The Lone Star Ranger and the Mysterious Rider

by Zane Grey

  Wade was terrible then—terrible with a ruthlessness that was no pretense. To Belllounds it must have represented death—a bloody death which he was not prepared to meet.

  “Come out of your trance, you pup rustler!” yelled Wade.

  “For God’s sake, don’t kill me!” implored Belllounds, stricken with terror.

  “Why not? Look around! My busy day, Buster!… An’ for that Cap Folsom it’s been ten years comin’… I’m goin’ to shoot you in the belly an’ watch you get sick to your stomach!”

  Belllounds, with whisper, and hands, and face, begged for his life in an abjectness of sheer panic.

  “What!” roared the hunter. “Didn’t you know I come to kill you?”

  “Yes—yes! I’ve seen—that. It’s awful!… I never harmed you.… Don’t kill me! Let me live, Wade. I swear to God I’ll—I’ll never do it again.… For dad’s sake—for Collie’s sake—don’t kill me!”

  “I’m Hell-Bent Wade!… You wouldn’t listen to them—when they wanted to tell you who I am!”

  Every word of Wade’s drove home to this boy the primal meaning of sudden death. It inspired him with an unutterable fear. That was what clamped his brow in a sweaty band and upreared his hair and rolled his eyeballs. His magnified intelligence, almost ghastly, grasped a hope in Wade’s apparent vacillation and in the utterance of the name of Columbine. Intuition, a subtle sense, inspired him to beg in that name.

  “Swear you’ll give up Collie!” demanded Wade, brandishing his guns with bloody hands.

  “Yes—yes! My God, I’ll do anything!” moaned Belllounds.

  “Swear you’ll tell your father you’d had a change of heart. You’ll give Collie up!… Let Moore have her!”

  “I swear!… But if you tell dad—I stole his cattle—he’ll do for me!”

  “We won’t squeal that. I’ll save you if you give up the girl. Once more, Buster Jack—try an’ make me believe you’ll square the deal.”

  Belllounds had lost his voice. But his mute, fluttering lips were infinite proof of the vow he could not speak. The boyishness, the stunted moral force, replaced the manhood in him then. He was only a factor in the lives of others, protected even from this Nemesis by the greatness of his father’s love.

  “Get up, an’ take my scarf,” said Wade, “an’ bandage these bullet-holes I got.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Wade’s wounds were not in any way serious, and with Belllounds’s assistance he got to the cabin of Lewis, where weakness from loss of blood made it necessary that he remain. Belllounds went home.

  The next day Wade sent Lewis with pack-horse down to the rustlers’ cabin, to bury the dead men and fetch back their effects. Lewis returned that night, accompanied by Sheriff Burley and two deputies, who had been busy on their own account. They had followed horse tracks from the water-hole under Gore Peak to the scene of the fight, and had arrived to find Lewis there. Burley had appropriated the considerable amount of gold, which he said could be identified by cattlemen who had bought the stolen cattle.

  When opportunity afforded Burley took advantage of it to speak to Wade when the others were out of earshot.

  “Thar was another man in thet cabin when the fight come off,” announced the sheriff. “An’ he come up hyar with you.”

  “Jim, you’re locoed,” replied Wade.

  The sheriff laughed, and his shrewd eyes had a kindly, curious gleam.

  “Next you’ll be givin’ me a hunch thet you’re in a fever an’ out of your head.”

  “Jim, I’m not as clear-headed as I might be.”

  “Wal, tell me or not, jest as you like. I seen his tracks—follered them. An’ Wade, old pard, I’ve reckoned long ago thar’s a nigger in the wood-pile.”

  “Sure. An’ you know me. I’d take it friendly of you to put Moore’s trial off fer a while—till I’m able to ride to Kremmlin’. Maybe then I can tell you a story.”

  Burley threw up his hands in genuine apprehension. “Not much! You ain’t agoin’ to tell me no story!… But I’ll wait on you, an’ welcome. Reckon I owe you a good deal on this rustler round-up. Wade, thet must have been a man-sized fight, even fer you. I picked up twenty-six empty shells. An’ the little half-breed had one empty shell an’ five loaded ones in his gun. You must have got him quick. Hey?”

  “Jim, I’m observin’ you’re a heap more curious than ever, an’ you always was an inquisitive cuss,” complained Wade. “I don’t recollect what happened.”

