The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  Early in the afternoon Wade went down to the ranch-house. The snow was not so deep there, having blown considerably in the open places. Some one was pounding iron in the blacksmith shop; horses were cavorting in the corrals; cattle were bawling round the hay-ricks in the barn-yard.

  The hunter knocked on Columbine’s door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Wade entered, to find her alone. She was sitting up in bed, propped up with pillows, and she wore a warm, woolly jacket or dressing-gown. Her paleness was now marked, and the shadows under her eyes made them appear large and mournful.

  “Ben Wade, you don’t care for me any more!” she exclaimed, reproachfully.

  “Why not, lass?” he asked.

  “You were so long in coming,” she replied, now with petulance. “I guess now I don’t want you at all.”

  “Ahuh! That’s the reward of people who worry an’ work for others. Well, then, I reckon I’ll go back an’ not give you what I brought.”

  He made a pretense of leaving, and he put a hand to his pocket as if to insure the safety of some article. Columbine blushed. She held out her hands. She was repentant of her words and curious as to his.

  “Why, Ben Wade, I count the minutes before you come,” she said. “What’d you bring me?”

  “Who’s been in here?” he asked, going forward. “That’s a poor fire. I’ll have to fix it.”

  “Mrs. Andrews just left. It was good of her to drive up. She came in the sled, she said. Oh, Ben, it’s winter. There was snow on my bed when I woke up. I think I am better today. Jack hasn’t been in here yet!”

  At this Wade laughed, and Columbine followed suit.

  “Well, you look a little sassy today, which I take is a good sign,” said Wade. “I’ve got some news that will come near to makin’ you well.”

  “Oh, tell it quick!” she cried.

  “Wils won’t lose his leg. It’s gettin’ well. An’ there was a letter from his father, forgivin’ him for somethin’ he never told me.”

  “My prayers were answered!” whispered Columbine, and she closed her eyes tight.

  “An’ his father wants him to come home to run the ranch,” went on Wade.

  “Oh!” Her eyes popped open with sudden fright. “But he can’t—he won’t go?”

  “I reckon not. He wouldn’t if he could. But some day he will, an’ take you home with him.”

  Columbine covered her face with her hands, and was silent a moment.

  “Such prophecies! They—they—” She could not conclude.

  “Ahuh! I know. The strange fact is, lass, that they all come true. I wish I had all happy ones, instead of them black, croakin’ ones that come like ravens.… Well, you’re better today?”

  “Yes. Oh yes. Ben, what have you got for me?”

  “You’re in an awful hurry. I want to talk to you, an’ if I show what I’ve got then there will be no talkin’. You say Jack hasn’t been in today?”

  “Not yet, thank goodness.”

  “How about Old Bill?”

  “Ben, you never call him my dad. I wish you would. When you don’t it always reminds me that he’s really not my dad.”

  “Ahuh! Well, well!” replied Wade, with his head bowed. “It is just queer I can never remember.… An’ how was he today?”

  “For a wonder he didn’t mention poor me. He was full of talk about going to Kremmling. Means to take Jack along. Do you know, Ben, dad can’t fool me. He’s afraid to leave Jack here alone with me. So dad talked a lot about selling stock an’ buying supplies, and how he needed Jack to go, and so forth. I’m mighty glad he means to take him. But my! won’t Jack be sore.”

  “I reckon. It’s time he broke out.”

  “And now, dear Ben—what have you got for me? I know it’s from Wilson,” she coaxed.

  “Lass, would you give much for a little note from Wils?” asked Wade, teasingly.

  “Would I? When I’ve been hoping and praying for just that!”

  “Well, if you’d give so much for a note, how much would you give me for a whole bookful that took Wils two hours to write?”

  “Ben! Oh, I’d—I’d give—” she cried, wild with delight. “I’d kiss you!”

  “You mean it?” he queried, waving the book aloft.

  “Mean it? Come here!”

  There was fun in this for Wade, but also a deep and beautiful emotion that quivered through him. Bending over her, he placed the little book in her hand. He did not see clearly, then, as she pulled him lower and kissed him on the cheek, generously, with sweet, frank gratitude and affection.

