Panguitch

by Zane Grey

  “Did Brutus ride me into this … this spell?” murmured Sue. But she was denied the satisfaction of understanding when or how or why she had come to fall in love with Chane Weymer. All might have contributed to it, nothing might have been particularly to blame.

  Sue’s inherent honesty of soul, as it had forced her to confess the naked truth of her dilemma, likewise in time forced other considerations, to which the dreams and wonderings had so far been subservient. They had been sweet, vague, dreamful, the questionings of awakened love. She next had to deal with sense, not sentiment. And shame flooded through her.

  What is he? A wandering rider, lover of wild horses and Indian girls! Squaw man!

  Clamoring voices from the unknown depths of her fought for hold in her conscience. But she silenced them. To realize that she had loved unsought, unwooed, made her untrue to the best in her, merciless to the man who had roused this tumult of her heart. She must hide it. She must avoid Chane Weymer. She must welcome anyone whose attention might help to divert suspicion of her humiliating secret.

  That night Sue Melberne, with the fierce pride and strange egotism of a woman who must avenge herself upon the innocent cause of her pangs, was the life of the merry campfire circle. Chess, who she blamed partly for her woe, was as merry as anyone, until Sue sat down beside Manerube, flushed of face, bright of eye, and talked and laughed with him as she had with the others. Then Chess became suddenly sober. He backed away from the fire, watching her with big staring eyes.

  Sue was aware of this. It helped her, somehow. But when Chane silently strode away into the shadows her vivacity lost its inspiration. Still she kept amusing Manerube, who responded, expanded under her laughter and sallies. Her father gazed upon her with pleasure on his tired face. Ora, too, reacted characteristically to Sue’s friendliness. She was not to be outdone. Between them Manerube became the center of repartee he manifestly took to his credit.

  The evening wore on. One after another the members of Melberne’s outfit went to bed, until only Manerube and the girls were left, with Chess sitting across the fire, his head on his hands.

  Sue knew he was waiting for her to start for her tent—that he would wait no matter how she tarried. At last she could keep up the deception no longer, and rose to go, bidding them good night.

  “Sue, let me walk with you to your tent?” asked Manerube.

  “No, thanks. Take Ora. She’s afraid of the dark,” replied Sue, tripping away. But once out in the shadow, her feet became as heavy as lead. Chess caught up with her, took hold of her arm, and turned her to face him.

  “Sue Melberne, what’s come over you?” he demanded.

  “Over me? Why, nothing. Do you mean my … my cutting up a little?”

  “Yes, I mean that … with Manerube.”

  “Oh, Chess, it’s none of your business if I want to make merry … a little, is it, with him or anyone?”

  “No, I reckon not,” replied Chess darkly, as he stared down at her. “But Manerube! You never were that way before. Didn’t you see Chane walk away the minute you began flirting with Manerube?”

  “I … I didn’t flirt,” Sue declared hotly, and she was honest in her denial.

  “Aw, you did. And it wasn’t like you, Sue.”

  “How do you know what I’m like … really?” queried Sue. His pain, his reproach, stung her, drove her to say what she thought but did not mean to utter.

  “Something’s wrong with you, Sue Melberne. Tell me what it is. Please. Aw, Sue …”

  “I’ve nothing to tell you,” she replied, and turned away.

  Chess followed her, and once again strode before her, just as she reached her tent. He was in the open, away from the trees. His head was bare, his face clear in the moonlight.

  “Are you sure? You can’t hurt us Weymers more than once.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. And I think you’re rude.”

  “Rude!” he ejaculated. “What in damnation has come over you? You never called me that before … I’d do anything, though, to keep you from making eyes at Manerube, being sweet … like you were. Promise me you won’t.”

  “Chess, have you any right to criticize my actions?” she demanded.

  “I’m just asking you something. Will you promise not to flirt with Manerube again?”

  “No! I deny I flirted, but if I’m wrong … I’ll do it when I please,” retorted Sue passionately. The day’s conflicting emotions had worn her out.

