Code of the West

by Zane Grey

  “Oh, I’m sorry—sorry for him, no matter what he’s done to me,” she exclaimed. “He knows how hopeless it is. He knows what I’ll do . . . and then he’ll be ruined. . . . I’ve ruined him. Oh, if I had only known.”

  Next day established in Georgiana’s mind a true perspective of the state of affairs as they existed then, and would, not improbably, remain for some time to come.

  She could not understand Cal Thurman. He talked very little, and seemed anxious to get out of her sight. A brooding, almost somber preoccupation attended him during the little while she saw him. She decided that he knew full well she would not stay there long, and likewise knew why she remained at all. Strange to see he showed no remorse for his crime. This caused Georgiana surprise and considerable heat. If he had repented she might have thought a little better of him. There did not seem to be any justification in Georgiana’s fear that he might have another fit of fury, like the one in which he had carried her off. But undoubtedly, as he had shown such a terrible temper, it was in him and might crop out at any moment. Nevertheless, the day brought relief in the assurance that he would let her severely alone.

  Her own part in meeting the present was simple enough. As long as she remained under Cal Thurman’s roof, and partook of the food he supplied, she must work to earn it. Even if she had not too much pride to accept anything from him, she must work for her own sake. If she sat down to mope over this unfortunate affair she would brood herself sick. And she knew that for weeks she had almost imperceptibly failed. She knew the meaning of the gentle boil of her blood. It had disappeared for a while, but now it had returned. Georgiana dismissed it from mind. She was not going to be ill. A month of idleness and confinement to her room had dragged her back, almost to where she had been upon her arrival at Green Valley. She could no longer be dependent upon her sister. She was thrown upon her own resources, and if she had not strength and courage enough to survive here in the West she would go back East. If she had to die, she wanted to do it at home. But this catastrophe which had just fallen had roused a latent fire in Georgiana. She was not going to surrender without a fight. Then what had been a willful, thoughtless vanity had changed into another kind of pride.

  “They thought I was no good for anything but to mush over boys,” she soliloquized, darkly. “Everybody except Mary thought bad of me. Cal thinks so now, I’ll bet. All because I fooled a little with these moonstruck boneheads! . . . Well, little Georgiana will proceed to fool them in another way.”

  So she made deliberate plans for the necessary household work and for the manifold improvement that was possible. Then she went to work. Night found her infinitely weary.

  Next day, about noon, she had a caller, no other than her father-in-law, Henry Thurman.

  “What you all doin’ aboot heah?” he asked, beaming upon her.

  “Cal’s building a fence at his uncle’s, and I’m up to my eyes in work,” replied Georgiana.

  He tramped around the kitchen, inquiring about everything, and then performed the same office for the living room.

  “Wal, some folks aboot the Tonto hollered too soon,” he said, enigmatically. “Daughter, I shore figger that Cal’s lucky.”

  “Thank you,” murmured Georgiana, warming under his approval. It was a hollow victory, yet somehow it seemed strangely sweet.

  “Georgie, what you want for a weddin’ present?” he asked, with a broad grin. “Reckon that’s why I’m heah. But I ain’t said airy word aboot it.”

  “It’s very good of you. But I don’t want anything,” replied Georgiana.

  “Wal, I reckon you do. Young folks jest startin’ a homestead need a lot. Come here, daughter; put on yore thinkin’ cap.”

  Suddenly Georgiana remembered her plan for work and improvement of the cabins.

  “If I tell you what I’d like, will you keep it secret—for a while?” she asked.

  “Mum’s the word, Georgie.”

  “I’d like a sewing machine and a lot of dry goods.”

  “Fer makin’ dresses an’ sich?” he queried, with a knowing smile.

  “No indeed. For making curtains, sheets, pillowcases, table cloths, towels—oh, a whole lot of things.”

  “Wal, I’ll be doggoned!” ejaculated Henry Thurman, greatly pleased. “Daughter, I’m shore proud of you. Now you jest write out a list of what you want. I’ll send it to Ryson. They can phone to Globe an’ have it all come on the stage. I’ll have it packed up heah pronto. I’ll shore do my best to keep anybody from findin’ out aboot it.”

