by Zane Grey
“Wal, as Nels says, I wouldn’t be in that there ottomobile right now for a million pesos,” remarked Stillwell.
“Why? Is Stevens driving fast?”
“Good Lord! Fast? Miss Majesty, there hain’t ever been anythin’ except a streak of lightnin’ run so fast in this country. I’ll bet Link for once is in heaven. I can jest see him now, the grim, crooked-legged little devil, hunchin’ down over that wheel as if it was a hoss’s neck.”
“I told him not to let the ride be hot or dusty,” remarked Madeline.
“Haw, haw!” roared Stillwell. “Wal, I’ll be goin’. I reckon I’d like to be hyar when Link drives up, but I want to be with the boys down by the bunks. It’ll be some fun to see Nels an’ Monty when Link comes flyin’ along.”
“I wish Al had stayed to meet them,” said Madeline.
Her brother had rather hurried a shipment of cattle to California: and it was Madeline’s supposition that he had welcomed the opportunity to absent himself from the ranch.
“I am sorry he wouldn’t stay,” replied Florence. “But Al’s all business now. And he’s doing finely. It’s just as well, perhaps.”
“Surely. That was my pride speaking. I would like to have all my family and all my old friends see what a man Al has become. Well, Link Stevens is running like the wind. The car will be here before we know it. Florence, we’ve only a few moments to dress. But first I want to order many and various and exceedingly cold refreshments for that approaching party.”
Less than a half-hour later Madeline went again to the porch and found Florence there.
“Oh, you look just lovely!” exclaimed Florence, impulsively, as she gazed wide-eyed up at Madeline. “And somehow so different!”
Madeline smiled a little sadly. Perhaps when she had put on that exquisite white gown something had come to her of the manner which befitted the wearing of it. She could not resist the desire to look fair once more in the eyes of these hypercritical friends. The sad smile had been for the days that were gone. For she knew that what society had once been pleased to call her beauty had trebled since it had last been seen in a drawing-room. Madeline wore no jewels, but at her waist she had pinned two great crimson roses. Against the dead white they had the life and fire and redness of the desert.
“Link’s hit the old round-up trail,” said Florence, “and oh, isn’t he riding that car!”
With Florence, as with most of the cowboys, the car was never driven, but ridden.
A white spot with a long trail of dust showed low down in the valley. It was now headed almost straight for the ranch. Madeline watched it growing larger moment by moment, and her pleasurable emotion grew accordingly. Then the rapid beat of a horse’s hoofs caused her to turn.
Stewart was riding in on his black horse. He had been absent on an important mission, and his duty had taken him to the international boundary-line. His presence home long before he was expected was particularly gratifying to Madeline, for it meant that his mission had been brought to a successful issue. Once more, for the hundredth time, the man’s reliability struck Madeline. He was a doer of things. The black horse halted wearily without the usual pound of hoofs on the gravel, and the dusty rider dismounted wearily. Both horse and rider showed the heat and dust and wind of many miles.
Madeline advanced to the porch steps. And Stewart, after taking a parcel of papers from a saddle-bag, turned toward her.
“Stewart, you are the best of couriers,” she said. “I am pleased.”
Dust streamed from his sombrero as he doffed it. His dark face seemed to rise as he straightened weary shoulders.
“Here are the reports, Miss Hammond,” he replied.
As he looked up to see her standing there, dressed to receive her Eastern guests, he checked his advance with a violent action which recalled to Madeline the one he had made on the night she had met him, when she disclosed her identity. It was not fear nor embarrassment nor awkwardness. And it was only momentary. Yet, slight as had been his pause, Madeline received from it an impression of some strong halting force. A man struck by a bullet might have had an instant jerk of muscular control such as convulsed Stewart. In that instant, as her keen gaze searched his dust-caked face, she met the full, free look of his eyes. Her own did not fall, though she felt a warmth steal to her cheeks. Madeline very seldom blushed. And now, conscious of her sudden color a genuine blush flamed on her face. It was irritating because it was incomprehensible. She received the papers from Stewart and thanked him. He bowed, then led the black down the path toward the corrals.
