Thunder Mountain

by Zane Grey

  “Must of been Sam’s gold-strike,” he mused as he swung along. But he knew that was a lie.

  In front of the tavern he encountered Blair talking to the proprietor and another man.

  “Here’s your Kalispel fellar now,” said the former.

  “Kalispel?—I met this young man last night,” returned Blair. “How do you do, sir? It appears I’m indebted to you for a service in my daughter’s behalf.”

  “Mornin’....Nothin’ a-tall, Mr. Blair,” replied Kalispel. “Some gazabo named Borden had been annoyin’ Miss Blair all day. An’ last night he busted into her room. I happened to be goin’ up an’ heard her order him out. But he didn’t come, so I investigated.”

  “Haw! Haw!” laughed the proprietor. “Who’s gonna pay for the damage to my stairs?”

  “Damn if I will. You make Borden pay,” retorted Kalispel.

  “I’ll gladly foot the bill,” interposed Blair, hurriedly. “Young man, I’m greatly obliged to you. Excuse me if I persist. Sydney, my daughter, told me about it. Very different from your version. She’s very much worried this morning. She fears there’ll be a fight.”

  “Mr. Blair, your daughter didn’t waste any fears on Borden last night. She’d been glad if I had shot him.”

  “Naturally....But now it’d distress her—and me too—if Borden and you——”

  “Not much chance, Mr. Blair,” interrupted Kalispel, shortly. “I know his stripe.”

  The proprietor interposed. “Wal, young fellar, with all due respect to your nerve I’m givin’ you a hunch somethin’ will come of it. But sure I don’t need to tell you to keep an eye peeled.” After this trenchant speech he went indoors with his companion.

  “Here’s my daughter now,” spoke up Blair.

  Kalispel, with a strange sensation of dread and rapture combined, turned to see a slender, graceful young woman almost at his elbow. He did not recognize her. But the shy greeting she gave him, the blush that suffused her face, the way she slipped her hand under Blair’s arm, appeared to establish the fact that she was his daughter.

  He doffed his ragged sombrero in some embarrassment.

  “Mornin’, lady. I shore hope you slept well,” he said.

  “Not so very well,” she replied.

  In the bright sunshine, Kalispel discovered that the girl’s hair was of a chestnut-gold color, and the eyes which he had imagined matched her dark tresses were violet in hue. In her street clothes she seemed taller, too, but somehow Kalispel began to associate her with the lovely creature of last night.

  “What’s your name?” asked Blair.

  “Emerson. Lee Emerson. I got the nickname Kalispel out on the Montana range.”

  “Pray overlook my curiosity, Emerson....There seems to be an idea in this town that you’re—what did they call it?—a bad hombre. Last night, one of those men you met with me—Pritchard—he gave you a hard——”

  “Pritchard!” interrupted Kalispel, sharply. “I knew I’d seen him somewhere. Mr. Blair, that man is a gambler—a shady customer. Look out for him an’ all of them. Don’t drink with them, or gamble, or consider any deals whatsoever.”

  “Thanks. I’ll admit I’d grown a little leary. There might be a reason for Pritchard calling you a bad hombre.”

  “Aw, I am a bad hombre,” admitted Kalispel, coldly. “But that’s no reason why I can’t do a good turn for newcomers to the West.”

  “May I ask just what is a bad hombre?” inquired Sydney Blair, her disturbing violet eyes searching his.

  “It’s no compliment, Miss Blair, I’m sorry to say,” replied Kalispel, returning her intent glance.

  “Don’t embarrass him, Sydney,” said Blair. “See here, Emerson. I’ve got considerable cash on my person. Is it safe for me to carry it around?”

  “I should smile not. If you’re going to be here after dark, put your money in the bank pronto.”

  “Thanks. That’s straight talk. I’ll ask you another. I came West to go into a mining deal with a Boise man, a promotor named Leavitt. I met Pritchard on the stage coming from Bannock. I told him. He discouraged me. And he and his partners are endeavoring to interest me in mining enterprises here. What do you think of it?”

  “Highway robbery, in the majority of cases. Of course some minin’ claims pan out well. But if I were you I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “Emerson, I’ll go deposit my money in the bank at once. Then I’ll want to talk to you again.”

