by Zane Grey
“Is this Sunday?” went on Pan casually.
“No. Yestiddy was Sunday, so this must be Monday.”
“Reckon I might as well move along,” remarked Pan, but he did not stir. The bartender went on cleaning glasses. Sounds of footsteps came from outside. Presently Pan walked back through the open door, then halted a moment, to light another cigarette. His back was turned to the bar and the doors. That seemed the climax of his effrontery. It was deliberate, the utter recklessness of the cowboy who had been trained in a hard school. But all that happened was the silence breaking to a gay wild sweet voice: “Call again, cowboy, when there’s somebody home!”
Louise had been watching him through some secret peephole. That had been her tribute to him and her scorn of his opponents. It about closed the incident, Pan concluded. Men were now coming along the street in both directions, though not yet close. Some wag yelled from a distance: “Thar ain’t no sheriff, Panhandle.”
Pan retraced his steps up the street, finding, as before, a clear passage. Men hailed him from doorways, from windows, from behind obstructions. He did not need to be told that they were with him. Marco had been treated to precisely what it wanted. Pan was quick to grasp the mood of these residents who had been so keen about his endeavor to draw out Hardman and Matthews. That hour saw the beginning of the end for these dominant factors in the evil doings of Marco. What deep gratification it afforded Pan! They might thrive for a time, but their heyday had passed. Matthews would be the laughing stock of the town. He could never retrieve. He had been proclaimed only another in the long list of self-appointed officers of the law.
By the time Pan got back to camp his mood actually harmonized with his leisurely, free and careless movements. Still he was hiding something, for he wanted to yell. Blinky saw him coming and yelled for him.
The cowboy was beside himself with a frenzy of delight. It had been hard for him to stay there in camp. He cursed radiantly.
“How’s the pack job? All done?” queried Pan, when he could get a word in.
“Pack hell! We plumb forgot,” replied Blinky. “What you think—you—you—”
Blinky failed to find adequate words to express his sentiments. Gus was quiet as usual, but he too showed relaxation from a severe ordeal.
“Well, let’s get at it now,” suggested Pan. “I’ll start you boys on it, then ride down to Mother’s.”
In the succeeding hour, leading to noon, what with sundry trips down to the store, the trio learned some news that afforded much satisfaction. Jim Blake had assaulted a guard and broken jail. No doubt he must have had outside assistance. According to rumor Matthews accused Hurd, the guard, of being party to the escape, and had discharged him. Sentiment in town was not equally divided. Most everybody, according to the informers, was glad Blake had escaped. It developed that the jail was not a civic institution. Already there had been talk of the permanent citizens getting together.
All this was exceedingly welcome to Pan. He could hardly wait till noon to saddle the sorrel, to ride over to his mother’s.
“Aw, cowboy, hug thet gurl fer me!” sang Blinky, with ecstatic upward gaze. “Shore she’s put the devil in you. An’ this heah outfit is steppin’ high!”
On the way out to the farm, halfway beyond the outskirts of town, Pan met his father rushing up the road. At sight of Pan he almost collapsed.
“Just—heard—the news,” he panted, as Pan reined in the sorrel.
“What news, Dad?” queried Pan, gazing down with both thrill and anxiety at that haggard face, slowly warming out of its havoc.
“Bill Dolan an’ his—boys—stopped at the ranch to—tell me,” Smith, wiping his clammy face. “They just left town.… Bill saw you take that walk down main street.”
“Well, what’s that to be all set up about?”
“Reckon I was scared wild… Bill says to me, ‘Bill, you oughtn’t show yellow like thet. You shore don’t savvy thet boy of yours.’… I thought I did, son, but when it come to a showdown I was chicken-hearted. Your comin’ home was a Godsend to Mother an’ Lucy. An’ more to me! Then to think you might get shot right off.… Wal, it was too much for my stomach.”
“Dad, I bluffed them—that’s all. I braced them quick and hard, before they could figure. It worked, and I believe I got most of the town with me.”
“Pan, is it true that you accused Jard Hardman of robbin’ me—an’ you knocked him flat?”
“Sure it’s true.”
“Lord, but I’d like to have seen that,” declared Smith vehemently. “An’ son, you got Jim Blake out of jail. Bill didn’t hint you had anythin’ to do with that. But I knew. It was sure great. If only Jim does his part!”