  What with work and sleep the days passed swiftly for Georgiana and though they all seemed similar, there was an intangible something growing with them. If there was any difference in Cal it was the look of wonder and bewilderment he cast upon her in unguarded moments. Following there would come an expression of acute pain, at which times he would go out abruptly or turn away to hide it.

  Georgiana had set herself a task almost beyond her strength. But she had set it and she stuck to it. She even chopped wood and carried water, chores that sometimes became necessary when Cal was away.

  Georgiana vowed she would not sink under this pioneer work so new to her. She suffered aches, pains, bruises, cuts, burns, and for days the exhaustion of a frail body. Then when she felt that she had about gone her limit she found her strength increasing. Her appetite increased to an amusing and alarming capacity. The keen cold winter air, clear and sharp, lost its terrors for her. On that sunny south slope the snow melted almost as it fell, and so one of the dreaded features of winter did not keep Georgiana indoors.

  During this time Cal had made additions to his homestead. From his uncle Gard’s ranch he had brought chickens, pigs, two cows and a calf, and also loads of sorghum and corn to feed them. Thus the barn and chicken coop and pigpen received tenants, heralding the real beginning of ranchers’ activities. Those newcomers did not add to Georgiana’s labors, because Cal did all the work of caring for them. Yet naturally they somehow increased Georgiana’s responsibilities. Just as naturally, too, she and Cal found it impossible, though estranged as they were, to keep wholly aloof from each other. It was Cal’s homestead, and Georgiana, having undertaken a task, could not withhold interest. At night, when Cal came in from his last chores, they talked of the simple facts of the day and the needs and probabilities of the morrow. It seemed that Cal hid every sign of his love and Georgiana gradually forgot her dread. They were never together except at mealtimes.

  Georgiana caught herself one day watching a storm hanging over Promontory Point. It struck her suddenly that she had been dreamily absorbed. Something had made her thoughtless, yet filled her with a vague pleasure. Thereafter she found this strange preoccupation at times had become a habit. It amazed her. Laying a trap for herself, she learned some thought-provoking truths about herself. She had acquired a keen nose for the fragrant smoke from juniper wood, and the piny tang from the forest, and the icy breath of the north wind. The long zigzag Rim, with its golden belt of cliff, and its white lines of snow and black fringe of trees, had come to absorb many of her moments.

  The sunsets, when broken clouds massed in the west, could lure her out of the cabin to watch. The lilac haze of the canyons, the purple mantle of the ranges, she awaited, disappointed when they failed at a particular sunset, thrilled when they showed for a few fleeting moments.

  More remarkable was it to discover that she had grown fond of the calf and the chickens. The pigs no longer disgusted her. And a tiny mouse that had taken possession of the wood box behind the stove, growing tamer and bolder, finally became a pet.

  Confronted by these strange facts, Georgiana marveled at herself.

  “I’m growing dotty. Guess it’s loneliness,” she sighed and straightway dispelled contemplation of herself.

  One night Cal came in with a troubled face.

  “Enoch sent word we were to come down to Green Valley tomorrow,” he said. “He an’ Mary are goin’ to be married.”

  “Oh—has it been a month since—since
—”

  “Reckon it has,” replied Cal, dryly. “One month tomorrow! Seems like a million years to me . . . Do you want to go to your sister’s weddin’?”

  “I’ll have to go,” replied Georgiana, much perturbed. “Mary would be hurt . . . And, yes, I want to go. Don’t you?”

  “I reckon not. But I can stand it if you can. All the Thurmans will be there an’ lots of other folks. They’ll have a chance at us.”

  “I—I forgot. It will be embarrassing—won’t it?”

  “Ahuh! I should think it’ll be terrible. That’s up to you. If I didn’t come, Enoch would be sore. But I wouldn’t care.”

  “Yes, you would. Enoch thinks a lot of you, Cal. He’d miss you. Then we couldn’t make any good excuses. I’m scared stiff at the thought of facing all that crowd.”

  “They think we’re happily married,” said Cal, with a hollow laugh.

  That stung her. “Your tone implies an unhappy state you feel you don’t deserve,” she retorted.

