by Zane Grey
“Your father has it in for me. I never knew exactly why.”
“He never liked you. He was suspicious of you at first. Swore you were no cowboy. Thought you might be snooping. Hyslip he always doted on. Wanted me to marry him! Fancy that–the skylarking dude! And of course Hyslip’s cronies will be daid set to catch you. They’d not wait for a sheriff, but lynch you, Ernest. Dad would stand by to see them do it, too.”
“Without proof that I–I killed Hyslip?” queried Ernest.
“Proof? They must have that. . . . When are you going to tell me what–how it happened?”
“Not until we are married and safe.”
“Maybe you’d better never tell me. . . . Say, we’ll soon be to Brooks’ lane. We want to watch careful heah.” She urged the team to a swifter gait, until Ernest saw that they were fairly flying along the road. The night was clear and cold; the stars shone white; the cool wind swept his heated face.
“I’ll bet it will be cold later,” he said.
“Shore will. There’s a heavy robe under the seat. Get it out You don’t have a coat. It’ll be mighty cold before morning, I reckon.”
Ernest drew it forth and spread it over their laps. “There’s a sack of grain under the seat.”
“Good. Do you know, it’s strange aboot this. Dad set off for Holbrook, intending to be gone several days and–” Anne broke off, and though Ernest did not know just what she was about to divulge he refrained from questioning her.
They were silent for a while. Ernest kept a sharp watch.
“We passed the lane then. Bars down. Somebody forgot. Brooks never leaves the bars down,” he remarked presently.
She slackened the rapid pace of the blacks and kept them to a trot. Ernest felt the need of gloves and coat, for the motion of the buckboard caused the robe to slide down continually. He found his thoughts recurring to the reported killing of Hyslip, growing far more concerned about Nebraskie’s welfare than his own. But he was satisfied that Nebraskie surely must have had justification for his act. When the truth was known Hyslip would not be mourned or even defended. Hepford must have some private reason for his championship of the dude cowboy and for implicating Ernest in his killing. Siebert had hinted of that very thing, openly in his retort to the rancher. Ernest put that out of his mind for the present. He had all he could do to play his part. He wanted to carry his deception up to the time of his actual marriage with Anne, and if possible, beyond that, clear to the hour when he would be able to confront Hepford and claim ownership of Red Rock Ranch.
That was going to be a thrilling moment when he revealed his true identity to Anne. He tried to picture her surprise when she learned that she had married a wealthy rancher instead of a poor fence-post hole digger. And perhaps after she recovered from the shock she would not regret too deeply that she was the wife of Ernest Howard Selby. How to avoid discovery when they were being married caused Ernest some concern. It would be difficult, unless he could hurry the ceremony and trust to his bride’s excitement to conceal the fact that her husband’s name was Selby instead of Howard.
From time to time Anne would turn to peer into his face. He could see her dark eyes and the shadowy smile on her pale face. “Don’t worry, Ernest. I got you into this and I’ll get you out.”
“I’m not worrying. I’m too happy to fret–and don’t care a darn what happens after.”
“After what?”
“After we’re married. Which will be tomorrow.”
She laughed. “So you’re more concerned aboot making me your wife than getting away from my dad’s outfit or the sheriff?”
“Reckon I am. If I can have you for my wife one single day I’ll cheerfully stand to be hanged.”
“Well, I won’t. I want you forever. . . . Lordy, Ernest, isn’t it wonderful that we love each other! If we only had known sooner!”
“I did. I told you. I begged you. Couldn’t you guess I was not the kind of man to trifle with?”
“I figured you absolutely wrong. So did everybody else, especially Hyslip.”
“You sure did. I’m a bad hombre,” replied Ernest coolly. “I’ll surprise you yet, too.”
“Don’t, please. This once is enough for me. I’m punished for all time.”
So they talked on, with frequent intervals of silence, and the miles slid past under the buckboard wheels. Presently they turned off the main road, and after that Anne showed great relief. She conserved the strength of the horses, and did not halt them for a rest until long after midnight. It was at the edge of a pine forest, where the road passed under great spreading branches. A brook babbled from somewhere in the darkness and the wind sighed in the tree tops.
