The Hash Knife Outfit

by Zane Grey

  About the middle of the morning Jed came out on the high point of the Diamond Mesa. And he halted. The girls came up, to gaze out and down.

  “Oh-h!” cried Miss Traft, her voice broken, yet deep and rich with feeling. She did not disappoint Stone here.

  “The Tonto!” screamed Molly, suddenly beside herself. “Jed, why didn’t you tell me you were comin’ heah? … Oh, Glory, look—look! It’s my home.”

  “Home!” echoed Gloriana, incredulously.

  “Yes. Home! … An’, oh, how I love it! See thet thin line, with the white? Thet’s the Cibeque windin’ away down through the valley. See the big turn. Now look, Glory. There’s a bare spot in the green. An’ a gray dot in the middle. Thet’s my home. Thet’s my cabin. Where I was born.”

  “I see. But I can hardly believe,” replied Gloriana. “That tiny pin-point in all the endless green?”

  “Shore is, Glory. You’re standin’ on the high rim of the Diamond, a mile above the valley. But it looks close. You should see from down there. All my life I’ve looked up at this point. It was the Rim. But I was never heah before. … Oh, look, look, Glory, so you will never forget!”

  The Eastern girl gazed silently, with eyes that seemed to reflect something of the grandeur of the scene. Stone turned away from her, glad in his heart that somehow she had satisfied him. Then he had a moment for himself—to gaze once more and the last time over the Tonto.

  The Basin was at its best at sunrise or sunset, or in storm. Tranquil and austere now, it withheld something which the outlaw knew so well. The dotted green slopes from the Rim merged in the green-black forest floor, so deceivingly level, but which in reality was a vast region of ridges and gorges. Molly called it home, and so it was for backwoodsmen, deer, bear, and wild turkeys, and outlaws such as he. He liked best the long sections of yellow craggy Rim stepping down into the Basin toward the west. They showed the ragged nature of the Tonto. Away beyond them rose the purple range, spiked as a cactus plant, and to the south, dim on the horizon, stood up the four peaks that marked the gateway of the Cibeque, out into the desert. But nowhere was the desert visible. Doubtful Canyon called to Stone. He had killed a man there once, in an argument over spoil, and he had never been sure of the justice of it. Doubtful had been well named. It was deep and black and long, a forest and cliff-choked rent in the vast slope of the mountain.

  “Molly, don’t forget to show Gloriana some other places,” said Stone, with a laugh. “There’s West Fork, the village I used to ride through an’ see you at Summer’s store. An’ buy you a stick of candy. … Not for years now. … An’ never again. … There’s Bear Flat an’ Green Valley. An’ Haverly’s Ranch, an’ Gordon Canyon. An’ see, far to the east, thet bare yellow patch. Thet’s Pleasant Valley, where they had the sheep an’ cattle war which ruined your dad, though he was only a sympathizer, Molly. I reckon you never knew. Wal, it’s true. … Miss Traft, you’re shore the furst Eastern gurl ever to see the Tonto.”

  Though they wanted to linger, Stone ordered them on. Momentarily he had forgotten his rôle of slave-driver. But Gloriana had been too engrossed in her own sensations to notice his lapse.

  Straight back from the Rim he headed, through trailless forest of stunted pines and wilderness of rock and cactus, toward the far side of the mesa, which sloped to the east, and gradually varied its rough aspect with grassy levels and healthier growth of pine. When Stone crossed the drift fence, which along here had been cut by the Hash Knife, he halted to show the girls.

  “Traft’s drift fence. Gloriana, this is what the old man saddled on your brother Jim. There’s nine miles of fence down, which Jim an’ his uncle can thank Croak Malloy fer. But I will say the buildin’ of this fence was a big thing. Old Jim has vision. Shore I’m a cattle thief, an’ the fence didn’t make no difference to me. I reckon it was a help to rustlers. But Malloy hated fences. … Wal, it’ll be a comfort to Traft an’ all honest ranchers to learn he’s dead.”

  “Jed Stone, you—you seem to be two men!” exclaimed Gloriana.

  “Shore. I’m more’n thet. An’ I reckon one of them is some kin to human. But don’t gamble on him, my lovely tenderfoot. He’s got no say in my make-up.”

  Molly Dunn lagged behind, most intensely interested in that drift fence, the building of which had made her lover, young Traft, a marked man on the range, and which had already caused a good deal of blood-spilling. Stone had to halloa to her, and wait.

