by Zane Grey
Jim saw the delight of playing upon her simplicity must be forsworn. She seemed to be smarting under shame. The moment had come, far swifter than he had anticipated, but he welcomed it, hastened to end forever her doubts of him.
“Molly, if you’ll look around I’ll tell you what I think of you,” he said, in the coolest, easiest tone he could muster.
The dark head whirled. Her spirited action, the fire of her eyes, the receding of hot color, implied a doubt of him and her resentment at it. Yet there seemed something else in her expression, not conscious hope, but a pathos due to the dream she only half divined.
“Will you marry me?” he asked, simply, but with deep emotion.
Perhaps nothing else could have so altered her. At length she burst out:
“Mister Jim!”
“Let’s dispense with the Mister. Call me plain Jim, and say ’yes’.”
“Boy, now I know what ails you,” she said, in self-reproach.
“No, you don’t. I haven’t come to that.”
“If you’re not out of your haid, what on earth are you?” she cried, wildly.
“In love, Molly.”
“In love! … With me?” she whispered.
He got hold of her hand, to find it trembling. “Listen, child,” he began, determined to convince her. “You remember our meeting. Well, I think I fell in love with you then. If not then, at the dance surely. And last night I made up my mind to ask you to marry me. I’ve been shot, I know, Molly. And I’m excited. But I am absolutely in possession of all my wits. I love you very dearly. And I want to make you my wife.”
“Me? Molly Dunn?”
“Yes, you, Molly Dunn.”
Then Jim Traft devoutly thanked the god of love or faith, or both, whatever it had been that had prompted him to broach this most impelling and sacred of all propositions to a woman. For though Molly Dunn was wholly unconscious of it, the instant he had convinced her was one of a singular transformation. He had convinced her of so marvelous a thing that it worked a like change in her.
“Oh! … I cain’t believe it,” she exclaimed, incredulous with the amazing truth. “My God! What would Slinger say to that? An’ ma an’ pa an’ Andy—an’ that grinnin’ Jocelyn?”
“Molly, it doesn’t matter in the least what they’d say. But a great deal what you say.”
“Wal, Mister Jim—”
“Stop calling me that,” interrupted Jim, imperiously, and he shook her. He divined not only that she really cared for him, but that she could never hold out against him. It shone in her startled eyes. She betrayed it in other unconscious ways. “Call me Jim. … Do you hear? Jim!”
“Shore I heah you … Jim,” she replied, sweetly.
“It sounds very nice. Now what do you say, Molly?”
“I’m shore upset. An’ I’ll be so—so proud all my life—an’ happy that you love me an’ want me. … But, Jim, I cain’t marry you.”
“Molly! Do you love some one else?” he queried, sharply.
“No.”
“Don’t you—couldn’t you care for me?” he implored.
She gave him an enigmatical little smile, as much mournful as derisive—something dedicated to the stupidity of man.
“Jim, heah you have lost your haid,” she went on. “I’m Molly Dunn of the Cibeque. They always called me that. My brother is Slinger Dunn. An’ this last shootin’ will make him an outlaw.”
“It needn’t, Molly. No one need ever know. I’ll not tell. And I’ll find a way to change Slinger.”
“But that’s only one reason,” she protested. “My father has lived for years under a cloud. No one can prove he belonged to that murderous outfit. But it’s behind. … My mother isn’t much good, either. There’s talk aboot her an’ this an’ that cowboy.”
“Molly, I wouldn’t be marrying your family,” replied Jim, sagely.
“Jim, I may be pretty, like a wood-mouse, as Arch calls me, but I’m nobody,” said Molly, mercilessly. “I’m no—no fit girl for you.”
“Why not?” he demanded, stabbed again by that fierce, jealous doubt. “You’ve sure got good looks. You’ve the face, the hands—the instincts of a lady. There must be good blood in your family somewhere.”
“Yes. My mother came from a Southern family. She brags aboot it to this day. It’s a lot to do with her fittin’ so poor in a log cabin.”
“Molly, if—if”—he tortured himself to get this out—“if you’ve had affairs with any boys—that damned Jocelyn—or anyone—affairs you’re ashamed of—just forget them. I know you’re the kind of a girl who’d tell me. But I really don’t want to know. I think you’ve had a rotten deal down here in the Cibeque. What chance have you had—among these louts? Curly Prentiss said that. … So, Molly, turn your back on the whole mess and come to me.”