“We’d better rest the team and build a fire to warm ourselves,” suggested Anne practically.
“Have you any matches?” asked Ernest.
“No. But shore you must have?”
“Nary a match.”
“Cain’t you build a fire without matches?”
“Anne, I’m no wizard.”
“Reckon I’ll even have to keep you warm, Mr. Tenderfoot.”
She drove off the road, into the black shadow of a great pine. Anne insisted that they put the two horse blankets over the horses, and use the rug themselves. So presently Ernest found himself, as one in a dream, under the robe with Anne, his head resting on the sack of grain, and his shoulder serving as a pillow for Anne. In fact she was in his arms, almost, and her hair brushed his face.
“This isn’t so bad–for runaways,” she said softly.
“I think you’d better pinch me to see if I’m awake.”
“You’d better sleep some.”
“Sleep!”
“Shore. I intend to. It’s no time to be sentimental and romantic, Ernest darling. We’ll have plenty of time for that after we get you out of the clutches of the lynching party.”
Ernest said no more, and lay there marveling, all too conscious of Anne’s warm presence. She made only one movement, and that was to take off her gloves. Her left hand nestled at Ernest’s neck and her fingers were like ice. A short time afterward, Selby knew from her deep breathing that she had fallen asleep. He saw the stars shining through the dark lacy foliage and he listened to the keening of the wind in the big pines overhead. He wondered what the next day would bring forth, though for his part he never wanted it to dawn. Then hours later it seemed to him that the dark star-studded canopy faded, and even the sweet proximity of Anne passed into oblivion.
18
WHEN Ernest awoke the sky was gray and cold. His movement disturbed Anne, who sat up looking wildly about her. But it took her, at most, only an instant to connect the present with the past. She threw back the rug, laughing gaily. “I was shore snug and warm. Roll out, cowboy. You don’t seem to be a very ambitious bridegroom.”
Ernest rolled out with all the alacrity that his cramped limbs would allow.
“Where’re my gloves? . . . Oh, dear, I lay on my hat. . . . Ernest, we must feed the horses and be on our way even though we’ll have to go breakfastless ourselves. There’s water heah, but I doubt if the horses will drink.”
Ernest set the bag of grain upright. “That was a darn sight harder pillow than you had,” he observed.
“Oh, my pillow was fine–that is, after its internal machinery calmed down. Ernest, at first your heart was beating like a trip hammer.”
“Humph! Why shouldn’t it? Never before did it serve as a pillow for such a beautiful and bewitching head.”
“Honest?”
“Yes, honest,” he added, shortly.
“Well, I’ve plenty reason to love you, and that’s one more. I knew it, though, without your telling me.”
“Who’s the sentimental one now? What’ll we feed the horses with?”
“Nose bags. They must be under the back seat.”
It was just daylight when they were finally ready to start. As Anne turned the buckboard back into the road she appeared to discover something on the ground.
“E
rnest, we didn’t make those tracks,” she observed.
Whereupon he discovered both wheel and hoof tracks in the sandy soil.
“Look pretty fresh to me,” he said.
“They shore were made yesterday. Now who the deuce could be ahaid of us? . . . Ernest, I don’t like that for a cent.”
“What do we care so long as they’re ahead.”
“It might be somebody who’ll spread the news.”
“That’s so. What’ll we do?”
“Risk it and go on.”
So they did, and the sky reddened in the east, the sun rose to make the frosty grass sparkle, and the beautiful woodland awoke with life of bird and squirrel. Ernest saw deer, and horses that he was sure must be wild. His enthusiasm did not communicate itself to Anne, who looked serious, and seemed to be shy now that it was broad daylight. She drove for a while, after which Ernest asked to take the reins. And as he was by no means a good driver he had his hands full with the spirited team. On good stretches of road, however, he did well enough. Once Anne remarked that she might make a Westerner out of him, after all. At length they came to a brook, where the horses drank. Ernest tumbled out and did likewise. But Anne averred she would prefei to remain famished until she could have a cup of coffee and some toast.
