Authors: Zane Grey
"I'm sorry, Ben. It couldn't be no wuss."
"Oh, Ben!" cried Ina, who had evidently worried more about he
r
husband than the impending loss.
"Reckin you an' Hettie better leave us alone," returned Ben.
Neither of the women moved a step, though Ina subsided into
a
chair. Raidy appeared to have lost his usual taciturnity.
"Boss, you're rustled off the range. The last of your stock
,
except some stragglin' steers an' yearlin's, is gone--along with
a
thousand head of Tom Day's."
Ben Ide made a flashing violent gesture, as if to strike. H
e
paled. His eyes shot fire.
"They've cleaned me?" he demanded, fiercely, as if still doubting.
"Yes, boss. I made sure, because I wasn't trustin' Dillon to giv
e
a full report."
Hettie, standing back of Ina's chair, felt both hot and cold; an
d
she stared at her brother fearfully, expecting him to break into a
n
ungovernable rage. For Ben had not been himself in weeks, an
d
lately he had been hard to live with. She had reckoned without he
r
host, however, for although Ben turned white to the lips h
e
suddenly became calm and cool. With uncertainty gone he change
d
radically.
"Ahuh. So your hunch has come true," he said, almost with sarcasm.
"Wal, I reckon you'll get a lot of satisfaction crowin' over me an'
Dillon."
"No, boss, I won't even say I told you so," returned Raidy.
"Give me the facts, short an' sweet," said Ben.
"Wal, Tom Day an' his riders were at Silver Meadows when w
e
arrived. A sheepherder had tipped them off to the drive. We spli
t
up an' rode all around the Meadows. Only a few cattle left. The
m
rustlers made a slick job of it. Day an' Franklidge lost over
a
thousand head, an' you lost all you had left. A matter of thre
e
thousand head. We took the trail up the canyon. An' say, it was
a
bowlavarde clear to the Rim. . . . I was for trailin' the rustler
s
to finish a fight. But Day wouldn't let any of us go down in tha
t
hole. We'd have been ambushed an' some of us killed. Besides, h
e
said we could never have recovered the cattle. Once turned loos
e
in that jungle of scrub oak, manzanita, an' cactus, them cattl
e
would have vamoosed like ticks shook off a leaf. So we turne
d
back."
"You told Tom Day, of course, that Jim Lacy made this drive?"
q
ueried Ben.
"Tom knowed all about it from the sheepherder. Seems thet Lac
y
sent Tom word he was goin' to make this big steal. Sent hi
s
respects to Tom an' Judge Franklidge an' said he'd drop in t
o
Winthrop some day."
"By Heaven! this Lacy is a cool one!" exclaimed Ben, as i
f
admiration was wrenched from him.
"Cool? Wal, boss, you might call Lacy thet, but I reckon he's
a
mixture of hell's fire an' chain lightnin'!"
"I'll hang him," said Ben, with deadly calm.
"No, Ben, if you'll excuse me, I'll say you'll never put a rop
e
around Jim Lacy's neck. He couldn't never be jailed, either.
He'll die in his boots, with a gun spoutin', an' Gawd help the me
n
frontin' him!"
"Bah! You talk like Marvie Blaine," retorted Ben, curtly. "An'
y
ou Raidy--a grown man!"
"Boss, it grieves me thet I've lived to disagree with you,"
r
eturned Raidy, with dignity.
"This Jim Lacy is the leader of the Pine Tree outfit," asserte
d
Ben, positively.
"Wal, me an' Tom Day reckoned so. An' for once Dillon agreed wit
h
us," replied Raidy. "Tom said Lacy jest got tired of layin' lo
w
an' bein' mysterious. So he comes out in the open. I'll bet yo
u
he'll ride right into Winthrop."
"Raidy, I'm glad Lacy cleaned me out. I'm through waitin' aroun
d
to see what's goin' to happen next. I've sent for Sheriff Mackli
n
an' a posse. This mornin' I got word from Struthers, the Phoeni
x
sheriff who's made it so hot for rustlers in southern Arizona.
Struthers is in Winthrop at my request. They'll arrive here no
t
later than to-morrow. I'll have Dillon get twenty-five of th
e
hardest men he can gather. I'll offer ten thousand dollars rewar
d
for Jim Lacy, dead or alive. I'll spend every dollar I have to ru
n
down Lacy an' his Pine Tree gang."
"Wal, boss, you're talkin' high, wide, an' handsome," replie
d
Raidy. "But it's not for me to offer opinions. This ranch--an'
f
or that matter, this whole range--ain't big enough for me an' you
r
man Dillon. I jest have to quit."
"Very well, Raidy. I'm sorry you see it that way," returned Ben
,
coldly, and with a wave of his hand terminated the interview.
Hettie fled. As she ran out she heard Ina deliver a stingin
g
rebuke to her husband. Then a door slammed. Hettie hurried hom
e
in a state of mind bordering on a breakdown. She finished her wor
k
in a mechanical way, while slow torment consumed her.
"What's all the row over at Ben's?" her mother inquired, placidly
,
from her comfortable chair.