  Chess stepped back from her as if she had struck him. “Did you see Chane’s face just before he left?” he asked in different tone.

  “No, I didn’t. What’s it to me how he looked?”

  “Nothing, I reckon,” Chess replied with a dignity Sue had never noted in him. “I’m telling you, though. Chane looked terribly surprised, terribly hurt. He hates a flirt.”

  Sue heard a bitter little laugh issue from her lips. “Oh, he draws the line at white color, does he? I hear he’s not so righteous … or indifferent toward red-skinned flirts!”

  “Sue … Melberne!” gasped Chess, starting as if he had been stabbed.

  A sudden hot anger at herself, at Chess, at Chane had possessed Sue, and this, with a sudden tearing pang of jealousy, had given rise to a speech that left her shocked.

  Certain it was that Chess turned white in the moonlight, and raised his hand as if to smite the lips that dishonored the brother he revered. Sue awaited that blow, invited it, wanted it, in the shame of the moment. But Chess’ hand fell back, nerveless and shaking. Then with a wrench he drew himself up.

  “I didn’t know you, really,” he said. “And I’ll tell you one thing more. If I hadn’t made that promise to Chane, I’d sure get drunk tonight.” Wheeling with a bound, he plunged into the shade of the cottonwoods.

  “Oh, Chess … I … I didn’t mean that!” cried Sue. But he did not hear. He was running over the rustling leaves. Sue went into her tent and fell on her bed. “What have I done? Oh, I’m a miserable little beast! I love that boy as much as any sister could. And I’ve hurt him. His eyes! He was horrified. He’ll despise me now. He’ll tell his brother I … I … Oh, this day, this day! My heart will break!”

  * * * * *

  Sue rode every day, but no more on Brutus. She nursed the delusion that her pretended friendliness toward Manerube, by deceiving the brothers as to the true state of her heart, would assuage her pain during the process of her struggle. Therefore she adhered to the plan conceived in that hour of her abasement.

  Where heretofore she had interested herself solely in the labors of Chess and Chane on the timbered hillside, now she rode far afield and watched the stretching of the barbed-wire fence. Its western flange zigzagged across the valley, cunningly broken at the deep washes, calculated to deceive wild horses. She carried warm food to her father, and otherwise served him during this long arduous task, growing farther and farther from the camp.

  These rides kept her out in the open most of the day. Around the campfire she encouraged Manerube’s increasing attentions, though less and less did she give him opportunity to seek her alone. Ora had tossed her black head and said tartly: “You can have Bent Manerube and welcome!” She had gone back to Chess, growing happier for the change. Sue sometimes found it impossible to avoid Chess’ scornful eyes. He seldom came near her. How she missed the little courtesies that now no one else had time or thought for. Manerube certainly never profited by kindly actions. Sue seldom saw Chane Weymer, except at a distance. Yet always her eyes roved in search of him. It was bitter to see him, yet more bitter when her search was unrewarded.

  She happened to be present one night at the campfire, after supper, when talk waxed warm about the proposed wild horse drive very soon now to be started. The argument started by Melberne’s query: “Wal, now our trap is aboot ready, how are we goin’ to start the drive?”

  Manerube, as usual, did all the replying, and Melberne
had evidently learned by heart this rider’s ideas. Most of Manerube’s talk was devoted to his past performances; he had little to say about future accomplishments, except his brag as to results. This night Melberne, approaching the climax of his cherished enterprise, plainly showed dissatisfaction with Manerube.

  “I’ve given you authority to handle this drive,” Melberne declared forcibly. “Reckon I want to know how you propose to go aboot it?”

  “We’ll just spread out and drive down the valley, toward the trap,” replied Manerube with impatient gesture of finality.

  “A-huh. So that’s all?” returned Melberne with more of sarcasm than Sue had ever heard on her father’s lips. His eyes held a glint foreign to their natural kindly frankness. Then he addressed himself to his Mexican vaquero.

  “Alonzo, what’s your say aboot how to make this drive?”

  “No savvy Señor Manerube,” replied the half-breed, indicating the rider.