  “All right, Mr. Blair. I’ll be around town today an’ I reckon most of tomorrow,” called Kalispel after him as he hurried away.

  “I’d like to talk to you, too,” said the girl, shyly, yet with sweet directness. “We are strangers, and I’m beginning to realize we’re such tenderfeet....Won’t you come somewhere with me, so we can talk? Not in here. How about the restaurant? It’s lunch-time and I haven’t had any breakfast.”

  “You’d take me to lunch—even after I’ve admitted I’m a bad hombre?” he asked, smiling at her.

  “Yes, I would. You don’t seem so—so very bad to me,” she replied, returning the smile.

  “But I shore look disreputable,” he protested, with a gesture inviting her to note his ragged apparel.

  “I haven’t seen any dressed-up Westerners yet,” she rejoined, demurely, and with a flash of eyes took him in as far down as the cartridge-studded belt and swinging gun. “Perhaps you mean—that,” she went on. “It is rather fearful....Please come. I don’t care what your reputation is. I know there’s no reason why I—I should be ashamed to—to——”

  “How do you know, Miss Blair?” he interposed, gravely.

  “I—You... Well, it’s the way you look at me.....”

  “Miss Blair, I’ve been a pretty wild cowboy, but there’s no reason I can’t look you straight in the eyes.”

  “Well then, what else matters?”

  “But mine’s a Westerner’s point of view,” he rejoined, soberly, driven to stand clear in his conscience before this girl. “For a range-rider in these days, rustlin’ a few cattle, gamblin’-hells an’ dance-hall girls—red liquor an’ gun-play—all in the day’s work!”

  “It’s honest of you to tell me,” she said, losing her color. “I’m sorry I forced you to....But if I am to live in this—this beautiful, terrible West, I must learn. I must meet people—see things. I feel so—so lonely, and you’re the only person I’ve met that I’ve wanted to talk to....Won’t you come?”

  And that was how Kalispel Emerson found himself seated at a table in the corner of the little restaurant, opposite this lovely violet-eyed girl. He accepted the miracle and tried to battle against his sensations, to be worthy for the moment of the trust she placed in a stranger and to help her. Ordering the lunch from the waitress took a little time and added to his composure, after which he faced the girl across the table.

  “I am Sydney Blair,” she began, impulsively. “You may not believe that I’m only nineteen. We are from Ohio. Owing to an unsatisfactory partnership and poor health, my father decided to sell out his business and go West. I was the only child. My mother is dead. I had a—a—something happen to—that made me want to leave Ohio forever.”

  As she paused, almost faltering, Kalispel saw a slight bit of color come and go in her cheeks.

  “Miss Blair, that’s to the great gain of the West,” he replied, gallantly, as she hesitated. “People come out here from everywhere—to begin anew, to make the West what it will be some day....I reckon you feel lone-some an’ homesick an’ scared. It’s hard on young women—this West, especially if they are pretty like you. But you’ll learn to stand what seems so rough an’ crude now—you’ll fit in, an’ some day love it....Reckon I for all Westerners when I say I just can’t be sorry you came.”

  “It’s not so much to me just now—my comfort, my adapting myself to new people and conditions. It is concern for my father. He has responded strangely to Western influences that we knew nothing of. He drinks, he gambles, he makes friends with any and everyone he
meets. He leaves me alone at night, as you know. And I am beginning to worry myself sick over what to do.”

  “Ah-huh. An’ that’s why you wanted to talk to some one,” replied Kalispel, kindly. “Well, that happens to ’most every man who comes out here. In your case, Miss Blair, you’ve got just two things to do to keep him from goin’ plumb to hell.”

  “Oh!—What are they?” she exclaimed, eagerly.

  “You must get hold of his money an’ hang on to it.”

  “Yes. I thought of that myself. I can do it....What’s the other?”

  “Let him get to hard work at whatever his heart is set on.”

  “It is this gold-mining. Dad is mad about that. Please tell me all about it.”

  Kalispel did not need to draw upon imagination or hearsay to acquaint the young woman with the facts. He painted a graphic picture of the hardships, the failures of thousands of gold-seekers to the fortune of one, the rough camp life, the wildness of the gold-diggings. And despite his deliberate sticking to realism, upon the conclusion of his discourse he found himself gazing into such radiant, shining eyes that he was astonished.

