by Grey, Zane
"It's not off, Glory," declared Jim, grimly. "Molly will be here if I have to pack her."
"Romantic, to say the least," replied Gloriana, with a trill of laughter. "I approve... And now, Jim, tell me about Slinger and Curly. And don't forget Bud. He's a dear."
"Your Three Guardsmen, eh?" rejoined Jim, dryly. "They've managed to live together without actual murder. Slinger looks at his rivals and listens in silent contempt, as down upon lesser men who did not share his secret of power."
Because of the whiteness of Gloriana's face even a little wave of colour appeared a startling blush.
"Do they talk about me, among themselves?" she asked, a little confused.
"For three weeks you have shared conversation honours with the Hash-Knife."
"How flattering! And what do they say?"
"I've forgotten most of it. At first I got kind of sore. They talked right out before me, with the utmost candour. They were all going to marry you, I gathered. To be sure, murder must be committed. It was funny. You should have been around to listen."
"They are the most amusing fellows--just fascinating to me."
"So I've gathered. Well, dearest, out West you reap as you sow... One day I came back to camp and found Bud with a bloody nose. Curly, his pard, his almost brother, had punched him for talking about your legs."
"What-at!" gasped Gloriana.
"Sure. I ascertained that Bud said you had pretty legs and you knew it. Curly took that as an insult and bloodied Bud's nose. When I got there Bud was nursing his nose and his wounded vanity. I thought it a good opportunity for an object lesson, so I pretended tremendous anger, when really I wanted to split with laughter. I threw Bud down on the grass, straddled him, and threatened to smash his face unless he recognised his offence, apologised, and took it back. Do you know, Glory, he couldn't see any offence, although he apologised. But he swore it was true and he wouldn't take it back. Then I conceived the idea of greater punishment for Bud by giving him away to you. He almost wept at this, begged me to beat him, said he could stand anything except you thinking Curly a hero and him a low-down skunk, or something."
"I--I don't know what to say," replied Gloriana, but it was plain to Jim that she wanted to laugh.
"Glory, I told you--gave you fair warning. If you flirt with these cowboys you must pay dearly for it. And, of course, you have flirted, if not intentionally, then some other way. It won't do out here. These boys have hearts of gold. Every last one of them would die for you. They seem like some kind of inflammable tinder. So easy, cool, droll, yet underneath all fire. Curly Prentiss is the highest type of cowboy I know. He is a prince. All the same he's a strutting, conceited jackass who needs a lesson. Bud is the best-hearted of the lot, honest as the day. He speaks right out what he thinks. A raw, crude, common sort of person to any superficial observer from the East, but to me, or Uncle Jim, or anyone who sees clearly, he's a boy to love. The rest of the outfit trail along somewhat similarly, except Slinger Dunn. He's not a cowboy. He's a strange mixture of woodsman and Indian, of country boy and chivalrous gentleman. All the same, if I were you I'd be careful of what I said or did before him."
"I'm afraid it's too late," replied Gloriana, with gravity. "You took us to the hospital to see him. He had my picture under his pillow. Told me right out he'd gazed at it until he was terribly in love with me. That you had taken Molly from him and he was going to take me from you."
"Well, I'm a son-of-a-gun!" ejaculated Jim.
"I should have squelched him at once," admitted Gloriana. "But I didn't. I didn't take him seriously. Thought that was just Western. And at a dance here I'm afraid I made it worse. He--"
"Glory darling," interrupted Jim, plaintively, "I don't want to know any more. I've trouble of my own. I need your help--not to be staggered with your love affairs."
"Silly! My love affairs? The idea!" she retorted, but her cheeks were red.
Chapter TEN
After breakfast, at which Gloriana was not present, Jim asked for a conference with his uncle and Locke. They repaired at once to the living-room. Jim began with his discovery of Diamond-branded cattle going aboard the train with Bambridge's shipment from Winslow, and slighted nothing in his narrative of what had followed, nor any of his conjectures and convictions, and lastly, the opinions of his men. After he had concluded, his superiors smoked furiously, which appeared their only indication of mental disturbance. Locke was the first to break silence: "I advise givin' up Yellow Jacket."
"Naw," replied Traft, laconically.