“You doubt that, Dad?”
“Shore do. But I’ll tell you, Pan. If we could be with Jim all the time we could pull him up.”
“Let’s hope he’s far on the way to Siccane by now.… Does Lucy know? I hope you didn’t tell her about my meeting with Hardman and Matthews?”
“I didn’t. But Bill shore did,” replied his father. “Reckon I would have squealed, though. Mother an’ Lucy have a lot more nerve than me. Fact is, though, Bill didn’t give ’em time to go to pieces. He just busted out with news of Blake’s escape. Say, boy, you should have seen Lucy.”
“I will see her pronto,” replied Pan eagerly. “Come on. What’re you holding me up for, anyhow?”
Pan walked the horse while his father kept pace alongside.
“Some more news I most forgot,” Smith went on. “Bill told about a shootin’ scrape out in Cedar Gulch. Them claim jumpers drove a miner named Brown off his claim. They had to fight for it. Brown said he wounded one of ’em. They chased him clean to Satlee’s ranch. Shore wanted to kill him or scare him off for good.”
“I know Brown,” replied Pan. “And from what he told me I’ve a hunch I know the claim jumpers.”
“Wal, that’d be hard to prove. In the early days of a minin’ boom there’s a lot of trouble. A miner is a crazy fellar often. He’ll dig a hole, then move on to dig another. Then if some other prospector comes along to find gold on his last diggin’s he yells claim jumpin’. As a matter of fact most of them haven’t a real claim till they find gold. An’ all that makes the trouble.”
“I’ll hunt Brown up and persuade him to make the wild-horse drive with us. He’s—”
“By George, I forgot some more,” interrupted Smith, slapping his leg. “Bill said Wiggate broke with Jard Hardman. Wiggate started this wild-hoss buyin’ an’ shippin’ east. Hardman had to get his finger in the pie. Now Wiggate is a big man an’ he has plenty of money. I always heard him well spoken of. Now I’ll gamble your callin’ Jard Hardman the way you did had a lot to do with Wiggate’s break with him.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” rejoined Pan. “And it’s darned good luck for us. The boys ran across a valley full of wild horses over here about twenty miles. Dad, I believe I can trap several thousand wild horses.”
“No!” ejaculated his father, incredulously.
“If the boys aren’t loco, I sure can,” declared Pan positively.
“I can vouch for numbers myself,” replied Smith. “An’ I’ve not a doubt in the world but that there valley’s not yet hunted. But to ketch the darned scooters, that’s the hell of it! Pan, even a thousand head would give me a new start somewhere.”
“It’s as good as done. Before the snow flies we will be on the way south to Siccane.”
“Lord! I’m a younger man than I was a few days ago. Before the snow flies? That’s hardly another month. Pan, how’ll we travel?”
“Wagons and horseback. We can buy wagon outfits for next to nothing. There’s a corral full of them at Black’s. Second hand, but good enough.”
“Mother an’ Lucy will be glad. They hate this country. I don’t mind wind if it’s not too cold.”
“There! Isn’t that Lucy at the gate now?” suddenly queried Pan, with piercing gaze ahead.
“Reckon it is,” replied his father. “
Ride ahead, son. I’ll take my time.”
Pan urged the sorrel into a lope, then a gallop, and from that to a run. In just a few rods Pan took the measure of this splendid horse. Swift, strong, sure footed and easy gaited, and betraying no sign of a mean spirit, the sorrel won Pan. What a liar Blinky was! He had lied to be generous.
Lucy waved to Pan as he came clattering down the road. Then she disappeared in the green foliage. Arriving at the gate he dismounted and went in. He expected to see her. But she had disappeared. Leading his horse he hurried in toward the house, looking everywhere. The girl, however, was not to be seen.
Bobby was occupied with little wooden playthings on the porch. Pan’s gay shout to him brought forth his mother, but no Lucy.
He dropped his bridle, and mounted the porch to embrace his mother, who met him with suppressed emotions. Her hands were more expressive than her words.
“Oh, I’m all here, Mother,” he laughed. “Where’s Lucy? She was at the gate. Waved to me.”
“Lucy ran through the house like a whirlwind,” replied his mother, with a smile. “The truth is, my son, she has been quite beside herself since she heard of her father’s release from jail. She knew you got him out. She stared at me with her eyes black and wide. ‘Mother, he laughed at me—at my fears. He said it’d be easy to free Dad.’… So she knows, Pan, and I rather think she didn’t want us to see her when she meets you. You’ll find her in the orchard or down by the brook.”
