by Zane Grey
Selby hurried into the living room to secure the bottle and did so without a glance at Brooks.
“Tell Nebraskie not to fail to come up heah tonight,” said Daisy, almost entreatingly. “If I had to wait long before telling him–I–I might lose my nerve.”
“I’ll send him, Dais. You won’t have to wait long. It’s getting late,” returned Ernest hurriedly. “Keep a stiff lip, now. Good-by till I see you again. That won’t be long.”
The Iowan broke from her and almost ran out to the lane, slowing up only when he jolted the gun out of his pocket. With this and the bottle of whiskey in his hands he strode rapidly on to the wagon, his mind gradually working out of its whirl. From the wagon seat he glanced back. Daisy had gone in. The door of the house was shut.
12
NEVER had that five miles from Brooks’ farm to Hepford’s house seemed so long to Ernest. The horses were tired, and he did not urge them because he wanted to get in late. So he timed his arrival at dusk, when the cowboys would be at supper.
As luck would have it when he drove past the corrals no one was in sight. Jumping down he quickly deposited his bedroll and Anne’s bundles on the grass, and was hurrying to the bunkhouse, with his coat concealing the gun and bottle and the box of chocolates, when Siebert and Nebraskie came out of the messroom and espied him.
“Hey, you regular ole bull-whacker,” called Nebraskie, gladly. “You shore come ahummin’.”
“Quick trip, Ioway. I’m pleased,” added Siebert from behind Nebraskie, who had straddled the intervening distance.
Ernest waited for them, gazing beyond to see if any one else had come out. Nebraskie reached him, hand outstretched, then suddenly jerked up.
“Fer the luv of luvin’!” he ejaculated.
“Come inside. You, too, Hawk.”
“What the hell?” queried the foreman.
They followed him into the room, where there was still light enough, at least near the window, for them to take quick note of his appearance.
“Pard!” exclaimed Nebraskie sharply.
“Ioway, you’ve been fightin’,” put in Siebert, in the same tone.
The Iowan laughed. This was not so bad. He had not anticipated any thrill in meeting them. But there was something warm and friendly and stirring in their eyes and voices.
“My Gawd, man, you’re all bunged up,” went on Nebraskie. Before replying Selby took a glance into the little shaving mirror. One was sufficient. Then he laid all except the gun on the table.
“Hyslip’s gun! I know thet bone handle,” spoke up Siebert.
“Shore thet’s the Dude’s. . . . Ernie, I hope to die if you ain’t ended your tenderfoot days heah on this range.”
Ernest handed the gun to Siebert.
“Hyslip tried to draw on me,” he began, striving to keep his breath. “I–I got it away from him–and then we fought.”
“You don’t say? Wal, doggone me!” returned the foreman, beaming.
“What fer?” demanded Nebraskie joyfully, as he pounded the Iowan’s back.
“Ouch. Let go. I’m all sore. . . . Listen now, I got off at Brooks’ lane to take your box of candy up to Daisy. I found the house open. Brooks lay drunk on the floor. Two empty bottles and this one–half full–stood on the table. Daisy was nowhere to be seen. But I forgot to tell you I’d seen Hyslip’s pinto tied among the trees. . . . He ought to be here now. I chased him home. . . . Well, I surprised Hyslip with Daisy. She looked pretty upset. I took her to task for being up there alone with him. She told me–well, Nebraskie, what she’ll tell you when you go up there tonight. So I cussed him, taunted him. Finally, in our wrangle, I admitted I had given him that black eye at the dance. He was plenty mad. Then I–I made a slight allusion to Anne Hepford–how that little punch of mine had tickled her.”
“Pard, you shore was courtin’ death,” burst out Nebraskie, smacking his fist. “If you didn’t finish that snake, then I shore as hell will!”
“Ioway, you’re comin’ plumb through,” avowed the cool foreman. “But don’t keep us waitin’!”