"I don't want to," added Jim. "It's a wild, lonely, wonderful wilderness. I want to own it--improve it--and live there part of the year, at least."
"Wal, aside from Jim's leanin' to Yellow Jacket, I wouldn't let it go now," went on Traft. "It'd be givin' in to Bambridge, an' I'll see him in hell first."
"Short an' sweet," said Locke, with a dry cackle. He knew his employer of old. "Then I suggest we arrange some plan of transportin' Mr. Bambridge to the place you name."
"Aw, Ring, don't get funny. This is business... How many head of unbranded stock can you round up this spring?"
"Matter of ten thousand, more or less, countin' new calves."
"Wal, slap the Diamond brand on half of them, this comin' round-up," ordered the rancher, brusquely.
Locke wrote in his note-book, then said: "I'd advise no cattle drive to Yellow Jacket till spring. Let the rustlers have a change at the lower range."
"Reckon thet's a good idea. Put it down. Now, Jim, tell Locke what you want for the house. He'll order it. Meanwhile the sleddin' will be good an' we'll haul all supplies such as hardware, cement, tools, powder, down to Cottonwood Ranch, an' store it there. Lumber, framework, bricks, and all such to follow fast as it gets here. When the ground dries in the spring you can haul in over your new road... As for the present, wal, stick to our original plan. Take the Diamond back to Yellow Jacket an' clean it up--of varmints, rubbish, an' such, includin' any rustlers who might come burnin' your good firewood... Savvy?"
"Wal, don't pester me with this two-bit stuff any more," replied Traft testily. "Help Jim all you can. It's up to him." And he stalked out sturdily, his shaggy head erect, leaving Jim alone with the superintendent.
"Shorter an' sweeter," said Lod tapping his book with his pencil.
"Gosh--I never heard Uncle talk like that. What ails him?"
"He's sore at Bambridge. Small wonder. He's had forty years buckin' the crooked side of cattle-raisin', an' he hates it... Jim, he's given you a man-size job. But you've got a hard crew in the Diamond. They're good fer it. Jed Stone's movin' off your range strikes me deep. It means a lot, besides his bein' decent. I've a hunch he's about through, some way or another. But Malloy will have to be reckoned with. If you ever meet him, anyhow, under any circumstances, shoot quick an' think afterwards. Don't ever fail to pack a gun, an' keep Slinger or Curly close to you." "Ring--you mean here--at home--in town?" queried Jim, aghast.
"I should smile."
"Whew!--When will I ever learn?"
"You've been shot once, an' shot at a number of times. Don't you savvy what it means? Come down on the hard ground, Jim."
After that conference, which left Jim with a keen, poignant sense of responsibility, he stayed in his room until after dinner and then started for town on foot. Any sharp observer, at least a Westerner, could have detected the bulge of a gun back on his hip, and the tip of a leather sheath projecting an inch or two below his coat. How he longed for the cool imperturbability of Curly Prentiss or the aloof unapproachableness of Slinger Dunn! But these he could never attain, for he had not been born to the West. Jim had to make determination do for confidence. And when, in accordance with his plan, he walked into Babbitt's store, no one would have guessed the sinking sensation he had in his vitals. He was terribly afraid of Molly Dunn, not to mention the gunman, Croak Malloy.
Jim knew he was something of a lion when under the sway of righteous anger, but most assuredly he could not muster that at will.
>
Molly stood behind the counter, and from her wide startled eyes he gathered that she had seen him first. It was early and he appeared to be the only customer present, and at once the object of much interest, both of which facts did not confuse him one whit.
"Good-day, Molly," he said, doffing his sombrero. "Yesterday I forgot what I wanted to buy."
"Howdy--Jim," she faltered, huskily, the scarlet coming up from neck to face. How the sight made Jim's blood leap! She could not be indifferent to his presence.
"I want that red silk scarf and a pair of buckskin gloves," he said.
Molly produced the scarf, and then, with the other clerks snickering openly, she had to try glove after glove on Jim's hand, until he was satisfied with the fit. Her little brown fingers trembled so that she was scarcely able to perform the task; and Jim gloated over this manifestation of weakness, instead of feeling sorry for her.
