The Water Hole

by Zane Grey

  “Robbed! Oh, not quite that, I’m sure,” replied Winters, laughing. “No doubt Heftral’s a desperate character, but I can’t believe he’d steal.”

  “We were held up and robbed by Black Dick and his partner,” Chauncey continued hotly.

  “All my diamonds…and money…gone!” wailed Mrs. Sarland.

  “Indeed. That’s too bad. It’s something of a shock,” returned Winters solicitously. “But I’ll make your losses good. You see, I didn’t calculate on a real desperado.” Here he laughed. “It’s all a little joke of mine. I wanted Cherry to have a scare. So I persuaded Heftral to run off with her. My plan was to send the cowboys the very same day. But they didn’t get back, and, when they did, the washes were flooded by the storm.”

  “Somebody untie my hands!” called out Heftral, cutting and grim. “I’ll show you what kind of a joke it was.”

  Mojave was the cowboy who complied with the request, and it was plain he was nervous. He whispered something to Heftral. But it did not prevent Heftral, the instant he was free, from making long strides to confront Wess.

  “You’re a skunk,” Heftral said deliberately. “I always had you figured as a bully and a conceited ass of a cowboy…mushy over every girl who ever came out here. But not till today did I know you to be a dirty foul-mouthed scoundrel. You…”

  “Hold on, Heftral,” Winters interrupted, aghast. “I told you I was to blame. Wess was only following my instructions.”

  “Heftral, we’ll shore make allowance for your feelin’s,” added Linn conciliatingly. “But you’re usin’ strong language…too strong for a little joke.”

  “Joke, hell!” flashed Heftral. “This locoed cowboy meant to hang me!”

  “Good God! Why, boy, you’re quite out of your head,” expostulated Winters.

  Linn began to see something serious in the situation. And he took his hint more from Wess’s face than Heftral’s words. Slipping out of his saddle, he strode quickly to get between the men.

  Heftral gave him a shove that almost upset him. “Don’t you butt in. You’re a little late to save me the rottenest deal any man ever got. And you’re a lot too late to save this cowpuncher of yours from the damnedest kind of a beating.”

  “Man! Look out for thet gun!” warned Linn shrilly.

  “I don’t care for his gun,” replied Heftral. “He wouldn’t shoot a rabbit.”

  “Wal, I’d shoot a coyote damn’ quick…or a gurl-chasin’ scientist,” Wess replied, laughing coarsely.

  “Drop thet gun!” ordered Linn. “Can’t you see Heftral is unarmed?”

  “I’m takin’ no more orders from you,” the cowboy said sullenly.

  “You bet your life you’re not!” shouted the trader angrily. “But you throw thet gun on Heftral an’ you’ll have me to deal with.”

  Suddenly Heftral, in a pantherish spring, leaped upon Wess, and caught his arm just as he was lifting it with the gun. Heftral threw all his weight upon that gun arm, forced it down. Wess struggled and, cursing, yelled: “Leggo, or I’ll plug you!”

  Heftral bent swiftly to fasten his teeth in the dangerous hand. The cowboy let out a howl of pain and fury.

  Bang! Bang!

  Cherry screamed and hid her eyes in horror. She heard the thud of feet and wrestling of bodies, then hoarse calls from the onlookers. Her heart seemed to burst. This awful farce was going to end in a tragedy. Heftral! Terror forced her to open her eyes. Wess had dropped the gun. The hand Heftral gripped was red with blood. On the instant Heftral gave the gun a kick. It flew to the feet of Mojave, who bent and snatched it up. Then Heftral, releasing Wess, struck him full in the face with a blow that sounded like a mallet. Wess went down with a sodden thump.

  Nobody wasted any more words. The spectators were too intense for speech, and the contestants too mad with rage. Heftral seemed a man who once in his life had let go. Wess, as he bounded up like a cat, looked a demon.

