Under the Tonto Rim (1991)

by Grey, Zane

  If Edd Denmeade was not stupid and stubborn she believed that she could enlighten him. It might be interesting to teach him; yet, on the other hand, it might require more patience and kindliness than she possessed. Evidently he was the strongest factor among the young Denmeades, and perhaps among all these young people. Despite the unflattering hints which had fostered her first impression, she found that, after talking seriously with him, she had a better opinion of him than of any of the other young men she had met. In all fairness she was bound to admit this.

  All the rest of the day and evening Lucy found the thoughts Edd had roused running in her mind, not wholly unsatisfying. Somehow he roused her combativeness, yet, viewed just as one of the Denmeades, she warmed to the problem of helping him. Moreover, the success of her venture with this family no doubt hinged mostly upon converting the elder son to her support. Perhaps she could find an avenue open to her through his love of Mertie and devotion to the children.

  Next morning found Lucy more energetic and active mentally than she had been so far. She had rested; the problem she confronted had shifted to a matter of her own powers. Nevertheless, neither the children, nor helping Mrs. Denmeade, nor reading over some half-forgotten treatises relative to her work, interested her to the point of dismissing Edd Denmeade from mind. Lucy realised this, but refused to bother with any reflection upon it.

  She was in her room just before the noon hour when she heard Uncle Bill stamp up on the porch and drawl out: "Say, Lee, hyar comes Edd drivin' the pack-burros."

  Denmeade strode out to exclaim. "So soon! Wal, it do beat hell how that boy can rustle along with a pack-outfit."

  "Heavy load, too. Jennie looks like a camel," replied Uncle Bill. "Reckon I'll lend a hand on packin'."

  Lucy quite unnecessarily wanted to run out to see the burros, a desire that she stifled. She heard the tinkle of their bells and the patter of their little hoofs as they came up to the porch.

  "Wal, son, you must been a-rarin' to git home," drawled Denmeade.

  "Nope. I just eased them along," replied Edd. "But I packed before sunup."

  "Fetch all Miss Lucy's outfit?"

  "Some of it had to be ordered. Sewin' machine an' a lot of dry goods. It'll be on the stage next week, an' I'll pack it then. Reckon I had about all I could pack to-day, anyhow."

  "Say, Edd," called Allie's lusty voice from the kitchen, "who'd you go an' storm for the dance?"

  "Reckon I haven't asked nobody yet," replied Edd laconically.

  "You goin' to stay home?" rejoined Allie, her large frame appearing in the kitchen doorway. Her round face expressed surprise and regret.

  "Never stayed home yet, Allie, did I?"

  "No. But Edd, you mustn't go to any more dances alone," said his sister solicitously. "It makes the boys mad, an' you've had fights enough."

  "Wal, you didn't notice I got licked bad, did you?" he drawled.

  Allie went back into the kitchen, where she talked volubly in the same strain to her mother.

  "Edd, reckon we'd better carry this stuff in where Miss Lucy can keep the kids out of it, huh?" queried Denmeade.

  "I shore say so. It cost a lot of money. I hope to goodness she makes out with it."

  Lucy heard his quick step on the porch, then saw him, burdened with bundles and boxes, approaching her door. She rose to meet him.

  "Howdy! I got back pronto," he said. "Pa thinks you'd better have this stuff under your eye. Where'll we stack it? Reckon it'll all make a pile."

  "Just set light things on the beds, heavy ones on the floor. I'll look after them," replied Lucy. "Indeed you made splendid time. I'm very grateful. Now I shall be busy."

  Some time during the afternoon, when the curious members of the household had satisfied themselves with an exhaustive scrutiny of the many articles Lucy had in her room, and had gone about their work and play, Edd Denmeade presented himself at the door.

  "Reckon I'd like to ask you something," he said, rather breathlessly and low.

  "Come in," replied Lucy, looking up from where she knelt among a disarray of articles she had bought.

  "Will you go to the dance with me?" he asked.

  Lucy hesitated. His shyness and anxiety manifestly clashed. But tremendous as must have been this issue for him, he had come out frankly with it.

  "Oh, I'm sorry! Thank you, Edd, but I must decline," she replied. "You see what a mess I'm in here with all this stuff. I must straighten it out. To-morrow work begins."