“He clapped his hand on his gun,” continued Selby. “I grabbed him round the body, pinning his arm. Then I yelled for Daisy to get his gun. We had hell for a little. Hyslip was killing mad. Daisy bit his hand to make him let go of the gun. Oh, she’s one game kid all right! She got it and then I soaked Mr. Hyslip right on that bum eye. . . . After that we had it out–no holds barred. I was too angry and too overconfident. He walloped me pretty bad, before I knocked him off the bank down on those rocks where the spring comes out. Thought I’d killed him at first. But we went down and found he was alive, all right. He’s lying right there yet.”
“An’ Dais?” queried Nebraskie hoarsely.
“She braced up. We went back to the house. I told her to lock herself in. And she asked me to send you up pronto. She wants to tell you in her own words what happened.”
“I’ll go soon as I can fork a hoss,” said Nebraskie icily.
“Wait,” called Ernest, as Nebraskie lunged for the door. “The thing for you to do right now is to think of Daisy.”
“I am, pard, honest to Gawd,” replied Nebraskie huskily.
“No gun slingin’, Nebraskie,” added Siebert, “unless Hyslip should corner you. It’d go hard with you if you killed him. No one to prove it was an even break. An’ Hepford makin’ a favorite of Dude. It would ruin the gurl’s good name, to say nothin’ aboot breakin’ her heart. Use your head, cowboy.”
“I will, Hawk. An’ I promise you, Ioway.” Then he dashed out the door into the gathering darkness.
“Gosh, how white he was!” exclaimed Ernest, aghast. “Hawk, will he keep his word?”
“Reckon so, onless it’s not reasonable to. Depends on Hyslip. An’ from what you say he’s in no shape to meet anybody, much less Nebraskie.”
“Not tonight, that’s sure. But I’m worried, Hawk.”
“Wal, so’m I. It’s shore a bad mess.”
“Please get some of the boys to unload the grain and look after the horses,” said Ernest, remembering the important end of his trip. “I must hurry up with Anne’s mail and bundles.”
“Better let me take them. She cain’t miss seein’ how you’re bunged up.”
“Let you? Like hob I will,” laughed Ernest, and stripping a blanket off Nebraskie’s bed he hurried outside.
It was dark enough to prevent him from being seen by the cowboys, if any happened along, and he did not care if Anne discovered his disfigurement. Spreading the blanket he piled the numerous bundles on it, laughing under his breath as he came to the five-pound box of chocolates. He bet she would eat them, even if she did hate him. Then twisting the ends of the blanket he lifted the burden over his shoulder and strode off, relieved that he had encountered no one. With Anne’s father and Hyslip both absent there was very little chance of his meeting anyone at the house. The burden was heavy and he was tired. Nevertheless, he did not rest until he reached the porch steps. The big house was dark, except for a lighted lamp in the room to the right of the hallway. The wide door stood open.
“Hoo-oo,” called Ernest, and waited. Presently he heard light footsteps.
“Who’s there?”
It was Anne’s voice and it affected Ernest so powerfully that he hesitated, thinking the while what a silly ass he was.
“Nobody but your pack-horse and mail-carrier,” replied Ernest.
“What!” Anne’s white form emerged from the dark. She came out on the porch. “Mail-carrier?. . . It cain’t be Iowa?”
“Yes, all that’s left of him,” he replied ruefully, and lifting his improvised sack he carried it up to deposit it on the porch.
“You blessed cowboy! To get back two days ahaid! Oh, I’m so glad I–I could almost hug you!”
Ernest could hardly believe his ears. Only a few days before she had told him she hated him. And now–well, he had not expected any such reception as this.
“Don’t do it. I might break in two.”
&n
bsp; “Your voice is weak–you had a hard trip? I suppose you camped along the road so you could make long drives, just to please me?”
“Yes, I made pretty fast time–that is, till this afternoon, when I got delayed.”
“Thank you, Ernest,” she said, and her tone and use of his first name made his heart pound. He was of the opinion that he had better be hurrying away while everything was peaceful. Surely she had forgotten she hated him!
“Can I carry these inside for you?”
“Yes, do please.”
She accompanied him into the hall, where some of the bundles spilled out of the blanket. Whereupon Ernest let the rest down, and sliding the blanket out from under them he pitched it out upon the porch. Then picking up the box of candy, his rashly intended gift, from the floor, he quickly hid it behind his back.