  He rushed at Heftral and the fight began. Cherry could not watch it, though now she had fascination added to her horror. But there was enough gentleness left in her to make her shrink instinctively. She stood there with hands pressed over her eyes. Though blinded she still heard. And the smash of fists, the scrape of boots, wrestling tussles of hard bodies in contact, the pants and whistles of furious breathing—these were worse to hear than to see. How must the battle go? Heftral, the gentleman, the mild-mannered archaeologist, would surely be worsted by a younger man and one inured to all the roughness of the desert. Crash! One of the fighters had been knocked into the cedar brush. He burst up again, bawling awful curses. Wess! What a hot tingling thrill Cherry had! It seemed to change her very nature. She wanted more than anything ever before in her life for Heftral to beat down the vile-mouthed cowboy. She had divined the cause of Heftral’s white anger. It was because of Wess’s bald insinuations. Heftral was fighting for her, to whip the cur before those onlookers who had heard. So it was impossible for Cherry to keep her eyes covered any longer.

  She found she stood alone. The fighters had worked away up the bench. Even the Sarlands had followed the men. Cherry ran. She saw Heftral first, face turned toward her. He was all bloody and dirty. Then Wess’s visage swept around into sight. He was horribly battered, his face resembling a bloody beefsteak. He lunged wildly. He had no science. Heftral was agile, swift, and when he struck out, he landed. Wess plunged down at Heftral’s legs, caught them, and dragged him down. They clinched furiously, and rolled over and over, now one on top, then the other. Wess kicked viciously. It was clear that he was trying to dig his spurs into Heftral’s legs. The cowboys yelled their derision of this further evidence of Wess’s cowardly tactics. He must have imagined that a rough-and-tumble fight would give him the advantage. But it soon became clear that he was as badly off as in a fair stand-up fight. Heftral was out to give the cowboy a terrific beating, and it looked as if it would end that way.

  Once, when in their rolling over Wess landed on top, he snatched up a dead branch, quite weighty, and brought it down hard upon Heftral’s head, where it cracked into many bits.

  “You scurvy dog!” yelled Mojave, who was now plainly Heftral’s champion. “If you knock him out that way, you’ll have me on you.”

  But if Wess heard, he paid no heed. He snatched up a rock and swung that.

  “Drop it or I’ll shoot your arm off!” shouted Linn, whipping out a gun.

  The maddened cowboy tried to smash Heftral’s head. Missed him! Linn meant to shoot, but obviously feared he would either kill Wess or hit Heftral. Then he grasped his gun by the barrel, meaning to hit Wess with it. The cowboy struck again with the rock. Heftral dodged, but was slightly hit.

  “For God’s sake, Linn, stop him! He means murder!” Winters called, frightened.

  “Oh, Stephen…don’t let him kill you!” screamed Cherry wildly.

  Mojave leaped close to do something, no one could guess what. Mrs. Sarland collapsed in a faint. Heftral might not have been doing his utmost before, because his fury and strength became marvelous. With one powerful blow he knocked the stone flying out of Wess’s hand. Another broke Wess’s hold on his throat. Then he heaved mightily. He tossed Wess clear of him, and was on his feet as quickly as the cowboy. He rushed Wess. A blow stopped the cowboy. The next staggered him. Heftral swung his left—biff! Then his right—smash! Wess, who was falling at the first blow, shot down with the second as if it had been from a catapult. He fell headlong, and slid over the brink of the bench, to crash into the brush below.

  Heftral glared a moment at the puff of dust that the cowboy had raised, then, striding to his pack, he picked up his towel and went off down the slope toward the creek.

  Cherry was so tottering and weak that she sat down on a rock. Linn sheathed his gun.

  “Wal, that was good,” he declared in great relief. “I hope he broke his neck. Some of you boys go down and see…Winters, Missus Sarland has fainted
. No wonder. Thet came near bein’ a real scrap. Young man, fetch some water, an’ we’ll bring your mother to.”

  Cherry sat dizzily conscious of the subsiding of the terrible emotions that had swayed her. Very slowly she recovered. Mrs. Sarland was revived and lifted to a seat. Linn appeared very kindly and solicitous. Cherry’s father wore a haggard look of remorse displacing fear. Chauncey, who hovered over his mother, showed the pallor of a girl, and hands that shook. Mojave was the only cowboy left on the bench.

  “What in the hell happened?” Linn questioned sternly.

