Code of the West

by Zane Grey

  The first passenger to alight was a very young girl, it seemed to Cal. His view was obstructed by Jake, who appeared to be making a gallant of himself. Everybody on the porch stared. The girl, carrying a hand satchel, tripped up the steps. Cal caught a glimpse of blond curls and the flash of a white face and a rosy cheek. She went into the store. Cal, waiting for the next passenger, made ready to go forward and do his duty. But no one else alighted. Jake lifted out some more baggage, then proceeded to untie sacks from the running board.

  Cal stared. Suddenly he realized that the stage was empty. There were no more passengers. His first sensation was one of unutterable relief. Miss Stockwell’s sister had not come. She had missed the stage or had not come at all. Anyway, she was not there. The joke would be on the boys. He glanced away from the stage to the porch. What had happened to that outfit? Wess looked dazed; Pan Handle was in a trance; Tim stared open-mouthed at the wide door of the store; and Arizona seemed suddenly to be recovering from some shock and to be reminded of his radiant personal adornment. He was fussing with his hair, then his scarf. He changed his gloves from one hand to another, and began to walk toward the door in the most hesitating manner.

  But he never reached it. He was halted by a vision of youth and beauty that emerged from the doorway. She crossed the threshold, came out on the porch in the light. It seemed to Cal that everyone was struck as he was struck—incapable of movement. But his mind whirled with sensation and thought.

  The girl he had imagined a child, now facing him, was certainly a young lady. She had big violet eyes that peered expectantly all around her. Her face was white except for a rosy color high on her cheeks. Her lips were red as carmine. She wore a tan-colored dress, stylishly cut and strangely short. It reached only to the turn of her knees. Cal’s bewildered glance caught a glimpse of slender, shapely, black-stockinged legs before it flashed back to her face.

  “Mr. Driver, you said there was someone to meet me,” she spoke up, in a sweet, high-pitched voice.

  “Shore thar is, judgin’ from appearances,” laughed Jake, looking up from his task with the mail bags. His bronzed face wrinkled with a smile. “An’ if thar wasn’t, miss, you’d hev no call for worry. Wait till I carry in these mail bags.”

  She did not appear in the least embarrassed or concerned in any way, except somewhat curious and interested. Manifestly she expected someone of the group to step forward, and looked from one to another. Arizona began to thaw under the sweet expectation of that look, but the others remained frozen.

  Then Hatfield came out of the store, bareheaded, his sombrero in hand, and his handsome bold face pleasantly alight.

  “Miss, I reckon you’re the young lady I’m lookin’ for,” he said, easily, as he towered over her.

  “I’m Miss Georgiana May Stockwell,” she said, with a flashing look, taking him in from heated face to spurred boots.

  Cal Thurman’s strained attention broke. He fell back against the seat of the car. “By Heaven!” he whispered. “I understand teacher now. She put this job up on me. That—that girl’s her sister—the sister I’m supposed to meet.” Shocked out of his equilibrium, compelled to face an exigency vastly different from the one he had dreaded, beginning to thrill and tingle with a strange dawning exultation, Cal could only sit there and stare and listen.

  Manifestly Miss Georgiana expected Hatfield to introduce himself, and her manner was one of pleased anticipation. She liked the looks of this Arizonian. Hatfield, however, did not seem disposed to tell his name; and his manner, though bold and assured, showed something of awkwardness. Either he was not quick-witted enough for the situation or he had not judged Miss Stockwell correctly. She seemed swift to grasp something strange in his omission or in what might be the brusque way of Westerners, and she lost a little of her self-possession. Her sophistication was not very old or deep.

  “Come over to the garage with me an’ I’ll put you in a car,” said Hatfield, and gathering up several of her bags he started down the porch steps.

  “Thank you—I’ll wait here,” replied the young lady, hesitatingly, and she watched him depart. Then Wess Thurman stepped forward to address her.

  “Miss Stockwell,” he began, with an earnestness that precluded embarrassment, “shore if you go with Bid Hatfield you’ll never be welcome at the Thurman ranch.”

  She stared up at the tall lean-faced rider, and it was plain now that something seemed wrong to her.