“When Stewart looks like that he’s been riding,” said Florence. “But when his horse looks like that he’s sure been burning the wind.”
Madeline watched the weary horse and rider limp down the path. What had made her thoughtful? Mostly it was something new or sudden or inexplicable that stirred her mind to quick analysis. In this instance the thing that had struck Madeline was Stewart’s glance. He had looked at her, and the old burning, inscrutable fire, the darkness, had left his eyes. Suddenly they had been beautiful. The look had not been one of surprise or admiration; nor had it been one of love. She was familiar, too familiar with all three. It had not been a gaze of passion, for there was nothing beautiful in that. Madeline pondered. And presently she realized that Stewart’s eyes had expressed a strange joy of pride. That expression Madeline had never before encountered in the look of any man. Probably its strangeness had made her notice it and accounted for her blushing. The longer she lived among these outdoor men the more they surprised her. Particularly, how incomprehensible was this cowboy Stewart! Why should he have pride or joy at sight of her?
Florence’s exclamation made Madeline once more attend to the approaching automobile. It was on the slope now, some miles down the long gradual slant. Two yellow funnel-shaped clouds of dust seemed to shoot out from behind the car and roll aloft to join the column that stretched down the valley.
“I wonder what riding a mile a minute would be like,” said Florence. “I’ll sure make Link take me. Oh, but look at him come!”
The giant car resembled a white demon, and but for the dust would have appeared to be sailing in the air. Its motion was steadily forward, holding to the road as if on rails. And its velocity was astounding. Long, gray veils, like pennants, streamed in the wind. A low rushing sound became perceptible, and it grew louder, became a roar. The car shot like an arrow past the alfalfa-field, by the bunk-houses, where the cowboys waved and cheered. The horses and burros in the corrals began to snort and tramp and race in fright. At the base of the long slope of the foothill Link cut the speed more than half. Yet the car roared up, rolling the dust, flying capes and veils and ulsters, and crashed and cracked to a halt in the yard before the porch.
Madeline descried a gray, disheveled mass of humanity packed inside the car. Besides the driver there were seven occupants, and for a moment they appeared to be coming to life, moving and exclaiming under the veils and wraps and dust-shields.
Link Stevens stepped out and, removing helmet and goggles, coolly looked at his watch.
“An hour an’ a quarter, Miss Hammond,” he said. “It’s sixty-three miles by the valley road, an’ you know there’s a couple of bad hills. I reckon we made fair time, considerin’ you wanted me to drive slow an’ safe.”
From the mass of dusty-veiled humanity in the car came low exclamations and plaintive feminine wails.
Madeline stepped to the front of the porch. Then the deep voices of men and softer voices of women united in one glad outburst, as much a thanksgiving as a greeting, “Majesty!”
* * * *
Helen Hammond was three years younger than Madeline, and a slender, pretty girl. She did not resemble her sister, except in whiteness and fineness of skin, being more of a brown-eyed, brown-haired type. Having recovered her breath soon after Madeline took her to her room, she began to talk.
“Majesty, old girl, I’m here; but you can bet I would never have gotten here if I had known about that rid
e from the railroad. You never wrote that you had a car. I thought this was out West—stage-coach, and all that sort of thing. Such a tremendous car! And the road! And that terrible little man with the leather trousers! What kind of a chauffeur is he?”
“He’s a cowboy. He was crippled by falling under his horse, so I had him instructed to run the car. He can drive, don’t you think?”