"Thanks. I reckon these will do," he said, at length. "Please charge to the Traft account... I shall tell Mr. Babbitt you are a very beautiful clerk, but a poor saleswoman."
Molly was staring at the gun-sheath under his coat. Her eye had been quick to see it.
"Jim!--You're packin' a gun!" she exclaimed, breathlessly and low.
"I should snigger I am, as Bud would say," he replied facetiously "Who for?" she whispered, and it was significant that she did not say what for.
"Well, if you care to know, that Hash-Knife gunman, Croak Malloy, is looking for me--and I am looking for a fellow named Ed Darnell," concluded Jim, and heartless though he knew himself, it was impossible to look into her eyes then. He took his parcels and went out, most acutely conscious of bursting veins and thrilling nerves.
Jim walked down the street, dropping in at all the business places his uncle had dealings. Then he visited the saloons, which were more numerous and to him vastly more interesting. He acted, too, like a man who was looking for someone. Next he called at the post-office and the hotel, after which he returned to Babbitt's store.
Molly did not see him enter. She was busy with a customer, which occupation permitted Jim a moment to devour her sweet face with hungry eyes. She looked paler and thinner than he had ever seen her; and these evidences of trouble were dear to Jim's heart. She had not done this cruel thing without suffering. Presently she finished with her customer and espied Jim.
"You again?" she queried, blushing furiously.
"I forgot something, Molly," he drawled.
"Somethin', you wanted to buy?" she went on, a little sarcastically.
"Yes, but I forget. Whenever I see your sweet face I forget everything... Oh, yes, buckskin gauntlets for the cowboys--the fringed ones with a horseshoe design on the back. Christmas gifts, you know. My size will do."
"How many pairs?" she asked.
"Have you forgotten how many cowboys in my outfit?"
She did not reply and presently sorted out the gloves, wrapped them into a parcel and handed it to him. This time he fixed upon her reproachful piercing eyes.
"Molly, you are to understand that I do not accept my dismissal," he said, deliberately. "I'm sorry you feel so. I--I forgive you, I guess... And I'll not give you up."
"But, Jim, everybody heah knows," she said, shrinkingly.
"What?"
"Thet I gave--you up 'cause I wasn't good enough--for you."
Jim could scarcely refrain from leaning over the counter and snatching her to his breast.
"I know, Molly. But you're terribly mistaken. Uncle Jim knows you're good enough for me. I know you're too good for me or anyone else. And Glory, she's heart and soul for you."
"Jim, I reckon, you're somethin' of a liar," she returned, a red spot forming in each cheek.
"Ordinarily, yes, but not in this," he said, cheerfully. "Anyway, it doesn't make the slightest difference who and what you are. You're going to be Mrs. James Traft."
"I I am--not."
"You bet you are... Oh yes, that reminds me. I forgot something else. Look here." He slipped the little ring-box out of his pocket, and bending over the counter opened the lid. The big blue-white diamond seemed to leap up. Jim glanced quickly at Molly's face. And that was enough, almost even for him.
"I thought you'd like it," he said, remorsefully, but not now meeting her tragic eyes. "We'll try it on first chance... So long, till tomorrow."
Taking up his purchases, Jim hurried out, his pulse tingling, his heart singing. Molly loved him still. And all the way out the bleak cold road he could have danced. Upon arriving home he went in to see Gloriana, who was gorgeously arrayed in a dressing-gown and demonstratively glad to see him. Jim recounted his adventure to Glory.
"Men are brutes, devils, fiends," responded his sister. "But since the female of the species is what she is and self-preservation the first law of life, I don't see what else you can do. Hurry and get Molly back here."
"Give me a little time, Glory," declared Jim, somewhat daunted.
"Get her here before she goes to the dance with that darn Darnell," advised Gloriana, with a wonderful purple flash of eyes.
"Reckon I don't want to, till afterward. I sure am curious to see how she acts--and Darnell, too--and what the cowboys do."
"Will you tell them?"
"I will, you bet, and between you and me, Glory, I wouldn't be in Darnell's boots for a million."
"You are beginning to make me feel the same way... Jim, you showed the ring to Molly?"
"Yes--and you should have seen her eyes. Oh!--I felt like a coyote, but, gosh! I was happy."