  Moments strong and all-satisfying had been multiplying for Bent Wade of late. But this one magnified all. As he sat back upon the chair he seemed a little husky of voice.

  “Well, well, an’ so you kissed ugly old Bent Wade?”

  “Yes, and I’ve wanted to do it before,” she retorted. The dark excitation in her eyes, the flush of her pale cheeks, made her beautiful then.

  “Lass, now you read your letter an’ answer it. You can tear out the pages. I’ll sit here an’ be makin’ out to be readin’ aloud out of this book here, if anyone happens in sudden-like!”

  “Oh, how you think of everything!”

  The hunter sat beside her pretending to be occupied with the book he had taken from the table when really he was stealing glances at her face. Indeed, she was more than pretty then. Illness and pain had enhanced the sweetness of her expression. As she read on it was manifest that she had forgotten the hunter’s presence. She grew pink, rosy, scarlet, radiant. And Wade thrilled with her as she thrilled, loved her more and more as she loved. Moore must have written words of enchantment. Wade’s hungry heart suffered a pang of jealousy, but would not harbor it. He read in her perusal of that letter what no other dreamed of, not even the girl herself; and it was certitude of tragic and brief life for her if she could not live for Wilson Moore. Those moments of watching her were unutterably precious to Wade. He saw how some divine guidance had directed his footsteps to this home. How many years had it taken him to get there! Columbine read and read and reread—a girl with her first love-letter. And for Wade, with his keen eyes that seemed to see the senses and the soul, there shone something infinite through her rapture. Never until that unguarded moment had he divined her innocence, nor had any conception been given him of the exquisite torture of her maiden fears or the havoc of love fighting for itself. He learned then much of the mystery and meaning of a woman’s heart.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Dear Wilson,—The note and letter from you have taken my breath away. I couldn’t tell—I wouldn’t dare tell, how they made me feel.

  “Your good news fills me with joy. And when Ben told me you wouldn’t lose your leg—that you would get well—then my eyes filled and my heart choked me, and I thanked God, who’d answered my prayers. After all the heartache and dread, it’s so wonderful to find things not so terrible as they seemed. Oh, I am thankful! You have only to take care of yourself now, to lie patiently and wait, and obey Ben, and soon the time will have flown by and you will be well again. Maybe, after all, your foot will not be so bad. Maybe you can ride again, if not so wonderfully as before, then well enough to ride on your father’s range and look after his stock. For, Wilson dear, you’ll have to go home. It’s your duty. Your father must be getting old now. He needs you. He has forgiven you—you bad boy! And you are very lucky. It almost kills me to think of your leaving White Slides. But that is selfish. I’m going to learn to be like Ben Wade. He never thinks of himself.

  “Rest assured, Wilson, that I will never marry Jack Bellounds. It seems years since that awful October first. I gave my word then, and I would have lived up to it. But I’ve changed. I’m older. I see things differently. I love dad as well. I feel as sorry for Jack Bellounds. I still think I might help him. I still believe in my duty to his father. But I can’t marry him. It would be a sin. I have no right to marry a man whom I do not love. When it comes to thought of his touching me, then I h
ate him. Duty toward dad is one thing, and I hold it high, but that is not reason enough for a woman to give herself. Some duty to myself is higher than that. It’s hard for me to tell you—for me to understand. Love of you has opened my eyes. Still I don’t think it’s love of you that makes me selfish. I’m true to something in me that I never knew before. I could marry Jack, loving you, and utterly sacrifice myself, if it were right. But it would be wrong. I never realized this until you kissed me. Since then the thought of anything that approaches personal relations—any hint of intimacy with Jack fills me with disgust.