  “Ahuh!—Are we goin’ or not?” he returned.

  “Oh, we’ll have to go,” burst out Georgiana.

  “All right. Now it’s not my doin’, please remember that. An’ we better put in some tall figurin’ right here. . . . We’ll have to ride horses and come back home tomorrow night in the dark. That won’t be any fun.”

  “But why?” queried Georgiana.

  “You don’t seem as bright as you used to be. If we stay all night, Mother will give us one room—for both of us. Naturally, since we’re supposed to be married. An’ we can’t stay, that’s all.”

  “I—I didn’t think,” replied Georgiana, hurriedly, and she felt the blood hot in her face. “Of course—we must come back.”

  “That means you must dress to ride,” he went on. “It will be cold, but by bundlin’ up an’ wearin’ your boots I reckon you’ll be warm enough.”

  “But Cal, I can’t stand up with Mary—in a riding suit—while she’s married,” protested Georgiana.

  “What do you want to wear?” he queried.

  She pondered a moment, and then replied, hesitatingly: “My white dress—the one you hated . . . But I’ve lengthened it quite a good deal.”

  “Ahuh! I don’t care what you wear anymore, but I reckon a longer dress would please my folks.”

  Georgiana maintained silence, conscious of an accelerated pulse and a feeling of pique. So he did not care anymore how she looked? She thought that a dangerous remark to make to any woman. Manifestly his love, having nothing to feed upon, had died. How exceedingly constant men were! For an instant the old Georgiana roused to conquest. She could make him love her as wildly as he used to—and more—and there was devil enough left in her to incite her to do it, if he dared to scorn her. But Cal’s sad, worn face, his troubled eyes, showing he was trying to forget himself for others, disarmed her rash impulse. Yet a little bitterness rankled in her heart. She had not done anything to make him despise her.

  “I’ll pack your grip on my saddle,” he went on. “Now do you want a hunch from me—somethin’ for your own good?”

  She eyed him doubtfully. He seemed so earnest, yet impersonal. This marriage day of her sister’s had focused attention upon a situation both Georgiana and Cal had avoided. She saw his sincerity. There might indeed be something he could suggest that would make the ordeal less painful.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “I’m rememberin’ the night you pretended to be hurt in the car—you know, when I brought you out to Green Valley. You fooled everybody. An’ I reckon you’re some actress, as Tuck said afterward . . . Well, make the same bluff tomorrow. Go to have a good time, an’ pretend to be happy, even if you’re miserable. You might fool even yourself. For all my folks an’ friends will meet you more’n halfway.”

  “Thank you. I’ll think it over,” replied Georgiana, averting her eyes.

  Next day Georgiana might have spared herself any worry about riding all the way down to Green Valley, alone with Cal. All the Gard Thurmans arrived at Cal’s cabin, merrily en route to the wedding, and as Cal had timed their arrival he was ready to start. The friendly and kindly greetings Georgiana received from this branch of the Thurman family were all given on horseback.

  The day was an unusually fine one for winter, not cold, but keen and invigorating, dry under hoof, with white clouds sailing the blue sky, and a sun that comfortably warmed.

  Georgiana had an auspicious start for this day in which she meant to pretend to be happy. Mrs. Gard Thurman, a woman who showed the hard years of pioneer life, yet was sweet and mothery, struck the right chord in her greeting to Georgiana.

  “Wal, lass, I’m glad to see you’re pickin’ up,” she said, kindly. “You look fine. An’ shore them’s real roses in your cheeks today!”

  Georgiana could not dispel the pleasure this gave her, nor its haunting significance. Not for weeks had she thought of her health. Was it true that she had gained? A throbbing warm wave engulfed her heart. Life was sweet, after all. Could it be possible that out of defeat and travail there might come success and peace? It was a new thought. All she had been concerned with was her vanity, her pride. To be sure, she had stood doggedly by her hard and distasteful task, yet, looked back at now, what it had cost her seemed a reward. Georgiana put the thought aside, to be taken up and pondered over at some other time.

  The men rode together, talking and smoking, sometimes half turned in their saddles, in the graceful manner of riders. Georgiana rode behind with the women.