"Rustlers, cattle, foremen, sheriffs, and Heaven only knows what,"
r
eplied Hettie, distractedly.
"Well, daughter, don't be upset. You know Ben."
"I thought I did, mother. But I'm doubtful about it now. He fire
d
Raidy."
"No! Why, that's dreadful! Raidy taught Ben how to ride a horse.
Oh, this dreadful Arizona! . . . But I don't mean that, Hettie. I
l
ove this quiet, sweet wild country. The men, though--they're--
t
hey're loco, as Marvie says. And Ben has got it, too?"
"Mother, have you seen Marvie to-day?" asked Hettie, suddenl
y
remembering that she had not.
"Marvie went away yesterday and hasn't come back. At least h
e
didn't sleep in his bed."
"Oh dear! That wild boy! Here's more to--to worry over. . . .
Mother, I didn't tell you that the reason Marvie came to us i
s
because Ben discharged him--drove him out of the house."
"Reckon we'll have Ina next," said her mother.
"I--I wouldn't be surprised at anything," returned Hettie
,
tearfully.
Hettie went to her room, with the motive of indulging her grief.
But sight of her riding-boots acted powerfully upon her and sh
e
decided to take a ride. Not for days had she been on her horse.
Perhaps a long hard gallop would be good for her; and moreover, sh
e
might meet Marvie on the trail. Could something have happened t
o
him? It might very well have, Hettie concluded, with a tremor. H
e
and Rose might have been discovered by that Cedar Hatt, of who
m
Rose had such great fear. The very air round the Ide ranch seeme
d
congested, heavy, sultry, ominous with menace.
Hettie passed the quarters of the riders at some distance, no
t
caring to be accosted by Dillon or Raidy. She saw some saddle
d
horses, dusty and tired, that had evidently just come in. Ther
e
were a number of men bunched in a circle, conversing so earnestl
y
that none espied her. Gaining the stables, she found Pedro and ha
d
him saddle her horse. Soon she was riding fast with the wind i
n
her face.
But neither a gallop nor a run sufficed to change Hettie's mood.
She rode into the woods, and let her horse walk at will down th
e
shady trail in the direction from which Marvie always returned.
And here, alone, under the impelling influence of the forest
,
Hettie realized that she was a most miserable and heartbroken girl
,
with a terrible sword hanging over her head. How hopeless he
r
situation! What use to think? There was not a thought nor a
n
action that could help her in her extremity. Courage an
d
intelligence had gone with the loss of hope.
A purple haze like smoke hung in the aisles of the forest; the onl
y
sound was the faintest of breezes murmuring in the pines; th
e
thickets were on fire with golden and scarlet flame of autum
n
leaves; the westering sun caught the glint of falling leaf and pin
e
needle.
Nature seemed so pitiless this day. It went on, calm, sweet
,
beautiful, inscrutable, unmindful of the poor little lives of huma
n
beings. Hettie could not derive any solace, any strength, fro
m
either forest or range or desert.
Arizona had killed her dream, as it had ruined her brother. An
d
the horror of Hettie's state seemed that the climax of thi
s
infernal paradox, the dTnouement, the worst, had yet to come.
Suddenly she caught the rhythmic beat of swift hoofs ahead round
a
green curve of the trail. That must be Marvie's horse. A rush o
f
relief swept over her. The pine boughs spread. A big black hors
e
was upon her before she could pull a rein. She cried out. But th
e
rider hauled back to his haunches, and that rider was Nevada.
Chapter
nineteen.
Hettie clutched the pommel of her saddle. An awful stunning shoc
k
suspended, for an instant, all her faculties, and every sensibilit
y
except the physical animal instinct of holding her equilibrium.
Then emotion burst the dam.
When Nevada's horse plunged up, his head came abreast Hettie'
s
horse.
"YOU!" Hettie felt the word leave her stiff lips, but she heard i
t
only as a whisper.
Nevada swept off his sombrero and bowed low to the mane of hi
s
horse. And as he rose erect he remained bareheaded.
"Wal, shore it's Hettie Ide," he drawled, in the cool, leisurely
,
Southern accent that cut into her heart like blades.
Then they gazed at one another, as if sight was trying to reconcil
e
the face of dreams with the reality. The face Hettie looked int
o
had the same lean outline, the dark blue-black shade of bear
d
against the clear brown tan, the intent light hazel-flecked eyes
,
like level piercing points. But it did not have the soul wit
h
which her imagination and memory had invested it.
"I--saw you--in Winthrop," began Hettie, as if to find relief fro
m
oppression. Silence was impossible.
"Shore. I reckoned you might," he replied. As he spoke he rolle
d
a cigarette with steady fingers. No surprise, no emotion tha
t
Hettie could read, manifested itself in look or manner. "Too ba
d
you had to run into me heah!"
"Too bad! . . . It's terrible. But I'm glad," exclaimed Hettie
,
quivering, shaking all over.
"Thank you, an' I'm shore sorry I cain't return the compliment," h
e
said, and bent his head to light the cigarette.