by Zane Grey
“Winter supplies, I reckon. An’ mebbe the Hash Knife are in for another war, like the one it started in ’eighty-two. Ha! Ha! … But it ain’t so funny, after all.”
“It shore doesn’t look like peaceful ranchin’,” drawled Locke.
“Damn these low-down outfits, anyway,” growled the rancher. “I fought them when I rode the range years ago, an’ now I’m fightin’ them still. Locke, we’ll be runnin’ eighty thousand head of stock in a year or two.”
“Eighty thousand! —Then you can afford to lose some,” replied Locke.
“Humph. I couldn’t lose a calf’s ear to those thievin’ outfits without gettin’ sore. They’ve kept me poor.”
“Uncle, we appear to have the necessities of life around the ranch. Nice warm fires, and some luxury,” remarked Jim, humorously.
“Just you wait,” retorted his uncle. “Just you wait! You’ll be a darn sight worse than me, pronto.”
“Locke, who is this Madden?” asked Jim, quietly, with change of tone.
“One of Jed Stone’s gang. Hard-ridin’, hard-drinkin’ an’ shootin’ hombre. Come up from the border a few years ago. The murder of Wilson, a rancher out of Holbrook, was laid to Madden. But that was only suspicion. In this country you have to catch a man at anythin’ to prove it. Personally, though, I’d take a shot at Madden an’ ask questions afterward.”
“Tough outfit, Uncle tells me,” went on Jim, reflectively.
“Boy, the Cibeque was a summer zephyr to thet Hash Knife outfit. Stone used to be a square-shootin’ cowboy. Rode fer your uncle once. That was before my day here. He’s outlawed now, with crimes on his head. An intelligent, dangerous man. He’s got a Texas gun-fighter in his outfit. Pecos something or other, an’ I reckon he’s ’most as bad as any of the killers out of Texas. Croak Malloy, though, is Stone’s worst an’ meanest hand. Then, there’s Lang an’ Anderson, who’ve been with him for years.”
“Is Slinger Dunn the equal of any of these men?” queried Jim.
“Equal? I reckon. Yes, he’s ahaid of them in some ways,” replied Locke, thoughtfully. “Slinger could beat any one of them to a gun, unless mebbe this Pecos feller. But Slinger is young an’ he has no crimes on his haid. That makes a difference. None of this Hash Knife outfit could be arrested. They hang together, an’ you bet they’ll die with their boots on.”
“Then we’re in for another fight?” mused Jim, and though he sustained a wonderful thrill—cold as a chill—he did not like the prospect.
“Traft,” said Locke, turning to the rancher, “strikes me queer that Stone hangs on in this part of Arizona. He’s no fool. He shore knows he can’t last forever. If the Diamond doesn’t drive him out it’ll break up his outfit. An’ other riders will keep on his track.”
“Wal, you know, Stone will never be run out of anywhere. But he’s an Arizonian, an’ this range is home, even if it has outlawed him. He’s bitter an’ hard, which is natural enough. Stone ought to be a rich cattleman now. I—I feel sorry for him, an’ that’s why I’ve let Yellow Jacket alone.”
Jim thought his uncle spoke rather feelingly.
“Wouldn’t it be better to drive off what stock’s left there an’ let the land go?” went on Locke.
“Better? Humph! It can’t be done. We’ve got to organize against these rustlin’ outlaws or they’ll grow bolder an’ ruin us. Take that case over in New Mexico when a big cattleman—crooked, of course—hired Billy the Kid an’ his outfit to steal cattle, an’ he sold them to the government. That deal lasted for years. Everybody knew it, except the government officials. Wal, I’m inclined to think there’s some ranchin’ man backin’ Stone.”
“Ahuh. I know how you incline, Traft,” returned Locke, dryly. “An’ it’s likely to get us into trouble.”
“Wal, if Bambridge is buyin’ in our stock we ought to find it out,” said Traft, testily.
“Suppose your suspicions reach Bambridge’s ear? He might be honest. In any case he’s liable to shoot you. An’ I say this Yellow Jacket isn’t worth the risk.”
“Ring, I don’t like the man. I suspect him. We’ve clashed from the first. He was hoppin’ mad when he found out I owned Yellow Jacket an’ had the range rights there. It’ll be interestin’ to see what move he makes.”
