by Zane Grey
“Liar!”
“Pecos, this flint man cain’t be you. My Pecos ——”
“Yu double-crossed me.”
“No—no!”
“Yu failed me.”
“Have mercy, then!”
“Yu believed me a thief.”
“Forgive me. My heart—is breaking. I have only you—in all this world.”
Pecos could hold out no longer. He drew her to his breast and lifted her lax arms round his neck.
“Wal, I reckon thet’ll be aboot all,” he said, in a voice so vastly changed that it seemed a stranger had spoken. She lay still in his arms, but he knew she had not fainted. He could see those great dark eyes. He felt the slow-stealing warmth of her breast on his, and the quickening pound of her heart.
“Pecos,” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
“You forgive?”
“I reckon I was only punishin’ yu for lack of faith. You poor kid.”
“Oh, wait! Pecos. This will kill me. Don’t tell me too quickly—you didn’t mean all—those—horrible names.”
“Wal, I meant them for the moment. I shore was mad. But I saved another for the last.”
“Oh, Pecos—what?” she implored.
“Terrill darlin’.”
“Then—you—love—me?”
He spent his answer on her cool sweet lips. It was then that his reward came unasked, unexpected as had been the treasure of her love. For all that had been innate in Terrill Lambeth, the femininity that had been suppressed, the emotion that had been denied so long, and the fostering of the lonely years of that wild country, where she had been kept as secluded as a cloistered nun, and the hunger which such a life must only magnify, now burst all bounds in an abandonment as pure as her thoughts had ever been, and which blindly sought his lips in kisses and his arms in embraces that broke off only to be renewed.
At last her lovely face fell back in the hollow of his arm and it was no longer white or tragically convulsed.
“Pecos, how can you love me so—so much as that, if only these few hours you’ve known me to be a girl?”
“Wal, it shore seems a whole lot of love on such short notice,” he drawled. “But the fact is, honey, thet I’ve loved you more an’ more all the time ever since I—I found you out.”
Startled, she leaped up in his arms.
“Pecos Smith! … You deceitful wretch! … O Heaven—since when?”
“Darlin’ Rill—since the day you nearly drowned.”
“That day—that day!” She hid her hot face on his breast and hugged him tight. “But since you love me ——”
Chapter XV
AS FAR as Pecos was concerned Rockport or any town would have been good for a visit, but the Gulf cattle town in its heyday was no place for Terrill.
Pecos had not seen its like. It appeared to be surrounded on three sides by bawling cattle and on the other by the noisy Gulf. There was a main street upon which to ride or drive or walk at any hour of the day and far into the night, but to do so was a most strenuous and uncomfortable undertaking.
The Gulf Hotel, where Pecos engaged rooms at an exorbitant figure hummed like a beehive. Its patrons appeared to be the same as the surging crowds in the street—settlers, cattlemen, cowhands, buffalo-hunters, soldiers, nondescript travelers, desperadoes, and the motley horde of parasites who lived off them. It was hot and dusty on this December day. What would it have been in mid-August?
The spirit of the throng, the movement and meaning of it, permeated Pecos’ blood. He had been only a riding vaquero, a gun-throwing adventurer. He had now become a part of this very thing. There were settlers’ wives and daughters in that crowd, all of whom had embarked upon the great adventure Terrill was already living.
“Dog-gone it, Terrill,” he drawled to her, “this heah is grand. Turrible for us to watch ’cause we shore know what those young men an’ women are goin’ up against. But we feel somethin’ big an’ wonderful with them. They’ll do it, Terrill. Yu cain’t fool me when I can see people’s eyes. Thet’s why I’m alive, ’cause I can see what men think.”
“Pecos, it makes my heart come up in my throat. I’d like to go with them. Oh, I hope these young men can fight.”
“I shore see a lot of Texans among them.”
“But who are the white-faced men in black, an’ the ghastly women all decked in flowery dresses?”
“Dog-gone if I know them, honey,” replied Pecos, evasively. “But I reckon they ain’t so good. Now, Terrill, don’t yu leave me for a single minute. An’ if I have to leave yu it’ll be heah where yu can lock yoreself in yore room.”
