The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  It was then that Gale caught the white gleam of a knife in Yaqui’s hand. Rojas turned and ran. He rounded a corner of wall where the footing was precarious. Yaqui followed slowly. His figure was dark and menacing. But he was not in a hurry. When he passed off the ledge Rojas was edging farther and farther along the wall. He was clinging now to the lava, creeping inch by inch. Perhaps he had thought to work around the buttress or climb over it. Evidently he went as far as possible, and there he clung, an unscalable wall above, the abyss beneath.

  The approach of the Yaqui was like a slow dark shadow of gloom. If it seemed so to the stricken Gale what must it have been to Rojas? He appeared to sink against the wall. The Yaqui stole closer and closer. He was the savage now, and for him the moment must have been glorified. Gale saw him gaze up at the great circling walls of the crater, then down into the depths. Perhaps the red haze hanging above him, or the purple haze below, or the deep caverns in the lava, held for Yaqui spirits of the desert, his gods to whom he called. Perhaps he invoked shadows of his loved ones and his race, calling them in this moment of vengeance.

  Gale heard—or imagined he heard—that wild, strange Yaqui cry.

  Then the Indian stepped close to Rojas, and bent low, keeping out of reach. How slow were his motions! Would Yaqui never—never end it?… A wail drifted across the crater to Gale’s ears.

  Rojas fell backward and plunged sheer. The bank of white choyas caught him, held him upon their steel spikes. How long did the dazed Gale sit there watching Rojas wrestling and writhing in convulsive frenzy? The bandit now seemed mad to win the delayed death.

  When he broke free he was a white patched object no longer human, a ball of choya burrs, and he slipped off the bank to shoot down and down into the purple depths of the crater.

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHANGES AT FORLORN RIVER

  The first of March saw the federal occupation of the garrison at Casita. After a short, decisive engagement the rebels were dispersed into small bands and driven eastward along the boundary line toward Nogales.

  It was the destiny of Forlorn River, however, never to return to the slow, sleepy tenor of its former existence. Belding’s predictions came true. That straggling line of home-seekers was but a forerunner of the real invasion of Altar Valley. Refugees from Mexico and from Casita spread the word that water and wood and grass and land were to be had at Forlorn River; and as if by magic the white tents and red adobe houses sprang up to glisten in the sun.

  Belding was happier than he had been for a long time. He believed that evil days for Forlorn River, along with the apathy and lack of enterprise, were in the past. He hired a couple of trustworthy Mexicans to ride the boundary line, and he settled down to think of ranching and irrigation and mining projects. Every morning he expected to receive some word form Sonoyta or Yuma, telling him that Yaqui had guided his party safely across the desert.

  Belding was simple-minded, a man more inclined to action than reflection. When the complexities of life hemmed him in, he groped his way out, never quite understanding. His wife had always been a mystery to him. Nell was sunshine most of the time, but, like the sun-dominated desert, she was subject to strange changes, wilful, stormy, sudden. It was enough for Belding now to find his wife in a lighter, happier mood, and to see Nell dreamily turning a ring round and round the third finger of her left hand and watching the west. Every day both mother and daughter appeared farther removed from the past darkly threatening days. Belding was hearty in his affections, but undemonstrative. If there was any sentiment in his make-up it had an outlet in his memory of Blanco Diablo and a longing to see him. Often Belding stopped his work to gaze out over the desert toward the west. When he thought of his rangers and Thorne and Mercedes he certainly never forgot his horse. He wondered if Diablo was running, walking, resting; if Yaqui was finding water and grass.

  In March, with the short desert winter over, the days began to grow warm. The noon hours were hot, and seemed to give promise of the white summer blaze and blasting furnace wind soon to come. No word was received from the rangers. But this caused Belding no concern, and it seemed to him that his women folk considered no news good news.