“Like watchin’ a game of checkers,” rejoined Locke, with a laugh. “All right, Boss. I’m bound to admit you’ve made some sharp guesses in my days with you. Reckon I’ll go to bed. Good night.”
In the silence that succeeded after he had gone, Jim slowly opened the letters he had been idly holding.
“Uncle, I’m afraid Locke is against this Yellow Jacket deal, especially the Bambridge angle.”
“Locke is cautious. He hates this sort of thing as much as I do. But what can we do? I take it as my duty to rid Arizona of this particular outfit, an’ I’m goin’ to do it.”
“Then it isn’t a personal grudge against Bambridge?”
“Not at all. I shore hope we find out my suspicions are wrong. An’ I’m relyin’ on your Slinger Dunn to find out. He’s the man we need, Jim. I shore appreciate your gettin’ hold of him.”
Jim spread out one of the letters on his knee and read it.
“Good heavens!” he ejaculated, blankly.
“Son, I hope you’ve no bad news. Who’s the letter from?”
“Mother,” replied Jim, still blankly.
“Wal?”
“Uncle, what do you think? Mother is sending my sister, Gloriana, out here to stay with us a while. … Doctor’s orders. Says Gloriana has a weak lung and must live a year or more in a high dry climate. … By gosh! Glory is on her way right now!”
“Wal, wal! I’m shore sorry, Jim. But Arizona will cure her.”
“Cure! … Cure nothing!” snorted Jim. “Gloriana has no more lung trouble than I have. She’s the healthiest girl alive. It’s just a trick to get her out here.”
“Wal, I reckon there ain’t no need of tricks. We’ll be darn glad to have her, won’t we?”
“Uncle, you don’t understand,” replied Jim, in despair.
“Tell me, then.”
“Gloriana will upset the ranch, and break the Diamond and drive me crazy.”
“Haw! Haw! Haw!”
“It’s no laughing matter.”
“But, Jim, you’ve been away from home ’most a year. Your sister could have failed in health in much less time.”
“That’s so. … Oh, I hope not. … Of course, Uncle, I’ll be glad to have her, if she’s really sick. But …”
“Son, don’t you care for this little sister?”
“Gosh, Uncle, I love her! That’s the worst of it. I can’t help but love her. Everybody loves her, in spite of the fact she’s a perfect devil.”
“Humph! How old is Gloriana?”
“She’s eighteen. No, nearly nineteen.”
“Wal, the Trafts were all good-lookin’. How does she stack up?”
“Glory is the prettiest girl you ever saw in all your life.”
“Shore then it’ll be fine to have her,” replied the rancher. “An’ I’ll tell you what, Jim. When we once get her out heah we’ll keep her.”
“What?” queried Jim, weakly.
“We’ll never let her go back again. We’ll marry her to some fine Westerner.”
Jim felt it his turn to laugh. “Ha! Ha! Ha! … Uncle, there’re not enough men in Arizona to marry Glory. And I’m afraid not one she’d wipe her feet on.”
“Sort of stuck up, eh? Thet ain’t a Traft trait.”
“I wouldn’t say she was stuck up. But she’s certainly no plain everyday Traft, like you and I, or Dad or Mother. She’s not conceited, either. Glory is a puzzle. She changes each moon. I wonder what she’s like now. … Jerusalem! Suppose she doesn’t take to Molly!”
“See heah, young man,” spoke up Traft, gruffly. “Mebbe it’ll be the other way round. Molly mightn’t take to her.”
“Molly? Why, Uncle, that adorable child would love anybody, if she had half
a chance.”
“Ahuh. Wal, that accounts fer her lovin’ you. … Jim, it’ll work out all right. Remember your first tenderfoot days. Would you go back East now to live?”
“Gosh, no!”
“Wal, the West will do the same for Gloriana, if she has any red blood. It’ll go tough, until she’s broke in. An’ if she’s a high-steppin’ Easterner, it’ll be all the tougher. But she must have real stuff in her. She’s a Traft, for all you say.”
“Gloriana May takes after Mother’s side of the family, and some of them are awful.”
“She’s got to have some Traft in her. An’ we’ll gamble on that. For my part, I’m glad she’s comin’. I hope she burns up the ranch. I’ve been so long without fun and excitement and deviltry around heah that I could stand a heap.”
