by Zane Grey
“How long has Russ been in here?” demanded Sampson.
“All evening. I left Diane at eight o’clock. Russ came right after that.”
“But you’d undressed for bed!” ejaculated the angry and perplexed uncle.
“Yes.” That simple answer was so noncommittal, so above subterfuge, so innocent, and yet so confounding in its provocation of thought that Sampson just stared his astonishment. But I started as if I had been struck.
“See here Sampson—” I began, passionately.
Like a flash Sally whirled into my arms and one hand crossed my lips. “It’s my fault. I will take the blame,” she cried, and now the agony of fear in her voice quieted me. I realized I would be wise to be silent. “Uncle,” began Sally, turning her head, yet still clinging to me, “I’ve tormented Russ into loving me. I’ve flirted with him—teased him—tempted him. We love each other now. We’re engaged. Please—please don’t—” She began to falter and I felt her weight sag a little against me.
“Well, let go of him,” said Sampson. “I won’t hurt him. Sally, how long has this affair been going on?”
“For weeks—I don’t know how long.”
“Does Diane know?”
“She knows we love each other, but not that we met—did this—” Light swift steps, the rustle of silk interrupted Sampson, and made my heart sink like lead.
“Is that you, George?” came Miss Sampson’s deep voice, nervous, hurried. “What’s all this commotion? I hear—”
“Diane, go on back,” ordered Sampson.
Just then Miss Sampson’s beautiful agitated face appeared beside Wright. He failed to prevent her from seeing all of us.
“Papa! Sally!” she exclaimed, in consternation. Then she swept into the room. “What has happened?”
Sampson, like the devil he was, laughed when it was too late. He had good impulses, but they never interfered with his sardonic humor. He paced the little room, shrugging his shoulders, offering no explanation. Sally appeared about ready to collapse and I could not have told Sally’s lie to Miss Sampson to save my life.
“Diane, your father and I broke in on a little Romeo and Juliet scene,” said George Wright with a leer. Then Miss Sampson’s dark gaze swept from George to her father, then to Sally’s attire and her shamed face, and finally to me. What effect the magnificent wrath and outraged trust in her eyes had upon me!
“Russ, do they dare insinuate you came to Sally’s room?” For myself I could keep silent, but for Sally I began to feel a hot clamoring outburst swelling in my throat.
“Sally confessed it, Diane,” replied Wright.
“Sally!” A shrinking, shuddering disbelief filled Miss Sampson’s voice.
“Diane, I told you I loved him—didn’t I?” replied Sally. She managed to hold up her head with a ghost of her former defiant spirit.
“Miss Sampson, it’s a—” I burst out.
Then Sally fainted. It was I who caught her. Miss Sampson hurried to her side with a little cry of distress.
“Russ, your hand’s called,” said Sampson. “Of course you’ll swear the moon’s green cheese. And I like you the better for it. But we know now, and you can save your breath. If Sally hadn’t stuck up so gamely for you I’d have shot you. But at that I wasn’t looking for you. Now clear out of here.” I picked up my gun from the bureau and dropped it in its sheath. For the life of me I could not leave without another look at Miss Sampson. The scorn in her eyes did not wholly hide the sadness. She who needed friends was experiencing the bitterness of misplaced trust. That came out in the scorn, but the sadness—I knew what hurt her most was her sorrow.
I dropped my head and stalked out.
CHAPTER 10
A SLAP IN THE FACE
When I got out into the dark, where my hot face cooled in the wind, my relief equaled my other feelings. Sampson had told me to clear out, and although I did not take that as a dismissal I considered I would be wise to leave the ranch at once. Daylight might disclose my footprints between the walls, but even if it did not, my work there was finished. So I went to my room and packed my few belongings.
The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. I hoped as soon as I got clear of the ranch to lose something of the pain I felt. But long after I had tramped out into the open there was a lump in my throat and an ache in my breast. And all my thought centered round Sally.
What a game and loyal little girl she had turned out to be! I was absolutely at a loss concerning what the future held in store for us. I seemed to have a vague but clinging hope that, after the trouble was over, there might be—there must be—something more between us.
