Authors: Zane Grey
His cool nonchalance, that she remembered so poignantly, seemed no
w
to inflame her.
"JIM LACY!" she cried, in scornful, sad haste to acquaint him wit
h
her knowledge of his infamy.
He thrust his sombrero on, tilted back, and as he blew a thi
n
column of smoke upward his penetrating, inscrutable eyes studie
d
her face.
"Why didn't you trust me? Oh, why?" she went on, slipping farthe
r
toward an emotional outbreak.
"Hettie, there was a time, long ago, when I'd rather have been dai
d
than let you know I was Jim Lacy."
"You were ashamed?"
"I shore was."
"Long ago, you said. . . . Then you're NOT ashamed now?"
"Wal, it cain't matter now," he rejoined, with a gleam of a smile.
"Why can't it matter now?" she queried.
He made an expressive gesture, and then gazed down through the ope
n
forest to the colorful desert. His horse rubbed noses wit
h
Hettie's, and gradually backed it across the trail.
"Ben doesn't dream his--his old friend Nevada is you--the notoriou
s
Jim Lacy."
"I reckon not. . . . Too bad he's got to find out pretty soon!"
"Must Ben--find out?" asked Hettie, huskily. Thought of Be
n
augmented her weakness.
Nevada dropped his head. His horse, nosing Hettie's, brough
t
Nevada closer to her, so that she might have touched him. Thi
s
proximity bore upon her with incalculable influence. She pulle
d
her horse aside, to no avail, for the big black followed with eage
r
whinny. His rider did not seem to be aware of this proceeding, o
r
of the proximity that again ensued.
"How can you be so cool--so hatefully cool?" burst out Hettie, "Be
n
loved you. I--I . . . What did he care who you were? Why didn'
t
you always stay Nevada? . . . Ben left no stone unturned to locat
e
you. Failing that, he came to Arizona because he hoped you migh
t
turn up. . . . You have turned up. But as Jim Lacy--as a rustle
r
who stole from him. Stole from a friend you once saved an
d
succored and loved! Did you know those cattle were Ben's?"
"Shore--I did," replied Nevada, showing a faint pallor.
"Oh, it was a terrible thing to do!" cried Hettie, covering he
r
face with her hands. "Your pard? It will cut him to the quick--
e
mbitter him forever. . . . And it'll kill ME!"
His silence, his imperturbability in its unnaturalness roused he
r
to a sudden furious passion that burned away her tears and wave
d
her face scarlet.
"Wal, you're a mighty healthy lady after so many years of dyin',"
h
e drawled, tossing away his half-smoked cigarette. "Hettie
,
you always was pretty, but you've grown into a plumb handsom
e
woman. . . . Reckon the cowboys are sweeter'n ever on you."
"That must have meant a lot to you," she flashed, breathing hard.
"Dillon, now. HE was."
"Yes. He has made love to me. Begged me to marry him," returne
d
Hettie, in fiery flippancy, hoping with a woman's strange coquetr
y
to make him jealous.
"Wal, you don't say. He's shore a handsome hombre. Devil with th
e
women, I heah. . . . Why don't you marry him?"
"I--may yet," replied Hettie, somberly. He baffled her. In hi
s
cool, inscrutable presence she felt like a child. And a dee
p
unplumbed emotion seemed to swell at the gates of her self-control.
"Hettie, if you do you'll be changin' your mind considerable fro
m
what it was that night at the dance in Winthrop."
"What do you know about that?" she queried, wonderingly.
"Wal, I happened to heah you tell Dillon a few things, an' I see
n
him try to get you in his arms."
"YOU! You were there?"
"Shore. An' after you flounced off I introduced myself to Dillo
n
an' most polite invited him to draw. But he didn't have the nerve
,
so I took a punch at his handsome face."
"You struck Dillon on my behalf!" murmured Hettie softening.
"Wal, yes, partly. But I had it in for him before. . . . By th
e
way, is he at the ranch?"
"Yes. I saw him at the corrals as I came out."
"Good! I'm shore a lucky hombre--since I took up with Jim Lac
y
again."
"You were going to our ranch?" queried Hettie, quickly.
"I AM goin', Miss Hettie Ide."
"What--for?"
"Wal, reckon my prime reason is to shoot out one of Dillon'
s
handsome eyes. But I've another--"
"Oh! . . . You've something against Dillon?"
"Huh! I should rather smile I have, Hettie."
"You'll--you'll KILL him?"
Nevada's flashing eye and sweeping gesture were the firs
t
indications of passion he had evinced.
"Reckon if you hadn't held me up heah he'd be daid now. An' tha
t
stands for me, too."
"Ah! Then Dillon is--a--a dangerous man--as you--"
"Hettie, HE'S a bad hombre. Come from New Mexico. Name is E
d
Richardson, once with the Billy the Kid outfit. . . . I'll kil
l
him, shore, but he might return the compliment."
"You--you bloody gunman!" returned Hettie, as if those few word
s
expressed her infinite amaze and contempt for men who lived by suc
h
a creed.