  “What?” shouted Melberne, growing red in the face. “You mean you’re not favorin’ this barbed-wire trap Manerube’s built?”

  The vaquero had no more to say. His sloe-black eyes gazed steadily into Melberne’s, meaningly it seemed to Sue, as if he was not the kind of a man to be made to talk when he did not choose to. Melberne, taking the hint, repeated his query, without the violence. Alonzo spread his brown little hands, sinewy like an Indian’s, to indicate that the matter was too much for him and he wanted no responsibility. Sue intuitively felt, as formerly, that the vaquero was antagonistic to Manerube.

  “Wal, Utah, you know this heah wild horse game,” said Melberne, turning to the lean rider. “Will you tell me how you think we ought to make this drive?”

  “Shore. I think we oughtn’t make it a-tall,” drawled Utah.

  Melberne swore, and threw the stick he held into the fire, where it sent up a shower of sparks.

  “I didn’t ask that,” he snapped. “You needn’t get smart with me. I’m talkin’ business.”

  “Wal, boss, I’m like my pard, Tway Miller. Sometimes I cain’t talk business or nothin’,” returned Utah with his easy, deliberate drawl. There was a smile on his lean bronzed face. Sue grew more and more convinced that her father, Texan though he was, did not understand these riders.

  “Jim, look heah,” said Melberne, turning to Loughbridge. “Come to think aboot it, you hired most of these close-mouthed gentlemen. Suppose you make them talk.”

  “Don’t think thet’s important, even if I wanted to make them, which I don’t,” replied Loughbridge. “Manerube’s plan suits me to a T. An’ I sure don’t see why you’re reflectin’ on his judgment by naggin’ these other riders.”

  “Wal, Jim, I reckon there’s a lot you don’t see,” responded Melberne with more sarcasm. “We’re deep in this deal now an’ we stand to lose or gain a lot.”

  “We don’t stand to lose nothin’,” rejoined Loughbridge, “unless you make these riders so sore they’ll quit us.”

  “Jake, please fetch Weymer heah quick,” said Melberne. “Tell him it’s important.”

  Sue gathered from this obstinacy on the part of her father that there was something preying on his mind. Quick to read the expressions of his mobile features, she detected more than the usual indecision characteristic of him in situations with which he was not familiar. His deliberate sending for Chane Weymer seemed flinging more than reasonable doubt in the faces of his partners, and especially Manerube. Sue slipped back into the shadow and waited. When presently she heard Weymer’s well-known footstep, he was striding out of the gloom, in advance of Jake. The instant Sue saw the dark gleam of his eyes in the firelight, his forward action, guarded yet quick, the something commanding in his presence, she divined what had actuated her father in sending for him. He was a man to rely upon. The moment of Weymer’s arrival held for Sue less of pain than other times lately, for she sensed that in some way he would become an ally of her father’s.

  “What’s wrong, Melberne?” asked Chane as he halted in the firelight. The absence of his coat showed his lithe powerful form to advantage, his small waist and round rider’s hips. It also disclosed the fact that he wore a gun belt, with gun hanging low on his right side. Sue had not seen him armed before. A slight cold shudder passed over her.

  “Wal, Weymer, I cain’t say there’s anythin’ wrong, exactly,” responded Melberne, standing up to face the rider. “But I cain’t swear it’s right, either. Heah’s the argument … We’re aboot done fixin’ this wild horse trap I’m so keen aboot. Reckon the success or failure of this trick means a lot to me. Jim an’ Manerube swear it cain’t fail. Wal, now we’re near ready to drive, I wanted to slow down. I asked Manerube what his plan was. An’ he up an’ says we’ll just spread out an’ drive the valley. That’s all! I asked Alonzo to tell how he’d do it, an’ he says he doesn’t savvy Manerube. I just don’t get his hunch. Then I asked Utah, an’ he drawls sarcastic like he cain’t talk no more’n Tway Miller. Mebbe these riders are just naturally jealous of Manerube an’ won’t support him. Mebbe it’s somethin’ else. I don’t know much aboot Utah riders, but I reckon I know men. That’s why I sent for you. I reckoned you’d never let personal grudges interfere with what was right. Now would you?”