  “Oh, I would like that!” she cried.

  He spread wide his hands, as if to indicate the hopelessness of tenderfeet and his inability to discourage this one. Then suddenly a query flashed into his mind—why not induce Blair and his daughter to go back with him into the mountains and share with him and his brothers the marvelous opportunity there? It struck Kalispel almost mute. He managed to finish his lunch, but his former simplicity and frankness failed him. Fortunately, the girl was so thrilled with the prospect of gold-seeking that she scarcely noticed Kalispel’s lapse into pondering reticence.

  Soon they were out on the street again, Kalispel biting his tongue to keep back a rush of eloquence, and Sydney babbling away as if the hour had made them friends.

  Halfway to the tavern they encountered Blair. “Sydney, where have you been?” he queried. His face and demeanor betrayed agitation.

  “I took Mr. Emerson to lunch,” she replied, gayly. “We had a... Dad, what is the matter?”

  “Emerson, you are being hunted all over town,” declared Blair, hastily.

  “Ah-huh,” replied Kalispel. His wary eye had noted a circle of men in front of the tavern. On the moment it split to let out Borden and a wide-sombreroed individual with a star prominent upon his vest. Kalispel recognized him and cursed under his breath.

  “Blair, take your daughter inside—pronto,” he called, tensely, and striding up the sidewalk, he faced the crowd.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  3

  BORDEN’S bold front altered manifestly in his swerving aside. The crowd, too, split behind the two men, the larger half going out into the street and the smaller half lining against the walls of the buildings. These significant moves had their effect upon the sheriff. His big bulk appeared less formidably actuated. He slowed down, then halted.

  “Howdy, Kalispel,” he called, in a loud voice.

  “Not so good, Lowrie,” replied Lee, bitingly, and he stopped within fifteen steps of the sheriff. “Kinda sore these days.”

  “You’re under arrest.”

  “Say, man! Are you gettin’ dotty in your old age?” rejoined Kalispel, derisively. “You didn’t arrest me in Montana. How can you do it in Idaho?”

  “I was sworn in this mornin’.”

  “Bah! You can’t bluff me. You couldn’t be sworn in short of Boise.”

  “Wal, I’ve been deputized by citizens of Salmon. An’ I’m arrestin’ you an’ takin’ you back to Montana.”

  “What for? Throwin’ this dirty skunk, Borden, out of a respectable young woman’s room last night? Where he’d forced himself!... If I know Salmon citizens, they won’t back Borden an’ you for that.”

  “No. It’s a case of long standin’.”

  “What?” flashed Kalispel, suddenly blazing. “Sing it out so this crowd can hear you. I’ve got friends in this town.”

  “Wal, it’s—rustlin’ cattle,” returned Lowrie, hoarsely. All at once he realized that he was skating on thin ice.

  Kalispel leaped as if he had been stung. His face flamed red and then turned white.

  “I shore did. I admit it. I’m proud of it. But what kind of rustlin’ was that, Hank Lowrie? I helped steal cattle from the outfit who first stole cattle from mine. Why, that kind of rustlin’ is as old as the range! Nothin’ but an exchange of beef!”

  “Wal, you followed up thet exchange by spillin’ blood, didn’t you?” queried Lowrie, sarcastically, his little gimlet eyes wavering like a compass needle.

  “Forced on me, damn you! An’ you know it. Your lousy K Bar foreman hounded me all day. He was drunk an’ crazy. I had to meet him. At that it was an even break. An’ there’s some decent Montana cowmen who patted me on the back for doin’ it....I left Montana to save my outfit from fightin’ on my account.”

  “Thet’s your story, but——”

  “It’s true,” interrupted Kalispel, in ringing passion. “An’ you’re a liar!”

  Borden propelled himself into the argument by advancing a couple of nervous strides and exploding furiously. “Lowrie, are you going to arrest this cowboy beggar?”

  “Shore I am,” replied the sheriff, gruffly.

  “Like hell you are!” rang out Kalispel, contemptuously.

  “Handcuff the bully!” shouted Borden, his discolored face ugly with ungovernable fury.

  “Shet up,” rasped Lowrie, giving way to more than exasperation. Uncertainty sat visibly upon him.

  “Put irons on me? Haw! Haw! That’s funny....Why, you damn fools! Where is this bluff going to get you?”