“All right, Mother, I’ll find her,” replied Pan happily. “We’ll be in to dinner pronto. There’s a lot to talk about. Dad will tell you.”
Pan did not seek Lucy in the orchard. Leaping upon the sorrel he loped down the sandy hard-packed path toward the brook and the shady tree with its bench. Pan knew she would be there. Dodging the overhanging branches he kept peering through the aisles of green for a glimpse of white or a golden head. Suddenly he was rewarded. Lucy stood in the middle of the sunny glade.
Pan rode to her side and leaped from the saddle. Her face was pale, and wet with tears. But her eyes were now dry, wide and purple, radiant with unutterable gladness. She rushed into his arms.
Dinner that day appeared to be something only Bobby and Pan had thought or need of. Mrs. Smith and Lucy, learning they might have to leave in two weeks, surely in four, became so deeply involved in discussion of practical details of preparation, of food supplies for a long wagon trip, of sewing and packing, that they did not indulge in the expression of their joy.
“Dad is hopeless,” said Pan, with a grin. “He’s worse than a kid. I’ll have to pack his outfit, if he has anything. What he hasn’t got, we’ll buy. So, Mother, you trot out his clothes, boots, some bedding, a gun, chaps, spurs, everything there is, and let me pick what’s worth taking.”
It was indeed a scant and sad array of articles that Pan had to choose from.
“No saddle, no tarp, no chaps, no spurs, no gun!” ejaculated Pan, scratching his head. “Poor Dad! I begin to have a hunch how he felt.”
It developed that all his father possessed made a small bundle that Pan could easily carry into town on his saddle.
“We’ll buy Dad’s outfit,” said Pan briskly. “Mother, here’s some money. Use it for what you need. Work now, you and Lucy. You see we want to get out of Marco pronto. The very day Dad and I get back with the horses. Maybe we can sell the horses out there. I’d take less money. It’ll be a big job driving a bunch of wild horses in to Marco. Anyway, we’ll leave here pronto.”
To Lucy he bade a fond but not anxious good-by. “We won’t be away long. And you’ll be busy. Don’t go into town! Not on any account. Send Alice. Or Mother can go when necessary. But you stay home.”
“Very well, boss, I promise,” replied Lucy roguishly.
VALLEY OF WILD HORSES [Part 2]
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Before dark that night Pan had most of his preparations made, so that next morning there would be nothing to do but eat, pack the horses, saddle up and ride.
At suppertime Charley Brown and Mac New, alias Hurd, called at the camp. The latter was a little the worse for the bottle. Charley was sober, hard, gloomy.
“Howdy, boys. Help yourself to chuck. Then we’ll talk,” said Pan.
The outcome of that visit was the hiring of both men to go on the wild-horse drive. Brown’s claim had been jumped by strangers. It could not be gotten back without a fight. Brown had two horses and a complete outfit; Mac New had only the clothes on his back.
“Fired me ’thout payin’ my wages,” he said, sullenly.
“Who fired you, Mac?” inquired Pan.
“Hardman, the —— —— ——!” replied Mac New.
“Well! That’s strange. Does he own the jail?”
“Huh! Hardman owns this heah whole damn burg.”
“Nix,” spoke up Blinky. “Don’t fool yourself there, pardner. Jard Hardman has a long string on Marco, I’ll admit, but somebody’s goin’ to cut it.”
Brown had an interesting account to give of his meeting with Dick Hardman down at Yellow Mine. The young scion of the would-be dictator of Marco fortunes had been drunk enough to rave about what he would do to Panhandle Smith. Some of his maudlin threats, as related by Brown, caused a good deal of merriment in camp, except to Blinky, who grew perfectly furious.
“Hey, cowboy, are you goin’ to stand fer thet?” he queried, belligerently.
Pan tried to laugh it off, but Blinky manifestly had seen red at the mention of Dick Hardman’s name. He was going over to the Yellow Mine and pick a fight. Pan, finding Blinky stubborn and strange, adopted other tactics. Drawing the irate cowboy aside he inquired kindly and firmly: “It’s because of Louise?”
“What’s because?” returned Blinky, blusteringly.
