslip’s handsome face.

  “What’d you get?” went on Selby, following up his advantage relentlessly. “I know what you got. Anne told me! I had the laugh on you, Dude Hyslip, And you bet I know what you’ll get if you ever lay another hand on her again. What’s more you know, too.”

  Hyslip glared in slow acceptance of a disconcerting fact. No doubt the excitement of his affair with Daisy, whatever that had been, and the argument with Ernest, had tended to sober him. For the probability was that he had been somewhat under the i
nfluence of liquor. The Iowan’s last thrust in particular silenced him. Sight of Hyslip’s face made his accuser long to pound it into a bloody pulp. But for his insatiable passion to tell the truth to this conceited cowboy, he would have leaped at him long ago.

  “You’re a liar!” ejaculated Hyslip, in gathering fury.

  “How’d I know if Anne hadn’t told me?” queried Ernest.

  “Prove thet–you–you–” burst out Hyslip, in jealous shame and rage. It was plain to see that Selby had hit upon the cowboy’s . . . sorest spot–his vanity.

  Ernest now was determined to sting this pompous cowboy–to abase him in his own sight!

  “All thet’s nothin’,” returned Hyslip when Selby had completed his dressing-down. “Whadda I care for your mouthin’?. . . Prove thet aboot Anne Hepford–or I’ll choke it out of you.”

  “Aha! That sticks in your craw, eh? Well, what do you say to this?” Ernest leaned toward the livid-lipped cowboy. “It was I who gave you the black eye for trying to force your vile love-making on Daisy once before–that night at the dance. It was I. And I told Anne.. . . And she was so tickled she . . . well, I wish you could have heard her laugh. . . .”

  Hyslip leaped up as if he had been spurred.

  “So thet was what she meant this mawnin’!” he ejaculated, in utter amazement and chagrin. Then rage followed, riotous and ungovernable. “Blast you, Howard! An’ it was you hit me?. . . An’ it’s you she–”

  He choked and the brown hand he extended shook in the excess of his agitation.

  “You bet it was I,” snapped Ernest. “And if I don’t–Nebraskie will kill you!”

  “Talkin’ of killin’, huh?” rasped Hyslip.

  Absence of a gun belt and holster had deceived Ernest. Quick as lightning he leaped to pinion Hyslip s arm to his side.

  “Daisy, grab his gun!” yelled Ernest hoarsely.

  Daisy turned, her face white, her hands flying. She tore at Hyslip’s right hand that clutched the gun handle.

  “You damn little cat! I’ll fix you fer this,” raged Hyslip, straining to free himself.

  “Bite him, Dais–bite him!” cried Ernest, twisting Hyslip’s arm with all his strength. The cowboy could not break that binding hold on his right arm, but he began to kick Ernest with his left foot. Daisy was dragged to her knees. Then suddenly Hyslip let out a strangled yell. “Agghh!”

  Daisy fell away from him then. But she had the gun.

  “Run with it, Dais. Run!” ordered Ernest.

  But Daisy was not of the running kind. She flung the gun far from her. Ernest saw it turn over and over in the air, gleaming blue in the sunlight, and disappear over the cliff. Releasing Hyslip he leaped up. The cowboy, his face working malignantly, was holding out a bloody hand.

  “Dais Brooks, I’ll treat you low-down proper next time,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Dude, therell never be any next time,” sang out Ernest, and he swung with every ounce of strength and fury in him. He had punched a sandbag for years and he had hit many a fellow, in boxing as well as in earnest. He could hit when he wanted to and where he wanted to. And this blow landed on Hyslip’s still discolored eye. The cowboy went hurtling over the mossy stones, to alight on his back and slide half his length. He bawled like a half-grown bull. Scrambling to his knees he bounded from them erect and flaming. Already an egg-shaped lump was appearing over his eye.

  “Ho! Look at your pretty eye, Dude! . . . Now for the other,’ shouted Ernest, with a wild laugh. This encounter seemed to have unleashed a devil in him.

  But Hyslip parried that blow, and then thev went at it hammer and tongs. Selby ordinarily would have ducked and blocked the cowboy’s blows. Such was his anger, however, that he seemed not to want to avoid them. He took them gladly. All he desired was to beat his adversary as speedily as possible. This precluded science, the advantage he had over the cowboy, but it made for a stand-up, battering fight.

  It was Hyslip who gave ground first. Twice he went sprawling headlong, to jump up bloody-faced but still savage. A third time, under a sledgehammer blow, he crashed against a pine tree, which saved him from falling. This blow, Ernest could see, was probably the crucial one. His confidence had been somewhat weakened by Hyslip’s show of strength. But now he felt sure he could best the cowboy and soon have him at his mercy.

  Hyslip ceased fighting in a manly give-and-take fashion. He crouched and rushed in, endeavoring to close with Ernest, who banged at his face with right and left. Hyslip plunged to get the Iowan’s legs and tried desperately to trip him. But Ernest kicked free and eluded the bearish onslaught.

  It came again. Ernest, whose blows now were losing force, could not stem the charge. He backed away, and thus they fought all over the glade, under the pines, down to the edge of the knoll where it sloped down to the spring-hole.