“Drive? Good gracious! He scared us to death, except Castleton. Nothing could scare that cold-blooded little Englishman. I am dizzy yet. Do you know, Majesty, I was delighted when I saw the car. Then your cowboy driver met us at the platform. What a queer-looking individual! He had a big pistol strapped to those leather trousers. That made me nervous. When he piled us all in with our grips, he put me in the seat beside him, whether I liked it or not. I was fool enough to tell him I loved to travel fast. What do you think he said? Well, he eyed me in a rather cool and speculative way and said, with a smile, ‘Miss, I reckon anything you love an’ want bad will be coming to you out here!’ I didn’t know whether it was delightful candor or impudence. Then he said to all of us: ‘Shore you had better wrap up in the veils an’ dusters. It’s a long, slow, hot, dusty ride to the ranch, an’ Miss Hammond’s order was to drive safe.’ He got our baggage checks and gave them to a man with a huge wagon and a four-horse team. Then he cranked the car, jumped in, wrapped his arms round the wheel, and sank down low in his seat. There was a crack, a jerk, a kind of flash around us, and that dirty little town was somewhere on the map behind. For about five minutes I had a lovely time. Then the wind began to tear me to pieces. I couldn’t hear anything but the rush of wind and roar of the car. I could see only straight ahead. What a road! I never saw a road in my life till today. Miles and miles and miles ahead, with not even a post or tree. That big car seemed to leap at the miles. It hummed and sang. I was fascinated, then terrified. We went so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. The wind went through me, and I expected to be disrobed by it any minute. I was afraid I couldn’t hold any clothes on. Presently all I could see was a flashing gray wall with a white line in the middle. Then my eyes blurred. My face burned. My ears grew full of a hundred thousand howling devils. I was about ready to die when the car stopped. I looked and looked, and when I could see, there you stood!”
“Helen, I thought you were fond of speeding,” said Madeline, with a laugh.
“I was. But I assure you I never before was in a fast car; I never saw a road; I never met a driver.”
“Perhaps I may have a few surprises for you out here in the wild and woolly West.”
Helen’s dark eyes showed a sister’s memory of possibilities.
“You’ve started well,” she said. “I am simply stunned. I expected to find you old and dowdy. Majesty, you’re the handsomest thing I ever laid eyes on. You’re so splendid and strong, and your skin is like white gold. What’s happened to you? What’s changed you? This beautiful room, those glorious roses out there, the cool, dark sweetness of this wonderful house! I know you, Majesty, and, though you never wrote it, I believe you have made a home out here. That’s the most stunning surprise of all. Come, confess. I know I’ve always been selfish and not much of a sister; but if you are happy out here I am glad. You were not happy at home. Tell me about yourself and about Alfred. Then I shall give you all the messages and news from the East.”
It afforded Madeline exceeding pleasure to have from one and all of her guests varied encomiums of her beautiful home, and a real and warm interest in what promised to be a delightful and memorable visit.
Of them all Castleton was the only one who failed to show surprise. He greeted her precisely as he had when he had last seen her in London. Madeline, rather to her astonishment, found meeting him again pleasurable. She discovered she liked this imperturbable Englishman. Manifestly her capacity for liking anyone had immeasurably enlarged. Quite unexpectedly her old girlish love for her younger sister sprang into life, and with it interest in these half-forgotten friends, and a warm regard for Edith Wayne, a chum of college days.
Helen’s party was smaller than Madeline had expected it to be. Helen had been careful to select a company of good friends, all of whom were well known to Madeline. Edith Wayne was a patrician brunette, a serious, soft-voiced woman, sweet and kindly, despite a rather bitter experience that had left her worldly wise. Mrs. Carrollton Beck, a plain, lively person, had chaperoned the party. The fourth and last of the feminine contingent was Miss Dorothy Coombs—Dot, as they called her—a young woman of attractive blond prettiness.
For a man Castleton was of very small stature. He had a pink-and-white complexion, a small golden mustache, and his heavy eyelids, always drooping, made him look dull. His attire, cut to what appeared to be an exaggerated English style, attracted attention to his diminutive size. He was immaculate and fastidious. Robert Weede was a rather large florid young man, remarkable only for his good nature. Counting Boyd Harvey, a handsome, pale-faced fellow, with the careless smile of the man for whom life had been easy and pleasant, the party was complete.
Dinner was a happy hour, especially for the Mexican women who served it and who could not fail to note its success. The mingling of low voices and laughter, the old, gay, superficial talk, the graciousness of a class which lived for the pleasure of things and to make time pass pleasurably for others—all took Madeline far back into the past. She did not care to return to it, but she saw that it was well she had not wholly cut herself off from her people and friends.
