The Lawless West

by Louis L'Amour

  When the supper hour ended and the people were stirring about the hall, and the men were tuning up, Jane caught sight of Andy. He looked rather pale and sick. Jane tried to catch his eye, but failing that she went to him.

  “Andy, please find Tex for me. I owe him a dance, and I’ll give him the very first, unless Mister Springer comes for it.”

  Andy regarded her with an aloofness totally new to her.

  “Wal, I’ll tell him. But I reckon Tex ain’t presentable just now. All of us are through dancin’ tonight.”

  “What’s happened?” queried Jane, swift to divine trouble.

  “There’s been a little fight.”

  “Oh, no!” cried Jane. “Who? What?…Andy, tell me.”

  “Wal, when you cut Tex’s dance for Beady Jones, you sure put our outfit in bad,” replied Andy coldly. “At thet there wouldn’t have been anythin’ come of it here if Beady Jones hadn’t got to shootin’ off his chin. Tex slapped his face an’ thet sure started a fight. Beady licked Tex, too, I’m sorry to say. He’s a pretty bad customer, Beady is, an’ he’s bigger’n Tex. Wal, we had a hell of a time keepin’ Nevada out of it. Thet would have been a uneven fight. I’d like to have seen it. But we kept them apart till Springer come out. An’ what the boss said to thet outfit was sure aplenty. Beady Jones kept talkin’ back, nasty like…you know he was once foreman for us…till Springer got good an’ mad. An’ he said…‘Jones, I fired you once because you was a little too slick for our outfit, an’ I’ll tell you this, if it comes to a pinch,I’ll give you the damnedest thrashin’ any smart-aleck cowboy ever got!’ Gee, the boss was riled. It sort of surprised me, an’ tickled me pink. You can bet that shut Beady Jones’s loud mouth.”

  After that rather lengthy speech Andy left her unceremoniously standing there alone. She was not alone long, but it was long enough for her to feel bitter dissatisfaction with herself.

  Jane looked for Springer, hoping yet fearing he would come to her. But he did not. She had another uninterrupted dizzy round of dancing until her strength failed. At four o’clock she was scarcely able to walk. Her pretty dress was torn and mussed; her white stockings were no longer white; her slippers were worn ragged. And her feet were dead. From that time she sat with Mrs. Hartwell looking on, and trying to keep awake. The wonderful dance, that had begun so promisingly, had ended sadly for her.

  At length the exodus began, although Jane did not see any dancers leaving. She went out with the Hartwells, to be received by Springer, who had evidently made arrangements for their leaving. He was decidedly cool to Jane.

  All through the long ride out to the ranch he never addressed her or looked toward her. Daylight came, cold and gray to Jane. She felt crushed.

  Springer’s sister and the matronly housekeeper were waiting for them, with cheery welcome, and invitation to a hot breakfast.

  Presently Jane found herself momentarily alone with the rancher.

  “Miss Stacey,” he said, in a voice she had never heard, “your flirtin’ with Beady Jones made trouble for the Springer outfit.”

  “Mister Springer!” she exclaimed, her head going up.

  “Excuse me,” he returned, in cutting dry tone that recalled Tex. Indeed, this Westerner was a cowboy, the same as those who rode for him, only a little older, and therefore more reserved and careful of speech. “If it wasn’t that…then you were much taken with Mister Beady Jones.”

  “If that was anybody’s business, it might have appeared so,” she retorted, tingling all over with some feeling she could not control.

  “Sure. But are you denyin’ it?” he queried soberly, eying her with grave wonder and disapproval. It was this more than his question that roused hot anger and contrariness in Jane.

  “I admired Mister Jones very much,” replied Jane. “He was a splendid dancer. He did not maul me like a bear. I really had a chance to breathe during my dances with him. Then, too, he could talk.”

  Springer bowed with dignity. His dark face paled. It began to dawn upon Jane that there was something intense in the moment. She began to repent of her hasty pride.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Please excuse my impertinence. I see you have found your Mister Frank Owens in this cowboy Jones, an’ it sure is not my place to say any more.”