  “Boss, I swear it was as much of a surprise to us as to you,” Mojave began most earnestly. “The boys will back me up in that…You know Mister Winters was awful keen on makin’ this fake hangin’ look like the real thing. We had our orders to do some tall actin’…like them motion-picture fellars. You can bet we had a lot of fun plannin’ this. Talkin’ it over. We must’ve looked terrible mad, as if we meant bizness. Wal, Wess acted so powerful good thet we all was plumb jealous. Even when he began to say nasty things we thought he was only oversteppin’ a little. When he insulted Miss Cherry…then I was flabbergasted. Same with the other boys. Once I opened my trap, but Wess shet me up pronto. Still it was all so sudden I jest couldn’t see through Wess until he called Miss Cherry a white-faced hussy.”

  “Ah-huh. Aboot time you seen through him, I’ll say. Wal?” growled the trader.

  “Then it all come in a flash,” went on Mojave, breathing hard. “We was obeyin’ orders…havin’ an awful big kick out of it. But Wess wasn’t actin’. He meant to hang Heftral. No doubt of thet, sir. He had it all figgered out an’ knowed the facts would clear him in any court.”

  “But the damn’ locoed idjet!” burst out Linn. “To hang Heftral in earnest! What on earth for?”

  “Wal, I ain’t shore. But I believe Wess thought Miss Cherry was his gurl,” Mojave replied manfully, though it was evident he hated to be frank. “He shore talked like it. An’ when he seen…wal, that he was what you called him, boss, why he went plumb out of his haid with jealousy.”

  “Ah-huh. Wal, I’m damned!” ejaculated Linn.

  Winters had listened to all this conversation and now he turned to his daughter. “Cherry, you let that cowboy make love to you,” he said. He did not ask; he affirmed.

  “Dad, I did,” replied Cherry bravely. It was confession that was accusation. “To my regret and shame…I did. I let him talk a lot of nonsense. Even let him hold my hand.”

  Winters evidently thought better of any severe arraignment of his daughter at that moment. The look on her face, the strain and content of her words told him much.

  “Well, to allow your hand to be held is no crime,” he said gravely. “But in this case it nearly led to murder. I hope it will be a lesson to you.”

  Cherry dropped her face into her hands and hid it. She actually shivered at his kindly reply, but burned inwardly with something that seemed to sear. Lesson! What lesson had she not had? She would be days accounting for them and their clarifying and transforming power. Now there was only one man in all the world whom she would allow to hold her hand. And would he want to?

  Zoroaster and the other cowboys came back from below. “Wess’s not crippled, sir,” he reported. “Bad bunged up, but nothin’ serious.”

  “Able to ride?” asked Linn tersely.

  “I reckon so, if someone shows him where to go. Both eyes are swelled shet.”

  “Wal, let’s see. The Indians can look after us. You boys take him back to the post. Tell Missus Linn to pay him off an’ let him go. Clear out now…An’ say, boys, if you want to stay with me, keep mum aboot this deal. Not one little word. Savvy?”

  They promised soberly, and, picking up their guns, they led their horses down through the cedars out of sight.

  “Reckon we might as well stay heah fer a day or two, hadn’t we?” inquired Linn of Winters. “The Indians will look after our horses, an’ pack firewood. I can cook.”

  “Surely. I want to see this Beckyshibeta. Besides…,” replied Winters, who, happening to glance at Cherry, did not complete what had been on his mind to say. Then seeing Heftral returning, he advanced to meet him. He certainly got a cold shoulder from that individual. Standing blankly a moment, he threw up his hands, then stalked off tragically. Cherry had seen this little by-play. So had Linn, who was not above chuckling. This and Heftral’s reception of her father did much to spur Cherry back to some semblance of a sane young woman.

  “Wal, lass, it was an awful mess, wasn’t it?” the trader said sympathetically as he seated himself beside Cherry.

  “Mess is the word, Mister Linn,” replied Cherry, finding her voice somewhat strained.

  “Your father had good intentions,” went on Linn. “But jumpin’ horn toads! What a damn’ fool idee. He never told me till it was all done, an’ the cowboys on your trail. Shore I could have held them back, or come along. I thought somethin’ was kinda queer. Sort of in the air. But, Lord, how could I guess it?”

  “Don’t apologize, and please don’t be sorry for me,” murmured Cherry.

  “Aw now…”

  “What this…this mess has done to me I don’t realize yet,” Cherry interrupted. “But today has been terrible…When I…I get my nerve back, I’ll be all right. I don’t blame Dad. He meant well. He wanted to give me a…a wholesome scare. I’ll say he succeeded beyond his wildest hopes…Still, it was my fault, Mister Linn. I can’t crawl out. I must have driven poor Dad crazy. And that miserable cowboy, Wess. I don’t know what to say. I…I wanted Heftral to kill him. Think of that!”

