the Hash-Knife Outfit (1985)

by Grey, Zane

  "I'm made of straw and water," she said, humbly.

  "Wal, Gloriana, darlin', a thing of beauty is a joy for ever," rejoined Stone, with gallant cheerfulness.

  Before they reached the head of the Yellow Jacket, which Stone was approaching, he had fears the Eastern girl would not make it. Yet a little rest enabled her to go on, without complaint, without appeal for mercy.

  At last Stone espied the new road, where it turned to go down into the canyon. He halted before the girls noticed it and dismounted near the rim.

  "Wal, we've reached the partin' of the trails," he said. "There's a ranch down heah where one of you can go an' send word to the cowboys. 'Cause I can't take you both with me any farther, I'm a hunted desperado, you know. An' I've gotta hole up till all this blows over. One of you goes with me."

  "Take us both--Jed," implored Molly, and that plainly was her last word in this trick perpetrated upon an innocent tenderfoot.

  "No, Molly, I will go," interposed Gloriana. "You love Jim. He worships you... There's no one cares for me or--or whom I care for... And I'm not strong, as you've seen from my miserable frailty on this ride. I won't live long, so it'll not matter much."

  Molly, with eyes suddenly full of tears, averted her gaze. Stone regarded the Eastern girl with poignant emotion he gladly hid.

  "Ahuh. So you'll go willin'?"

  "Yes, since you compel me. But on one condition."

  "An' what's thet?"

  "You must--marry me honestly. I have religious principles."

  "Wal, I reckon I could fetch a padre down into the brakes--where we'll be hidin'," replied Stone. "An' so--Miss Gloriana Traft--you'd marry me--Jed Stone of the Hash-Knife--thief, killer, outlaw, desperado--to save your friend?"

  "Yes, I'll do even that for Jim and Molly."

  Suddenly Jed Stone turned away, gripped by a whirlwind of passion. It had waylaid him, at this pathway of middle life, like a tiger in ambush. All the hard, bitter years of outlawry rose like a hydra-headed monster to burn his soul with the poison of hate, revenge, lust, and the longing to kill. To wreak his vengeance upon civilisation by despoiling the innocence and crushing the life of this young girl! The thing roared in his brain, a hell-storm of fury. He had never realised the depths into which he had been thrust until this madness wrapped him in a whirling flame.

  Far beyond his hope had he succeeded in forcing latent good into being. This Eastern girl had really defeated him. What could be greater than sacrificing virtue and life itself for her friend? Stone bowed under that. Gloriana Traft had love--which was greater than all the fighting instincts he had meant to rouse. It would have been an error of nature to have created such a beautiful being as this girl and not have endowed her with unquenchable spirit. She was as noble, in her extremity, as she was beautiful. Her eyes and lips, the turn of her face, were no falsehoods. And so Jed Stone divined how he was to profit by the courage of a girl he had driven to such desperate straits. The lesson, the good, would rebound upon him.

  "Ride over hyar a step," he said to the girls, and he pointed down into the canyon. "This is Yellow Jacket, an' thet new house you see way down there in the green is Jim Traft's."

  While they stared he went back to mount his own horse and turn to them again.

  "The road is right hyar," he went on, as coolly and casually as if that fact was nothing momentous. "Shore you can make it thet fer."

  Then he patted Molly's dusky tousled head: "Good-bye, little wood-mouse. Be good--"

  "Oh, Jed," cried Molly, wildly, with tears streaming down her cheeks. "Remember aboot never--rustlin' no more!"

  Stone turned to the Eastern girl. "Big-eyes!" he called her, for that was the most felicitous of all names for her then. "So long!--Marry Curly or Bud, an' have some real Western kids... But don't never forget your desperado!"

  As he spurred away he heard her poignant call: "Oh wait--wait!" But Jed Stone rode as never had he from sheriffs and posse, from vengeful cowboys who pursued with gun and rope.

  Chapter TWENTY

  It WAS Sunday evening at the ranch-house down in Yellow Jacket. The big living-room shone bright and new with lamp and blazing fire. Jim had been endeavouring to write a letter to his uncle, reporting loss of two thousand head of Diamond brand stock, and the fight at the cabin down in the brakes, which had entailed a more serious loss. But the letter for many reasons was difficult to write. For one thing, Molly and Gloriana would surely see it, and as Gloriana took care of her uncle's mail she would be very likely to read it first. And it had to be bad news. Jim could not gloss over the deaths of Uphill Frost and Hump Stevens, nor the serious condition of Slinger Dunn and Bud Chalfack. Moreover, he found it impossible to confess to his part in that fight. On the moment Curly was trying to keep the fretful and feverish Bud from reopening wounds. Lonestar Holliday read quietly by the lamplight across the table from Jim, but he could not sit still, and as he moved his bandaged foot from one resting-place to another he betrayed the pain he was suffering. Jack Way wore the beatific smile which characterised his visage while writing to the absent bride.