  He eyed her with something of a change in his expression or feeling, she could not tell what. "Reckon I savvied you'd say no. But I'm askin' if you mean that no for good. There's a dance every week, an' you can't help bein' asked. I'm givin' you a hunch. If any schoolmarm stayed away from dances, folks up here would believe she thought she was too good for us."

  "Thank you. I understand," replied Lucy, impressed by his sincerity. "Most assuredly I don't think I'm too good to go to a dance here, and enjoy myself, too."

  "Maybe, then--it's just me you reckon you'd not like to go with," he returned, with just a tinge of bitterness.

  "Not at all," Lucy hastened to reply. "I'd go with you the same as with anyone. Why not?"

  "Reckon I don't know any reason. But Sadie Purdue was pretty shore she did...You wouldn't really be ashamed of me, then?"

  "Of course not," replied Lucy, at her wits' end to meet this situation. "I heard you spoken of very highly by Mrs. Lynn at Cedar Ridge. And I can see how your parents regard you. At my home in Felix it was not the custom for a girl to go to a dance upon such slight acquaintance as ours. But I do not expect city customs up here in the woods."

  "Reckon I like the way you talk," he said, his face lighting. "Shore it doesn't rile me all up. But that's no matter now...Won't you please go with me?"

  "No," answered Lucy, decidedly, a little nettled at his persistence, when she had been kind enough to explain.

  "Shore I didn't ask any girl before you," he appealed plaintively.

  "That doesn't make any difference."

  "But it means an awful lot to me," he went on doggedly.

  It would never do to change her mind after refusing him, so there seemed nothing left but to shake her head smilingly and say she was sorry. Then without a word he strode out and clanked off the porch. Lucy went on with the work at hand, becoming so interested that she forgot about him. Sometime later he again presented himself at her door. He was clean shaven; he had brushed his hair while wet, plastering it smooth and glossy to his fine-shaped head; he wore a light-coloured flannel shirt and a red tie; and new blue-jean trousers. Lucy could not help seeing what a great improvement this made in his appearance.

  "Reckon you haven't thought it over?" he queried hopefully.

  "What?" returned Lucy.

  "About goin' to the dance?"

  "I've been very busy with all this stuff, and haven't had time to think of anything else."

  "Shore I never wanted any girl to go with me like I do you," he said. "Most because Sadie made fun of the idea."

  This did not appear particularly flattering to Lucy. She wondered if the young man had really been in love with that smug-faced girl.

  "Edd, it's not very nice of you to want me just to revenge yourself on Sadie," rejoined Lucy severely.

  "Reckon it's not all that," he replied hurriedly. "Sadie an' Sam an' most of them rake me over. It's got to be a sore point with me. An' here you bob up, the prettiest and stylishest girl who ever came to Cedar Ridge. Think what a beat I'd have on them if I could take you. An' shore that's not sayin' a word about my own feelin's."

  "Well, Edd, I must say you've made amends for your other speech," said Lucy graciously. "All the same, I said no and I meant no."

  "Miss Lucy, I swear I'd never asked you again if you'd said that for good. But you said as much as you'd go some time. Shore if you're ever goin' to our dances why not this one, an' let me be the first to take you?"

  He was earnest; he was pathetic; he was somehow most difficult to resist
. Lucy felt that she had not been desired in this way before. To take her would be the great event in his life. For a moment she laboured with vacillation. Then she reflected that if she yielded here it would surely lead to other obligations and very likely to sentiment. Thereupon she hardened her heart, and this time gave him a less kindly refusal. Edd dropped his head and went away.

  Lucy spent another hour unpacking and arranging the numerous working materials that had been brought from Cedar Ridge. She heard Mrs. Denmeade and Allie preparing an early supper, so they could ride off to the dance before sunset. Lucy had finished her task for the afternoon and was waiting to be called to supper when again Edd appeared at the door.

  "Will you go to the dance with me?" he asked, precisely as he had the first time. Yet there seemed some subtle change in both tone and look.

  "Well, indeed you are persevering, if not some other things," she replied, really annoyed. "Can't you understand plain English?...I said no!"

  "Shore I heard you the first time," he retorted. "But I reckoned, seein' it's so little for you to do, an' means so much to me, maybe you'd--"

  "Why does it mean so much to you?" she interrupted.

