Sunset Pass

by Zane Grey

  “Good Lord!” said Rock, under his breath.

  “You should say thank the good Lord.”

  “Sure I meant that.”

  “How’d you do it, old boy? It’s a miracle.—And maybe it’s not too late. I was—I guess, on the ragged edge.”

  “All past, Amy,” he said, cheerfully.

  “I don’t know, Trueman. You can’t kill the devil so quickly. But I’m happy tonight—as I haven’t been in years. . . . But I forgot to tell you something else. I oughtn’t tell you. But I can’t act a lie tonight. You know I was scared of Clink Peeples. I wondered what you’d do to him. I didn’t dare turn round after you pushed him away from me. I ran. Well, today I met Peeples. Really, Trueman, I don’t believe it was flattering. Anyway, he apologized for insulting me. He owned up to a shameful opinion of me—for which he said I was part to blame. All the same he said he’d ask me to marry him if I was single, or ever were. Then he advised me to ‘lay off the cowpunchers’! Fancy that! . . . Now, Trueman, what did you do or say to Clink?”

  “Amy, it was nothin’ but talkin’ square,” he replied, frankly.

  “Square,” she murmured, wonderingly, as if she had an unexpected glimmering. Then leaning her head forward to his shoulder she grew silent. Rock was reminded that the better side of Amy had always come uppermost when she was dreamily, happily excited. When she was jealously excited she was about as tractable as a wildcat. Round and round they swung amid the colorful murmuring throng. The scrape and thud of cowboy boots drowned the patter and slide of lighter-footed dancers. Then suddenly the music ceased.

  “Trueman, you always were such a wonderful dancer,” murmured Amy, still under a spell.

  “Dog-gone! I clean forgot I was awful worried about my dancin’,” replied Trueman. “Why, Amy, I haven’t danced in years!”

  “I wish I had every dance with you.”

  “You flatter me, Amy. But it sure tickles me.”

  “Of course you’ll dance often with Thiry Preston?” she asked, the old jealousy flaring up.

  “Reckon I haven’t the nerve yet to ask even one. Besides, I probably won’t recognize her.”

  “Bah! That girl couldn’t disguise herself in a burlap sack,” returned Amy, flippantly.

  Amy’s last words added to Rock’s sudden realization of what thin ice he was skating on.

  “Trueman, I’ll have to stand for you paying some attention to Thiry,” went on Amy, passionately. “But be careful. You don’t want me to go to the devil. . . . If you dance more with her than with me—Lord help her!”

  “Amy! What nonsense!” returned Rock, sharply. “I don’t like your hint. . . . But don’t let anythin’ spoil this dance for you. There’s very little chance of my dancin’ with Thiry.”

  “Quien sabe?” she replied, mockingly. “Come, I’ll have to go out. Many of my guests are not here yet. I want to watch.”

  Amy must have had certain duties as a hostess, for outside she slipped away from Rock and mingled with the laughing, curious assemblage. He made no effort to follow. She had at first roused all his kindlier feelings, then she had alienated him. He feared Amy Dabb could not be influenced or led except through submission to her imperious will.

  Rock haunted the long corridor, studying the new arrivals, that were still coming in numbers. When the music started up again, most of the masqueraders went into the hall, if not with partners, then hoping to find them. Rock remained at the entrance to the patio, and was standing close to the wall, when a small party entered the corridor and came quickly down. There appeared to be half a dozen youths in nondescript masquerade, and several girls, two of whom, attired in white, stood out prominently.

  “Look!” spoke up a woman to her neighbor on a bench near Rock. “That girl in white. Colonial wedding-gown! Isn’t she just lovely? Who can it be?”

  On the other side of Rock a cowboy, standing at ease, punched his comrade.

  “Pard, see what’s comin’,” he said, pointing. “How’n hell would a fellar ever get close enough to thet dame to dance?”

  “Wal, he shore couldn’t hug her in thet outfit. More’n likely he’d tangle his feet,” replied the other, with a chuckle. “So I ain’t a-goin’ to try.”