  “What am I up against?” she queried, tartly. “How do I know who Bid Hatfield is? He appeared to be the only gentleman to notice that I am a stranger and alone. Besides, he said he was looking for me. I took him to be Mr. Cal Thurman.”

  “Wal, you’re shore mistaken, an’ Cal won’t be flattered,” replied the rider. “I’m Wess Thurman, an’ we—us heah—thet is I—I come to meet you an’ take you to your sister.”

  Manifest indeed was the line of demarkation where Wess passed from loyal sincerity to a personal deceit. His big hand tugged at the evident tight band of his flannel shirt at the neck. And the shade of paleness which had come into his face at the effrontery of Hatfield changed to a dusky red.

  Miss Georgiana eyed Wess dubiously, and her thoughts must have been varying and bewildering, until she gathered something of the truth of the situation. Not improbably this contretemps was not new to her, except in its Arizona setting and the individuality of these riders.

  “I was told down the road that Mr. Cal Thurman telephoned he would meet me,” she said. “Where is he?”

  “Wal, miss—you see,” floundered Wess, trying to arise to his opportunity, “Cal’s only a boy—an’ he was takin’ a lot on himself. Now I’m a-goin’ to take you out to Green Valley Ranch.”

  “You are very kind,” replied Georgiana, sweetly. “Did my sister Mary send you to meet me?”

  “Wal, I reckon—not jest that—but we—the boys—I mean I said I’d shore see you home safe,” replied Wess, swallowing hard.

  Miss Georgiana gazed roguishly up at him, and then at Arizona, who was edging closer, and then at Pan Handle and Tim Matthews, now showing signs of animation.

  “We fetched the—big car,” said Arizona, breathlessly. That seemed a signal of encouragement to the other boys. Wess and Pan Handle and Tim crowded round the girl. Arizona refused to be edged aside from his favorable position.

  “We? Oh, I’m to have several escorts,” responded Georgiana, demurely, as she gazed up at them.

  “Shore we-all came to escort you,” put in Tim, rather timidly, but with beaming face.

  “Lady, you’re a-goin’ with the right outfit,” said Pan Handle.

  “Outfit! Oh, then you belong to the Four T’s—at the Thurman ranch where my sister lives?” cried Georgiana, eagerly.

  “Wal, miss, you shore hit it on the haid,” drawled Wess, with his engaging smile. He had recovered his balance. Blandly he introduced his comrades. “This heah is Arizona, who ain’t got any other name. An’ this’s Pan Handle Ames, an’ heah’s Tim Matthews.”

  Georgiana gave all in turn her hand, and a look that further marked their utter demoralization.

  “And Mr. Cal Thurman—where is he?” she queried.

  “Reckon Cal didn’t want to bother aboot meetin’ you, lady,” said Tim, blandly. “Last night he beefed a lot. He was heah when the stage come in, an’ I guess he beat it.”

  “Oh, I see,” replied the girl. “I’m sorry if my coming has annoyed anyone.”

  “Wal, it didn’t annoy anyone but Cal, I’ll swear to thet,” answered Tim. His comrades laughed at this.

  That was all the byplay Cal heard, for his attention was attracted by sight of Hatfield returning from the garage with a hired car. During the amazing and preposterous stand made by Wess and the boys in their endeavor to work this situation to their pleasure Cal had recovered from his consternation. The boys had been quick to grasp at the trick played upon them by the schoolteacher, and meant now to turn the tables on Cal and take Miss Georgiana home. Cal vowed they would n
ever succeed. The situation had changed wonderfully to his advantage. How pretty the girl was! Already those deceitful rogues, who had come to Ryson solely to play some outlandish joke on him, had become smitten with this girl. Cal drew a deep breath and leaped out of the car. He felt master of this situation, and something stirred in him, deeper and more fiery than the situation seemed to justify.

  When Hatfield halted at the porch Cal deliberately looked into the car, and seeing Miss Stockwell’s bags, he promptly lifted them out. Hatfield swaggered out of his seat.

  “Hey, Thurman, what’re you up to?” he demanded.

  His loud voice silenced the conversation on the porch, and everybody turned to stare.

  “Bid, I’m relievin’ you of Miss Stockwell’s baggage,” said Cal, coolly. “I was sent to meet her an’ I’m goin’ to take her home.”