"It's a lovely ring, Jim. Let me have it a little--just to look at. I won't put it on."
"Sure. But wait till I come back from the bunk-house. I want to show it to the boys."
"Jim, if you're going to tell them about Darnell, put it strong."
"Huh! Trust me. I've already told them something... Glory, I don't feel so sick this afternoon."
"You loving goose!--Heigho! I wish somebody loved me that way."
"That's funny. As if you hadn't had and didn't have more love than any girl ever had."
"But, Jim, only to be loved because you're pretty!" she exclaimed. "Would even these sentimental cowboys love me--if they knew I couldn't cook, sew, bake, darn a sock--that I'm a useless ornament that the thought of babies scares me stiff?"
"Sure they would. Men are loving geese, Glory. Don't worry. Only begin to deserve it."
He made his way to the bunk-house, finding all the boys in, as he had expected, and recovered from any indulgence they might have treated themselves to the night before.
"Fellars, hyar's the boss, lookin' like a thundercloud," announced Bud.
"Packin' a gun, too, the Mizzouri hayseed," added Curly.
"Boys, friends, pards," he began, dramatically, "if it weren't for my sister and you I'd blow my brains out."
Silence! Staring eyes and awed lean faces attested to the felicity of his acting.
"Why, Jim, what the hell?" uttered Curly, without his drawl.
"Listen. Let me tell it quick," he announced, hurriedly. "We go back to yellow Jacket after New Year's. No more town till spring, if then. The old man is sore at Bambridge--at this two-bit rustling. We've got the job of clearing the range of varmints, rubbish, rustlers, and so forth. He'll throw five thousand head of cattle on to Yellow Jacket in less than a year. That's that, and it isn't a marker to what I'm going to tell you."
"Let me get it off my chest," went on Jim. "Maybe you remember I hinted of a fellow named Darnell, who made trouble for my sister back in Missouri. Anyway, he's here in Flag. Has taken a job With Bambridge. He has been hounding poor Glory until she has stopped going to town. She is deathly afraid of him. Afraid he will disgrace me by talking about her. Mind you--Glory is straight and fine and good. So don't get the wrong hunch. She was only a crazy girl and this Darnell is a man, handsome, slick as the devil, a gambler and cheat at cards, and crooked otherwise. He beat Glory out of money, and my father too. She thinks he'll beat Uncle Jim the same way. But you all know Darn
ell can't fool the old man... Now does that sink in?"
"Wal, it shore doesn't sink very deep in me, Boss," drawled Curly. "Mister Darnell has shore picked an awful unhealthy climate."
"You saw Darnell with Bambridge that day at the station."
"Shore. An' thet was enough fer me an' Bud an' all of the outfit."
"All right...here's the worst--Lord! how am I to get--it out?" continued Jim, and now he did not need to simulate trouble. He was genuine. He felt clammy and nauseated. He paced a step here and there, flung himself upon the chair before the fire, and all but tore his hair in his distress and shame.
"Molly Dunn has--jilted me. Broken her engagement--left my uncle's house... Says she's not good enough to marry me. And it's just the other way around. Poor kid! Just let that sink in, will you?... She's a clerk in Babbitt's store in the afternoons. Mornings she goes to school. All that's tough, boys. But listen to this. She's going around with that ---- Darnell!... I can't realise it, let alone understand it. But Glory says Molly is only distracted--out of her head--that it's really because she loves me she's done it. Wants everybody in Flag to see she's not good enough for us! That's why she's carrying on with this Darnell. I'm so sorry for her I--I could cry. And so mad I could bite nails. And so scared I can't think."
Jim paused for breath. What relief to get this confession made! When he looked up he gathered a singular conception of the regard in which he was held by the Diamond. It was rather a big moment for him.
Slinger Dunn, without a word, put on his cap and glided noiselessly toward the door.
"Hold on, Slinger. Where you going?"
Dunn turned. At any moment his sloe-black eyes were remarkable; just now they made Jim shiver.
"I was shore wonderin' why my sister hadn't sent fer me to come up to the house," he said. "An' I reckon it's aboot time I hunted her up. Then I'll take a look round fer this Darnell fellar."
"Slinger by all means go see Molly, but let Darnell alone for the present," rejoined Jim, earnestly.