“Jim Traft, do you think I’d ever disgrace you now?” she flashed, with tears welling down over her cheeks. “Just that you said would make me love you, if nothin’ else could. But it also makes me see clear. … I—I cain’t marry you.”
Jim did not press this point any further, for her demeanor, the way she clung to his hand, the tremendous agitation that shook her, the traitorous eyes which she did not realize, were facts that moved him with tumultuous joy.
“But, Jim, I reckon you’ve heahed talk aboot me,” she went on. “An’ you’re shore the one man I’d tell everthin’. Don’t you let any lies aboot me stick in your haid.”
“I didn’t, Molly,” said Jim, which he feared was not wholly truth. But on the other hand, under circumstances of extreme exasperation, had he not clung to some strange championship of her? Then he told her of Hack Jocelyn’s vain boastings, of his innuendoes, and at last his open, vile claim.
“Slinger will kill him for that,” she replied, furiously.
“I’d have done it myself,” declared Jim. “The boys had to pull me off him.”
“I saw his face an’ taunted him with it,” she said. “Hack admitted you licked him. … Jim, he scared me bad that time. He lay in wait for me along the trail home. An’ he jerked me into the brush. That’s when I learned he was quittin’ the Diamond an’ makin’ up to the Cibeque. He was playin’ for a big stake. My brother had no use for Hack. An’ Hack aimed to win him over by makin’ me tell him he’d quit the Diamond because you insulted me. When I didn’t take kind to this deal, he grabbed me up in his arms an” near broke every rib I own. An’ he kissed me, Jim—all over except my mouth. … You bet I was scared an’ I changed my tune. He let me down then, an’ pretty quick I broke an’ ran.”
“And that’s all the claim Hack Jocelyn had on you! … Molly, all the time I knew he was a liar. But, oh, it nearly broke my heart.”
“Jim, he never had no claim on me,” she replied, earnestly. “Some of the other boys have tried to make up to me by grabbin’ me. You did, Jim Traft!—It must be a failin’. But, I cross my heart, Jim, no boy ever got anythin’ like you got from me.”
“Darling!” cried Jim.
That and the stealing of Jim’s arm round her waist, drawing her down, would have been Molly’s undoing. But he heard a soft step. He felt Molly freeze under his arm. A shadow crossed the light above him.
CHAPTER
16
JIM had only a glimpse of Slinger Dunn looming over him, gun in hand. Then Molly, with a scream, threw herself upon Jim protectingly.
“So heah you are, you wood-louse,” grated Slinger.
“Arch, I found him—on the trail—bleedin’ to death,” cried Molly.
“When—an’ what you doin’ up heah?”
“I—I went ridin’, Arch. Yesterday. I heahed a shot. Then you came by like mad. An’ I found him.”
“You was meetin’ him heah.”
“No. No. Honest to God—I wasn’t.”
“Molly Dunn, I’ve had my doubts aboot you lately. An’ now I’m shore.”
Jim managed to move enough to get his eyes from under Molly’s disheveled hair. He needed only one look up at Slinger D
unn’s face to understand Molly’s terror.
“Dunn, she’s not a liar,” he said, hurriedly. “She couldn’t have known I was on the trail. I was trailing the man who cut the drift fence.”
“Aw, she’d lie an’ you’d swear to it.” His piercing gaze rested curiously on Jim. “How’n hell do you happen to be alive?”
“Your bullet hit my watch.”
“Wah, heah’s another,” said Slinger, with strange intensity, and he brought the gun up to align it with Jim’s head. But quick as a flash Molly covered Jim.
“For God’s sake, Slinger, don’t kill him,” she begged.
“I shore will. An’ I jest aboot as lief bore you, too. … Git up.”
He kicked Molly, and his boot came partly in contact with Jim’s thigh. The brutality of it, after the deadly speech, seemed to liberate Jim from a cold paralysis.
“Let go of me, Molly,” ordered Jim. “If he’s such a skunk as that, he might kill you. And if he means to murder me you can’t stop him.”
“Now you’re talkin’, Mister Traft,” returned Dunn, harshly.
Molly not only refused to move, but she got her arms around Jim, and clung to him, shielding his vital parts with her quivering body.