  “What’s ailin’ you, gurl?” he queried, derisively. “Thet fence make you lovesick fer Jim? Wal, I reckon you won’t see him again very soon, if ever. … Get off an’ straighten thet pack.”

  While Molly heaved and pulled to get the pack level on the pack-saddle again, Stone rolled a cigarette and watched Gloriana. Her amaze at Molly Dunn amused him.

  “Wal, Glory, she used to pack grub an’ grain from West Fork on a burro, when both of them wasn’t any bigger’n jack-rabbits.”

  “There’s a lot I don’t know,” observed Gloriana, thoughtfully, as for the hundredth time she tried to pull her torn skirt down to hide her bare legs.

  “Shore,” agreed the outlaw. “An’ when a fellar finds thet out there’s hope fer him.”

  He led on, calling for his followers to keep up, as they were losing time and the way was rough and long. As a matter of fact, Stone could have led down into Yellow Jacket that very day, but this was not his plan. He intended to ride these girls around, through the forest, up and down canyons, across streams, and among the rocks until one of them, at least, could no longer sit in the saddle. He was enjoying himself hugely, and when he saw how Gloriana had begun really to suffer he assuaged his conscience in the same way that a surgeon excused his cruel bright blade. Stone believed now that the Eastern girl would come off in the end with flying colors, even if she went down flat on her back. She had something, he began to divine, and it would come out when physically she was beaten.

  The rest of that day he rode through a maze of wild country, at sunset ending up on a weathered slope where he had to get off and walk.

  “Hey, there!” he called back. “Fall off an’ walk. If your hoss slides, get out of his way. An’ step lively so you won’t go down in one of these avalanches.”

  All of which would have given a cowboy something to do. Molly had to stop often to rescue her friend, and more than once a scream rent the air. But at length they got across and down this long slant of loose shale, and entered a grassy wooded flat where water ran. Here Stone halted to make camp.

  Gloriana came staggering up, sombrero in hand, leading her horse, and her appearance would have delighted even the most hardened Westerner who was inimical to tenderfeet. Her face was wan where it was not dirty, her hair hanging dishevelled and tangled with twigs, her bare arms all black and red, and her dress torn into tatters. One stocking hung down over her shoe, exposing a bloody leg, and the other showed sundry scratches.

  “Wat-er!” choked Gloriana, huskily, as she sank down on the sward.

  “Aha! Spittin’ cotton, my proud beauty?” ejaculated the outlaw.

  “Reckon you’d better have a drink out of my bottle.” But she waved the suggestion aside with a gesture of abhorrence. And when Molly came carrying a dipper of water, Gloriana’s great tragic eyes lit up. She drank the entire contents of the rather large vessel.

  “Wal, Glory, you have to go through a good deal before you find the real value of things,” remarked Stone, thoughtfully. “You see, most folks have life too easy. Take the matter of this drink of cold pure spring water. Sweet, wasn’t it? You never knowed before how turrible sweet water could be, did you? It’s the difference between life an’ death.”

  “Thanks, Molly,” said Gloriana, gratefully. “Aren’t you—thirsty?”

  “Not very. You see, out heah we train ourselves to do without water an’ food. Like Indians, you know, Glory,” replied Molly.

  Plain indeed was it that Gloriana did not know; and that she was divided in emotion between her pangs and the surprise of t
his adventure.

  “Hey, Molly, stop gabbin’ an’ get to work,” ordered Stone, dryly. “Our St. Louis darlin’ here will croak on us, if we ain’t careful.”

  He slipped the ax out from under a rope on the pack, and proceeded to a near-by spruce, from which he cut armloads of the thick fragrant boughs. These he spread under an oak tree, and went back for more, watching the girls out of the tail of his eye. Once he caught Gloriana’s voice in furious protest—“The lazy brute! Look at the size of him—and he makes you lift those packs!” And Molly’s reply: “Aw, this heah’s easy, Glory. An’ I’m tellin’ you again—don’t make this desperado mad.”

  Then Stone slipped behind the spruce and peered through the branches. Molly did lift off those heavy packs, and unsaddled the animal. Next she turned to remove the saddle from her horse. At this Gloriana arose with difficulty, and limping to the horse she had ridden she tugged at the cinches, and labored until she got them loose. Then she slid the big saddle off. It was a man’s saddle and heavy, which of course she had not calculated upon, and down she went with it, buried almost out of sight. Molly ran to lift it off. Stone saw the Eastern girl wring her helpless hands. “Dog-gone tough on her,” he soliloquized, and proceeded to get another load of spruce boughs, which he carried over to the oak tree.