“What’s that you’re hiding, Ernest?” she asked quickly, noticing his action. She stepped closer to him. In the half gloom of the hallway her green eyes looked black. Ernest had a sudden conviction that there was little to fear in those wide dark eyes.
“Oh, just something. What–what’ll you give me for it?” he asked audaciously. What had worked with Daisy might have a like effect upon Anne Hepford.
“Give you for it? Why, isn’t it mine?”
“Hardly. Not yet. Not until I give it to you–if I do.”
“Ernest Howard!–Just heah him–What is it? Please.”
“Box of chocolates. . . . Five pounds. . . . Fresh from Kansas City,” announced Ernest teasingly.
“For me?” she clapped her hands.
“No one else–providing–”
“You dear,” she interrupted excitedly. “What would you like me to give you for it?”
He had been laughing, but now he stood silent as her face loomed close–closer–her eyes big, haunting. Then with a little laugh she put cool lips to his cheek, tantalizingly close to his lips.
She started back, her hand going to her lips.
“Ernest, what’s the matter with your face?” she queried breathlessly.
He could not find a quick answer. It was not the fact of her discovery that something appeared amiss, but the tone of her voice, the way she spoke that made him remain mute.
She stepped to the light which came from the room to the right of the hall, and looked at the hand that she had removed from her lips.
“Ah! Blood!–I knew it tasted funny. Sort of salty. Ernest, how’d you cut your face?”
“Well, I might have fallen off the wagon, only I didn’t,” rejoined Ernest, trying to be funny.
“Cowboy, have you been drinking?”
“No, I haven’t,” answered Ernest, quick to catch the note of unconscious regret in her question.
She peered closer. “You look different to me. . . . Come heah.”
He could not avoid her grasp, and as she took no gentle hold of his skinned hands he winced perceptibly and jerked them free. That spurred her to resolute action. Seizing his arm she dragged him into the lighted room. There one look at his face made her cry out.
“Oh, mercy! . . . Why, Iowa–your face is all bruised and swollen. . . . And you’re bleeding.”
“Ahuh,” replied Ernest, glad that his sight was not impaired by disfigurement. This was the first time he had ever seen her in a simple and modest white dress. At the dance her gown had both dazzled and repelled him.
“You’ve had another fight,” she asserted, her eyes lighting up.
“Sure have,” he drawled.
“Dude Hyslip!”
“Yes.”
“Oh–Iowa!–you’re a perfect sight! Tomorrow you will shore be unrecognizable. . . . Let’s see your hands. Don’t act so touchy. . . . Turn them over. I want to see the back of them.”
His hands presented a sorry spectacle. They were skinned, swollen, and red as raw meat.
“Oh, Ernest, why did you let him lick you?” she exclaimed. Tears stood in her dark eyes. She did not realize that she was tenderly holding his hands within the palms of hers.
“I’m afraid he did,” replied Ernest, truthfully enough.
“Damn him! He’s bigger than you. Taller anyway.”
That moment was a desperately sweet one for Ernest. He could scarcely believe his eyes and ears. Footsteps in the back of the house brought him back to reality.
“Anne, please let’s go outside. I don’t mind you seeing me all bunged up, but I’d rather–”
“There’s no one heah to see you,” she interposed. “That’s only Maria. I wish you’d let me fix up those bleeding cuts. I reckon you’re too proud. You’ll feel easier.”
She led him out, her arm locked in his, and around the wide porch to the far corner, where in the dim shadow the big box hammock swung. She pushed him down into the seat amid the cushions and then quietly sat beside him.
“Now, tell me all aboot it,” she whispered.
“I’d rather not, Anne,” he said, looking off into the night.
“But you must. Shore you fought aboot me?”
“Well, your name precipitated the battle. We were jawing each other. I happened to remember how tickled you were when I told you I was the fellow who blacked his eye. So I threw that in his teeth.”
“Ernest, you foolish boy! It’s a wonder he didn’t kill you.”
“He tried. It’s easy to see he’s crazy in love with you. He went for his gun–”
Anne suddenly cried out in alarm, and then threw her arms round his neck. He sat perfectly still. Surprise and fear trembled in her voice; and if he were not in such an emotional turmoil, he would have found something sweet and moving in her actions.