  “Wal, wal, have it your own way,” replied Burley, with good nature. “Now, Wade, I’ll pitch camp hyar in the park to-night, an’ to-morrer I’ll ride down to White Slides on my way to Kremmlin’. What’re you wantin’ me to tell Belllounds?”

  The hunter pondered a moment.

  “Reckon it’s just as well that you tell him somethin’.… You can say the rustlers are done for an’ that he’ll get his stock back. I’d like you to tell him that the rustlers were more to blame than Wils Moore. Just say that an’ nothin’ else about Wils. Don’t mention about your suspectin’ there was another man around when the fight come off.… Tell the cowboys that I’ll be down in a few days. An’ if you happen to get a chance for a word alone with Miss Collie, just say I’m not bad hurt an’ that all will be well.”

  “Ahuh!” Burley grunted out the familiar exclamation. He did not say any more then, but he gazed thoughtfully down upon the pale hunter, as if that strange individual was one infinitely to respect, but never to comprehend.

  * * *

  Wade’s wounds healed quickly; nevertheless, it was more than several days before he felt spirit enough to undertake the ride. He had to return to White Slides, but he was reluctant to do so. Memory of Jack Belllounds dragged at him, and when he drove it away it continually returned. This feeling was almost equivalent to an augmentation of his gloomy foreboding, which ever hovered on the fringe of his consciousness. But one morning he started early, and, riding very slowly, with many rests, he reached the Sage Valley cabin before sunset. Moore saw him coming, yelled his delight and concern, and almost lifted him off the horse. Wade was too tired to talk much, but he allowed himself to be fed and put to bed and worked over.

  “Boot’s on the other foot now, pard,” said Moore, with delight at the prospect of returning service. “Say, you’re all shot up! And it’s I who’ll be nurse!”

  “Wils, I’ll be around to-morrow,” replied the hunter. “Have you heard any news from down below?”

  “Sure. I’ve met Lem every night.”

  Then he related Burley’s version of Wade’s fight with the rustlers in the cabin. From the sheriff’s lips the story gained much. Old Bill Belllounds had received the news in a singular mood; he offered no encomiums to the victor; contrary to his usual custom of lauding every achievement of labor or endurance, he now seemed almost to regret the affray. Jack Belllounds had returned from Kremmling and he was present when Burley brought news of the rustlers. What he thought none of the cowboys vouchsafed to say, but he was drunk the next day, and he lost a handful of gold to them. Never had he gambled so recklessly. Indeed, it was as if he hated the gold he lost. Little had been seen of Columbine, but little was sufficient to make the cowboys feel concern.

  Wade made scarcely any comment upon this news from the ranch; next day, however, he was up, and caring for himself, and he told Moore about the fight and how he had terrorized Belllounds and exhorted the promises from him.

  “Never in God’s world will Buster Jack live up to those promises!” cried Moore, with absolute conviction. “I know him, Ben. He meant them when he made them. He’d swear his soul away—then next day he’d lie or forget or betray.”

  “I’m not believin’ that till I know,” replied the hunter, gloomily. “But I’m afraid of him.… I’ve known bad men to change. There’s a grain of good in all men—somethin’ divine. An’ it comes out now an’ then. Men rise on steppin’-stones of their dead selves to higher things!… This is Belllounds’s chance for the good in him. If it’s not there
he will do as you say. If it is—that scare he had will be the turnin’-point in his life. I’m hopin’, but I’m afraid.”

  “Ben, you wait and see,” said Moore, earnestly. “Heaven knows I’m not one to lose hope for my fellowmen—hope for the higher things you’ve taught me.… But human nature is human nature. Jack can’t give Collie up, just the same as I can’t. That’s self-preservation as well as love.”

  The day came when Wade walked down to White Slides. There seemed to be a fever in his blood, which he tried to convince himself was a result of his wounds instead of the condition of his mind. It was Sunday, a day of sunshine and squall, of azure-blue sky, and great, sailing, purple clouds. The sage of the hills glistened and there was a sweetness in the air.

  The cowboys made much of Wade. But the old rancher, seeing him from the porch, abruptly went into the house. No one but Wade noticed this omission of courtesy. Directly, Columbine appeared, waving her hand, and running to meet him.