Steele was not at our rendezvous among the rocks. The hour was too late. Among the few dim lights flickering on the outskirts of town I picked out the one of his little adobe house but I knew almost to a certainty that he was not there. So I turned my way into the darkness, not with any great hope of finding Steele out there, but with the intention of seeking a covert for myself until morning.
There was no trail and the night was so black that I could see only the lighter sandy patches of ground. I stumbled over the little clumps of brush, fell into washes, and pricked myself on cactus. By and by mesquites and rocks began to make progress still harder for me. I wandered around, at last getting on higher ground and here in spite of the darkness, felt some sense of familiarity with things. I was probably near Steele’s hiding place.
I went on till rocks and brush barred further progress, and then I ventured to whistle. But no answer came. Whereupon I spread my blanket in as sheltered a place as I could find and lay down. The coyotes were on noisy duty, the wind moaned and rushed through the mesquites. But despite these sounds and worry about Steele, and the never-absent haunting thought of Sally, I went to sleep.
A little rain had fallen during the night, as I discovered upon waking; still it was not enough to cause me any discomfort. The morning was bright and beautiful, yet somehow I hated it. I had work to do that did not go well with that golden wave of grass and brush on the windy open.
I climbed to the highest rock of that ridge and looked about. It was a wild spot, some three miles from town. Presently I recognized landmarks given to me by Steele and knew I was near his place. I whistled, then halloed, but got no reply. Then by working back and forth across the ridge I found what appeared to be a faint trail. This I followed, lost and found again, and eventually, still higher up on another ridge, with a commanding outlook, I found Steele’s hiding place. He had not been there for perhaps forty-eight hours. I wondered where he had slept.
Under a shelving rock I found a pack of food, carefully protected by a heavy slab. There was also a canteen full of water. I lost no time getting myself some breakfast, and then, hiding my own pack, I set off at a rapid walk for town.
But I had scarcely gone a quarter of a mile, had, in fact, just reached a level, when sight of two horsemen halted me and made me take to cover. They appeared to be cowboys hunting for a horse or a steer. Under the circumstances, however, I was suspicious, and I watched them closely, and followed them a mile or so round the base of the ridges, until I had thoroughly satisfied myself they were not tracking Steele. They were a long time working out of sight, which further retarded my venturing forth into the open.
Finally I did get started. Then about half-way to town more horsemen in the flat caused me to lie low for a while, and make a wide detour to avoid being seen.
Somewhat to my anxiety it was afternoon before I arrived in town. For my life I could not have told why I knew something had happened since my last visit, but I certainly felt it; and was proportionately curious and anxious.
The first person I saw whom I recognized was Dick, and he handed me a note from Sally. She seemed to take it for granted that I had been wise to leave the ranch. Miss Sampson had softened somewhat when she learned Sally and I were engaged, and she had forgiven my deceit. Sally asked me to come that night after eight, down among the trees and shrubbery, to a seclu
ded spot we knew. It was a brief note and all to the point. But there was something in it that affected me strangely. I had imagined the engagement an invention for the moment. But after danger to me was past Sally would not have carried on a pretense, not even to win back Miss Sampson’s respect. The fact was, Sally meant that engagement. If I did the right thing now I would not lose her.
But what was the right thing?
I was sorely perplexed and deeply touched. Never had I a harder task than that of the hour—to put her out of my mind. I went boldly to Steele’s house. He was not there. There was nothing by which I could tell when he had been there. The lamp might have been turned out or might have burned out. The oil was low. I saw a good many tracks round in the sandy walks. I did not recognize Steele’s.
As I hurried away I detected more than one of Steele’s nearest neighbors peering at me from windows and doors. Then I went to Mrs. Hoden’s. She was up and about and cheerful. The children were playing, manifestly well cared for and content. Mrs. Hoden had not seen Steele since I had. Miss Samson had sent her servant. There was a very decided change in the atmosphere of Mrs. Hoden’s home, and I saw that for her the worst was past, and she was bravely, hopefully facing the future.