  "I can't write to Uncle Jim," began Jim. "If he doesn't show up here in a few days I'll have to ride to Flag."

  "An' take Jack with you?" queried Bud, in a terrible voice.

  "Yes. Jack has a wife, you know."

  "An' leave the rest of us hyar fer Croak Malloy to wipe out, huh?"

  Jim paced the floor. The matter was not easy to decide, and more than once he had convinced himself that the longing to see Molly had a good deal to do with the need to go to Flagerstown.

  "Of course, if you boys think there's a chance of Malloy coming back--"

  "Wal, Jim," interposed Curly, coolly. "As I see it you'd better wait. We've managed to get along without a doctor, an' I reckon we can do the same without reportin' to old Jim. He'll roar, shore, but let him roar. This last few weeks hasn't been any fun fer us. Somebody will get wind of thet fight an' Flag will heah aboot it."

  "All right, I'll give up the idea about going, as well as writing. It'll be a relief," replied Jim, and indeed the outspoken renunciation helped him. "You know one reason I wanted to go was to block Uncle Jim's fetching Molly and Glory down here."

  "Aw!" breathed Bud, reproachfully. "An' me dyin' hyar by inches."

  "Let Uncle Jim fetch the girls," rejoined Curly, stoutly.

  "Curly, you're a cold-blooded Arizon_ ian," declared Jim, with both irritation and admiration. "Here's the deal. We had to take Slinger home to West Fork, shot to pieces. Bud's on his back, full of bullets and bad temper. Lonestar hobbles about making you grind your teeth. And out there under the pines lie two of the Diamond in their graves!"

  "Wal, it's shore sad," replied Curly, "but the fact is we got off lucky. An' we cain't dodge what's comin' because of what's past. I reckon thet fight aboot broke the Hash-Knife fer keeps. I'm pretty shore I crippled Malloy. I was shootin' through smoke, but I seen him fall. An' then I couldn't see him any more. He got away, an' thet leaves him, Madden, an' Jed Stone, of the Hash-Knife. Stone won't stand fer the kind of rustlers Malloy has been ringin' in of late. Thet Joe Tanner outfit, let alone such hombres as Barn-bridge an' Darnell. So heah we are, not so bad off. An' I reckon we could take care of your uncle an' the girls."

  Cherry Winters came in at that juncture, carrying a rifle and a haunch of venison. The cool fragrance of the night and the woods accompanied him.

  "Howdy, all!" he said, cheerfully.

  "What kept you, Cherry?" asked Curly.

  "Nothin'. I jest ambled along. Reckon I was pretty fur up the crick. Got to watchin' the beaver."

  "Jeff has kept supper on for you," added Jim. "You know how sore he gets when we're late? Rustle now."

  Jim went out on the porch.

  The trouble with Jim was that he had not been weaned of his tenderfoot infancy; he had swallowed too big a dose of Arizona and he was sick. Beginning with Sonora's ambush--which only Slinger's timely shot had rendered futile--a series of happenings had tested Jim o
ut to the limit. He had been found wanting, so far as stomach was concerned, and he knew it. Asleep and awake, that fight before the burning cabin had haunted him. No use to balk at the truth! He had taken cool bead with rifle at an oncoming and shooting, yelling rustler, and well he knew who had tumbled him over, like a bagged turkey. Afterwards Jim had looked for a bullethole where he had aimed, and had found it. That was harsh enough. But the fact that he had, in common with his cowboys, turned deaf ear alike to the cursings and pleadings of the gambler Darnell, and had himself laid strong hands on that avenging rope, had like a boomerang rebounded upon him. All the arguments about rustlers, raids, self-preservation, had not been sufficient to cure him. Reality was something incalculably different from conjecture and possibility. In the Cibeque fight, rising out of the drift fence, he had been unable to take an active part; and so the killing of Jocelyn and the Haverlys by Slinger Dunn had rested rather easily upon his conscience. But now he was an Arizonian with blood on his hands. He still needed a violent and constant cue for passion.

  Curly came outside presently: "Fine night, Boss, an' it's good to feel we can peek out an' not be scared of bullets. I reckon, though, thet feelin' oughtn't to be trusted fer long. We'll heah from Croak Malloy before the summer is over."

