The Hash Knife Outfit

by Zane Grey

  “By Heaven—I will!” cried Jim, ringingly, as he leaped to his feet.

  CHAPTER

  11

  JIM had resisted an impulse to bribe the cowboys to call in a body and singly at Babbitt’s store to make purchases of Molly and incidentally remind her of him.

  In his own case he went downtown late, and everywhere except Babbitt’s, trying to screw up his courage. It was not that overnight he had not become transposed to a thorough Arizonian, but that his genuine tenderness for Molly had asserted itself. This he knew he should not yield to. Still he did. On several occasions he espied some of his cowboys, laden with bundles, mysteriously gay and full of the devil. They had not required prompting to do the very thing he had so sneakingly desired. He could just imagine the drawling, persuasive Curly telling Molly she was out of her “haid.” And Bud—what that cherubic volcanic friend would say was beyond conjecture. And Slinger! Jim had forgotten that Slinger was Molly’s brother, her guardian, in his own estimation, at any rate. It rather frightened Jim to guess what Slinger would do, considering he was not given to much speech. And the rest of the cowboys—they would drive Molly frantic in their Western fashion.

  Ruminating thus, Jim lounged in the lobby of the hotel. All of a sudden he saw Molly go into Davis’ store, on the far corner. He jumped. It was only four o’clock, and she should have at least another hour of work. What a chance! It quite took his breath. He went out, crossed the street, and stood back in a hallway, close to the door of the store, where he could see and scarcely be seen. Once he had to dodge back to escape detection when Lonestar and Cherry passed, each with a load of packages. “Gosh!” ejaculated Jim. “They’ve been in Babbitt’s. I can tell by the wrapping-paper on those parcels.”

  He had to wait what seemed an endless while before Molly appeared. Then he stepped out as if by magic, and Molly bumped into him. It startled her so that she uttered a cry and dropped some of her bundles. Jim picked them up, and rising he coolly faced the scarlet Molly and appropriated the rest of her parcels.

  “I reckon I’ll carry these. Where you going?” he said, naturally, with a smile.

  Molly looked both furious and helpless. Evidently this was the last straw. “You—you——”

  “Careful, honey, this is the main thoroughfare of Flag. People all about. If you want to swear, wait till we get somewhere.”

  “Jim Traft—I could swear—a blue streak,” she replied, and her appearance certainly verified her words.

  “Shore, but it ain’t ladylike, as Bud would say,” he drawled. “Molly, I’m going to talk to you or die in the attempt. Where are you going?”

  “Home. To my boardin’-house,” she said, a little mockingly.

  “Well, I’ll pack your load for you,” returned Jim. He dropped one of them, and in securing it let several others slip, and had quite a time recovering them all. As he rose he thought he detected Molly averting dusky hungry eyes. Just on the moment Sue Henderson passed. She gave them a bright smile and said: “Hello, you-all! Everybody Christmasing. See you tonight.”

  Jim answered with a cheerful, “Howdy!” but Molly’s response was unintelligible. Then she said: “If you must make it wuss for me——”

  “Darling, don’t say wuss. Say worse. … Come—which way?”

  That epithet had the desired effect. Jim had discovered its potency and had used it sparingly. Just now it caused Molly’s blaze to dim and pale. She started off. Jim caught up with her at the corner, which she turned into the side street. They walked in silence. The bleak wind swept straight down this street from the mountains and it was like icy blades. Molly did not look warmly clad. Her coat was wholly inadequate for such weather. Jim longed to speak of the fur coat he had bought for her, but this was not the moment.

  “You played me a low-down trick,” she said, presently, coldly.

  “Me? I sure did not. How so?”

  “You set thet Diamond outfit onto me.”

  “Molly! I swear I didn’t. Honest. You know I wouldn’t lie,” replied Jim, most earnestly.

  “You shore would. You’d do anythin’.”

  “But I protest my innocence.”

  “Innocence?—You!” She gave him her eyes for a second. Jim felt shot through with black and gold arrows.

  “Sure I’m innocent. I thought how good it’d be to send the gang in on you—if for nothing else than to remind you of my existence. But I didn’t. Not only that, Molly, but yesterday I actually kept Slinger from hunting you up.”

  “Wal, you shore didn’t this heah day. … Oh, it was—turrible!” Her voice broke, close to a sob.