  “Emerson, I’m arrestin’ you. If you submit peaceful I’ll take you along without irons. We’re goin’ on the noon stage. An’ this time tomorrow you’ll be under the roof of a Montana jail.”

  Kalispel believed he had gauged his man correctly. But slowly he froze to the consciousness that he might be wrong and that Lowrie, egged on by Borden and his stand before the gaping crowd, might try to go through with it. Kalispel sank a little in his tracks and stiffened, all except his quivering right hand, now low at his side.

  “Lowrie, long before tomorrow you’ll be under the sod—if you press this deal any farther.”

  “What! Air you threatenin’ me?” blustered the officer.

  “No. I’m just tellin’ you.”

  Lowrie edged a foot forward.

  “Look out!” cried Kalispel, piercingly. Then, as the other became like an upright stone, Kalispel went on, coldly. “Old-timer, if you’d moved your hand then, instead of your foot, it’d been all day with you.”

  “What!” bellowed the sheriff. “You’d draw on—me?”

  “I’ll kill you!”

  Lowrie’s visage turned a livid white. His attitude appeared suggestive of inward collapse. It was plain that he had not expected resistance, let alone a deadly menace that held the spectators rooted in their tracks. A moment of intense suspense passed. Then Kalispel relaxed out of his crouch.

  “I had you right, Lowrie. You’re just what they call you in Montana—a blow-hard sheriff, yellow to your gizzard. Now get out of Salmon. If you don’t, an’ I run into you again, you throw a gun or I’ll shoot your leg off.”

  “I’m not matchin’ gun-play with a killer,” replied Lowrie, hoarsely.

  “No? Then what the hell kind of a sheriff are you in these days?—Rustle now.”

  Lowrie wheeled as on a pivot and rapidly strode down the street. Borden backed away as if desirous of losing himself in the crowd.

  “Hey, you! Hold on!” called Kalispel.

  Borden turned a distorted face expressive of an impotent wrath.

  “Did you get a message from me last night?” demanded Kalispel.

  “No,” replied Borden, harshly.

  “Well, I sent one. An’ here it is....You steer damn good an’ clear of me.”

  “Emerson, you add insult to injury,” fumed Bor
den, his pale eyes glaring. “Last night you assaulted me for something I was innocent of. A mistake....I opened the wrong door....An accident misunderstood by a tenderfoot girl scared out of her——”

  “Accident, hell!” shouted Kalispel, just as keen to have the crowd hear as was Borden. “You hounded that girl all day yesterday. She told me so. Then late at night you busted into her room. An’ you wouldn’t leave till I heard her an’ went in to drive you out. I should have shot you. Forcin’ yourself into the bedroom of a fine little lady at midnight! My Gawd! what are honest pioneer folks goin’ to think of us Westerners if we stand for the likes of that?... I never learned rotten cuss-words enough on the range to fit you. So I won’t try. But you steer clear of me. If I get the littlest chance in the world, I’ll shoot you.”

  Borden hurriedly shouldered his way through the crowd and disappeared. Kalispel stood there at the edge of the sidewalk, running his eyes over the faces turned his way. He espied Blair and his daughter in the entrance of a hallway just opposite his position. The girl’s pale face and wide dark eyes proved that she had seen and heard the encounter with Lowrie and Borden. It had been a bad enough situation without that. Kalispel experienced a sickening reaction. What miserable luck dogged him! What kind of an unfavorable opinion would the girl have of him now? On the moment, when this thought waved hot over him, he glanced back at the hallway. Blair was emerging with his daughter. She was still staring, as if fascinated, at Kalispel, and catching his eye she nodded with a wan little smile. They passed on into the lodging-house. That smile held hope for Kalispel. He stood there on the spot until the crowd dispersed. Then he strode off with the idea forming in mind to hurry his purchases, pack, and leave town before nightfall.

  He found that the additional three burros had been acquired for him, but pack-saddles were in the process of repair and would not be finished until the morrow. The fact that the man from whom Kalispel got the burros offered to let him have a horse and saddle on credit put a different light on the journey back to the gold claim. A sure-footed, staunch horse could travel where packed burros could go. He gratefully accepted the offer. And an hour later he was tightening the saddle-girths on a bay horse that he liked.