  “Hey, Gloriana, fetch over thet bed roll,” he called.

  She paid no attention to him. Then he bellowed the order in the voice of a bull. He heard Molly advise her to rustle. Whereupon Gloriana lifted the roll in both arms and came wagging across the grass.

  “Untie the rope,” he said, not looking at her, and went on spreading the boughs evenly. Presently, as she was so slow, he looked up. She was wearily toiling at the knot.

  “I—I can’t untie it,” she said.

  “Wal, you shore are a helpless ninny,” he returned, in disgust. “What in Gawd’s name can you do, Miss Traft? Play the concertina, huh? An’ fix your hair pretty, huh? It’s shore thunderin’ good luck for some fine cowboy thet I happened along an’ saved him from marryin’ you.”

  The marvel of that speech lay in its effect upon Gloriana, whose piteous mute appeal to Molly showed she had been driven to believe it was true.

  “See heah, Jed Stone,” demanded Molly, loyally, “how could Glory help the way she was brought up? Everybody cain’t be born in Arizona.”

  “Misfortune, I call thet. … But see heah, yourself, Molly Dunn. The more you stick up fer this wishy-washy tenderfoot the wuss I’ll be. Savvy?”

  “You bet I savvy,” rejoined Molly, resignedly.

  “Wal then, rustle supper. I’m tired after thet ride. My neck’s stiff from turnin’ round to watch Miss Traft. It was a circus, though. … Gather some wood, start a fire, put on the water to boil, mix biscuits, an’ so forth.”

  No one could ever have guessed that Molly Dunn had packed a horse and led him, and had ridden over thirty miles of rough wilderness during the hours of daylight. She was quick, deft, thorough in all camp tasks; and it gave the outlaw pleasure to watch her, outside of his diabolical plot to subjugate the Eastern girl.

  “Say, if this heah’s all the grub you fetched we’ll eat it tonight,” said Molly.

  “Go light on grub, I tell you. Mebbe I didn’t pack enough. But I was a-rarin’ to get away from Tobe’s Well.”

  “Molly, I’ll help you—or die trying,” offered Gloriana. “But if that queer pain comes to my side again—farewell.”

  “What pain, honey?”

  “Reckon she’s got appendixitis,” drawled Stone, who allowed no word to get by him unheard.

  “It was in my left side—and, oh, it was awful!”

  “Thet comes from ridin’ a hoss when you’re not used to it. But it’ll not kill you.”

  “Yes, it will, if I live long enough to mount that wild mustang again,” avowed Gloriana. Then in a lower tone she added. “Molly, I thought Ed Darnell was a villain. But, my, oh!—he’s a saint compared with this desperado.”

  “Oh no, Glory. Jed Stone is an honest-to-Gawd desperado,” expostulated Molly.

  “What’s she sayin’ aboot thet fellar Darnell an’ me?” demanded Stone, going to the fire.

  “Jed, she knew Darnell back in Missouri,” explained Molly.

  “You don’t say. Wal, thet’s interestin’. Hope she didn’t compare me to him. Two-bit caird-sharp before he hit the West. An’ then, like a puff of smoke, he lit into crooked cattle-dealin’. … An’ did he last longer than any of them dude Easterners who reckon they can learn us Westerners tricks? He did not.”

  “What do you mean, Jed?” queried Molly, who divined when he was lying and when he was not.

  “Croak Malloy was in thet outfit Traft’s cowboys rounded up in a cabin down below Yellow Jacket. They’d been rustlin’ the new Diamond stock an’ had to ride fer their lives. Wal, they didn’t ride fer, not with your redskin brother an’ Curly Prentiss an’ thet rodeoridin’ bunch after them. Croak said they set fire to the cabin, an’ burned them out, an’ he got shot in the laig. But he escaped, an’ it was when he was hidin’ in the brush thet he seen the cowboys string up Darnell along with two rustlers. Croak said he never seen a man kick like thet white-cuff caird-slicker, Darnell.”

  Gloriana’s eyes were great black gulfs.

  “Mr. Stone, among other things you’re a liar,” she said, deliberately.

  “Wal, I’ll be dog-goned!” ejaculated the outlaw, genuinely surprised and not a little hurt. “I am, am I? Wal, you’ll see, Miss Traft.”

  “You’re trying to—to frighten me,” she faltered, weakening. “Have you no heart—no mercy? … I was once engaged to—to marry Darnell, or thought I was. He followed me out here.”