“Pecos Smith, you won’t leave me even there for a single minute,” she retorted. “Do you imagine I’d let a dashing, handsome vaquero, loaded down with money, go out in that crowd alone? Not much!”
“Say, thet ain’t so turrible flatterin’,” replied Pecos, dubiously. “You look like a kid, but yu got the mind of a woman.”
“Pecos, I’m dependent upon you,” she said, sweetly. “And aren’t you dependent upon me?”
“My Gawd, yes! If I didn’t have yu I’d be drinkin’, gamblin’, mebbe shootin’, an’ I don’t reckon what else. But all thet’s past an’ I’m so happy I’m loco.”
“I’m so happy I’m frightened.”
“I shore wish thet Judge Roy Bean had been home. Then I wouldn’t be so frightened, myself. Haw! Haw!”
“What do you mean, Pecos?” she asked, blushing scarlet. “We came here to buy cattle.”
“Aw, I didn’t mean nothin’. … Wal, come on. There are stores heah an’ mebbe we can find some of those women’s clothes you’re cravin’.”
But a breathless scramble through the crowd from one store to another failed to reveal any ready-made female attire that Terrill wanted. There was an abundance of material, some of it good, but it had to be made into dresses. So they had to resort to boys’ apparel. After a mirthful foray they returned to the hotel with new fancy-topped Mexican boots, silver spurs, a buff sombrero in which Terrill looked so fetching that Pecos whooped, corduroys, shirts of various hues, a jacket, and other articles. While Terrill raved over these purchases like a boy, Pecos told her to change while he went downstairs to the office.
Pecos was perturbed because he had discovered that he was being followed by two men. This was no unusual thing in any crowded frontier post. But these men looked like Texas rangers to Pecos. And he could not take any chances with such men. Why were they following him? Pecos decided his right move was to find out.
Wherefor he approached the hotel desk and asked if there were any Texas Rangers in town.
“Captain McKinney is here with some of his Rangers,” replied the clerk. “They’re working on that Big Brewster cattle-steal.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He’s stopping here. Saw him here a moment ago.”
The lobby was crowded with men. Presently Captain McKinney was pointed out to Pecos. He appeared to be about medium height, of the usual Texan complexion, had a fine stern face and piercing eyes. Pecos approached and stood respectfully waiting a break in the Captain’s conversation with two men, evidently ranchers.
“Well, sir?” queried McKinney.
“Are you Captain McKinney?” replied Pecos.
It was characteristic of Texas and particularly of the Rangers that such a query invited a guarded reply.
Finally Captain McKinney replied.
“Yes.”
“Wal, Captain, I reckon a couple of yore Rangers have been trailin’ me all aboot town.”
“Who are you?”
“Pecos Smith.”
Well Pecos knew then that he had been wise to approach this Ranger Captain. Also he had further appreciation of the significance of his name.
“Come to my room,” said McKinney, abruptly.
Pecos had the keenest of susceptibilities in his meetings with men. No matter what the issue, this meeting had been favorable, or most certainly a Captain of the Texas
Rangers would not walk down a corridor in front of a suspected man.
Pecos was ushered into a well-lighted corner room.
“I’m glad you looked me up,” said McKinney, inviting Pecos to a chair.
“What’s the idee, Captain—Rangers trailin’ me?” drawled Pecos, sitting back.
Then the two Texans locked glances. Pecos liked this man, saw in him the clean-fighting Ranger. He saw, too, that he was the object of such scrutiny as seldom fell upon him.
“Mind letting me see your gun?”
“Captain, thet’s somethin’ I don’t do. But in yore case ——”
Pecos handed the gun over, butt foremost. McKinney received it with the thoughtful air of a man who knew what guns meant to Texans. He examined the butt.
“Seven notches—all old,” he observed.
“Wal, Captain, reckon I could have added three more lately, but I had reason to quit.”
The Ranger Captain returned the gun, also butt foremost.
“Smith, I’ve heard good and bad aboot you.”
“I reckon. I’ve lived sort of a reckless vaquero life.”
“Smith, could you by any chance be related to Bradington Smith? He was on the Ranger force before the war.”
“Yes. Brad was my uncle.”