  "Yes, it's a fine night, I suppose," sighed Jim. "But almost--I wish I was back in Missouri."

  "Never havin' seen Arizona an' Molly?" drawled the cowboy, with his cool, kindly tone.

  "Even that."

  "But more special--never havin' killed a man?"

  "Curly!"

  "Shore you cain't fool me, Jim, old boy. I was aboot when it come off. I seen you bore thet rustler. Fact is I had a bead on him myself."

  "I--I didn't dream anybody knew," replied Jim, hoarsely. "Please don't tell, Curly."

  "Wal, I cain't promise fer the rest of the outfit. Bud seen it, from where he fell. An' what's more, he seen thet rustler shoot Hump daid."

  "He did?" cried Jim, a dark hot wave as of blood with consciousness surging to his head. A subtle change marked his exclamation.

  "Shore. An' Lonestar reckoned he seen the same. Wal, thet rustler was Ham Beard. We searched him, before we buried him. Used to be a Winslow bar-tender till he murdered someone. Then he took to cattle-stealin'. Sort of a lone wolf an' shore a daid shot. If it hadn't been fer thet smoke he an' Croak might have done fer all of us. Though I reckon in thet case, if they'd charged us without the cover of smoke, we'd have stopped them with our rifles... It was a mess, Jim, an' you ought to pat yourself on the back instead of mopin' around."

  Jim realised this clearly, and in the light of Curly's cool illuminating talk he felt the relaxing of a gloomy shade.

  "If Glory an' Molly never hear of it--I guess I'll stand it," he said.

  "Wal, you can bet your last pair of wool socks in zero weather thet our beloved Bud will spring it on the girls."

  "No!"

  "Shore. An' not because of his itch to talk. It'll be pride, Jim, unholy pride in your addition to the toll of the Diamond."

  "I'll beg him not to, and if that's not enough I'll beat him."

  "Wal, Mizzouri, it cain't be did," drawled Curly.

  Curly was not as easy in mind as might have appeared to a superficial observer. He was restless; he walked up and down the canyon trail. Jim noted that Curly's blue flashing eyes were ever on the alert. And when Jim finally commented about this, Curly surprised him with a whisper: "Nix on thet, Mizzouri. I don't want Bud or Lonestar to worry. They make fuss enough. But I'll tell you somethin'. This very day, when you were eatin' dinner, I seen a rider's black sombrero bobbin' above the rim wall there. On the east rim, mind you!"

  "Curly!... A black sombrero? You might've been mistaken," replied Jim.

  "Shore. It might have been a black hawk or a raven. But my eyes are pretty sharp, Jim."

  Hours of uneasiness on Jim's part followed, and apparently casual strolling the porch on Curly's. Nothing happened, and at length Jim forgot about the circumstance. He went back to his account-books, presently to be disturbed by the nervous Bud.

  "Boss, I thought I heerd a call a little while ago, but I didn't want to bother you. But now I shore heerd hosses."

  "You did?" Jim listened with strained ears, while he gazed around the living-room. Lonestar was asleep, and so was Cherry, while Jack, writing as usual, could not have heard the crack of doom. But Jim distinctly caught a soft thud, thud, thud of hoofs.

  "Curly!" he called sharply. That jerked the sleepers wide awake, but it did not fetch Curly.

  "Boys, something up. We hear horses. And Curly doesn't answer. Grab your rifles."

  "Listen, Boss!" ejaculated Bud.

  Then Jim caught a call from outside: "Jim--oh, Jim!"

  "Molly!" he shouted, wildly, and rushed out, to be followed by the three uninjured cowboys. No sign of horses down the trail. But under the pines in the other direction moved brown figures, now close at hand, emerging from the grove. Molly led, on a big raw-boned bay horse. Hatless, her dusky hair flying, she called again: "Jim--oh, Jim!"

  Roused out of stupefaction, Jim rushed to meet her. "Molly! for Heaven's sake, how'd you get here?" he cried as she reined in the bay. She dropped a halter of a pack-horse she was leading. Then Jim saw that she was brush-covered and travel-stained. Her hair was full of pine needles, and her eyes shone unnaturally large and bright. Jim's rapture suffered a check. He looked beyond her, to see Curly supporting Gloriana in the saddle of a third horse. Her head drooped, her hair hung in a tawny mass.

  "My God! what's happened?" he exclaimed, in sudden terror.

  "Shore a lot. Don't look so scared, Jim. We're all right... Help me down."

  She slipped into his arms, most unresisting, Jim imagined, and for once his kisses brought blushes without protest. If she did not actually squeeze him, then he was dreaming. He set her down upon her feet, still keeping an arm around her.