  In walk and trot this cavalcade went down the mountain trails, out of the pines into the cedar and juniper, and at last into the brush. It took nearly three hours to reach Green Valley. Georgiana enjoyed it, and only tired toward the very end. The dread of meeting people failed to materialize. Georgiana actually laughed when Tuck Merry strode out into the road, taller and thinner than ever, and showed his pleasure at sight of Ollie Thurman, as well as an unmistakable proprietorship.

  “Tuck, this air a bad day to go sweet on a lady,” said Henry, with his dry chuckle.

  It was he who lifted Georgiana off her horse and he did not neglect to make it an affectionate action. The porch appeared full of people, mostly long, shiny-faced, blue-jeaned riders that Georgiana did not see distinctly. But she saw Mary very clearly, and rushed into her arms.

  “Georgie!” exclaimed Mary, after that first embrace, holding her at arm’s length and gazing upon her with glad eyes. “You look different. Your face is not so thin. I never saw you so—so pretty . . . Oh, you’re getting well!”

  Georgiana hugged her. “Old dear, it makes me happy to see you and hear you say that. I—I hadn’t thought of my health. I’ve worked . . . Take it from me, you look pretty good yourself. This marriage stuff must be the dope for women.”

  Mary laughed happily. She did, indeed, appear very well, younger and free of the line and shadow of worry. Georgiana’s keen eyes did not miss that. The evidence went straight to her heart.

  “Georgie, when will you ever drop your slang? . . . Come, you must speak to everybody, and, child, curb that terrible tongue.”

  “Sis, let me babble. Let me rave,” implored Georgiana. “To you, anyhow. I haven’t spoken thirty words since I saw you. But don’t worry. I’m here to be the simple little bride of Cal Thurman. On exhibition! and believe me, I’ll put it over this day.”

  Georgiana had not worn a party gown for over a month. She was so eager to see how much she really had improved during this period that she put on her white dress in the middle of the afternoon. This was in the seclusion of Mary’s room. The effect on Georgiana was magical. Deep in her secret heart had been an unuttered fear that she was losing her health, and with it youth and beauty. But never before in her life had she looked so well.

  Mary was all smiles, praises, kisses, between which she wondered and marveled at Georgiana’s improvement. Georgiana was no longer thin and frail. This gown revealed that. Yet it was only half as revealing as it had been before Georgiana had changed it.
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  “When they see you tonight they’ll forget how you used to look,” declared Mary, with gratification, and she did not explain whom she meant by they.

  “Cal hated this dress when it was so short,” observed Georgiana. “I told him I had lengthened it, but I don’t think he took much stock in what I said.”

  “Goodness! Haven’t you dressed up since you were married?” asked Mary.

  “Not once.”

  “Well, you’ll make up for it tonight.”

  “I think I look pretty spiffy myself,” replied Georgiana, with complacent assurance. “But I’ve got to hide my hands. Look!”

  She spread out the disreputable little members for Mary’s inspection. Georgiana had always been proud of her beautiful hands and had cared for them accordingly. But this last month care had gone with pride.

  “Wife of a homesteader! They look it. I’ll tell the world!” exclaimed Georgiana, ruefully.

  “You’ve treated them cruelly, but they’ll get well,” said Mary. “And now, Georgie, help me a little with my dress.”

  The sisters spent the happiest hour they had ever known together. Georgiana did not have to play a part. She was intensely human, and excitement, praise, admiration acted upon her like wine. All that had happened to her during the month were but records of her development. Still she did not stop to think. Mary’s happiness was infectious.

  It took only a few moments for Parson Meeker to make Mary the wife of Enoch Thurman. In the Tonto, neither long courting nor ceremony was in favor.

  But the congratulating of the bride and groom was a different matter. Georgiana thought the riders would tear Mary and her husband to pieces. This was their one opportunity and they made the most of it. That hilarious half hour prepared the way for dinner. This was really a feast. All the Thurman women had a share in it. Georgiana sat next to Mary, and on her left was Cal. Actually she had forgotten him until this hour. Whatever were his true feelings, he wore a genial, manly demeanor that became him in Georgiana’s sight.