They climbed a long gradual slope over a wooded hill, and went on down into more open range country. Selby looked in vain for fences and ranches, but espied neither, and did not see even any signs of cattle until nearly noon. Then they began to descend into lower country., where the rocks and pines vanished, and the cedars of the desert began to manifest themselves. Here cattle dotted the open patches, and at length they came to the first ranch.
“I don’t know how far it is yet, but we ought to be coming to Snowflake soon,” said Anne anxiously. “I was over this road once years ago.”
Her anxiety communicated itself to Ernest, who showed his concern by urging the team forward. The blacks, however, still did not appear to tire.
“How many miles have we come?” he asked once.
“I reckon sixty miles, if not more. This time tomorrow we’ll be over the line.”
“Anne, we’ll be over the matrimonial line today, if I can find a preacher.”
She blushed scarlet. “You’re shore in a hurry to make me Mrs. Ernest Howard.”
“Hurry’s no name for it.”
“Are you afraid I’ll change my mind?”
“You’re a bewildering girl you’ll have to admit. I’ll take no more chances.”
“Ernest, have no fear. You’ll never lose me now,” she replied wistfully.
From the top of a hill they espied a pretty village down in a valley. Anne said that it was Snowflake. Its green confines covered considerable space, out of which white and gray houses showed, and a church spire, and a large brick edifice.
“Good! I see a church,” crowed Ernest, urging the team faster.
“But, darling, there–there is a jail heah, too,” faltered Anne.
“Who cares? We can have the preacher come in and marry us there, as well as anywhere.”
“You beat me all hollow,” she returned, puzzled by his careless gaiety, yet at the same time gratified.
So they drove on down into Snowflake, which to Ernest appeared to be a very pretty town, and by no means the little hamlet he had expected it to be.
They entered the town by a long main street, far down which straggled two rows of buildings. The outskirts, however, consisted of small cottages, set well back among trees and gardens. A boy, astride an old gray black-spotted horse, came by.
“Hey, sonny, is there a preacher in this town?” asked Ernest
“Yes, sir, a new one, jest come. Parson Peabody. He lives in thet there house there–where you see the buggy hitched–next the church.”
“Thanks, sonny. Here’s a dollar,” replied Ernest, gratefully, and he flipped the silver coin to the boy, who dexterously caught it.
“Gee! Much obliged, mister. I bet you’re gonna git married.”
Ernest was trying to prepare himself for the ordeal ahead. He occupied himself with driving the blacks, and did not look at Anne until they drew up before the house which the boy had pointed out to them. He reined in the team behind the buggy, and was about to step out when Anne clutched his arm.
“Look!” she whispered, in sudden agitation. Ernest looked down the street, naturally expecting to see a posse riding toward them. But the street was vacant and sleepy in the late afternoon sun. Indeed the whole town appeared to be taking a siesta.
“It’s Nebraskie and my cousin Dais Brooks,” cried Anne.
“Whatever does this mean?”
Ernest wheeled swiftly. Coming down the path from the house were three figures, two of whom were those of his friend and Daisy. Nebraskie was dressed in his best, and it took only another glance to tell that Daisy was also. Ernest sagged on the backboard seat and stared, utterly thunderstruck.
Then Nebraskie showed sudden excitement. He had discovered the presence of the buckboard and its occupants, and came running up to the gate. He looked paler than Ernest had ever seen him.
“Fer Gawd’s sake, Ernie, is it you?” he demanded.
“I think–it is, Nebraskie–but I’m not sure–of anything anymore,” replied Selby haltingly.
“An’ is thet Anne with you?”
“Yes, I guess so. It was,” replied the Iowan, turning to see that Anne was hiding behind him.
“Did you heah what happened–aboot me?”
“No. I’ve not heard anything,” replied Ernest, studying the cowboy’s stern visage.
“What’d you foller us fer, then?”
“Nebraskie, we didn’t follow you. We had not the remotest notion you were here,” rejoined Selby, in a voice that permitted no doubt.