  “So I’m not engaged to Jack Bellounds, and I’m never going to be. There will be trouble here. I feel it. I see it coming. Dad keeps at me persistently. He grows older. I don’t think he’s failing, but then there’s a loss of memory, and an almost childish obsession in regard to the marriage he has set his heart on. Then his passion for Jack seems greater as he learns little by little that Jack is not all he might be. Wilson, I give you my word; I believe if dad ever really sees Jack as I see him or you see him, then something dreadful will happen. In spite of everything dad still believes in Jack. It’s beautiful and terrible. That’s one reason why I’ve wanted to help Jack. Well, it’s not to be. Every day, every hour, Jack Bellounds grows farther from me. He and his father will try to persuade me to consent to this marriage. They may even try to force me. But in that way I’ll be as hard and as cold as Old White Slides. No! Never! For the rest, I’ll do my duty to dad. I’ll stick to him. I could not engage myself to you, no matter how much I love you. And that’s more every minute!… So don’t mention taking me to your home—don’t ask me again. Please, Wilson; your asking shook my very soul! Oh, how sweet that would be—your wife!… But if dad turns me away—I don’t think he would. Yet he’s so strange and like iron for all concerning Jack. If ever he turned me out I’d have no home. I’m a waif, you know. Then—then, Wilson… Oh, it’s horrible to be in the position I’m in. I won’t say any more. You’ll understand, dear.

  “It’s your love that awoke me, and it’s Ben Wade who has saved me. Wilson, I love him almost as I do dad, only strangely. Do you know I believe he had something to do with Jack getting drunk that awful October first. I don’t mean Ben would stoop to get Jack drunk. But he might have cunningly put that opportunity in Jack’s way. Drink is Jack’s weakness, as gambling is his passion. Well, I know that the liquor was some fine old stuff which Ben gave to the cowboys. And it’s significant now how Jack avoids Ben. He hates him. He’s afraid of him. He’s jealous because Ben is so much with me. I’ve heard Jack rave to dad about this. But dad is just to others, if he can’t be to his son.

  “And so I want you to know that it’s Ben Wade who has saved me. Since I’ve been sick I’ve learned more of Ben. He’s like a woman. He understands. I never have to tell him anything. You, Wilson, were sometimes stupid or stubborn (forgive me) about little things that girls feel but can’t explain. Ben knows. I tell you this because I want you to understand how and why I love him. I think I love him most for his goodness to you. Dear boy, if I hadn’t loved you before Ben Wade came I’d have fallen in love with you since, just listening to his talk of you. But this will make you conceited. So I’ll go on about Ben. He’s our friend. Why, Wilson, that sweetness, softness, gentleness about him, the heart that makes him love us, that must be only the woman in him. I don’t know what a mother would feel like, but I do know that I seem strangely happier since I’ve confessed my troubles to this man. It was Lem who told me how Ben offered to be a friend to Jack. And Jack flouted him. I’ve a queer notion that the moment Jack did this he turned his back on a better life.

  “To repeat, then, Ben Wade is our friend, and to me something more that I’ve tried to explain. Maybe telling you this will make you think more of him and listen to his advice. I hope so. Did any boy and girl ever before so need a friend? I need that something he instils in me. If I lost it I’d be miserable. And, Wilson, I’m such a coward. I’m so weak. I have such sinkings and burnings and tossings. Oh, I’m only a woman! But I’ll die fighting. That is what Ben Wade instils into me. While there was life this strange little man would never give up hope. He makes me feel that he knows more than he tells. Through him I shall get the strength to live up to my convictions, to be true to myself, to be faithful to you.

  “With love,

  “COLUMBINE.”

  * * * *

  “December 3d.

  “DEAREST COLLIE,—Your last was only a note, and I told Wade if he didn’t fetch more than a note next time there would be trouble round this bunk-house. And then he brought your letter!

  “I’m feeling exuberant (I think it’s that) today. First time I’ve been up. Collie, I’m able to get up! WHOOPEE! I walk with a crutch, and don’t dare put my foot down. Not that it hurts, but that my boss would have a fit! I’m glad you’ve stopped heaping praise upon our friend Ben. Because now I can get over my jealousy and be half decent. He’s the whitest man I ever knew.

  “Now listen, Collie. I’ve had ideas lately. I’ve begun to eat and get stronger and to feel good. The pain is gone. And to think I swore to Wade I’d forgive Jack Bellounds and never hate him—or kill him!… There, that’s letting the cat out of the bag, and it’s done now. But no matter. The truth is, though, that I never could stop hating Jack while the pain lasted. Now I could shake hands with him and smile at him.