"Hettie, if he does kill me you can tell Ben the truth, then com
e
an' smooth back my hair an' wipe my bloody face. Ha! Ha!" h
e
said, in bitter mockery.
"Hush!" Hettie reined her horse closer, so that her stirrup locke
d
with Nevada's. "Do not do this terrible deed. For Ben's sake, i
f
not mine. Be big enough to abandon your blood feud. Give up thi
s
outlaw, rustler, gunman life. . . . Take me away with you to som
e
far country. I have money. You can start anew. I will cleave t
o
you--live for you."
"For Gawd's sake, Hettie Ide, are you crazy?" he returned
,
stridently.
"Not yet. But I will be soon--if this--goes on," she panted, an
d
slipped her gloved hand to his shoulder. "Nevada, I--I still lov
e
you. I've always loved you. . . . I forgive all. I surrende
r
all. I don't care who you are--what you've been. All I ask i
s
that you save Ben the horror so near--that you take me away an
d
give up this life. . . . We can plan quickly. I will meet you a
t
some point on the railroad. . . . Say you will."
"No," he said, hoarsely.
"Nevada! . . . Don't you love me--still?" And she leaned to him
,
overcome, betraying all her woman's soul of love, and hope for him
,
for Ben, for herself.
"Love you? Ha! Ha!"
"Don't stare. Don't laugh. This means life or death to me. Sa
y
you love me. Say you'll take me."
"Yes, I love you, mad woman. But I cain't accept your sacrifice.
I cain't ruin you. . . . Good Gawd! Hettie, you forget I'm Ji
m
Lacy!"
"It's because you ARE Jim Lacy."
"Heavens! This heah is awful! . . . Hettie, I cain't--I won't."
"You lie, then. You do not love me. _I_ am proving mine. But you--
y
ou are false. You have taken some--other woman. You don't lov
e
me!"
Hettie, dim of eye, saw him loom over her. She felt herself seize
d
in iron arms and dragged from her horse. Then she was lifted ove
r
the pommel and crushed to his breast, and bent backward, blind an
d
breathless, a victim of terrible devouring lips. He kissed he
r
mouth, her cheeks, her eyes, her brow, her hair, and then again he
r
mouth.
Hettie's senses reeled and almost failed her. When his violenc
e
ceased she felt herself held closely for a long moment, then le
t
down from the horse until her feet touched the ground. She wa
s
falling when he leaped from the saddle. He set her on the gras
s
with her back against a tree, and there, presently, her eye
s
opened.
Nevada knelt before her, his face convulsed. Slowly it smoothe
d
out and a wild darkness faded from his eyes.
"There. You've come to. I reckon I must ask you to excuse me fo
r
bein' rough. But I shore couldn't stand that talk aboot not lovin'
y
ou."
"I will not believe--unless you prove it," returned Hettie
,
unsteadily, as she reached for her sombrero.
Nevada rose to his feet. "I cain't prove it your way," he replied
,
and his features set stone-cold and gray.
"Oh, what have you done to me?" cried Hettie, wildly, as agai
n
passion rose strong and regained the ascendancy over her.
"Reckon nothin' compared to what you've done to me," he responded
,
with somber gaze upon her. "Dillon will just aboot beat me to
a
gun."
Hettie stood up, holding to the tree trunk. "Nothing. . . . I'v
e
loved you since I first met you. I've been true. I trusted you.
I cared not for your past. I believed in your future. I praye
d
for you. My faith in you was as great as my faith in God. I
b
elieved you loved me. That when you rode away from Forlorn River--
t
o escape the consequences--when you killed Less Setter to sav
e
Ben--I believed you would be true to me, to the higher self yo
u
found through Ben's love and mine. . . . But you were too little.
You went back to the old life--to the old comrades. Rustlers
,
gamblers, gunmen! You killed just because you wanted to keep tha
t
name hated and feared. You are a bloody monster. . . . No doub
t
you sank to the embrace of vile women--the consorts of thieves! O
m
y God! it would be my death if I could not kill my love. But I
w
ill. It will lie dead as my faith. . . . You are a liar,
a
failure, a weakling. Basest of all is your ingratitude. You stol
e
from my brother--who loved you."
Nevada's eyes held a blaze like black lightning.
"Reckon that'll be aboot all I want to heah," he said, in tones sh
e
had never heard before.
"That is--all."
He gathered up the reins and vaulted into the saddle, then turne
d
to gaze down the trail.
"Horses comin'," he said, briefly. "It's Marvie with his girl
,
Rose Hatt."
"Yes, I see," returned Hettie, with a start. "Oh, I'm glad."
"Wal, Miss Hettie Ide," he said, "you might heah somethin' fro
m
Marvie an' Rose. Anyway, don't rustle back home too quick."
Her lips framed a query she could not speak.
"It's aboot sunset," he went on, with strange gaze upon the west.
"Sunset for Dillon! An' shore sunset for me!"
Then he spurred the big black, and clattering into the trail soo
n
vanished from sight toward the ranch.