  “But…but…Mister Springer…,” faltered Jane, quite unstrung by that amazing speech. The rancher, however, bowed again, and left her. Jane felt too miserable and weary for anything but rest. She went to her room, and, flinging off her hateful finery, she crawled into bed, a very perplexed and distraught young woman.

  About mid-afternoon Jane awakened greatly refreshed and relieved and strangely repentant. She dressed prettily and went out, not quite sure of or satisfied with herself. She walked up and down the long porch of the ranch house, gazing out over the purple range, on to the black belt of forest up the mountains. How beautiful this Arizona! She loved it. Could she ever go away? The thought reposed, to stay before her consciousness. She invaded the kitchen, where the matronly housekeeper, who was fond of her, gave her wild-turkey sandwiches and cookies and sweet rich milk. While Jane mitigated her hunger, the woman gossiped about the cowboys and Springer; and the information she imparted renewed Jane’s concern.

  From the kitchen Jane went out into the courtyard, and naturally, as always, gravitated toward the corrals and barns. Springer appeared, in company with a rancher Jane did not know. She expected Springer to stop her for a few pleasant words as he always did. This time, however, he merely touched his sombrero and passed on. Jane felt the incident almost as a slight. It hurt her.

  Then she went on down the lane, very thoughtful. A cloud had appeared above the horizon of her happy life there at the Springer Ranch. The lane opened out into the wide square, around which were the gates to corrals, entrances to barns, the forge, granaries, and the commodious bunkhouse of the cowboys.

  Jane’s sharp eyes caught sight of the boys before they espied her. And when she looked up again, every lithe back was turned. They allowed her to pass without any apparent knowledge of her existence.This was unprecedented. It offended Jane bitterly. She knew she was unreasonable, but could not or would not help it. She strolled on down to the pasture gate, and watched the colts and calves. Upon her return, she passed closer to the cowboys. But again they apparently did not see her. Jane added resentment to her wounded vanity and pride. Yet even then a still small voice tormented. She went back to her room, meaning to read or sew, or do schoolwork. But instead she cried.

  Springer did not put in an appearance at the dinner table, and that was the last straw for Jane. She realized she had made a mess of her wonderful opportunity there. But those stupid fiery cowboys! This sensitive Westerner! How could she know how to take them? The worst of it was that she was genuinely fond of the cowboys. And as for the rancher—her mind seemed vague and unreliable about him, but she said she hated him.

  Next day was Sunday. Heretofore every Sunday had been a full day for Jane. This one bade fair to be empty. Company came as usual, neighbors from nearby ranches. The cowboys were off duty and other cowboys visited them.

  Jane’s attention was attracted by sight of a superb horseman riding up the lane to the ranch house. He seemed familiar, but she could not place him. What a picture he made as he dismounted, slick and shiny, booted and spurred, to doff his huge sombrero. Jane heard him ask for Miss Stacey. Then she recognized him. Beady Jones! She was a once horrified, and something else she could not name. She remembered now he had asked if he might call Sunday and she had certainly not refused. But for him to come after the fight with Tex and the bitter scene with Springer! It seemed an unparalleled affront. What manner of man was this cowboy Jones? He certainly did not lack courage. But more to the point—what idea had he of her? Jane rose to the occasion. She had let herself in for this, and she would see it through, come what might. Looming disaster stimulated her. She would show these indifferent, deceitful, fire-spirited, incomprehensible cowboys. She would let Springer see she, indeed, had ta
ken Beady Jones for Mr. Frank Owens.

  To that end Jane made her way down the porch to greet her cowboy visitor. She made herself charming and gracious, and carried off the embarrassing situation—for Springer was present—as if it were perfectly natural. And she led Jones to one of the rustic benches down the porch.

  Jane meant to gauge him speedily, if that were possible. While she made conversation, she brought to bear all that she possessed of intuition and discernment, now especially excited. The situation here was easy for her.