From there, I hurried to the main street of Linrock and to that section where violence brooded, ready at any chance moment to lift its hydra head. For that time of day the street seemed unusually quiet. Few pedestrians were abroad and few loungers. There was a row of saddled horses on each side of the street, the full extent of the block.
I went into the big barroom of the Hope So. I had never seen the place so full, nor had it ever seemed so quiet. The whole long bar was lined by shirt-sleeved men, with hats slouched back and vests flapping wide. Those who were not drinking were talking low. Half a dozen tables held as many groups of dusty, motley men, some silent, others speaking and gesticulating, all earnest.
At first glance I did not see any one in whom I had especial interest. The principal actors of my drama did not appear to be present. However, there were rough characters more in evidence than at any other time I had visited the saloon. Voices were too low for me to catch, but I followed the direction of some of the significant gestures. Then I saw that these half dozen tables were rather closely grouped and drawn back from the center of the big room. Next my quick sight took in a smashed table and chairs, some broken bottles on the floor, and then a dark sinister splotch of blood.
I had no time to make inquiries, for my roving eye caught Frank Morton in the doorway, and evidently he wanted to attract my attention. He turned away and I followed. When I got outside, he was leaning against the hitching-rail. One look at this big rancher was enough for me to see that he had been told my part in Steele’s game, and that he himself had roused to the Texas fighting temper. He had a clouded brow. He looked somber and thick. He seemed slow, heavy, guarded.
“Howdy, Russ,” he said. “We’ve been wantin’ you.”
“There’s ten of us in town, all scattered round, ready. It’s goin’ to start today.”
“Where’s Steele?” was my first query.
“Saw him less’n hour ago. He’s somewhere close. He may show up any time.”
“Is he all right?”
“Wai, he was pretty fit a little while back,” replied Morton significantly.
“What’s come off? Tell me all.”
“Wai, the ball opened last night, I reckon. Jack Blome came swaggerin’ in here askin’ for Steele. We all knew what he was in town for. But last night he came out with it. Every man in the saloons, every man on the streets heard Blome’s loud an’ longin’ call for the Ranger. Blome’s pals took it up and they all enjoyed themselves some.”
“Drinking hard?” I queried.
“Nope—they didn’t hit it up very hard. But they laid foundations.” Of course, Steele was not to be seen last night. This morning Blome and his gang were out pretty early. But they traveled alone. Blome just strolled up and down by himself. I watched him walk up this street on one side and then down the other, just a matter of thirty-one times. I counted them. For all I could see maybe Blome did not take a drink. But his gang, especially Bo Snecker, sure looked on the red liquor.
“By eleven o’clock everybody in town knew what was coming off. There was no work or business, except in the saloons. Zimmer and I were together, and the rest of our crowd in pairs at different places. I reckon it was about noon when Blome got tired parading up and down. He went in the Hope So, and the crowd followed. Zimmer stayed outside so to give Steele a hunch in case he came along. I went in to see the show.
“Wai, it was some curious to me, and I’ve lived all my life in Texas. But I never before saw a gunman on the job, so to say. Blome’s a handsome fellow, an’ he seemed different from what I expected. Sure, I thought he’d yell an’ prance round like a drunken fool. But he was cool an’ quiet enough. The bio win’ an’ drinkin’ was done by his pals. But after a little while it got to me that Blome gloried in this situation. I’ve seen a man dead-set to kill another, all dark, sullen, restless. But Blome wasn’t that way. He didn’t seem at all like a bloody devil. He was vain, cocksure. He was revelin’ in the effect he made. I had him figured all right.
“Blome sat on the edge of a table an’ he faced the door. Of course, there was a pard outside, ready to pop in an’ tell him if Steele was comin’. But Steele didn’t come in that way. He wasn’t on the street just before that time, because Zimmer told me afterward. Steele must have been in the Hope So somewhere. Any way, just like he dropped from the clouds he came through the door near the bar. Blome didn’t see him come. But most of the gang did, an’ I want to tell you that big room went pretty quiet.
“‘Hello Blome, I hear you’re lookin’ for me,’ called out Steele.