  “Dad saw you. He told me to come out and excuse him.… Oh, Ben, I’m so happy to see you! You don’t look hurt at all. What a fight you had!… Oh, I was sick! But let me forget that.… How are you? And how’s Wils?”

  Thus she babbled until out of breath.

  “Collie, it’s sure good to see you,” said Wade, feeling the old, rich thrill at her presence. “I’m comin’ on tolerable well. I wasn’t bad hurt, but I bled a lot. An’ I reckon I’m older ’n I was when packin’ gun-shot holes was nothin’. Every year tells. Only a man doesn’t know till after.… An’ how are you, Collie?”

  Her blue eyes clouded, and a tremor changed the expression of her sweet lips.

  “I am unhappy, Ben,” she said. “But what could we expect? It might be worse. For instance, you might have been killed. I’ve much to be thankful for.”

  “I reckon so. We all have.… I fetched a message from Wils, but I oughtn’t tell it.”

  “Please do,” she begged, wistfully.

  “Well, Wils says, tell Collie I love her every day more an’ more, an’ that my love keeps up my courage an’ my belief in God, an’ if she ever marries Jack Belllounds she can come up to visit my grave among the columbines on the hill.”

  Strange how Wade experienced comfort in thus torturing her! She was rosy at the beginning of his speech and white at its close. “Oh, it’s true!” she whispered. “It’ll kill him, as it will me!”

  “Cheer up, Columbine,” said Wade. “It’s a long time till August thirteenth.… An’ now tell me, why did Old Bill run when he saw me comin’?”

  “Ben, I suspect dad has the queerest notion you want to tell him some awful bloody story about the rustlers.”

  “Ahuh! Well, not yet.… An’ how’s Jack Belllounds actin’ these days?”

  Wade felt the momentousness of that query, but it seemed her face had been telltale enough, without confirmation of words.

  “My friend, somehow I hate to tell you. You’re always so hopeful, so ready to think good instead of evil.… But Jack has been rough with me, almost brutal. He was drunk once. Every day he drinks, sometimes a little, sometimes more. But drink changes him. And it’s dragging dad down. Dad doesn’t say so, yet I feel he’s afraid of what will come next.… Jack has nagged me to marry him right off. He wanted to the day he came back from Kremmling. He’s eager to leave White Slides. Dad knows that, also, and it worries him. But of course I refused.”

  The presence of Columbine, so vivid and sweet and stirring, and all about her the sunlight, the golden gleams on the sage hills, and Wade’s heart and brain and spirit sustained a subtle transformation. It was as if what had been beautiful with light had suddenly, strangely darkened. Then Wade imagined he stood alone in a gloomy house, which was his own heart, and he was listening to the arrival of a tragic messenger whose foot sounded heavy on the stairs, whose hand turned slowly upon the knob, whose gray presence opened the door and crossed the threshold.

  “Buster Jack didn’t break off with you, Collie?” asked the hunter.

  “Break off with me!… No, indeed! Whatever possessed you to say that?”

  “An’ he didn’t offer to give you up to Wils Moore?”

  “Ben, are you crazy?” cried Columbine.

  “Collie, listen. I’ll tell you.” The old urge knocked at Wade’s mind. “Buster Jack was in the cabin, gamblin’ with the rustlers, when I cornered them. You remember I meant to scare Buster Jack within an inch of his life? Well, I made use of my opportunity. I worked up the rustlers. Then I told Jack I’d give away his secret. He made to jump an’ run, I reckon. But he hadn’t the nerve. I shot a piece out of his ear, just to begin the fun. An’ then I told the rustlers how Jack had double-crossed them. Folsom, the boss rustler, roared like a mad steer. He was wild to kill Jack. He begged for a gun to shoot out Jack’s eyes. An’ so were the other rustlers burnin’ to kill him. Bad outfit. There was a fight, which, I’m bound to confess, was not short an’ sweet. There was a lot of shootin’. An’ in a cabin gunshots almost lift the roof. Folsom was on his knees, dyin’, wavin’ his gun, whisperin’ in fiendish glee that he had done for me. When he saw Jack an’ remembered he shook so with fury that he scattered blood all over. An’ he took long aim at Jack, tryin’ to steady his gun. He couldn’t, an’ he missed, an’ then fell over dead with his head on Jack’s knees. That left the red-bearded rustler, who had hid behind the chimney. Jack watched the rest of that fight, an’ for a youngster it must have been nerve-rackin’. I broke the rustler’s arm, an’ then his knee, an’ then I got him in the hip two more times before he hobbled out to his finish. He’d shot me up considerable, so that when I braced Jack I must have been a hair-raisin’ sight. I made Jack believe I meant to murder him. He begged an’ cried, an’ he got to prayin’ for his life for your sake. It was sickenin’, but it was what I wanted. So then I made him swear he’d free you an’ give you up to Moore.”