  These remarks caused Rock to take a second glance at the entering party. The girl in simple white was too small of stature to be Thiry; and her companion was too gorgeously arrayed. Nor did the third young lady inspire Rock with any thrilling interest.

  It struck him that the girl in the wedding-gown was certainly worth looking at. At first she did not appear to be masked at all, but as she drew closer he saw that she wore a close-fitting mask, scarcely any whiter than her powdered face. Her hair was done up in some amazing style and as colorless as snow. Arms and neck, of exquisite contour, likewise were of a dazzling whiteness. The gown, one of those hoop-skirted, many-ruffled affairs Rock had seen in pictures, took up the space of three ordinarily dressed women. Indeed, there appeared scarcely space enough for the girl to pass him.

  Trueman flattened himself against the wall, as he had observed the two cowboys do. Nevertheless, the young lady so marvelously gowned was forced to sweep her skirts aside to avoid contact. She came on. Rock could not determine whether or not her face was beautiful, but he certainly imagined it was. The momentary halting of the party, evidently to choose a direction, brought this Colonial masquerader so close to Rock that he meant to step forward and allow her more room. But she seemed to be looking at him, though her eyes were hardly discernable. He felt suddenly rooted to the spot.

  “Gurls, you shore passed the dressin’-room,” remarked one of the youths.

  They turned, some of them laughing, and the wonderful girl in white pressed close to Rock in passing, still apparently gazing at him. As the soft, fluffy, perfumed gown swept him, Rock felt a hand touch his—slip a folded paper into his palm with quick pressure. Then she passed and he leaned there staring. She vanished with the others.

  Rock’s trembling fingers tightened on the paper. It was a note. That girl had been Thiry. In one glance she had pierced his disguise. And he had been far indeed from returning the compliment. What a joke on him! His vaunted perspicacity, his vain sense of a lover’s assurance, went into eclipse. And in its place shot a thrill at her cleverness, her superb masquerade. Swift on that followed a shock at the significance of her action. Coming down to earth with a jerk, Rock peered into his palm at the note, then rushed off to find a light by which he could read it. All the swinging lights were Chinese lanterns and those stationary on the walls were dimmed by colored paper. Finally he found one under which he thought he could discern the writing, and here, after a keen glance around, he opened the note.

  DEAR TRUEMAN

  I will know you the instant I lay eyes on you. Will you me? I am in terrible fear, but I will come to the dance, cost what it may.

  Ash is in town, hiding. I do not know what he means. It may be there is some other reason for his action. Allie and I will go to the Farrells’ to dress, and come with their crowd.

  Ash never saw my great-grandmother’s wedding-dress. He won’t recognize me, when he comes. For he will come! You must keep close watch over me, else I would not dare take the risk. He is capable of stripping me before the crowd. I will dance with the Farrell boys a little—the rest with you. I shall not stay till they unmask. I want to go before he knows me. You must take me away before that.

  It may be madness. But I let my heart become set on this one dance. I grow furious at the thought of giving it up. I don’t know myself of late. I will come—if only to—

  THIRY.

  Rock did not draw a breath during his swift perusal of this note. Then he gasped—and devoured it again. Though he could not believe he was awake the words were there, on white paper, in ink, clear and firm, in even, beautiful script.

  What did they betray? He could not subdue his pounding heart, but he strangled the leaping, whirling, rapturous thoughts. Her letter betrayed terror, yet a woman’s willful longing
for a little freedom, a little joy of youth. She asked his protection. Thiry Preston—who not long before had begged him to leave her! When Rock read again the sentence in which she confessed that Ash was capable of stripping her before the crowd, in his sudden realization of its content he froze in deadly fury. But it shook him and passed with the realization that she had promised to dance mostly with him. Lastly she did not know herself. She would come, if only to——To what! Rock stormed at his insane hopes. This girl was admitting him into sweet and heart-lifting intimacy, but he must not be wild in his judgments. Why was she going to come? If only to—outwit Ash Preston once in her life! If only to—have a little of the pleasure she had been weak enough to dream of—that all girls yearned for! If only to—see how true had been Amy Dabb’s confidences! If only to—confound her awakening heart with the shamelessness of a man! If only to—yield to irresistible temptation to see if Trueman Rock was the lover of Amy Dabb! Any one and all of these intentions might have been in Thiry’s mind while she penned that impulsive, poignant letter.