  “Well, as I said, I’ve ideas. They’re great. Grab hold of the pommel now so you won’t get thrown! I’m going to pitch!… When I get well—able to ride and go about, which Ben says will be in the spring—I’ll send for my father to come to White Slides. He’ll come. Then I’ll tell him everything, and if Ben and I can’t win him to our side then you can. Father never could resist you. When he has fallen in love with you, which won’t take long, then we’ll go to old Bill Bellounds and lay the case before him. Are you still in the saddle, Collie?

  “Well, if you are, be sure to get a better hold, for I’m going to run some next. Ben Wade approved of my plan. He says Bellounds can be brought to reason. He says he can make him see the ruin for everybody were you forced to marry Jack. Strange, Collie, how Wade included himself with, you, me, Jack, and the old man, in the foreshadowed ruin! Wade is as deep as the cañon there. Sometimes when he’s thoughtful he gives me a creepy feeling. At others, when he comes out with one of his easy, cool assurances that we are all right—that we will get each other—why, then something grim takes possession of me. I believe him, I’m happy, but there crosses my mind a fleeting realization—not of what our friend is now, but what he has been. And it disturbs me, chills me. I don’t understand it. For, Collie, though I understand your feeling of what he is, I don’t understand mine. You see, I’m a man. I’ve been a cowboy for ten years and more. I’ve seen some hard experiences and worked with a good many rough boys and men. Cowboys, Indians, Mexicans, miners, prospectors, ranchers, hunters—some of whom were bad medicine. So I’ve come to see men as you couldn’t see them. And Bent Wade has been everything a man could be. He seems all men in one. And despite all his kindness and goodness and hopefulness, there is the sense I have of something deadly and terrible and inevitable in him.

  “It makes my heart almost stop beating to know I have this man on my side. Because I sense in him the man element, the physical—oh, I can’t put it in words, but I mean something great in him that can’t be beaten. What he says must come true!… And so I’ve already begun to dream and to think of you as my wife. If you ever are—no! when you are, then I will owe it to Bent Wade. No man ever owed another for so precious a gift. But, Collie, I can’t help a little vague dread—of what, I don’t know, unless it’s a sense of the possibilities of Hell—Bent Wade.… Dearest, I don’t want to worry you or frighten you, and I can’t follow out my own gloomy fancies. Don’t you mind too much what I think. Only you must realize that Wade is the greatest factor in our hopes of the future. My faith in him is so unshakable that it’s foolish. Next to you I love him best. He seems even dearer to
me than my own people. He has made me look at life differently. Likewise he has inspired you. But you, dearest Columbine, are only a sensitive, delicate girl, a frail and tender thing like the columbine flowers of the hills. And for your own sake you must not be blind to what Wade is capable of. If you keep on loving him and idealizing him, blind to what has made him great, that is, blind to the tragic side of him, then if he did something terrible here for you and for me the shock would be bad for you. Lord knows I have no suspicions of Wade. I have no clear ideas at all. But I do know that for you he would not stop at anything. He loves you as much as I do, only differently. Such power a pale, sweet-faced girl has over the lives of men!

  “Good-by for this time.

  “Faithfully,

  “WILSON.”

  * * * *

  “January 10th.

  “DEAR WILSON,—

  In every letter I tell you I’m better! Why, pretty soon there’ll be nothing left to say about my health. I’ve been up and around now for days, but only lately have I begun to gain. Since Jack has been away I’m getting fat. I eat, and that’s one reason I suppose. Then I move around more.

  “You ask me to tell you all I do. Goodness! I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. You are getting mighty bossy since you’re able to hobble around, as you call it. But you can’t boss me! However, I’ll be nice and tell you a little. I don’t work very much. I’ve helped dad with his accounts, all so hopelessly muddled since he let Jack keep the books. I read a good deal. Your letters are worn out! Then, when it snows, I sit by the window and watch. I love to see the snowflakes fall, so fleecy and white and soft! But I don’t like the snowy world after the storm has passed. I shiver and hug the fire. I must have Indian in me. On moonlit nights to look out at Old White Slides, so cold and icy and grand, and over the white hills and ranges, makes me shudder. I don’t know why. It’s all beautiful. But it seems to me like death.… Well, I sit idly a lot and think of you and how terribly big my love has grown, and…but that’s all about that!