  "What--what's all this?" he stammered, looking back to see Gloriana fall into Curly's arms. As Curly carried her up the porch steps Jim caught a glimpse of Gloriana's face. Then he dragged Molly with him into the house.

  "Curly, let me down," Gloriana was saying.

  But Curly did not hear, or at least obey. "For Gawd's sake, darlin', tell me you--you're not hurt or--or anythin'."

  No longer was Gloriana's face white. "Let me down, I say," she cried, imperiously. Whereupon Curly became aware of his behaviour, and he set her down in the big arm-chair, to gaze at her as at a long-lost treasure found.

  "Glory!--What crazy trick--have you sprung on us?" gasped Jim, striding close, still hanging to Molly. He stared incredulously at his sister. Her flimsy dress had once been light-coloured. It seemed no longer a dress, scarcely a covering, and it was torn to shreds and black from contact with burned brush. But that appeared only little cause for the effect she produced upon Jim and his comrades. One arm was wholly bare, scratched and dirty and bloody; her legs were likewise. To glance over these only forced the gaze back to Gloriana's face. The havoc of terrible mental and physical strain showed in its haggard outlines. But her eyes seemed a purple radiant blaze of rapture, or thanksgiving. They would have reassured a cynic that all was well with heart and soul--that life was good.

  "Oh--Jim," she whispered, lifting a weak hand to him, and as he clasped it, to sink on one knee beside her chair, she lay back and closed her eyes. "I'm here--I'm safe. Oh, thank Heaven!"

  "Glory, dear, what in the world happened?" begged Jim.

  On the other side of the chair Curly lifted her hand, which clung to a battered old sombrero, full of bullet holes.

  "Jim, this heah's what I seen bobbin' above the rim," he said, in amazed conjecture. "Whose hat is this? Reckon it looks some familiar."

  He could not remove it from the girl's tight clutch.

  "Thet sombrero belonged to Croak Malloy," interposed Molly, who stood back of Jim, smoothing the pine needles out of her tangled hair.

  "Holy Mackeli!" burst out Curly. "I knew it. I recognised
thet hat... Jim, as shore as Gawd made little apples thet croakin' gun-thrower is daid."

  "Daid? I should smile he is," corroborated Molly, laconically. "Daid as a door nail."

  The tremendousness of that truth, which no one doubted, commanded profound silence. Even Curly Prentiss had no tongue.

  "Jed Stone killed Malloy, an' Madden, too," went on Molly, bright-eyed, enjoying to the full the sensation she was creating.

  Jim echoed the name of the Hash-Knife leader, but Curly, to whom that name had so much more deadly significance, still could not speak.

  "Molly Dunn, I'm a hurted cowpuncher," called Bud from his bed. "An' if you don't tell pronto what's come off, I'll be wuss."

  Gloriana opened her eyes, and let them dwell lovingly upon her brother, and then Molly, after which they wandered to the standing, wide-eyed cowboys, and lastly to the stricken Curly, whose adoration was embarrassingly manifest.

  "Tell them, Molly," she whispered. "I--can't talk."

  "We planned to surprise you, Jim," began Molly. "It took some persuadin' to get Uncle Jim in on our job. But we did. An' let's see--five days ago--early mawnin' we left Flag in the buckboard Pedro drivin'. That night we slept at Miller's ranch. Next mawnin' at the fork of the road we got held up by Croak Malloy, an' two of his pards, Madden an' Reeves. They'd jest happened to run into us. Uncle Jim didn't know Malloy until he shot Pedro. Malloy robbed Uncle, took our bags, an' threw us on horses. An' he told Uncle to go back to Flag, dig up ten thousand dollars, an' send it by rider to Tobe's Well, where it was to be put in the loft by the chimney. Malloy drove us off then, into the woods, an' along in the afternoon we reached Tobe's Well. We'd jest been dragged in, an' they'd hawg-tied me, an' Malloy was tearin' Glory's clothes off, when in comes Jed Stone. He shore filled thet cabin... Wal, Croak was sore at being interrupted, an' Jed raved aboot what Uncle Jim would do. Queer what stress he put on Uncle Jim! Called him Jim!... Croak got sorer at all the fuss Jed was makin' over nothin'. Then Jed stamped up and down, wringin' his hands. But when quick as a cat he turned one of them held a boomin' gun. I shut my eyes. Jed shot two more times. I heahed one of the rustlers run out, an' when I looked again Malloy an' Madden were daid, an' Reeves had escaped."