  Rock placed the note inside his vest and strode back toward the corridor, his breast throbbing, his head high, his step buoyant, his nerves vibrant.

  As he entered the corridor, Thiry came out of a door halfway down and seemed to float toward him. They met, both aware of others present. Rock, removing his hat, made her an elaborate bow.

  “Lady from Virginia, I salute you,” he said gallantly.

  “Sir Knight of the Card Table,” she replied, and offered her hand.

  Rock clasped it and kissed it with the old-fashioned courtesy due the character she personified. But they acted no more. She seemed silently confused as he led her to the patio. There in the subdued glow of the lanterns they were comparatively alone.

  “Thiry! You paralyzed me,” he said, at length. “I didn’t know you. I didn’t know you. . . . And, oh, how lovely you look!”

  She murmured her thanks. They stood under an archway beside the fountain. The falling water tinkled in harmony with the soft strains of music. For them it was neither the place nor the time for calmness.

  “How ever did you know me?” he asked.

  “I just did,” she replied.

  “But how?”

  “It was the way you stood.”

  “Reckon that makes me awful happy—an’ fearful, too, Thiry.”

  “You!—You have little to be fearful about. But I——”

  “Never mind. If I ever had eyes I’ll use them tonight. I’ll let no insult, no humiliation touch you. . . . Thiry, where’d you get that gorgeous gown?”

  “It was my great-grandmother’s wedding-dress. We are from Virginia.”

  “Virginia? Your father told me Missouri.”

  “Yes, after the war. I was little then. The war ruined us and we moved to Missouri.”

  “Ahuh! . . . Thiry, I always wondered about you. Was Preston a rebel?”

  “All Prestons were rebels.”

  “You too?”

  “Yes, as far as a child could understand. But those days and influences are past forever, thank God. . . . Ash is the only one of us who is still a rebel.”

  “Fine feathers make fine birds,” rejoined Rock. “You were always pretty to look at, in anythin’. But now you’re—oh!—beyond the poor compliments—and hopes, too, I reckon, of a range-rider.”

  “I’m glad you like me, Trueman, but don’t rub it in,” she said, naïvely. “In a few days I’ll bake bread and milk the cows again.”

  “You’ll be all the better for that.”

  The music ceased and the gay dancers poured out of the hall to promenade in couples and quartettes and crowds, all intent, it appeared, to peep under masks and find one another out.

  “My brothers—the twins and Al—and the Farrell boys know me, of course,” said Thiry, as if remembering where she was. “We must find them. Then after a few dances I’ll be free—if—if you——”

  “Thiry, there’s no if—now or ever,” he replied, unsteadily.

  “Will you dance while I dance?”

  “No. I’ll watch you—and see if anyone else is watchin’ [illegible]you.”

  “Oh, but surely you must want to dance some?” she queried.

  “Only with you.”

  “Not Amy Dabb?” she flashed, with odd inflection of voice.

  “Not Amy Dabb,” he said, turning to find her face averted.

  “But, Trueman, she is your hostess. If I remember correctly, she meant to embody the duty of all her masculine guests in your attendance.”

  “Did she?” replied Rock, a little nettled at her satire. “You mean she gave you a hunch I’d dance all my dances with her?”

  “Something or other like that,” murmured Thiry.

  “Reckon she was just talkin’. She was wrong.”

  “Then I was wrong to believe her. Forgive me. . . . But I didn’t see how you could be so—so—such a liar.”

  “Thiry, I couldn’t lie to you,” he returned, with low voice ringing. “Save me agony by believin’ that now. For some day you’ll know.”

  “But you must dance with your hostess—at least once,” said Thiry, hastily.

  “Once.—Would you stand for it once?”

  “I! . . . Stand for it? I fear you——”

  “No,” he interrupted. “Now don’t get proud. I might stand it out at the Pass. But not here, with you in that dress. . . . I mean, straight out—do you want me to dance with you instead of Amy Dabb?”