“You don’t say. That’s interesting. You come of an old Texas family. … Smith, I have a letter here somewhere aboot you,” said McKinney, searching among a pile of papers. “Here it is. From a cattleman who ranges over the New Mexico line. Sawtell—Breen Sawtell. Do you know him?”
“Wal, I reckon I did,” replied Pecos, coolly. In spite of his earnestness and his unforgettable relation and duty to Terrill, he reacted subtly and coldly to this approach.
“Like to read the letter?”
“No. I can tell yu just what’s in it, Captain.”
“Well, do so. Give me your angle. I don’t mind telling you that it’s through this letter you were shadowed by my men.”
“I reckoned thet. How’d they know me?”
“Slinger knows you. Jeff Slinger. I’m glad to add that he swears he doesn’t believe one word of this letter.”
“Jeff Slinger!—Is he a Ranger?”
“He certainly is. Ten years’ service.”
“Wal, I’ll be dog-goned. He never said so. I helped him in a scrape with some greaser hoss thieves some years ago. Just happened to run into him. We camped some days on the Rio Grande.”
“It may stand you in good stead. What’s your angle on this Sawtell letter?”
“He was tryin’ to hide his tracks, Captain,” replied Pecos, and briefly related Sawtell’s relations to Williams and Adams, and how he operated.
“That fits in perfectly with some information I got not long ago from a trail driver. We’d better look this Sawtell up.”
“Wal, Captain, if yu do yu’ll have to dig him up,” replied Pecos, with a grim laugh.
“How so?” queried the Ranger, though he understood perfectly well.
“Sawtell’s daid.”
“You shot him!”
“Captain, I’d like to deny the doubtful honor, but I cain’t.”
“Perhaps you better tell me aboot that—if you will.”
Pecos necessarily had to make this a longer narrative and he slighted nothing, though he did not go into detail about the Lambeth Ranch nor did he care to give any impression of a large amount of money.
“There were witnesses to this visit of Sawtell’s?”
“Yes. Before I arrived an’ after.”
“The negroes and this young Lambeth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That is well for you, in case there ever is a comeback. But that does not seem likely to happen. … Smith, is the boy my Rangers saw with you this young Lambeth?”
“It’s young Lambeth, all right. I’d shore like to fetch him in, Captain.”
“Do so, by all means.”
In his relief and exuberance Pecos ran up to Terrill’s room to bang upon the door.
“Who’s there?”
“Pecos. Rustle.”
Evidently Terrill had been sitting on the floor. She opened the door with a boot in one hand. All the rest of the new things she had on. And if she did not look bewitching, Pecos knew he had some magnifying ailment of his eyes.
“How do I look?” she beamed, eagerly.
“Wal, girl, I’d hate to say,” he replied. “ ’Cause it might go to yore haid. … Heah, let me pull on thet boot.”
“It’s new—and a little tight. … Ouch! … Pecos, are you shore I’m ——”
“Heah. Don’t climb all over me. You’ll muss yoreself. Leave the jacket off. … There. Now you’re a girl in spite of them pants. … Come to look at them, though, any man with eyes could see ——”
“I won’t wear them,” flashed Terrill.
“Honey, yu got to, or we cain’t go on.”
“Then don’t hint and don’t look,” she pouted. “Here—where are you taking me?”
“Terrill, I’ve had some more good luck. There’s a Ranger Captain heah. I went in to see him. Reckoned it a good idee to tell aboot Sawtell. Wal, he was fine. An’ he asked to see young Lambeth.”
“Young Lambeth!”
“Some of his Rangers saw you with me. Took you for a boy. An’ I didn’t give it away. Oh, this will be fun. Now, Terrill, you be just as sweet an’ nice as you know how. Put on a lot of—of swank. Savvy? It won’t do me no harm.”
Terrill seemed quick to divine that there had been something amiss and her spirit rose to meet it.
At Pecos’ knock he was bidden to come in. The Ranger sat at his table.
“Captain McKinney, heah’s my pard, young Lambeth,” announced Pecos, and he certainly reveled in McKinney’s stare.
“How do you do, Captain McKinney?” said Terrill, with just the right tone of deference.