  "'Cause if I can take you I'll show them this once, an' then I'll never go again," he replied.

  It cost Lucy effort to turn away from his appealing face and again deny him, which she did curtly. He disappeared. Then Mrs. Denmeade called her to supper. Edd did not show himself during the meal.

  "Edd's all het up over this dance," observed Mrs. Denmeade. "It's on account of Sadie's sharp tongue Edd doesn't care a rap for her now an' never did care much, if my reckonin' is right. But she's mean."

  "Laws! I hope Edd doesn't fetch that Sally Sprall," interposed Allie. "He said he was dog-goned minded to do it."

  "That hussy!" ejaculated Mrs. Denmeade. "Edd wouldn't take her."

  "Ma, he's awful set on havin' a girl this dance," responded Allie.

  "I'll bet some day Edd gets a better girl than Sadie Purdue or any of her clan," declared the mother.

  A little while later Lucy watched Mrs. Denmeade and Allie, with the children and Uncle Bill, ride off down the lane to disappear in the woods. Edd had not returned. Lucy concluded he had ridden off as had his brothers and their father. She really regretted that she had been obdurate. Coming to think about it, she did not like the idea of being alone in the cabin all night. Still, she could bar herself in and feel perfectly safe.

  She walked on the porch, listening to the murmur of the stream and the barking of the squirrels. Then she watched the sun set in golden glory over the yellow-and-black cape of wall that jutted out toward the west. The day had been pleasantly warm and was now growing cool. She drew a deep breath of the pine-laden air. This wild country was drawing her. A sense of gladness filled her at the thought that she could stay here indefinitely.

  Her reflections were interrupted by the crack of iron-shod hoof on rock. Lucy gave a start. She did not want to be caught there alone. Peering through the foliage, she espied Edd striding up the lane, leading two saddled horses. She was immensely relieved, almost glad at sight of him, and then began to wonder what this meant.

  "If he's not going to ask me again!" she soliloquised, and the paradox of her feeling on the moment was that she was both pleased and irritated at his persistence. "The nerve of him!"

  Edd led the two horses into the yard and up to the porch. His stride was that of a man who would not easily be turned back. In spite of her control, Lucy felt a thrill.

  "Reckon you thought I'd gone?" he queried as he faced her.

  "No; I didn't think about you at all," returned Lucy, which speech was not literally true.

  "Wal, you're goin' to the dance," he drawled, cool and easy, with a note in his voice she had never heard. "Oh--indeed! I am?" she exclaimed tartly.

  "You shore are."

  "I am not," flashed Lucy.

  With a lunge he reached out his long arms and, wrapping them round her, he lifted her off the porch as easily as if she had been an empty sack. Lucy was so astounded that for an instant she could not move hand or foot. A knot seemed to form in her breast. She began to shake. Then, awakening to this outrage, she began to struggle.

  "How dare you? Let me down I Release me!" she cried.

  "Nope. You're goin' to the dance," he said, in the same drawling tone with its peculiar inflection.

  "You--you ruffian!" burst out Lucy, suddenly beside herself with rage. Frantically she struggled to free herself. This fierce energy only augmented her emotions. She tore at him, wrestled and writhed, and then in desperation fraught with sudden fear she began to beat him with her fists. At that he changed his hold on her until she seemed strung in iron bands. She could not move. It was a terrible moment, in which her head reeled. What did he mean to do with her?

  "Reckon I'll have to hold you till you quit fightin'," he said. "Shore it'd never do to put you up on Baldy now. He's a gentle hoss, but if you kicked around on him I reckon he might hurt you."

  "Let--me--go!" gasped Lucy hoarsely. "Are--you crazy?"

  "Nope. Not even riled. But shore my patience is wearin' out."

  "Patience! Why, you lout--you brute--you wild-bee hunter!" raved Lucy, and again she attempted to break his hold. How utterly powerless she was! He had the strength of a giant. A sudden panic assailed her fury.

  "My God! You don't mean--to hurt me--harm me?" she panted.

  "You dog-gone fool!" he ejaculated, as if utterly astounded.

  "Oh!...Then what--do you mean?"

  "I mean nothin' 'cept you're goin' to that dance," he declared ruthlessly. "An' you're goin' if I have to hawg-tie you. Savvy?"