  Naturally Jones resembled the cowboys she knew. The same range and life had developed him. But he lacked certain things she liked so much in Tex and Nevada. He was a superb animal. She had reluctantly to admire his cool easy boldness in a situation certainly perilous for him. But then he had reasoned, of course, that she would be his protection. She did not fail to note that he carried a gun, inside his embroidered vest.

  Manifest, indeed, was it that young Jones felt he had made a conquest. He was the most forceful and bold person Jane had ever met, quite incapable of appreciating her as a lady. Soon he waxed ardent. Jane was accustomed to the sentimental talk of cowboys,but this fellow was neither amusing nor interesting. He was dangerous. When Jane pulled her hand, by main force, free from his, and said she was not accustomed to allow men such privileges, he grinned at her like a handsome devil.

  “Sure, sweetheart, you have missed a heap of fun,” he said. “An’ I reckon I’ll have to break you in.”

  Jane could not feel insulted at this brazen lout, but she certainly raged at herself. Her instant impulse was to excuse herself and abruptly leave him. But Springer was close by. She had caught his dark wandering covert glances. And the cowboys were at the other end of the long porch. Jane feared another fight. She had brought this upon herself, and she must stick it out. The ensuing hour was an increasing torment. At last it seemed she could not bear the false situation any longer, and, when Jones again importuned her to meet him out on horseback she stooped to deception to end the interview. She really did not concentrate her attention on his plan or take stock of what she’d agreed to, but she got rid of him with lax dignity before Springer and the others. After that, she did not have the courage to stay out and face them. How bitterly she had disappointed the rancher! Jane stole off to the darkness and loneliness of her room. There, however, she was not above peeping out from behind her window-blind at the cowboys. They had grown immeasurably in her estimation. Alas! No doubt they were through with the little tenderfoot schoolmarm from Missouri.

  Chapter 3

  The school teaching went on just the same, and the cowboys thawed out and Springer returned somewhat to his kindliness, but Jane missed something from her work and in them. At heart she grieved. Would it ever be the same again? What had happened? She had only been an emotional little tenderfoot unused to Western ways. Indeed, she had not failed, at least in gratitude and affection, although now it seemed they would never know.

  There came a day, when Jane rode off alone toward the hills. She forgot the risk and the admonitions of the cowboys. She wanted to be alone to think. Her happiness had sustained a subtle change. Her work, the children, the friends she had made, even the horse she loved were no longer all-sufficient. Something had come over her. She tried to persuade herself that she was homesick or morbid. But she was not honest with herself and knew it.

  It was late fall, but the sun was warm that afternoon, and it was the season when little wind prevailed.Before her lay the valley range, a green-gray expanse dotted with cattle, and beyond it the cedared foothills rose, and above them loomed the dark beckoning mountains. Her horse was fast and liked to run with her. She loved him and the open range, with the rushing breeze on her face, and all that clear lonely vast and silent world before her. Never would she return to live in the crowded cities again, with their horde of complaining people. She had found health and life—and something that wrung her heart and stung her cheek.

  She rode fast till her horse was hot and she was out of breath. Then she slowed down. The foothills seemed so close now. But they were not really close. Still she could smell the fragrant dry cedar aroma on the air.

  Then for the first time she looked back toward the ranch. It was a long way off—ten miles—a mere green spot in the gray. And there was a horseman coming. As usual some one of the cowboys had observed her, let her think she had slipped away, and was now following her. Today it angered Jane. She wanted to be alone. She could take care of herself. And as was usual with her she used her quirt on the horse. He broke into a gallop. She did not look back again for a long time. When she did, it was to discover that the horseman had not only gained, but was now quite close to her. Jane looked hard, but she could not recognize the rider. Once she imagined it was Tex, and again Andy. It did not make any difference which one of the cowboys it was. She was angry, and, if he caught up with her, he would be sorry.

  Jane rode the longest and fastest race she had ever ridden. She reached the low foothills, and, without heeding the fact that she would at once become lost,she entered the cedars and began to climb. She ascended a hill, went down the slope, up a ravine, to climb again. At times her horse had to walk, and then she heard her pursuer breaking through the cedars. He had to trail her by her horse’s tracks, and so she was able to keep in the lead. It was not long until Jane realized she was lost, but she did not care. She rode up and down and around for an hour until she was thoroughly tired out, and then up on top of a foothill she reined in her horse and waited to give this pursuer a piece of her mind.