  “Wal, I’d have shot Wess myself if I hadn’t been leery of hittin’ Heftral,” said Linn. “Don’t you waste too much pity on Wess. He’s plain no good. I know a lot of things aboot Wess. He was a good man with hosses an’ cattle. An’ not a hard drinker. I’ve gotta say thet fer him. But Wess always was loony aboot girls. He wouldn’t up an’ marry one. No sir-ee! He always said he didn’t want to be hawg-tied…Wal, I reckon he had a genuine case over you.”

  “As far as Wess is concerned…and that terrible fight…I am solely to blame,” confessed Cherry, almost choking. “It makes me deathly sick. Mister Linn, I…I made a fool of…”

  “Never mind, lass,” interposed the trader, putting a rough, kind hand on hers. “I heard what you said to your Dad. You’re game, as we say in the West, an’ takin’ your medicine. You jest didn’t savvy cowboys, much less a dangerous hombre like Wess. We’re lucky it didn’t turn out bad. Heftral shore was chain-lightnin’ when he woke up, wasn’t he? Wal, I reckon, after all, the most dangerous men are the quiet, deep ones. I’ll never get over the surprise he gave me, though…Now, you pull yourself together. Reckon I’d better look up your Dad.”

  With that Linn arose, and, giving the Indians some instructions, he strode off in the direction Winters had taken. Cherry felt that she had pulled herself together, in a sense, though she was far too wise to trust herself yet. Still, she had to go about facing things, and she chose the hardest first. She went up to Heftral. He had changed his stained, torn shirt for a clean one, and washed the blood from his cut and bruised face. And he did not appear such an ugly sight as she had anticipated.

  “Stephen, it was…fine…wonderful for you to fight that way for me. You…I…I can’t find words.”

  “What I did is nothing compared to the way you stood up before them and lied for me,” he said with deep feeling.

  Cherry had forgotten about that. All in a second she felt unaccountably tender and realized she was on most treacherous ground. She had not lied, and she longed to tell him so. She longed to tell him more than that. Her mental aberration actually extended to the point of a yearning to kiss those cruel disfigurations he had sustained in defense of her. The end of the old Cherry Winters had about arrived. Yet she clung to her desperately.

  “Don’t look so distressed,” he went on. “They all kn
ow you lied to save me and they’ll think more of you for it.”

  “I don’t care what they think,” returned Cherry. “I’m pretty much upset. I just wanted to tell you how I felt…about your fighting for me…and to ask you…please not to quarrel with Dad.”

  “Sorry I can’t promise. It’s certainly coming to that gentleman,” Heftral said grimly.

  Cherry was not equal to any more just then, and when she slowly ascended the little rock slope to her retreat, she realized how unstrung she was. Once there she lay down on her bed and did not care what happened. She did not quite sleep, but she rested for a couple of hours. Still she did not feel up to the exigencies of this hectic situation. Curiosity, however, was an entering wedge into the chaos of her mind. She sat up and tried to make herself more presentable—thinking, with a wan smile as she saw the havoc in her face, that this was a favorable sign of returning reason.

  The Indians appeared to be busy around the campfire, cleaning the mess left by Black Dick and his partner. Never would she forget them. And pretty soon she would find herself in the unique and embarrassing state of inquiring into their wholesome effect upon her. The Sarlands were fixing up some kind of a shelter in the cedars, and evidently were quite interested. Cherry reflected that an adjustment to their material loss might make considerable difference in their reaction. Heftral and Linn were nowhere to be seen. But presently Cherry espied her father. He had been so near, under the wall in the shade, that she had overlooked him. Hatless, coatless, vestless, collar open at the neck, dejected, he certainly presented a most unusual counterpart of himself. For an instant Cherry had a wild start. What if Heftral had chastised him, too? But no, that was improbable. Nevertheless something had happened to Mr. Winters, and sight of him this way revived Cherry’s spirit and the duplicity she must continue if she were to bring this issue to a complete rout of him and Heftral. Could she carry on? She would or die in the attempt! These two detractors had not by a great deal been punished enough to satisfy her. Especially Heftral. So after thinking it over for a little longer, Cherry went down to her father.