  Whereupon he lifted her and set her in the saddle of one of the horses, and threw her left foot over so that she was astride.

  "No kickin' now! Baldy is watchin' out of the corner of his eye," said this wild-bee hunter.

  The indignity of her position, astride a horse with her dress caught above her knees, was the last Lucy could endure.

  "Please let--me down," she whispered. "I'll--go--with you."

  "Wal, I'm shore glad you're goin' to show sense," he drawled, and with action markedly in contrast to his former ones he helped her dismount.

  Lucy staggered back against the porch, so weak she could hardly stand. She stared at this young backwoodsman, whose bronzed face had paled slightly.

  He had bruised her arms and terrified her. Overcome by her sensations, she burst into tears.

  "Aw, don't cry!" Edd expostulated. "I'm sorry I had to force you...An' you don't want to go to a dance with red eyes an' nose."

  If Lucy had not been so utterly shocked she could have laughed at his solicitude. Hopeless indeed was this backwoodsman. She strove to regain control over her feelings, and presently moved her hands from her face.

  "Is there any place down there--to change--where a girl can dress?" she asked huskily. "I can't ride horseback in this."

  "Shore is," he said gaily.

  "Very well," returned Lucy. "I'll get a dress--and go with you."

  She went to her room and, opening the closet, she selected the prettiest of the several dresses she had brought. This, with slippers, comb, and brush and mirror, she packed in a small grip. She seemed stunned, locked in a kind of maze. Kidnapped! Forced by a wild-bee hunter to go to a backwoods dance! Of all adventures possible to her, this one seemed the most incredible! Yet had she not been selfish, heartless? What right had she to come among such crude people and attempt to help them? This outrage would end her ambition.

  Then hurriedly slipping into her riding clothes, Lucy took the bag and returned to the porch.

  "Wal, now that's fine," said Edd, as he reached for the grip. He helped her mount and shortened the stirrups without speaking. Then he put a big hand on the pommel of her saddle and looked up at her.

  "Shore now, if it'd been Sadie or any girl I know, she'd have gone in an' barred the door," he said. "I just been thinkin' that over. Shore I didn't think you'd lie."


  Lucy endeavoured to avert her gaze. Her horror had not faded. But again the simplicity of this young man struck her.

  "Do you want to back out now an' stay home?" he went on.

  "You are making me go by force," she returned. "You said you'd hawg-tie me, didn't you?"

  "Wal, reckon I did," he replied. "But I was riled an' turrible set on takin' you...Your havin' a chance to lock yourself in! Now you didn't do it an' I savvied you wouldn't."

  Lucy made no reply. What was going on in the mind of this half savage being? He fascinated while he repelled her. It would have been false to herself had she denied the fact that she felt him struggling with his instincts, unconsciously fighting himself, reaching out blindly. He was a living proof of the evolution of man toward higher things.

  "Wal, reckon I'll let you off," he declared at length.

  "Are you afraid I'll tell what a brute you were?" she flashed sarcastically.

  His lean face turned a dark red and his eyes grew piercing.

  "Hell, no!" he ejaculated. "Shore I don't care what you tell. But I'd hate to have you think same as Sadie an' those girls."

  "It doesn't matter what I think," she replied. "You'd never understand."

  "Wal, I would, if you thought like them."

  "Is it possible you could expect me to think anything but hard of you--after the way you treated me?" she demanded, with returning spirit.

  "Hard? Reckon I don't mind that," he returned ponderingly. "Anyway, I'll let you off, just because you wasn't tricky."

  "No, you won't let me off," asserted Lucy. "I'm going to this dance...and you'll take the consequences!"

  Chapter VI

  At the corral gate Edd Denmeade swung his long length off his horse and held the gate open for Lucy to ride through.

  "Wal, want to go fast or slow?" he asked as he mounted again.

  "Prisoners have no choice," retorted Lucy.

  Evidently that remark effectually nipped in the bud any further desire for conversation. His grey eyes seemed to be piercing her, untroubled yet questioning. He put his horse to a trot. Lucy's mount, without urging, fell in behind. His easy gait proved to be most agreeable to her. He was a pacer, and Lucy recognised at once that he was the kind of a horse it was a great pleasure to ride. He appeared to be eager, spirited, yet required no constant watching and holding.