  What was her amaze, when she heard a thud of hoofs and cracking of branches in the opposite direction from which she expected her pursuer, to see a rider emerge from the cedars and trot his horse toward her. Jane needed only a second glance to recognize Beady Jones. Surely she had met him by chance. Suddenly she knew that he was not the pursuer she had been so angrily aware of. Jones’s horse was white. That checked her mounting anger.

  Jones rode straight at her, and, as he came close, Jane saw his bold dark face and gleaming eyes. Instantly she realized she had been mad to ride so far into the wild country, to expose herself to something from which the cowboys had always tried to save her.

  “Howdy, sweetheart,” said Jones in his cool, devil-may-care way. “Reckon it took you a long time to meet me as you promised.”

  “I didn’t ride out to meet you, Mister Jones,” replied Jane spiritedly. “I know I agreed to something or other, but even then I didn’t mean it.”

  “Yes, I had a hunch you was playin’ with me,” he returned darkly, riding right up against her horse.

  He reached out a long gloved hand and grasped her arm.

  “What do you mean, sir?” demanded Jane, trying to wrench free.

  “Sure I mean a lot,” he said grimly. “You stood for the love-makin’ of that Springer outfit. Now you’re goin’ to get a taste of somethin’ not so mushy.”

  “Let go of me…you…you ruffian!” cried Jane, struggling fiercely. She was both furious and terrified. But she seemed to be a child in the grasp of a giant.

  “Hell! Your fightin’ will only make it interestin’. Come here, you deceitful little cat.”

  And he lifted her out of her saddle over in front of him. Jane’s horse, that had been frightened and plunging, ran away into the cedars. Then gently the cowboy proceeded to embrace Jane. She managed to keep her mouth from contact with his, but he kissed her face and neck, kisses that seemed to pollute her.

  “Jane, I’m ridin’ out of this country for good,” he said. “An’ I’ve just been waitin’ for this chance. You bet you’ll remember Beady Jones.”

  Jane realized that this Jones would stop at nothing. Frantically she fought to get away from him and to pitch herself to the ground. She screamed. She beat and tore at him. She scratched his face till the blood flowed. And as her struggles increased with her fright, she gradually slipped down between him and the pommel of his saddle with head hanging down on one side and her feet on the
other. This was awkward and painful, but infinitely preferable to being crushed in his arms. He was riding off with her as if she had been an empty sack. Suddenly Jane’s hands, while trying to hold onto something to lessen the severe jolt of her position, came in contact with Jones’s gun. Dare she draw it and shoot him? Then all at once her ears filled with the tearing gallop of another horse. Inverted as she was, she was able to see and recognize Springer ride right at Jones and yell piercingly.

  Next she felt Jones’s hard jerk at his gun. But Jane had hold of it, and suddenly she made her little hands like steel. The fierce energy with which Jones wrestled to draw his gun threw Jane from the saddle. And when she dropped clear of the horse, the gun came with her.

  “Hands up, Beady!” she heard Springer call out, as she lay momentarily face down in the dust. Then she struggled to her knees, and crawled to get away from proximity to the horses. She still clung to the heavy gun. And when breathless and almost collapsing she fell back on the ground, she saw Jones with his hands above his head and Springer on foot with leveled gun.

  “Sit tight, cowboy,” ordered the rancher in hard tone. “It’ll take damn’ little to make me bore you.” Then, while still covering Jones, evidently ready for any sudden move, Springer spoke again. “Jane, did you come out to meet this cowboy?”

  “Oh, no! How can you ask that?” cried Jane, almost sobbing.

  “She’s a liar, boss,” spoke up Jones coolly. “She let me make love to her. An’ she agreed to ride out an’ meet me. Wal, it sure took her a spell, an’, when she did come, she was shy on the love-makin’s. I was packin’ her off to scare some sense into her when you rode in.”