Hastily the Ranger stood up, as if his eyes were poor while sitting. He certainly used them. “Young Lambeth!—Ah! … Er. How do you do? … Say Smith, this is no boy!”
“Captain, I didn’t say young Lambeth was a boy,” drawled Pecos. “She’s a girl, all right. Terrill Lambeth.”
“Oh!—My mistake. Well, I—I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Lambeth,” he replied, making Terrill a gallant bow. His eyes shone with pleasure succeeding amaze. “Do you ride rodeo today?”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Captain McKinney,” replied Terrill, shyly. “You see, I’ve been a boy for a long time, and we couldn’t find any women’s clothes to fit, so I kept right on.”
McKinney was plainly mystified as well as captivated.
“Terrill Lambeth? … Well, I remember that name Lambeth. Are you any kin to Colonel Templeton Lambeth?”
“His daughter,” replied Terrill.
“Well, of all things!” exclaimed the Captain, profoundly stirred. “His daughter! … Templeton Lambeth and I were friends. We went through the war together. I never heard of him afterward. Where is he?”
“He is daid, Captain,” returned Terrill, gazing away through the window. “He was murdered. … After the war, my mother being daid, and Dad ruined, we drove to West Texas, and settled on the Pecos River below Horsehead Crossing. I was nearly fifteen then. … It was a lonely place, our ranch. But wonderful for cattle-raising, until the rustlers came. … Nearly two years ago they murdered Dad. Made it look like the work of Comanches. Of course I have no proof, but I believe Breen Sawtell and his partner, Don Felipe, were behind it. They tried to steal me, as they did my cattle, and they would have done so but for Pecos here.”
“I am shocked, saddened,” declared McKinney. “Yet so glad to get news of Temple. … What a story! Oh, that is Texas of these hard years. … And you lived on alone there in that wild Pecos country? It’s almost incredible for a girl of your class.”
“Alone except for my negroes, Sambo and Mauree, until Pecos came last spring. And you must remember, no one knew I was a girl.”
Pecos drawlingly interposed: �
�Captain, young Lambeth is goin’ to be Mrs. James Pecos Smith.”
“I wondered. I had a hunch. … Of all the romances! … Terrill, I congratulate you. I wish you happiness. But—but is this Pecos fellow ——”
The Captain halted in grave embarrassment.
“Captain McKinney, if he had not been Pecos Smith he never could have saved me,” replied Terrill, lifting her head with pride. Love and faith did not need to be spoken.
“Terrill, I am glad he is Pecos Smith,” returned McKinney, with strong feeling. “I believe my old friend would be glad, too.”
Then he turned to Pecos to extend a hand.
“You will marry the best blood of Texas. … You will get one of the most lovely girls I ever saw. … I swear she is as good and fine as she is beautiful. … Do you realize your wonderful fortune? … You gun-throwing vaquero—come of an old Texas family, too! … What luck! What duty! Pecos, I hope to God you rise to your opportunity.”
“Captain, I’m shore prayin’ for thet myself,” responded Pecos, slowly and with emotion.
Later Pecos went out to purchase guns, rifles, shells, knives, all of the newest designs, and sadly needed wearing apparel for himself, two new saddles and various other articles.
And Pecos met settlers, trail drivers, cattlemen, ranchers from whom he learned many things. The settlers, perhaps, profited as much from the meeting as Pecos. He encountered Jeff Slinger again and they became friends. Captain McKinney devoted himself to their service, and was especially kind to Terrill. When he went away, having ended his duties there, he left Slinger and another Ranger, an experienced Indian-fighter named Johnson, to go back with Pecos on the long drive with the cattle.
Slinger knew of a cattleman named Hudson who ran stock out on the Frio River, and could be bought out. He was a bachelor, getting well along in years, and wanted a little peace and freedom from rustlers. Slinger had happened to encounter this cattleman in Rockport during Pecos’ stay. The result was a meeting. Hudson appeared to be a hawk-eyed old plainsman from Brazos country and at once inspired confidence.
“Wal, I got aboot two thousand haid left—the finest breed of long-horns I ever had,” Hudson said.
“Would yu sell?” asked Pecos.