  Among the many changes coming to pass in Forlorn River were the installing of post-office service and the building of a mescal drinking-house. Belding had worked hard for the post office, but he did not like the idea of a saloon for Forlorn River. Still, that was an inevitable evil. The Mexicans would have mescal. Belding had kept the little border hamlet free of an establishment for distillation of the fiery cactus drink. A good many Americans drifted into Forlorn River—miners, cowboys, prospectors, outlaws, and others of nondescript character; and these men, of course, made the saloon, which was also an inn, their headquarters. Belding, with Carter and other old residents, saw the need of a sheriff for Forlorn River.

  One morning early in this spring month, while Belding was on his way from the house to the corrals, he saw Nell running Blanco Jose down the road at a gait that amazed him. She did not take the turn of the road to come in by the gate. She put Jose at a four-foot wire fence, and came clattering into the yard.

  “Nell must have another tantrum,” said Belding. “She’s long past due.”

  Blanco Jose, like the other white horses, was big of frame and heavy, and thunder rolled from under his great hoofs. Nell pulled him up, and as he pounded and slid to a halt in a cloud of dust she swung lightly down.

  It did not take more than half an eye for Belding to see that she was furious.

  “Nell, what’s come off now?” asked Belding.

  “I’m not going to tell you,” she replied, and started away, leading Jose toward the corral.

  Belding leisurely followed. She went into the corral, removed Jose’s bridle, and led him to the watering-trough. Belding came up, and without saying anything began to unbuckle Jose’s saddle girths. But he ventured a look at Nell. The red had gone from her face, and he was surprised to see her eyes brimming with tears. Most assuredly this was not one of Nell’s tantrums. While taking off Jose’s saddle and hanging it in the shed Belding pondered in his slow way. When he came back to the corral Nell had her face against the bars, and she was crying. He slipped a big arm around her and waited. Although it was not often expressed, there was a strong attachment between them.

  “Dad, I don’t want you to think me a—a baby any more,” she said. “I’ve been insulted.”

  With a specific fact to make clear thought in Belding’s mind he was never slow.

  “I knew something unusual had come off. I guess you’d better tell me.”

  “Dad, I will, if you promise.”

  “What?”

  “Not to mention it to mother, not to pack a gun down there, and never, never tell Dick.”

  Belding was silent. Seldom did he make promises readily.

  “Nell, sure something must have come off, for you to ask all that.”

  “If you don’t promise I’ll never tell, that’s all,” she declared, firmly.

  Belding deliberated a little longer. He knew the girl.

  “Well, I promise not to tell mother,” he said, presently; “and seeing you’re here safe and well, I guess I won’t go packing a gun down there, wherever that is. But I won’t promise to keep anything from Dick that perhaps he ought to know.”

  “Dad, what would Dick do if—if he were here and I were to tell him I’d—I’d been horribly insulted?”

  “I guess that ’d depend. Mostly, you know, Dick does what you want. But you couldn’t stop him—nobody could—if there was reason, a man’s reason, to get started. Remember what he did to Rojas!… Nell, tell me what’s happened.”

  Nell, regaining her composure, wiped her eyes and smoothed back her hair.

  “The other day, Wednesday,” she began, “I was coming home, and in front of that mescal drinking-place there was a crowd. It was a noisy crowd. I didn’t want to walk out into the street or seem afraid. But I had to do both. There were several young men, and if they
weren’t drunk they certainly were rude. I never saw them before, but I think they must belong to the mining company that was run out of Sonora by rebels. Mrs. Carter was telling me. Anyway, these young fellows were Americans. They stretched themselves across the walk and smiled at me. I had to go out in the road. One of them, the rudest, followed me. He was a big fellow, red-faced, with prominent eyes and a bold look. He came up beside me and spoke to me. I ran home. And as I ran I heard his companions jeering.

  “Well, today, just now, when I was riding up the valley road I came upon the same fellows. They had instruments and were surveying. Remembering Dick, and how he always wished for an instrument to help work out his plan for irrigation, I was certainly surprised to see these strangers surveying—and surveying upon Laddy’s plot of land. It was a sandy road there, and Jose happened to be walking. So I reined in and asked these engineers what they were doing. The leader, who was that same bold fellow who had followed me, seemed much pleased at being addressed. He was swaggering—too friendly; not my idea of a gentleman at all. He said he was glad to tell me he was going to run water all over Altar Valley. Dad, you can bet that made me wild. That was Dick’s plan, his discovery, and here were surveyors on Laddy’s claim.