  “Molly!—I’m sorry. What’d Slinger do?”

  “I wouldn’t tell you. I—I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. But I’ll never forgive him—or you, either.”

  “Gee! he must have given you ’most as much as you deserve,” said Jim, laconically.

  Molly’s recollection, coupled with Jim’s good-natured sarcasm, proved too much for her reticence. “He disgraced me,” she burst out, almost weeping. “Right there in the store—before two of the clerks, an’ thet gabby old Mrs. Owens—who’ll tell it all over.”

  “What’d Slinger say, honey?”

  “Stop callin’ me them sweet names,” flashed Molly, in desperation. “I cain’t stand it. I’ll run away from heah or do somethin’ turrible.”

  “You have already done something ‘turrible,’ only you don’t know it,” responded Jim. “I’ll try to remember not to be sentimental. … Tell me what Slinger said.”

  “Nothin’ ’cept, ‘come heah, you moon-eyed calf!’ … I was paralyzed when I seen him come in. I couldn’t run. Slinger’s eyes are shore turrible. He reached over the counter an’ said—what I told you. Then he grabbed me by my blouse—it’s a way he has—only this time he pulled me half over the counter—face down—an’—an’ smacked me so hard you could have heahed it out in the street. … I won’t be able to—to set down at dinner! … An’ then he said he’d see me later.”

  Jim kept a straight face, gazing ahead on the wintry street. How he wanted to shout!

  “Turrible,” he agreed. “For a grown girl. … And what did the cowboys do?”

  “Drove me mad. One by one, in two an’ threes—the whole outfit,” said Molly, woefully. “Not one single word aboot you, Jim Traft, but all the same it was all for you. The sweet things they said to me aboot the dance tonight—aboot the party Unc—Mr. Traft was goin’ to give me—Christmas presents—”

  “Uncle is going to give the party for you,” interposed Jim.

  “They were darned nice,” went on Molly, ignoring his statement. “You know durin’ the holidays Mr. Babbitt gives us clerks ten per cent on all sales. Curly Prentiss heahed aboot thet. An’, Jim, the sons-of-guns cleaned me out. Bought every last thing in my department. Mr. Babbitt was thunderstruck an’ tickled to death. He complimented me, as if I had anythin’ to do with the idiots squanderin’ their money. They spent all the cash they had, an’ went in debt for hundreds of dollars. They’ll never get the money to pay up. An’ thet Bud Chalfack! … I cain’t tell you aboot him.”

  “Sure you can, Molly. Go on. It’s very thrilling. And maybe telling me will make it easier for you,” persuaded Jim.

  “I’ve only Curly’s word for it,” returned Molly. “But he swore Bud bought the finest set of furniture—a bedroom set—Babbitt’s had on hand. For me. For a Christmas present—an’—an’ weddin’ present together. Bud said he’d shore be daid or broke when thet weddin’ comes off. … An’ I’m afraid he’ll be daid.”

  “The extravagant sons-of-guns!” ejaculated Jim, amazed and chagrined. “They had to go overdo it. Buyin’ you some presents—or even buyin’ out the store—was all right. But I reckon the—the rest was tactless, to say the least. Molly, you’ll have to excuse it. They can’t take you seriously, any more than can I.”

  Molly stopped before a modest little brown cottage, almost at the end of the street. Jim made a note of the single large pine tre
e in the yard, for future emergency, when he wished to find Molly after dark.

  “This is where I board,” she said, simply.

  “Are you comfortable here?” asked Jim, anxiously.

  “I’m used to cold. But there’s a stove in the parlor. Come in.”

  Jim was elated that she should trust him so far as to ask him inside. The modest little parlor was warm and comfortable indeed, compared with the blustery outdoors. Jim deposited Molly’s bundles in a chair, and turning discovered that she had removed her hat and coat and was warming her hands over the stove. She looked healthy and pretty, yet somehow forlorn. What was to prevent him taking her in his arms then and there? He longed to. That had been his intention, should opportunity offer. Nevertheless, something inhibited him. Probably it was a divination that Molly, during the few minutes’ walk with him, had unconsciously been drawn to him again. She betrayed it now. That was what he had prayed for, but he could not act upon it.