“Oh, Ernest! I didn’t guess it was so–so serious,” she said, shuddering. “Hyslip has shot more than one man. He killed a cowboy in Winslow. That’s nothing out heah, but somehow–in connection with–with you it stops my heart.”
“It was worth the beating and skinning I got–if you–if you– you’re sorry.”
“Sorry! Shore, I’m sick aboot it and plain furious. I hate that Dude Hyslip. If Dad won’t fire him I–I’ll run him off the ranch myself.”
Ernest imagined now that he surely must be dreaming. He was making up these kind and loyal words in his own imagination. And the touch of her arm, round his neck and soft and cool on his fevered cheek–that must be the stuff dreams are made on. Still that cool arm appeared to press ever so little closer. Her head now was almost on his shoulder, and she was trying to see his face in the darkness.
“What happened–when he tried to throw his gun?” she asked in a tremulous whisper.
Ernest suddenly realized that he had been led into a quandary. He could not betray Daisy’s part in the adventure. Anne would find out eventually, still it should not come from him. On the other hand he no longer wanted to lie to Anne. She seemed to be transforming, developing in his estimation. He tried to think of her as he once had–as cruel and fickle and insincere. Suddenly he had to admit to himself that she really liked him–yes, that she was concerned about his welfare, that she was being gentle and sweet and unselfish. Yet in the back of his mind he was wondering how about tomorrow or next week–what would she be when the magic night was over?
“I–I caught him round the waist,” returned Ernest. “He didn’t get to use the gun. I leaped forward to bang him on that eye of his which was still kind of tender. My rush bowled him over. Then he got up and came for me low. . . . I didn’t care. I had smelled blood, I guess. Anyway, it was soon running like water from both of us. We fought all over the place–” Ernest broke off.
Anne was silent. Ernest felt her quivering. He had a sudden realization at that moment that she would let him take her in his arms if he wished. He longed to crush her to him. But his courage had oozed away. And so that sweet moment passed!
“I suppose you think it is terrible in a girl like me that I don’t think your fight with Hyslip disgusting,” she said presently. “And I suppose I oughtn’t gloat as I do. But Iowa, he–he–I must tell you and you must n
ever tell anybody–not even Nebraskie– he insulted me–oh, in such a low-down way. He never even dreamed that his–his cheap advances were an outrage. He thinks he can maul a girl into submission. Since that night–it was right heah in this hammock–I’ve never been alone with him. I was scared to death of him. My high, wide and handsome talk was just a bluff.”
“You should have told your father,” returned Ernest, sternly.
“Not me. Dad dotes on Dude. But if I could have convinced him of the truth–he’d have shot Dude. So I kept my mouth shut. No one else but you knows. And, Iowa–”
“Please stop calling me that,” interrupted Ernest, irritably. His nerves were on edge and he felt annoyed with himself for having let a glorious opportunity slip away–perhaps forever.
“Well, I can allow it,” he said, in an effort to be facetious, “in your case, Anne, only when you say–Iowa darling.”
She gave a little start, as if she had suddenly found herself on a precipitous descent.
“Oh, indeed. In that case I’ll have to call you Ernest,” she returned, in a tone that made him regret he had given her a warning that she was on the verge of committing her genuine feelings. He swore he would not make another such blunder. And he concluded it would be wise, now that he had broken the spell, to make his departure.
“Anne, I’m fagged out. I think I’d better go now. You have your mail–there must be a dozen letters–and all your packages to open. I’ll say good night.”
She stirred and made a movement as if to rise, but suddenly pressed her arm close around his shoulder again. “Ernest, it’s selfish of me to keep you even a moment longer. But I–I can’t bear to have you leave me. I’ve never been so happy as I’ve been here tonight. Please believe me! So there! The murder is out. . . . But I’ll let you go if you’ll promise to take me up to Agua d’Oro Spring tomorrow.”
“I–I’ll have work to do,” faltered Ernest weakly.
“You cain’t work with those terrible bruised hands,” she protested. “I’ll tell Siebert so. And I’ll doctor them for you and bandage them. Will you come?”