“Pard, if I’m not loco I seen thet buckboard an’ team yestiddy as late as four o’clock. An’ heah they air in Snowflake.”
“That may be, Nebraskie. But it doesn’t prove you’re not loco.”
“Whatinhell–excuse me, Parson,” burst out Nebraskie, as Daisy and the third member of the trio joined him. “Ernie, what on earth are you heah fer?”
“For one thing–Anne and I want to get married,” replied Ernest loftily.
“Whoopee!” yelled the cowboy. “Thet’s what Dais an’ I come fer and we done it! We’re married!”
Ernest leaped out of the buckboard and strode to the gate. Daisy’s strained, pale face, telltale as always, grew rosy. “Congratulations, pard. I’m sure glad. . ., Daisy, I’m going to kiss you. I always wanted to, you know.” And Ernest did so quite heartily. “You’ve got the best fellow in the world. . . . Anne, come out of it. Here’s your own cousin, with my best friend– and they’re married.”
“I–I’m not blind,” faltered Anne, and she clambered unsteadily out of the buckboard. Her face was pearly white, and her big green eyes were wide with mingled astonishment and pleasure. “Dais, I’m happy for you. I wish you joy,” she said, and took the girl in her arms.
“Oh, Anne!” cried Daisy, in a strangled voice, and she clung to her cousin. Ernest’s keen senses gathered that there was more agitation here, on the part of both girls, than a mere marriage could account for.
“Hey, come heah, Anne,” broke in Nebraskie. “Ernie kissed Dais, an’ I’m shore gonna kiss you. Same as he, I always wanted to.” And he certainly made good use of his opportunity.
Still the tension did not relax. Ernest felt it, and guessed the reason, though he was sorely perplexed at Nebraskie’s advent here in Snowflake. But that could be cleared up in due time. The exigency of the moment called for quick wit and action.
“Parson, will you marry us?” asked Ernest, turning to the mildeyed, pleasant-faced little clergyman, who stood by, taking in the scene with amused interest.
“Surely, if the young lady is over eighteen,” was the reply. “This is my second day here in Snowflake. And this will be the second wedding ceremony. I consider it propitious.”
“You have a marriage certificate?” inquired Ernest hurriedly.
“Assuredly. Come right in,” replied the minister. “Your friends can be witnesses.”
“Anne, I’ll go in and–and fix it with the minister,” said Selby, and he did not try to conceal his excitement. His voice actually thickened and broke. “You come in when I call. . . . Nebraskie, pard, hang on to her. Don’t let her run.”
“Shore, I’ll hang on to her, Ioway,” replied the cowboy, and he put a long arm around Anne.
Ernest turned to look at the three smiling people at the gate. Sight of them there was too good to be true. Then he hurried the preacher into the house.
“You are a very impetuous young man,” observed the minister smilingly.
“Parson, if you knew the trouble and heartbreak it’s taken to win that girl!” burst out Ernest. “But hurry, give me a certificate to fill out. . . . Here’s twenty dollars. All I’ve got with me. . . . Ah! Thank you.”
Ernest grasped the paper held out to him, and seating himself at the desk began to fill it out. The minister bent over him. “It’s customary for me to do that, young man. But it’s all right.... Miss Anne Hepford, aged twenty. . . . And Ernest Howard Selby–aged twenty-four. Very well. Call the others in.”
Ernest went to the door. “Come on, Nebraskie. You and Dais fetch her in.”
Nebraskie and the two girls hurried into the front parlor of the parsonage. Ernest, despite his agitation, managed to meet them composedly. Anne was far from pale now. As her eyes met Ernest’s he felt a sweet warm rush of emotion.
“Have you a ring ready?” asked the parson, as he took up a Bible, which lay open on the table.
“No,” replied Ernest blankly. The blood fled back to his heart. Delay here would be fatal, not only to the marriage, but to the identity he wished to conceal.
Daisy came to the rescue. “Take mine, Ernest. . . . Nebraskie forgot to get one so we used this.”
“By gosh, pard, we’ve gotta buy us some rings when we get to Flaggerstown.”