“Arch, you cain’t shoot him—when he’s down—crippled—defenseless,” she burst out, passionately. “It wouldn’t be human. It wouldn’t be like Slinger Dunn. … If it’s on my account, you’re wrong—terribly wrong. He never meant—bad by me.”
“Molly, I reckon he’s done bad by you. An’ you’re not only lyin’ for him, but givin’ yourself away.”
“You cold-hearted devil!” she exclaimed. “How could you have a decent thought? … Kill me, too!”
“Ahuh. You damn little hussy! … But being’ daid wouldn’t hide your shame, Molly Dunn.”
“Oh, Arch, there’s no shame. … There’s been nothin’ but thoughts an’ feelin’s that have changed me. … I love him. Cain’t you see it? I love him!”
“Wal, I ain’t blind,” replied Slinger, and reaching down he laid hold of Molly and tried to pull her off. But she clung like a leech. Then with a curse he shifted his hold to her hair. Even then he could only budge her by savage force, and he had to step on Jim’s shoulder to keep her from lifting him with her. Suddenly Molly, fierce as a wildcat, flung herself upon Slinger, and fought him for the gun, which he held out in his right hand.
The girl’s courage, following her declaration of love, roused the lion in Jim. With all his might he kicked Dunn’s hand, knocking the gun out of it.
“Hold still!—Somebody comin’!” whispered Dunn, hoarsely, stiffening.
Molly slipped out of his grasp, down to the ground. Jim listened, but could hear nothing save the pounding of his heart. Dunn stood strung like a listening deer, gradually relaxing his intensity. He might have been mistaken. But during this short interval he had removed his eyes from Molly, who suddenly snatched up the gun. She held it low, with both hands tight, pointing up at Dunn’s body.
Jim could not bear the terrible intent expressed in her face and eyes. He grasped the gun, turned it aside.
“Molly, you mustn’t shed your brother’s blood—even to save my life,” he said, very low. And at his words she relinquished the gun.
Slinger Dunn seemed to be calculating desperate chances. That Jim would not instantly turn the gun on him never flashed into his consciousness Jim grasped this and thought he might turn it to good account. The last thing he could be forced to do would be to kill Molly’s brother.
Then the brush crashed.
“Hands up!” came in cool, sharp tones that made Jim’s blood leap.
Dunn’s back was turned. Swiftly he elevated his arms high above his head. Jim moved to see that Curly Prentiss had appeared round the corner of the lean-to. He held a cocked gun.
“Come round heah, Bud,” he called. And with more crashing in the brush Bud Chalfack followed his extended rifle into view. Both cowboys stepped closer, eyes quick and hard.
Jim slipped Dunn’s gun out of sight—an act as impulsively swift as the thought that prompted it.
“Face around heah,” ordered Curly, and as Dunn pivoted he showed no surprise, but an alert, cold suspicion.
“By Gawd!” shouted Bud. “Look, Curly! If there ain’t the boss … an’ Molly Dunn!”
Jim seized avidly upon his opportunity, though his wit and spirit far exceeded his physical strength.
“Hello—boys!” he began, huskily. “So you found me—at last. … Put up your guns.”
“What’s wrong heah?” demanded Curly, and Jim’s heart felt a rush of warm gladness and thrill at the significance of the cowboy’s mien.
“Nothing wrong, Curly—now—you’ve found me,” replied Jim, cheerfully, though he realized his appearance must have given the lie to his words.
“Boss, you’re pretty white—an’ there’s blood on your shirt,” returned Curly, sharply.
“You bet. Put down your gun—and you, too, Bud. I’m nervous.”
“Wal, you look it,” growled Curly, complying with Jim’s order. Bud likewise lowered his weapon. “I reckon you’d better talk fast.”
“Curly,” burst out Jim, in relief, “yesterday I found a cut in the drift fence. And horse tracks on the trail. I followed them down here. … Somebody shot me, knocked me galleywest off my horse. … When I came to, Molly Dunn was bathing my face. Pretty lucky for me she happened to ride along. She was on her way up to camp—to warn me that Jocelyn and the Cibeque outfit had planned to kidnap me—for ransom. She heard the shot and found me. … Well, it turned out the bullet had glanced off my watch and cut up through my shoulder. We tied it up. I wasn’t able to get on my horse. Molly wanted to ride up to camp and fetch you, but I thought it’d be best for her to go home. You fellows would probably trail me, and if you didn’t she could ride up today. … Well, Molly came today, and it seems that her brother trailed her. Found us here. And, well—the truth is, he thinks I’m a bad egg—and had evil intentions toward Molly. That upset me—and made Molly sore. We were having hell when you came up. … And, I reckon—that’s all.”