  “Ahuh. What’d he foller you out heah fer?”

  “He swindled my father out of money, and I suppose he thought he could do the same with Uncle Jim.”

  “Not old Jim Traft. Nix come the weasel! Old Jim cain’t be swindled. … Wal, Miss Gloriana, I must say you was lucky to have Darnell stack up against Curly Prentiss. I remember now thet Madden was in Snell’s gamblin’-den when Curly ketched Darnell cheatin’ an’ drove him out of Flag. Funny he didn’t bore thet caird-sharp. Reckon he savvied how soon Darnell would come to the end of his rope. He did come soon—an’ it was a lasso.”

  “I don’t believe you,” replied Gloriana, steadily.

  “Sweet on him yet, huh?”

  “No, I despise him. Any punishment, even hanging, would be too good for him,” retorted Gloriana, with passion.

  “See there, Molly. She’s comin’ round,” drawled Stone. “We’ll make a Westerner of her yet.”

  “Jed, was there a—a fight down below Yellow Jacket?” asked Molly, with agitation.

  “Shore was. Malloy said he seen two cowboys shot, one of which he accounted fer himself. But he didn’t know either. An’ so they couldn’t have been Jim or Slinger or Prentiss.”

  “Oh—how’ll we find out?” cried Molly, in honest agony. And the tone of her voice, the look of her, about finished Gloriana, who fell in a heap.

  “Wal, what difference does it make,” queried Stone, “to one of you, anyhow? One of you gurls is shore goin’ with me, an’ cowboys won’t never be no more in your young life. Haw! Haw!”

  “I could stick this in you, Jed Stone,” cried Molly, brandishing the wicked butcher knife.

  The outlaw reached down and lifted Gloriana upright. Gloriana’s head rolled. “Brace up,” he said, and shook her. She found strength left to resist. Then he clasped her in his arms and hugged her tight. And while he did this he winked and grinned at Molly, who stood there aghast. “You need a regular desperado hug to stiffen your spine. … There! Now you stand up an’ do your work.”

  She did keep her feet, too, when he released her, and such eyes Jed Stone had never seen. If he had been the real desperado he pretended, he would have flinched and quailed under their magnificent fury.

  “Call me when supper’s ready,” he ordered Molly. “I smelled a skunk out there,
an’ I’m afeerd it’s one of them hydrophobia varmints. They shore stink wuss.”

  As he strode off he heard Gloriana ask in Heaven’s name what he would think of next, and what was a hydrophobia skunk anyway. Luckily Stone had smelled a skunk, and any kind of one would serve his purpose, so presently he fired his gun twice, and then went back to camp.

  “Missed him, by gosh!” he said, greatly annoyed. “An’ it shore was a hydrophobia, all right. Molly, you gurls will have to sleep with me tonight. ’Cause thet skunk will come round camp, an’ it’d be shore to bite Glory’s nose. Hydrophobia skunks always pick out a fellar with a big nose. An’ I’ll have to be there to choke it off.”

  “I’d be eaten up by skunks with hydrophobia and lions with yellow fever before I’d obey you,” declared Gloriana.

  “Haw! Haw! Yes, you would. Wait till it gets dark an’ you smell thet varmint.”

  While they sat at the meager supper, Stone bedeviled Gloriana in every way conceivable, yet to his satisfaction it did not prevent her from eating her share. That was the answer. Let even the effete Easterner face the facts of primal life and the balance was struck.

  Darkness soon settled down, and twice Gloriana fell asleep beside the fire. “Let’s sit up—all night,” she begged, of Molly.

  “I’d be willin’, if he’d let us. But, Glory, dear, you jest couldn’t. You’d fall over. An’ by mawnin’ you’d be froze. We’ll have to sleep with Stone. He’s put all the blankets on thet bed. An’ I’ll sleep in the middle—so he cain’t touch you.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” retorted Gloriana. And when they reached the wide bed under the oak tree she crawled in the middle and stretched out, as if she did not care what happened.

  “Wal, now, thet’s somethin’ like,” declared the outlaw, as he saw the pale faces against the background of blankets. He sat down on the far side of the bed and in the gloom contrived to remove his boots and spurs. “Gurls, I’m liable to have nightmare. Often do when I’m scared or excited. An’ I’m powerful dangerous then. Shot a bedfellow once, when I had nightmare. So you wanta kick me awake in case I get to dreamin’. … An’, Molly, don’t forget if thet skunk gets its teeth fastened in Glory’s nose you must choke it off.”