  “Then I told him that he was working on private land and he’d better get off. He seemed to forget his flirty proclivities in amazement. Then he looked cunning. I read his mind. It was news to him that all the land along the valley had been taken up.

  “He said something about not seeing any squatters on the land, and then he shut up tight on that score. But he began to be flirty again. He got hold of Jose’s bridle, and before I could catch my breath he said I was a peach, and that he wanted to make a date with me, that his name was Chase, that he owned a gold mine in Mexico. He said a lot more I didn’t gather, but when he called me ‘Dearie’ I—well, I lost my temper.

  “I jerked on the bridle and told him to let go. He held on and rolled his eyes at me. I dare say he imagined he was a gentlemen to be infatuated with. He seemed sure of conquest. One thing certain, he didn’t know the least bit about horses. It scared me the way he got in front of Jose. I thanked my stars I wasn’t up on Blanco Diablo. Well, Dad, I’m a little ashamed now, but I was mad. I slashed him across the face with my quirt. Jose jumped and knocked Mr. Chase into the sand. I didn’t get the horse under control till I was out of sight of those surveyors, and then I let him run home.”

  “Nell, I guess you punished the fellow enough. Maybe he’s only a conceited softy. But I don’t like that sort of thing. It isn’t Western. I guess he won’t be so smart next time. Any fellow would remember being hit by Blanco Jose. If you’d been up on Diablo we’d have to bury Mr. Chase.”

  “Thank goodness I wasn’t! I’m sorry now, Dad. Perhaps the fellow was hurt. But what could I do? Let’s forget all about it, and I’ll be careful where I ride in the future.… Dad, what does it mean, this surveying around Forlorn River?”

  “I don’t know, Nell,” replied Belding, thoughtfully. “It worries me. It looks good for Forlorn River, but bad for Dick’s plan to irrigate the valley. Lord, I’d hate to have someone forestall Dick on that!”

  “No, no, we won’t let anybody have Dick’s rights,” declared Nell.

  “Where have I been keeping myself not to know about these surveyors?” muttered Belding. “They must have just come.”

  “Go see Mrs. Cater. She told me there were strangers in town, Americans, who had mining interests in Sonora, and were run out by Orozco. Find out what they’re doing, Dad.”

  Belding discovered that he was, indeed, the last man of consequence in Forlorn River to learn of the arrival of Ben Chase and son, mineowners and operators in Sonora. They, with a force of miners, had been besieged by rebels and finally driven off their property. This property was not destroyed, but held for ransom. And the Chases, pending developments, had packed outfits and struck for the border. Casita had been their objective point, but, for some reason which Belding did not learn, they had arrived instead at Forlorn River. It had taken Ben Chase just one day to see the possibilities of Altar Valley, and in three days he had men at work.

  Belding returned home without going to see the Chases and their operations. He wanted to think over the situation. Next morning he went out to the valley to see for himself. Mexicans were hastily erecting adobe houses upon Ladd’s one hundred and sixty acres, upon Dick Gale’s, upon Jim Lash’s and Thorne’s. There were men staking the valley floor and the river bed. That was sufficient for Belding. He turned back toward town and headed for the camp of these intruders.

  In fact, the surroundings of Forlorn River, except on the river side, reminded Belding of the mushroom growth of a newly discovered mining camp. Tents were everywhere; adobe shacks were in all stages of construction; rough clapboard houses were going up. The latest of this work was new and surprising to Belding, all because he was a busy man, with no chance to hear village gossip. When he was directed to the headquarters of the Chase Mining Company he went thither in slow-growing wrath.

  He came to a big tent with a huge canvas fly stretched in front, under which sat several men in their shirt sleeves. They were talking and smoking.

  “My name’s Belding. I want to see this Mr. Chase,” said Belding, gruffly.