  “Oh! Oh, Ben, how awful!” whispered Columbine, shuddering. “How could you tell me such a horrible story?”

  “Reckon I wanted you to know how Jack come to make the promises an’ what they were.”

  “Promises! What are promises or oaths to Jack Belllounds?” she cried, in passionate contempt. “You wasted your breath. Coward—liar that he is!”

  “Ahuh!” Wade looked straight ahead of him as if he saw some expected and unpleasant thing far in the distance. Then with irresistible steps, neither swift nor slow, but ponderous, he strode to the porch and mounted the steps.

  “Why, Ben, where are you going?” called Columbine, in surprise, as she followed him.

  He did not answer. He approached the closed door of the living-room.

  “Ben!” cried Columbine, in alarm.

  But he had no reply for her—indeed, no thought of her. Without knocking, he opened the door with rude and powerful hand, and, striding in, closed it after him.

  Bill Belllounds was standing, back against the great stone chimney, arms folded, a stolid and grim figure, apparently fortified against an intrusion he had expected.

  “Wal, what do you want?” he asked, gruffly. He had sensed catastrophe in the first sight of the hunter.

  “Belllounds, I reckon I want a hell of a lot,” replied Wade. “An’ I’m askin’ you to see we’re not disturbed.”

  “Bar the door.”

  Wade dropped the bar in place, and then, removing his sombrero, he wiped his moist brow.

  “Do you see an enemy in me?” he asked, curiously.

  “Speakin’ out fair, Wade, there ain’t any reason I can see that you’re an enemy to me,” replied Belllounds. “But I feel somethin’. It ain’t because I’m takin’ my son’s side. It’s more than that. A queer feelin’, an’ one I never had before. I got it first when you told the story of the Gunnison feud.”

  “Belllounds, we can’t escape our fates. An’ it was written long ago I was to tell you a worse an’ harder story than that.”

  “Wal, mebbe I’ll listen an’ mebbe I won’t. I ain’t promisin’, these days.”

>   “Are you goin’ to make Collie marry Jack?” demanded the hunter.

  “She’s willin’.”

  “You know that’s not true. Collie’s willin’ to sacrifice love, honor, an’ life itself, to square her debt to you.”

  The old rancher flushed a burning red, and in his eyes flared a spirit of earlier years.

  “Wade, you can go too far,” he warned. “I’m appreciatin’ your good-heartedness. It sort of warms me toward you.… But this is my business. You’ve no call to interfere. You’ve done that too much already. An’ I’m reckonin’ Collie would be married to Jack now if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “Ahuh!… That’s why I’m thankin’ God I happened along to White Slides. Belllounds, your big mistake is thinkin’ your son is good enough for this girl. An’ you’re makin’ mistakes about me. I’ve interfered here, an’ you may take my word for it I had the right.”

  “Strange talk, Wade, but I’ll make allowances.”

  “You needn’t. I’ll back my talk … But, first, I’m askin’ you—an’ if this talk hurts, I’m sorry—why don’t you give some of your love for your no-good Buster Jack to Collie?”

  Belllounds clenched his huge fists and glared. Anger leaped within him. He recognized in Wade an outspoken, bitter adversary to his cherished hopes for his son and his stubborn, precious pride.

  “By Heaven! Wade, I’ll—”

  “Belllounds, I can make you swallow that kind of talk,” interrupted Wade. “It’s man to man now. An’ I’m a match for you any day. Savvy?… Do you think I’m damn fool enough to come here an’ brace you unless I knew that. Talk to me as you’d talk about some other man’s son.”

  “It ain’t possible,” rejoined the rancher, stridently.

  “Then listen to me first.… Your son Jack, to say the least, will ruin Collie. Do you see that?”

  “By Gawd! I’m afraid so,” groaned Belllounds, big in his humiliation. “But it’s my one last bet, an’ I’m goin’ to play it.”

  “Do you know marryin’ him will kill her?”