  Suddenly Hyslip reached down to snatch up a dead tree branch. He swung it with all his strength. It struck Selby square on the head and cracked to bits. By good fortune it was a piece of rotten wood. If it had been solid, that blow would have meant the end of his opponent. One thing it served, however, and that was to revive Ernest. Instead of backing from Hyslip’s onslaught he met it with a rain of blows under which the cowboy had to give way. He staggered for a moment and then fell heavily.

  “All–right. . . . Fight–your way!” panted Ernest, and he pounced upon the falling Hyslip, flattening him to the earth.

  Daisy’s high-pitched voice rose almost in a scream: “Beat him–smash him–kill him!”

  That wild appeal from gentle Daisy Brooks goaded Ernest into a last infuriated attack. The struggle now degenerated into a threshing, rolling, wrestling, tearing bearfight. It ended with the collapse of Hyslip on the edge of the brushy slope, where the Iowan, on his knees, smashed his fist again and again into the raw red visage before his eyes until Hyslip’s body went limp and slid down over the steep bank. He crashed through the brush and landed on the rocks below with a thud.

  Ernest slid forward, too, from his knees, and lay spent and half blinded by blood and sweat. Daisy knelt by him, crying out in her fright, trying to raise him, tugging at his shoulders. Presently Ernest sat up.

  “I’m licked–Dais,” he said in a sobbing whisper.

  “No, no! It’s Dude who’s licked.... Oh, Ernest, but you gave it to him. I believe he’s daid, he lit so hard.... And I shore hope he is.

  “So–do I. Where is he? Let’s–go see.”

  The Iowan staggered to his feet and started down the slope over which Hyslip’s body had hurtled through the brush, but Daisy led him around to a path, and then down to the spring hole. Hyslip lay with his boots in the water and his handsome head on the rocks. His curly blond mane, stained by blood, stuck damply to his head. He was breathing heavily.

  “He’s not dead, Daisy. And I guess I’m glad,” said Ernest with relief, and bending over Hyslip he lifted each arm and each leg to see if any bones were broken. Evidently the cowboy was only stunned.

  “Gosh, I must be a pretty mess myself!” ejaculated Selby. His vest had been ripped almost in half and his shirt was bloodied and torn to ribbons. Ernest threw them into the bushes. His hands were bruised and bleeding.

  “Dais, I can’t see my face,” he said ruefully, “but I’ll bet it’s a sight.”

  “Oh, Ernest–it is!” she replied, tears streaming down her cheeks. “But you saved your eyes. . . . That cut on your lip–let me take care of it! Oh, you’ve got as many cuts as lumps.”

  She wet her handkerchief in the brook and washed his face. Ernest noted grimly that the handkerchief came away red. He gave Daisy his scarf, and allowed her gently to bathe and wipe his face.

  “That’ll do, Dais. Thanks. Now let’s rustle out of this,” he said presently, and took the girl’s arm and started to lead her away. They had scarcely taken a step when Ernest espied Hyslip’s gun lying on the bank. It had rolled almost into the water. Selby picked it up and stuck it in his pocket.

  “He would have shot
you,” whispered Daisy.

  “Reckon he would. . . . Let him lie where he is. I’ll chase his horse home. And he can walk back–if he’s able. You bar yourself in the house–and never let this hombre come near you again. You’d better take Hyslip’s gun. Can you use it?”

  “Yes, Ernest,” she said, trying to keep pace with his rapid steps, “but I won’t need it.”

  “Don’t tell your dad about this,” he said.

  “I won’t, Ernest.”

  They had gotten halfway to the house when Ernest remembered the box of candy. Asking Daisy to wait, he hurried to fetch it. As he reached the place where he had dropped the box, he had a chance to see how the little sylvan glade had been plowed up by the recent struggle. The sound of groaning came from the brookside below. Then he picked up Nebraskie’s gift and returned to Daisy’s side.

  “Here’s the candy Nebraskie had me buy for you”

  She took the package and murmured her thanks.

  After a deep look into her eyes the Iowan said: “Dais, whatever happened between you and Hyslip up there–is our secret. Let’s keep it.”

  “No, Ernest. I shall tell Nebraskie,” she replied, without the slightest hesitation.

  “No–don’t. He’ll kill Hyslip,” he pleaded.

  “I cain’t let that fear stop me. I must tell him. It wouldn’t be fair. . . . Shore he’ll never forgive me again. But that’s no matter. . . . You must try to prevent his killing Hyslip.”

  “I’ll try, Dais. But Nebraskie is a stubborn devil, when he’s mad. Let’s not risk it. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Let’s keep the whole thing secret.”

  “But Ernest dear, you don’t seem to see it’s a question aboot my honor,” she remonstrated gently. She was inflexible.

  Selby felt a lump in his throat. He had a protective and strong desire to take her in his arms. This girl might need protection, but not pity.

  “Whatever you decide, count me on your side,” he told her with feeling. “I’ve got to rustle now. Reckon you needn’t have any more fear of Hyslip. Not soon, anyway. But keep locked in till your father comes to. . . . I’ll take that bottle of whiskey. It’s evidence we might need.”