“I don’t know if he spoke ordinary or not, but his voice drew me up same as it did the rest, an’ damn me! Blome seemed to turn to stone. He didn’t start or jump. He turned gray. An’ I could see that he was tryin’ to think in a moment when thinkin’ was hard. Then Blome turned his head. Sure he expected to look into a six-shooter. But Steele was standin’ back there in his shirt sleeves, his hands on his hips, and he looked more man than any one I ever saw. It’s easy to remember the look of him, but how he made me feel, that isn’t easy.
“Blome was at a disadvantage. He was half sittin’ on a table, an’ Steele was behind an’ to the left of him. For Blome to make a move then would have been a fool trick. He saw that. So did everybody. The crowd slid back without noise, but Bo Snecker an’ a rustler named March stuck near Blome. I figured this Bo Snecker as dangerous as Blome, an’ results proved I was right.
“Steele didn’t choose to keep his advantage, so far as position in regard to Blome went. He just walked round in front of the rustler. But this put all the crowd in front of Steele, an’ perhaps he had an eye for that.
“‘I hear you’ve been looking for me,’ repeated the Ranger.
“Blome never moved a muscle but he seemed to come to life. It struck me that Steele’s presence had made an impression on Blome which was new to the rustler.
“‘Yes, I have,’ replied Blome.
“‘Well, here I am. What do you want?’
“When everybody knew what Blome wanted and had intended, this question of Steele’s seemed strange on one hand. An’ yet on the other, now that the Ranger stood there, it struck me as natural enough.
“‘If you heard I was lookin’ for you, you sure heard what for,’ replied Blome.
“‘Blome, my experience with such men as you is that you all brag one thing behind my back an’ you mean different when I show up. I’ve called you now. What do you mean?’
“‘I reckon you know what Jack Blome means.’
“‘Jack Blome! That name means nothin’ to me. Blome, you’ve been braggin’ around that you’d meet me—kill me! You thought you meant it, didn’t you?’
“‘Yes—I did mean it.’
“‘All right. Go ahead!’
&n
bsp; “The barroom became perfectly still, except for the slow breaths I heard. There wasn’t any movement anywhere. That queer gray came to Blome’s face again. He might again have been stone. I thought, an’ I’ll gamble every one else watchin’ thought, Blome would draw an’ get killed in the act. But he never moved. Steele had cowed him. If Blome had been heated by drink, or mad, or anythin’ but what he was just then, maybe he might have throwed a gun. But he didn’t. I’ve heard of really brave men gettin’ panicked like that, an’ after seein’ Steele I didn’t wonder at Blome.
“‘You see, Blome, you don’t want to meet me, for all your talk,’ went on the Ranger. ‘You thought you did, but that was before you faced the man you intended to kill. Blome, you’re one of these dandy, cock-of-the-walk four-flushers. I’ll tell you how I know. Because I’ve met the real gun-fighters, an’ there never was one of them yet who bragged or talked. Now don’t you go round blowin’ any more.’
“Then Steele deliberately stepped forward an’ slapped Blome on one side of his face an’ again on the other.
“‘Keep out of my way after this or I’m liable to spoil some of your dandy looks.’
“Blome got up an’ walked straight out of the place. I had my eyes on him, kept me from seein’ Steele. But on hearin’ somethin’, I don’t know what, I turned back an’ there Steele had got a long arm on Bo Snecker, who was tryin’ to throw a gun.
“But he wasn’t quick enough. The gun banged in the air an’ then it went spinnin’ away, while Snecker dropped in a heap on the floor. The table was overturned, an’ March, the other rustler, who was on that side, got up, pullin’ his gun. But somebody in the crowd killed him before he could get goin’. I didn’t see who fired that shot, an’ neither did anybody else. But the crowd broke an’ run. Steele dragged Bo Snecker down to jail an’ locked him up.”
Morton concluded his narrative, and then evidently somewhat dry of tongue, he produced knife and tobacco and cut himself a huge quid. “That’s all, so far, today, Russ, but I reckon you’ll agree with me on the main issue—Steele’s game’s opened.”