  Hatfield’s muscular body jerked with a start of angry passion, and for an instant he glared darkly at Cal, with the blood slowly leaving his face. There was more here than the mere opposition confronting him. Then he masked his true feelings.

  “Well, Cal, you didn’t show up an’ nobody else in your outfit had any manners, so I offered to escort Miss Stockwell,” he said.

  “Ahuh!” ejaculated Cal, taken back by the rider’s terse reply.

  Whereupon Hatfield mounted the porch, and with a gallant bow he faced the girl.

  “Miss Stockwell, will you let me take you to your sister or do you prefer to go with Thurman?” he inquired, courteously.

  The girl had quickened and stirred with the excitement of the moment. Manifestly she was alive to Hatfield’s striking appearance and personality. Then she turned her flashing gaze upon Cal.

  That was indeed a trying moment for him. Suddenly, it seemed, as he felt her glance take him in, all his assurance and sense of right in the situation oozed away. He wore his old rider’s clothes, and never had they seemed so dirty and ragged as now. What a sorry figure he must cut in contrast to this handsome Hatfield, or the boys who had put on their best for the occasion. Cal felt the blood rise to his temples.

  “Mr. Bid Hatfield, if it were a matter of choice, I’d much rather go with you,” replied the girl, sweetly. “But as my sister sent him to get me I can only—”

  “Pardon me,” interrupted Cal, curtly. “I’m glad to get out of takin’ you. But I advise you to go with my cousin Wess. For if you go with Hatfield you will not be welcome at Green Valley. I’m tellin’ you this for your sister’s sake.”

  Cal turned away, leaving the girl both affronted and troubled. At this juncture someone shouted from the store, “Cal Thurman, you’re wanted on the phone.”

  “Who wants me?” called Cal.

  “It’s Miss Stockwell, the teacher. She’s callin’ from the ranger station.”

  Cal plodded up the steps and into the store, looking neither right nor left. He was aware of footsteps following him in, but he was too miserable to take any further notice of anyone.

  “Hello!” he called into the telephone.

  “Hello! Is that you, Cal?” was the eager reply.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “This is Mary Stockwell talking . . . Cal, has the stage come with my sister?”

  “I reckon so,” replied Cal, grimly.

  “Oh—oh—Cal, dear boy, is she all right?”

  “I reckon so.”

  “Oh—hurry, Cal! Fetch her out. I’m wild to see her.—And, Cal, you’re glad now I made you go, aren’t you? You’ll forgive me for fooling you—about the picture?”

  “I’ll never forgive you—never,” blurted out Cal, hoarsely.

  There was no instant response. Then the teacher’s voice came again, different in tone. “Why, Cal—you don’t mean that! It was only fun. You’ve played jokes on me. And I thought this would please you. I was so glad you alone of the boys offered to go—to meet what you supposed would be a cross, ugly old maid. It was fine of you, Cal.—Why are you offended—why won’t you forgive me?”

  “Aw, because I’ve been made a damn fool before a crowd,” replied Cal. “Wess an’ the boys came in to play some low-down trick on me. . . . You see, teacher, I was lookin’ for—for the person who’d look like the picture you showed me. An’ when a—a pretty kid of a girl hops out of the stage I—I never thought it might be your sister. I was the last to find that out. . . . Then—someone I’ve no use for went up to her—an’ when I woke up an’ introduced myself—said you’d sent me to meet her—then—then she insulted me right before him—an’ all the crowd.”

  “Insulted you! Oh, Cal, don’t say that,” returned Miss Stockwell, in distress. “I’m sorry, Cal. Why, I wanted you to be the lucky boy. . . . Tell me, who went up to Georgiana? Was it Bid Hatfield?”

  “Yes, it was, an’ she told him she’d prefer to go with him. Right before Wess an’ the boys an’ everybody! That’s what’s so bad. Why, teacher, you don’t know the West. I’ll never live that down. It’s only fair to say Hatfield was first to show your sister courtesy. But I was locoed, I tell you. . . . Oh, I’ve made a mess of it. . . . Teacher, I’ve told her she’d better go home with Wess—that if she goes with Hatfield it might make bad feelin’ for you.”

  “Cal, my sister is coming home with you” declared Miss Stockwell, in a voice Cal well remembered. “Call her to the phone.”