“Uncle Jim, you’re going to get your desire,” exploded Jim, dramatically. “You’ll see these cowboys walk Spanish and perform like tame bears with rings in their noses. You’ll see the work on the ranch go to smash. The roundups will be a circus. As for dances—holy smoke! every one of them will be a war!”
“Wal, I’ll be gol-darned if I wouldn’t like the girl all the more,” declared Traft, stoutly. “These cowpunchers make me awful sick with their love affairs. Any girl will upset them. An’ if Glory is all you say—my Gawd, but I’ll enjoy it! … Good night, son.”
Jim slid down in his chair and eyed the fire. “Gosh! It’s a good bet Uncle Jim will be apple pie for Glory. But if she really loves him, why, I reckon, I’ll be glad. And I might get along with her, in a pinch. —But there’s Molly. … Heigho! I’d better dig into Glory’s letter.”
He held it to the dying glow of the fire and read:
Dear Brother Jim:
Don’t let Mother’s letter worry you. I’m not very sick. I’ve planned to start west the day after I mail this letter, so you won’t have time to wire me not to come. I’m just crazy about the West. Your letters have done it, Jim. I’ve devoured them. Dad is so proud of you he almost busts. But Mother thinks it’s terrible. I’m sorry to spring this on you so sudden. I hope you will be glad to see me. It seems ages since you left. You’ll never know your Gloriana May.
Expect me on the Western Special, November 7th, and meet me with a bunch of cowboys, a string of horses, and one of those tally-ho things you call a chuck-wagon. I’m starved to death.
Love.
Gloriana.
Jim read the letter twice and then stared into the fire. “Sounds like Glory, yet somehow it doesn’t. … I wonder if she is really ill. … Or in any kind of trouble. … It was Glory’s affairs with boys that stuck in my craw. … Well. November the seventh. By jinks! it’s Monday! What shall I say to Molly?”
The difficulty, it seemed to Jim, would be serious. Glory was bright and clever. She had graduated from high school at seventeen. She could do most anything well, and had a genius for designing and making modish dresses and bonnets. Molly, on the other hand, was a shy little wood-mouse. She had never had any advantages. Two years at a backwoods school had been all the opportunity for education that had ever come to her. She was exceedingly sensitive about her lack of knowledge and her crudeness. The situation would be a delicate one, for Molly, in her way, was quite as proud as Gloriana was in hers.
“I’ll trust to Molly’s generous heart and the western bigness of her,” soliloquized Jim. “In the end Glory will love her. That I’ll gamble on.”
CHAPTER
3
JIM lay in bed longer than usual next morning, and when he finally rolled out, convinced that his problem was not so terribly serious after all, a white glistening world of snow greeted him from his window. The storm had gone and a clear blue sky and bright sun smiled coldly down upon the white-fringed pines and peaks. He did not take more than a glance, however, because his room seemed full of zero weather. He had to break the ice in his bucket to get water to wash, and he was far from lethargic about it. “I don’t know about this high dry altitude,” he soliloquized. “It’d freeze the nose off a polar bear.”
The halls of the big ranch-house were like a barn. Jim rushed to the living-room. A fine fire blazed in the wide fireplace. How good it felt to his numb fingers! Jim thought the West brought out so much more of a man’s appreciation. It was harsh, violent, crude, but it brought home to a man a full value of things.
“Mawnin’, Jim,” came in Molly’s drawling voice from somewhere.
“Hello! … Oh, there you are!” exclaimed Jim, gladly, as he espied her at the corner window, gazing out upon the wintry scene. “I was sure you’d be snug in bed. Come here, darling.”
Molly had not yet grown used to the impelling power of that word and she seemed irresistibly drawn. She wore a red coat over her blouse, the color of which matched her cheeks. In the few weeks since her arrival at the ranch she had lost some of the brown tan of the backwoods, which only added to her attractiveness. The gold glints in her dark curly hair caught the sunshine as it streamed through the window. Her eyes had that dark, shy, glad light that always thrilled Jim. And her lips, like red ripe cherries, were infinitely provocative.
“Oh—Jim—” she gasped, “some one might come in.”
“Kiss me, Molly Dunn,” he replied, giving her a little shake. “I’ll have to get like Curly or Bud in my lovemaking.”