  “Why, certainly not,” declared Weymer. “And I’d like you to know I don’t bear grudges.”

  “A-huh! All right, then. I’ve a hunch you know this wild horse wranglin’ game. Now I’d shore take it as a favor if you’d tell me what you think aboot this drive we’re soon to make.”

  Without the slightest hesitation Chane responded with a swift: “Melberne, I hired out to ride, not talk.”

  Here Sue, in her mounting interest at this colloquy, expected her father to fall into a rage. Chane’s reply had been distinctly aloof, even cold. But Melberne manifestly had himself now well in hand. He was on the track of something that even the bystanders began to feel. Manerube shifted uneasily from one position to another.

  “Shore. That was our understandin’,” went on Melberne, stepping closer to Chane. “Reckon you’re not duty bound to express opinions to me, especially when they concern an enemy of yours. But on the other hand, I’ve befriended you. I fed you when you were starved, an’ then I gave you a job. Now, as man to man, isn’t it fair for you to tell me if you know anythin’ for or against this wild horse drive?”

  “It’d be more than fair of me, Melberne,” declared Chane significantly. “It’d be more than you or any other man could expect.”

  Melberne took that as a man receiving a deserved blow. Chane’s retort had struck home to Sue as well. Chane Weymer was certainly not in duty or honor compelled to approve of or aid the plans of Manerube. Besides, there was a subtle pride in Chane’s meaning, whatever that was.

  “A-huh! I get your hunch,” returned Melberne gruffly. “Mebbe you’ve somethin’ to say for yourself. If so, I’ll listen.”

  “No, Melberne, I don’t have to talk for myself.”

  “Dammit, man, self-defense is only right,” retorted Melberne, losing patience. “Even the law expects that.”

  “Talk is cheap out here on the desert,” rejoined Chane with cool disdain. “I’d never employ it in my defense. But you notice I pack a gun?”

  “A-huh! I shore didn’t overlook it,” said Melberne, and his tone lost impatience for menace. There was probability of imminent antagonism here. Sue held her breath. Chane’s fearless disdain matched her father’s fearless uncertainty. Chane showed the proud sense of right; Melberne seemed divided between his doubt of right or wrong. Sue divined that in both men’s minds had risen the thought of the calumny that hung like a shadow over Chane. How scornful and reticent he was, considering what must be true!

  “Melberne, any man who believes of me what you believe has got to know he can’t talk it, unless he wants to hear my gun talk,” Chane declared bitterly.

  Thus Weymer threw down the gauntlet between them. />
  “Weymer,” began Melberne in slow crisp utterance, “I asked you kindly to do me a favor. Now you’re politely invitin’ me to draw.”

  “Bah! Such talk from a Texan!” Chane exclaimed quick as a flash. “You know I’ve respect and liking for you. The last thing on earth I’d want would be to fight you. The trouble with you, Melberne, is you’ve got your bridle twisted out here in Utah. Your two-bit partner, Loughbridge, and your skunk foreman, Manerube, are to blame for that. Why don’t you use your own head?”

  If Sue had not been in the cold clutch of deadly terror, she would have thrilled to Chane’s surprising arraignment of her father. But she could only stare open-mouthed and quake. Melberne shot a quick expectant glance at Manerube. That individual sat in the fire-lit circle. At Chane’s stinging remark his face turned livid. But he made no move to rise or speak. Then slowly Melberne shifted his gaze to Loughbridge, less expectant this time. He saw a stupid angry wonder on that worthy’s features. It roused him to a laugh, gruff, not merry.

  “Weymer, I reckon I feel like apologizin’ to you for fetchin’ you out heah,” said Melberne, still with gruff, grim voice. The cold edge, however, had left it. His face, too, had lost its tightness. Then it was that Sue felt a sudden flooding warmth of relief, joy, admiration. Her father was indeed a man.

  “You needn’t apologize,” returned Chane, visibly softening. “I’m glad you understand me.”