  Thus admonished, Cal turned away, smarting and tingling from the forced expression of his feelings. He almost bumped into Georgiana, who evidently had been standing there. The pertness had gone from her face. She looked perturbed, and her eyes met his rather questioningly.

  “Your sister wants to speak to you,” said Cal, motioning toward the telephone.

  The girl ran, and snatching up the receiver she stood on her tiptoes. “Hello—hello! This is Georgie. . . . Yes! Yes! Oh, Mary—Sister—I’m wild with joy! I’m here—out West—will see you soon. I’ve so much to tell you—and presents from Mother—everybody.”

  Cal felt a singular break in his abject misery, and it came through the sweet, low, broken voice of the girl. It struck strangely on his sensitive ear.

  “Yes, Mary, I hear you—I’ll listen,” went on the girl, eagerly. At that Cal halted, half turned, and watched the slim slender form strained up before the telephone. He heard the squeaking of the voice coming over the wire and it seemed to be direct, forceful speech. Miss Georgiana started. “Oh, Mary!” she expostulated, appealingly. Then she became perfectly motionless, intent, and absorbed. Cal divined that Miss Stockwell was saying some strong things to this little sister. That seemed to afford him a melancholy gratification. How trim and neat the slight figure of the girl as she stood there breathlessly! He saw the golden rebellious curls peeping from under her bonnet. Then she spoke again, evidently under different stress. “Mary dear, I’m afraid I’ve been rude, ungracious, to Mr. Thurman. But when I explain you won’t think so badly of me. I ran into some deep stuff here, believe me. . . . Yes, I will start at once and with him—if he’ll take me now. Good-bye.”

  She hung up the receiver and stood a moment longer, ponderingly. Then she wheeled swiftly and almost ran up to Cal. It was not the same girl. A blush dyed out the red tints in her cheeks.

  “Mr. Cal,” she began, “sister has explained—about my aunt’s picture—how your brothers and cousins refused to meet me—that you alone were kind enough—good enough to come. That those boys had framed up some trick to play on you. . . . I apologize for what I said. I’m ashamed. Won’t you forgive me—and take me to Mary?”

  She had seemed to come closer all the time she was speaking, until her appealing hand touched his arm. She lifted her face that suddenly became beautiful and sweet in Cal’s dawning sight. Her violet eyes held him. They were darkening with thought, troubled, sincere, yet audacious. And it seemed that before them, all in a flash, he fell crashing to the first headlong love of his life. After that nothing was clear. The sweet face floated before him, hazily, the face of a dream. He spoke, trying to tell her he would be glad to take her home. Then�
�proudest moment he had ever known—she was holding his arm, walking beside him out of the door, across the porch, with her beautiful head erect, looking up at him, seeing none of the gaping bystanders, gliding so coolly and disdainfully past Wess and his comrades, oblivious of the crestfallen Hatfield—down the steps and out to the car.

  There Cal became again possessed of some semblance of rationality. But how he thrilled! How bells rang in his ears!

  “May I ride in front beside you?” she asked, as if that was what she most wanted to do of all things in the world. She looked it. She spoke sweetly, audibly to the listeners on the porch. But she apparently did not know of their existence. She did not hear the shuffling of their boots as they began to stir forward.

  “Sure can,” replied Cal, trying to catch his breath. “I’ll pack your bags in back.”

  At this juncture Tuck Merry loomed up, carrying his canvas bag. His cadaverous face did not betray that he and Cal had met, though deep in his eyes gleamed a twinkle of fun and zest over the situation.

  “Buddy, would you give a fellow a lift along the road?” he inquired.

  “Sure. Pile in with your pack,” replied Cal, heartily. Right then and there he wanted to hug this lanky newfound friend.

  Merry and his pack and the girl’s numerous pieces of baggage comfortably filled the after section of the Ford. Then Cal cranked the engine. It started with a strange sound, entirely foreign to him. Was it only the confusion of his brain? Anyway, it started. Cal climbed in beside the girl, tremendously aware of her presence, of her perfect self-possession and poise, of the smile that enveloped him. His hands shook a little. Then when he tried to drive off he was dumbfounded to see that the car would not budge an inch. The engine had stopped.

  CHAPTER

  4

  C