“If you do, Mister Missouri, you’ll never get nowhere with me,” she returned.
“Not ‘nowhere,’ Molly. Say, anywhere.”
“Very well. Anywhere,” she obeyed.
“I’ll take that back about Curly and Bud.”
“You don’t need to learn from them. You’re somethin’ of a bear yourself.”
“Don’t you love me this morning?”
“Why, Jim—of course!”
“Then?”
Molly’s kisses were rather few and far between, which made them so much more precious. Jim both deplored and respected her restraint. She had been raised in a hard school, and often she had regretted to Jim that her lips had not been kept wholly for him. She was strong and sweet, this little girl of the Cibeque, and she had earned Jim’s worship.
“There!” she whispered, shyly, and slipped out of his arms. “Gee, your hands are cold. An’ your nose like ice.”
“Molly, I’ve news for you,” he said, thinking it wise to broach the subject in mind.
“Yes?”
“My sister is coming out here.” He tried not to be sober, but failed. It seemed lost upon Molly, however, who smiled her surprise and gladness.
“Oh, how lovely! —Gloriana May! You told me aboot her—how pretty she is an’ what a little devil. … Jim, thet’ll be nice for you to have her heah. I’m glad.”
Jim hugged her quite out of all reason. “Lord! but you’re a sweet, fine, square kid! I just love you to death.”
“J-Jim—let me go. … I see no call for rastlin’ me.”
“No, I dare say you don’t. Please excuse my violence. … Molly, my sister is in poor health, so Mother writes. And she’s sending Glory out to get well.”
“I’m sorry. What ails her, Jim?”
“Weak lung, Mother said. It’s hard to believe. But Glory said in her letter for me not to let Mother’s letter upset me. Uncle Jim was tickled. Began figuring right away on marrying Glory to some Westerner. Isn’t he the old match-maker?”
“He’s the dearest, goodest man in Arizona,” returned Molly, warmly.
“Sure he is. But all the same he’s a son-of-a-gun for some things.”
“When is Gloriana to be heah?” asked Molly, becoming thoughtful.
“Monday, on the Western Special.”
“So soon? Oh! … I—I wish I’d had time to study more. … Jim, suppose she doesn’t like me?”
“Molly! She can’t help but adore you.”
“Jim, I never noticed that any of these Flag girls went ravin’ crazy over your Molly Dunn of the Cibeque,” replied Molly, a little satirically.
That was perfectly true, thought Jim, and she might
have mentioned how green with envy some of them were. But Molly Dunn was generous.
“Gloriana isn’t like these Flag girls. She has more breeding. She couldn’t be jealous or catty.”
“She’s a queer girl, then,” mused Molly. “After all, Jim, you’re only a big overgrown boy who knows nothin’ aboot females. … Reckon it’s thet breedin’ you speak of thet scares me.”
Jim reflected that, as usual, he had made a tactless remark.
“Molly, don’t distress yourself. I’m sure you will love Glory and—and she’ll adore you. Naturally, since you’re going to marry me, you’ll have to meet all my family sooner or later.”
“Yes, Jim, but I—I wanted a little time to study—to improve myself—so they wouldn’t be ashamed of me,” replied Molly, plaintively.
Jim could only assure her by tender word and argument that she was making a mountain out of a molehill, with the result that Molly’s heart seemed satisfied, if her mind was not. They went out to breakfast, and Jim hugged her disgracefully in the dark cold corridor. When Molly escaped into the dining-room a less keen eye than that of the old rancher, who stood back to the blazing fire, could have made amusing deductions.
“Mawnin’, Uncle Jim. I—I been chased by a bear,” laughed Molly.
“Good mornin’, lass. Shore I seen thet. … Howdy, son! What do you think of Arizona weather?”
“Terrible. And you’re sending me to camp out after Thanksgiving!” protested Jim. It seemed to him there was going to be good reason for him to stay in Flagerstown.
“Wal, Yellow Jacket is five or six thousand feet lower, an’ if it snows it melts right off. Molly can vouch for thet. An’ the valley of the Cibeque is higher than Yellow Jacket.”
“I’ve seen snow every winter I can remember, most up on the Diamond. Down at my home it never lasted a day,” replied Molly.
“That’s some consolation.”
“Jim, I think it’s grand. I shore hope you won’t go back on your promise,” said Molly.