  “Thanks for asking me in, Molly,” he said. “I suppose you expect me to get my trouble off my chest—then let you alone. … Well, I won’t do it now. When that time comes we’ll have a grand row. And I just won’t spoil your Christmas. … But I ask you—will you send word to Darnell that you will not go to the dance with him tonight?”

  “Thet’d be a low-down trick,” replied Molly, quickly.

  “It does appear so. There are good reasons, however, why it would be wise for you to do so—unless you want to lose your good name in Flag.”

  “Glory said thet. I don’t believe either of you. An’ it’s not square of you to——”

  “You needn’t argue the point. Answer me. Will you go with me instead?”

  She hung her head, she clenched her little trembling hands, she shook all over. What a trial that must have been! Jim sought to add to it.

  “With me and Glory, of course. She wants you. And she thinks this is the time for you to come back. Before you’ve made me the laughing-stock of Flag.”

  “But it cain’t do thet,” she cried.

  “Yes it can. And it will. Not that I care a hang for what people think or say. We want you to avoid—well, Molly, being misunderstood, not to say worse.”

  “You hit it on the haid, Jim,” she replied, with spirit. “Thet’s what I’m not goin’ to avoid.”

  Jim regarded her speculatively. If he had had a vehicle of some kind out in the street he would have picked her up right there, as she was, and packed her out, and carried her off home. But this drastic action could scarcely be undertaken now, though his finger tips burned to snatch her.

  “I am not angry with you now, but I shall be presently,” he said.

  “Who cares?” she rejoined, flippantly, and he realized he had brought her reply on himself.

  “Oh, I see. … Do you then care—something for this gambler and embezzler, Ed Darnell?”

  “How dare you?” retorted Molly, but she was shocked. Jim realized that Gloriana had not told her a great deal, after all.

  “I’m a darin’ cowpuncher,” said Jim.

  “I’ll tell Mr. Darnell. Then mebbe you won’t be so darin’.”

  Jim, despite self-control, grew a little hot under the collar. There was not anything soothing in Molly’s championship of a cheap adventurer.

  “By all means tell him. … You’re a queer kid, Molly. Just to hurt me you’ll flirt with this stranger, forgetting or pretending to forget that Slinger Dunn, your brother, perhaps the hardest nut in Arizona next to Croak Malloy, is my partner.”

  “Jim Traft, I’m no flirt—an’ Slinger isn’t a hard nut,” she retorted, pugnaciously.

  “Well then, you’re going to do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me an object of scorn. These Flag girls never cottoned to me. The young fellows, except cowboys, have no use for me. The old women don’t like me. When they all see—actually see you’ve jilted me——”

  “They won’t. I’ll make it the other way round,” she interrupted, passionately.

  Jim saw this tack was useless. The only thing that would move Molly at this particular moment, and perhaps at any other time, was physical force. Slinger knew how to handle her. Jim essayed another argument.

  “You saw one of my Christmas presents—for you. What you think of it?”

  “Gave me nightmare.”

  “Have you any curiosity about the other?”

  “Nope. I may be a poor little country girl, but you cain’t buy me—you Mizzouri villain.”

  “You used to call me Mizzouri, with a kiss. Do you remember when we went wild-turkey hunting?”

  “I’m tryin’ to forget. Oh, Jim, you’ve been so good—I—I—I—” She bit her tongue. “An’ I will forget, if I have to go to the bad.”

  “You’ve made a fair start, Molly Dunn,” replied Jim, curtly. “Say, has this Darnell so much as laid a hand on you?”

  “No! You insult me,” she cried, with flaming face.

  “But, Molly, be reasonable. You hinted that you’d encourage such things,” protested Jim, justly nettled.

  “I will—if you drive me.”

  Then there was a deadlock. Molly and Jim glared at each other across the stove, above which their extended hands almost met. Jim found it hard to tear himself away, especially in view of her anger. He pondered a moment. Finally he said, gently: “Darling, do you have any idea to what extremes you may drive me?”

  She shook her head dubiously.

  “Don’t you know I worship you?”

  Her glossy head drooped.

  “Don’t you realize you’ll ruin me if you persist in this madness? I can’t believe it. But you might convince me, eventually.”

  Then she covered her face with her hands and the tears trickled through her fingers.