  “Yes, I do,” she returned, hotly. “She hurt me. She said catty things all in a nice way. She offered to lend me a dress. She made me feel a—a country bumpkin. . . . I told you before what she hinted about you. It’s selfish, little, miserable of me to want to show her.—But she made me almost hate her.”

  “Thiry, my obligation is paid,” replied Rock, trying to contain himself. “I have had that one dance with Mrs. Dabb. She met me. I didn’t recognize her until she made herself known. It’s over. So there.”

  “I’d like you to dance with Allie,” returned Thiry, shyly. “She won’t tell on you. For that matter, it’d be fun, if we can fool her.”

  “Fine. Let’s find her and your friends.”

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  THIRY had introduced Rock to her sister Alice as Señor Del Toro of Las Vegas. And Rock felt that so far as dancing was concerned he had acquitted himself creditably. But his stock of Spanish words was much more limited than Alice’s, which, now that the dance had ended, began to be embarrassingly manifest.

  He had enjoyed this dance with Alice more even than the one with Amy Dabb. Alice was like a fairy on her feet and Rock could not have forced her out of step if he had tried. And as for dancing, this time he put his mind on it, endeavoring to do it well. He was thinking, perhaps, of the dances with Thiry so perilously close.

  “Señor, hadn’t we better talk English?” inquired Alice, mischievously.

  They were sitting in one of the corner bowers of the patio, a place Rock had spied out and which he thought would not be known to many. His idea was to get Thiry there.

  “Certainly, señorita. I thought you were Spanish too. I speak English,” replied Rock, disguising his voice.

  “I think I’ve heard you.”

  “Indeed? Where, may I inquire?”

  “At my home—Sunset Pass.”

  “Then I have had the honor of being at your home? Sunset Pass? I don’t recall it. But I’ve been asked to so many haciendas.”

  Alice laughed merrily. “You look very grand as a Spanish gambler, but you’re really one of my Dad’s cowpunchers.”

  “Alice Preston! You smart little rascal!” ejaculated Rock, greatly amused. “Then we didn’t fool you at all?”

  “Oh yes, you did! I was taken in, all right, and I was thrilled to death. But I grew suspicious before the dance was over.”

  “Well, sure it was fun. I’m glad you discovered me, for now I can talk. . . . Allie, doesn’t Thiry look just gorgeous?”

 
“Yes, she’s lovely. You’d hardly know her. Thiry carries this sort of thing off beautifully. Her masquerade is the finest here, don’t you think?”

  “Reckon I know, Allie. She’s got them beaten a mile. But you look pretty sweet yourself. I’d choose you about next, if I was a judge.”

  “Thanks. You’re a cowboy, all right. . . . But about Thiry—I almost wish she had not come.”

  “Why?” asked Rock, anxiously.

  “She’s worried half to death. She’s game, and only I who know her would even guess it. She’s afraid Ash will come here and discover her.”

  “But, Allie, doesn’t Thiry sort of overdo it? Isn’t she oversensitive? Sure Ash can’t do very much mischief.”

  “You don’t know Ash,” returned Alice, concisely. “If he catches her in that dress he’ll ruin it. Ash hates to see Thiry make herself so beautiful. I remember when I was a kid, how Ash used to rave if Thiry fixed herself up for a party. If he recognizes her here—good-by to great-grandmother’s wedding-gown. It took two hours for Thiry to coax mother to lend her that gown.”

  “By George! I can’t understand it, Allie!” exclaimed Rock, in low anger, clinching his hands. “Why, Allie, to spoil that gown would be vile!”

  “He’d do it. But Thiry hopes to fool him. You must help, somehow, Mr. Rock. . . . My sister doesn’t say a word, but I guess you had more than a little to do with her wanting to come so bad.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” replied Rock, slowly. “You know she refused to marry me?”

  “Yes, Dad told us. But, goodness, Mr. Rock—think how sudden you were! What could you expect?”

  “Sure I deserve that. I didn’t expect more than I got,” went on Rock, eloquently, and then he bent his head close to the girl’s. “Allie, can I trust you?”