“Slinger Dunn, you’re shore a hell of a bright fellar,” quoth Curly, with all the sarcasm of a disgusted cowboy. “Let your hands down. An’ mebbe you’d do well to make yourself scarce around heah. But before you go you put this in your pipe an’ smoke it, you — hard nut of a Cibeque gun-slinger!—My boss, Jim Traft, wouldn’t never have evil intentions toward no gurl, much less so sweet an’ luvly a little lady as your sister.”
“Slinger, sumbody ought to beat the daylights out of you,” added Bud, with even more scorn. “An’ I’ll bet you a hat the boss will do it sometime. … Me an’ Curly both made up to Molly. Was we good enough fer her? No, we was not. Mebbe Jim was good enough. But you can gamble both he an’ Molly are above your low-down suspicions. … Now you mozey along, and hereafter stay on your side of the fence.”
Slinger eyed them while they delivered their separate speeches, and then looked strangely down upon Molly, who had rallied somewhat from the ravages of emotion, and lastly at Jim. There was little to be made of his impassive face, strong and hard as brown stone. Then he strode out to disappear in the brush.
The situation lost its suspense.
“You dog-gone old tenderfoot!” said Curly, sitting down beside Jim, to place a hand on him. “Gone an’ got yourself shot fer the Diamond! I shore hope it ain’t bad.”
Bud crowded in beside Molly. “Boss, I wuz orful scared fust off. ’Course we didn’t see who it wuz. … Gosh! I never wuz so glad aboot nothin’. … Did thet bullet go deep?”
“Not very. I bled a good deal. And I’m sore. But I should think you could hold me on my horse and get me up to camp.”
“An’ so little Molly found you!” ejaculated Curly, tossing his sombrero and shaking his curly head, while he bent bright knowing eyes upon the confused girl. “My Gawd! the luck uv some fellars! … How air you, Miss Molly?”
“Not so well, this minute,
Mr. Prentiss,” replied Molly, with a wan smile. “But I’m shore glad—the way it’s turned out.”
“Howdy, Molly!” drawled Bud. “You look orful purty this minnit. So you saved our boss? Wal, I reckon now the Diamond will belong to you.”
“Boys,” interposed Jim, with a happy ring in his voice, “I know a diamond that will be Molly’s, if she’ll take it—along with the boss of the Diamond.”
The cowboys looked bewildered volumes and were speechless, which loss of function absolutely testified to a state so rare in them. And Molly was hopelessly stricken, and confused. She had no strength left, even if rebellion was in her.
“You boys take yourselves off in the woods for ten minutes,” ordered Jim, audaciously.
Curly got up awkwardly, after the manner of cowboys, and Bud followed suit. It was just as well, thought Jim, that he had flabbergasted them and then had not allowed them time to recover. Signs were forthcoming of potential and scintillating cowboy wit.
“But say good-by to Molly,” added Jim, relenting.
Curly had dignity and selflessness. “Miss Molly, you shore hev my thanks. Jim has won over the Diamond, an’ if, as he hints, he’s won you—wal, I don’t wonder, an’ I reckon him the luckiest fellar on the range. Good-by an’ good luck.”
Bud, however, availed himself of an opportunity to make sheep’s eyes. “Molly, good-by, an’ so long’s it can’t be me, I reckon you’ve made the best deal by ropin’ the boss.”
They slumped away into the spruce, leaving a pleasant jingle of spurs.
“Oh, they’re terrible—an’ lovable, too,” burst out Molly, lifting a flushed face.
“You bet they are. But that tickled me, Molly,” declared Jim. “I’ve had a time with them. And of all the tables turned on them, this with you is the best!”
“But, Jim, it cain’t ever be true,” she murmured, sorrowfully.
“Forget your trouble now, Molly dear,” replied Jim. “You must hurry home. I’ll find some way to let you hear from me. A letter—or I’ll come to West Fork.”
“Oh, you mustn’t! It wouldn’t be safe!” she cried.
“Molly, I think we turned the table on Slinger, too. That fellow is no clod. … Darling, do you know you told him—you loved me?”