  Slow-witted as Belding was, and absorbed in his own feelings, he yet saw plainly that his advent was disturbing to these men. They looked alarmed, exchanged glances, and then quickly turned to him. One of them, a tall, rugged man with sharp face and shrewd eyes and white hair, got up and offered his hand.

  “I’m Chase, senior,” he said. “My son Radford Chase is here somewhere. You’re Belding, the line inspector, I take it? I meant to call on you.”

  He seemed a rough-and-ready, loud-spoken man, withal cordial enough.

  “Yes, I’m the inspector,” replied Belding, ignoring the proffered hand, “and I’d like to know what in the hell you mean by taking up land claims—staked ground that belongs to my rangers?”

  “Land claims?” slowly echoed Chase, studying his man. “We’re taking up only unclaimed land.”

  “That’s a lie. You couldn’t miss the stakes.”

  “Well, Mr. Belding, as to that, I think my men did run across some staked ground. But we recognize only squatters. If your rangers think they’ve got property just because they drove a few stakes in the ground they’re much mistaken. A squatter has to build a house and live on his land so long, according to law, before he owns it.”

  This argument was unanswerable, and Belding knew it.

  “According to law!” exclaimed Belding. “Then you own up; you’ve jumped our claims.”

  “Mr. Belding, I’m a plain business man. I come along. I see a good opening. Nobody seems to have tenable grants. I stake out claims, locate squatters, start to build. It seems to me your rangers have overlooked certain precautions. That’s unfortunate for them. I’m prepared to hold my claim and to back all the squatters who work for me. If you don’t like it you can carry the matter to Tucson. The law will uphold me.”

  “The law? Say, on this southwest border we haven’t any law except a man’s word and a gun.”

  “Then you’ll find United States law has come along with Ben Chase,” replied the other, snapping his fingers. He was still smooth, outspoken, but his mask had fallen.

  “You’re not a Westerner?” queried Belding.

  “No, I’m from Illinois.”

  “I thought the West hadn’t bred you. I know your kind. You’d last a long time on the Texas border; now, wouldn’t you? You’re one of the land and water hogs that has come to root in the West. You’re like the timber sharks—take it all and leave none for those who follow. Mr. Chase, the West would fare better and last longer if men like you were driven out.”

  “You can’t drive me out.”

  “I’m not so sure of that. Wait till my rangers come back. I wouldn’t be in your boots. Don’t mistake me. I don’t suppose you could be accused of stealing another man’s ide
as or plan, but sure you’ve stolen these four claims. Maybe the law might uphold you. But the spirit, not the letter, counts with us bordermen.”

  “See here, Belding, I think you’re taking the wrong view of the matter. I’m going to develop this valley. You’d do better to get in with me. I’ve a proposition to make you about that strip of land of yours facing the river.”

  “You can’t make any deals with me. I won’t have anything to do with you.”

  Belding abruptly left the camp and went home. Nell met him, probably intended to question him, but one look into his face confirmed her fears. She silently turned away. Belding realized he was powerless to stop Chase, and he was sick with disappointment for the ruin of Dick’s hopes and his own.

  CHAPTER XIV

  A LOST SON

  Time passed. The population of Forlorn River grew apace. Belding, who had once been the head of the community, found himself a person of little consequence. Even had he desired it he would not have had any voice in the selection of postmaster, sheriff, and a few other officials. The Chases divided their labors between Forlorn River and their Mexican gold mine, which had been restored to them. The desert trips between these two places were taken in automobiles. A month’s time made the motor cars almost as familiar a sight in Forlorn River as they had been in Casita before the revolution.

  Belding was not so busy as he had been formerly. As he lost ambition he began to find less work to do. His wrath at the usurping Chases increased as he slowly realized his powerlessness to cope with such men. They were promoters, men of big interests and wide influence in the Southwest. The more they did for Forlorn River the less reason there seemed to be for his own grievance. He had to admit that it was personal; that he and Gale and the rangers would never have been able to develop the resources of the valley as these men were doing it.