“That you want to pick a fight with Dick?”
“Naw,” replied Blinky, averting his face.
“Don’t you lie to me, Blinky,” went on Pan earnestly, shaking the cowboy. “I’ve guessed your trouble and I’m your friend.”
“Wal, Pan, I’m darn glad an’ lucky if you’re my friend,” said Blinky, won out of his sullenness. “But what trouble are you hintin’ aboot?”
Pan whispered: “You’re in love with Louise.”
“What if I am?” hissed Blinky, in fierce shame. “Are you holdin’ thet agin me?”
“No, I’m damned if I don’t like you better for it.”
That was too much for Blinky. He gazed mutely up at Pan, as a dog at his master. Pan never saw such eyes of misery.
“Blinky, that girl is wicked,” went on Pan. “She’s full of hellfire. But that’s only the drink. She couldn’t carry on that life without being drunk. She told me so. There’s something great about that little girl. I felt it, Blink. I liked her. I told her she didn’t belong there. I believe she could be made a good woman. Why don’t you try it? I’ll help you. She likes you. She told me that, too.”
“But Louise won’t ever see me unless she’s drunk,” protested Blinky sorrowfully.
“That’s proof. She doesn’t want you wasting your time and money at the Yellow Mine. She thinks you’re too good for that—when she’s sober.… Talk straight now, Blink. You do love her, bad as she is?”
“So help me I do!” burst out the cowboy abjectly. “It’s purty near killed me. The more I see of her the more I care. I’m so sorry fer her I cain’t stand it.… Dick Hardman fetched her out heah from Frisco. Aw! She must have been bad before thet, I know. But she wasn’t low down. Thet dive has done it. Wal, he never cared nothin’ fer her an’ she hates him. She swears she’ll cut his heart out. An’ I’m afraid she’ll do it. Thet’s why I’d like to stick a gun into his belly.”
“Marry Louise. Take her away. Come south with us to Arizona,” replied Pan persuasively.
“My Gawd, pardner, you’re too swift fer me,” whispered Blinky huskily, and he clutched Pan. “Would you let us go with you?”
“Sure. Why not? Lucy and my mother know nothing about Louise. Even if they did they w
ouldn’t despise a poor girl you and I believe is good at heart and has been unfortunate. I’d rather not tell them, but I wouldn’t be afraid to.”
“But Louise won’t marry me.”
“If we can’t talk her into it when she’s sober, by heaven we’ll get her drunk.… Now Blink, it’s settled. Let’s stay away from there tonight. Forget it. We’ll go out and do the hard riding stunt of our lives. We’ll sell horses. With some money we can figure on homes far from this bitter country—homes, cowboy, do you savvy that? With cattle and horses—some fine open grassy rolling country—where nobody ever heard of Blinky Moran and Panhandle Smith.”
“Pard, it ain’t—my—right name, either,” mumbled Blinky, leaning against Pan. He was crying.
“No difference,” replied Pan, holding the boy tight a moment. “Brace up, now, Blink. It’s all settled. Go to bed now, I’ll help Gus with the horses.”
Pan left the cowboy there in the darkness, and returned to camp. His conscience questioned him, but he had only satisfaction, even gladness in reply. Blinky had been one of the wild cowboys, and had been going from bad to worse. If an overpowering love gripped him, a yielding to it in a right way might make a better man of him. Pan could not see anything else. He had known more than one good-for-nothing cowboy, drinking and gambling himself straight to hell, who had fooled his detractors and had taken the narrow trail for a woman others deemed worthless. There was something about this kind of fight that appealed to Pan. As for the girl, Louise Melliss, and her reaction to such a desperate climax, Pan had only his strange faith that it might create a revolution in her soul. At least he was absolutely sure she would never return to such a life, and she was young.
Pan sought his blankets very late, and it seemed he scarcely had closed his eyes when Juan called him. It was pitch dark outside. The boys were stirring, the horses pounding, the campfire crackling. He pulled on his boots with a will. Glad he was to return to the life of camps, horses, cold dawns, hard fare and hard riding. He smelled the frying ham, the steaming coffee.
“Mawnin’, pardner,” drawled Blinky. “Shore thought you was daid. Grab a pan of grub heah.… An’ say, cowboy, from now on you can call me Somers—Frank Somers. I’m proud of the name, but I reckon it was ashamed of me.”