  Jim grasped at the right moment to make his escape.

  “I won’t distress you any more,” he said. “Don’t cry and make your eyes red. I’ll see you tonight. Please save a dance for me.”

  Then he rushed out to find the cold wind soothing to a heated brow. He trudged home, his mind in a whirl. It was nearly dark when he arrived. Gloriana was not in the living-room. Wherefore Jim threw himself into the armchair and reclined there until he had reëstablished the Western character he had recently adopted.

  Before supper he went out to the bunk-house, to find the place a bedlam of jolly cowpunchers and a storeful of the men’s furnishings, goods which they had bought so indiscriminately. All of the boys were sober—a remarkable circumstance on the eve of Christmas. When he entered—and he had stood in the open door a moment—they whooped and began to throw packages at him.

  “Merry Christmas!” yelled Bud.

  “Son-of-a-gun from Mizzouri!” yelled Curly.

  “Whoopee, you diamond-buyer!” yelled Cherry.

  “You lovesick, dyin’ duck!” yelled some one Jim did not pick out, for the reason that he had to dodge. And so it went until they had exhausted their vocabularies and their missiles.

  “Am I to understand that this fusillade is kindly meant?” he asked, with mock solemnity.

  “Means we shore went broke on you an’ Molly Dunn,” replied Bud.

  “Boys, that was a cowboy stunt—your buying out Babbitt’s,” said Jim. “I’m broke, too, but I’ll share the debt.”

  Some one observed that he would, like the old lady who kept tavern out West, and as Jim had learned that that was a very disreputable thing, he made no further comment.

  “Slinger, I hope you didn’t tell these wild men what you did in Babbitt’s,” he returned.

  “I shore did, an’ the outfit’s with me, Mister Traft,” answered Dunn.

  “Boss, Slinger had an inspurashun,” observed Bud, sagely. “Soon as a feller learns to treat bull-haided sisters an’ fickle sweethearts thetaway he’ll get some obedience.”

  “I’m afraid it won’t work on high-spirited girls like Molly and my sister.”

  “It shore would. Wimmen is all the same. What you say, pard Curly?”


  “But, on this heah Christmas Eve my heart is shore sad,” rejoined Curly. “Peace on earth an’ good will toward men is a lot of guff. There’s battle an’ murder in the air. Some of us won’t ever see another Christmas.”

  “Then we oughta get turrible drunk,” said Bud.

  Approval of this statement was not wanting.

  “Curly, what’s eating you?” asked Jim, grasping that his favorite cowboy had something besides the festivities of the season on his mind.

  “Ask Bud,” replied Curly, gloomily.

  “Wal, Boss, it ain’t nuthin’ much, leastways oughtn’t fuss us till after Christmas,” replied Bud. “Curly an’ I made a round of the gamblin’-places this afternoon. I didn’t know what was in Curly’s mind. Anyway, the doorkeeper at Snell’s tried to bar Curly out. Shore it’s a swell place, but we reckoned it wasn’t none too good fer the Diamond. After I got in I seen why Curly pushed his gun against the doorkeeper’s bread-basket. A bartender friend of Curly’s had tipped him off thet there was a big game goin’ on at Snell’s. Wal, there was. Bambridge, Blodgett, another rancher we didn’t know, an’ Blake, a hotel man from Winslow, an’ last this hyar Darnell hombre, was sittin’ in. You should of seen the coin of the realm on thet table. Wal, we watched the game. I seen Bambridge was bettin’ high an’ losin’. Looked like he’d whoop up the pots, an’ Darnell would rake them in. Blake is no slouch of a gambler, an’ he was shore sore at the game, either from losin ’or somethin’. All I seen about Darnell was thet he was mighty slick with the cards. They jest flew out of his hands. Curly, you know, is a card sharp his-self, an’ he swore Darnell stacked the deck on every deal he had. An’ Blodgett an’ the strange rancher, anyhow, was gettin’ a hell of a fleecin’.”

  “Ahuh. So that’s it,” returned Jim, seriously. “Curly, I don’t see anything in that to make you sad on Christmas Eve.”

  “Boss, there’s shore two things,” drawled Curly. “I’ve got to raise enough money to set in that game at Snell’s. An’ I’m wonderin’ if Darnell is as slick with a gun as he is with the cairds.”