When the party adjourned to the porch the heat had markedly decreased and the red sun was sinking over the red desert. An absence of spoken praise, a gradually deepening silence, attested to the impression on the visitors of that noble sunset. Just as the last curve of red rim vanished beyond the dim Sierra Madres and the golden lightning began to flare brighter Helen broke the silence with an exclamation.
“It wants only life. Ah, there’s a horse climbing the hill! See, he’s up! He has a rider!”
Madeline knew before she looked the identity of the man riding up the mesa. But she did not know until that moment how the habit of watching for him at this hour had grown upon her. He rode along the rim of the mesa and out to the point, where, against the golden background, horse and rider stood silhouetted in bold relief.
“What’s he doing there? Who is he?” inquired the curious Helen.
“That is Stewart, my right-hand man,” replied Madeline. “Every day when he is at the ranch he rides up there at sunset. I think he likes the ride and the scene; but he goes to take a look at the cattle in the valley.”
“Is he a cowboy?” asked Helen.
“Indeed yes!” replied Madeline, with a little laugh. “You will think so when Stillwell gets hold of you and begins to talk.”
Madeline found it necessary to explain who Stillwell was, and what he thought of Stewart, and, while she was about it, of her own accord she added a few details of Stewart’s fame.
“El Capitan. How interesting!” mused Helen. “What does he look like?”
“He is superb.”
Florence handed the field-glass to Helen and bade her look.
“Oh, thank you!” said Helen, as she complied. “There. I see him. Indeed, he is superb. What a magnificent horse! How still he stands! Why, he seems carved in stone.”
“Let me look?” said Dorothy Coombs, eagerly.
Helen gave her the glass.
“You can look, Dot, but that’s all. He’s mine. I saw him first.”
Whereupon Madeline’s feminine guests held a spirited contest over the field-glass, and three of them made gay, bantering boasts not to consider Helen’s self-asserted rights. Madeline laughed with the others while she watched the dark figure of Stewart and his black outline against the sky. There came over her a thought not by any means new or strange—she wondered what was in Stewart’s mind as he stood there in the solitude and faced the desert and the darkening west. Some day she meant to ask him. Presently he turned the horse and rode down into the shadow creeping up the
mesa.
“Majesty, have you planned any fun, any excitement for us?” asked Helen. She was restless, nervous, and did not seem to be able to sit still a moment.
“You will think so when I get through with you,” replied Madeline.
“What, for instance?” inquired Helen and Dot and Mrs. Beck, in unison. Edith Wayne smiled her interest.
“Well, I am not counting rides and climbs and golf; but these are necessary to train you for trips over into Arizona. I want to show you the desert and the Aravaipa Canyon. We have to go on horseback and pack our outfit. If any of you are alive after those trips and want more we shall go up into the mountains. I should like very much to know what you each want particularly.”
“I’ll tell you,” replied Helen, promptly. “Dot will be the same out here as she was in the East. She wants to look bashfully down at her hand—a hand imprisoned in another, by the way—and listen to a man talk poetry about her eyes. If cowboys don’t make love that way Dot’s visit will be a failure. Now Elsie Beck wants solely to be revenged upon us for dragging her out here. She wants some dreadful thing to happen to us. I don’t know what’s in Edith’s head, but it isn’t fun. Bobby wants to be near Elsie, and no more. Boyd wants what he has always wanted—the only thing he ever wanted that he didn’t get. Castleton has a horrible bloodthirsty desire to kill something.”
“I declare now, I want to ride and camp out, also,” protested Castleton.
“As for myself,” went on Helen, “I want—Oh, if I only knew what it is that I want! Well, I know I want to be outdoors, to get into the open, to feel sun and wind, to burn some color into my white face. I want some flesh and blood and life. I am tired out. Beyond all that I don’t know very well. I’ll try to keep Dot from attaching all the cowboys to her train.”
