Authors: Zane Grey
Slone drew a long, deep breath of utter enchantment. "You'll take back Wildfire?"
"Oh, Lin--don't--ask--me," she implored.
"Take him back--an' me with him."
"Then I will. But no one must know that yet."
They drew apart then.
"An' now you must go," said Slone, reluctantly. "Listen. I forgot to warn you about Joel Creech. Don't ever let him near you. He's crazy an' he means evil."
"Oh, I know, Lin! I'll watch. But I'm not afraid of him."
"He's strong, Lucy. I saw him lift bags that were hefty for me. . . . Lucy, do you ride these days?"
"Every day. If I couldn't ride I couldn't live."
"I'm afraid," said Slone, nervously. "There's Creech an' Cordts-- both have threatened you."
"I'm afraid of Cordts," replied Lucy, with a shiver. "You should have seen him look at me race-day. It made me hot with anger, yet weak, too, somehow. But Dad says I'm never in any danger if I watch out. And I do. Who could catch me on Sarch?"
"Any horse can be tripped in the sage. You told me how Joel tried to rope Sage King. Did you ever tell your dad that?"
"I forgot. But then I'm glad I didn't. Dad would shoot for that, quicker than if Joel tried to rope him. . . . Don't worry, Lin, I always pack a gun."
"But can you use it?"
Lucy laughed. "Do you think I can only ride?"
Slone remembered that Holley had said he had taught Lucy how to shoot as well as ride. "You'll be watchful--careful," he said, earnestly.
"Oh, Lin, you need to be that more than I. . . . What will you do?"
"I'll stay up at the little cabin I thought I owned till to-day."
"Didn't you buy it?" asked Lucy, quickly.
"I thought I did. But . . . never mind. Maybe I won't get put out just yet. An' when will I see you again?"
"Here, every night. Wait till I come," she replied. "Good night, Lin."
"I'll--wait!" he exclaimed, with a catch in his voice. "Oh, my luck! . . . I'll wait, Lucy, every day--hopin' an' prayin' that this trouble will lighten. An' I'll wait at night--for you!"
He kissed her good-by and watched the slight form glide away, flit to and fro, white in the dark patches, grow indistinct and vanish. He was left alone in the silent grove.
Slone stole back to the cabin and lay sleepless and tranced, watching the stars, till late that night.
All the next day he did scarcely anything but watch and look after his horses and watch and drag the hours out and dream despite his dread. But no one visited him. The cabin was left to him that day.
It had been a hot day, with great thunderhead, black and creamy white clouds rolling down from the canyon country. No rain had fallen at the Ford, though storms near by had cooled the air. At sunset Slone saw a rainbow bending down, ruddy and gold, connecting the purple of cloud with the purple of horizon.
Out beyond the valley the clouds were broken, showing rifts of blue, and they rolled low, burying the heads of the monuments, creating a wild and strange spectacle. Twilight followed, and appeared to rise to meet the darkening clouds. And at last the gold on the shafts faded; the monuments faded; and the valley grew dark.
Slone took advantage of the hour before moonrise to steal down into the grove, there to wait for Lucy. She came so quickly he scarcely felt that he waited at all; and then the time spent with her, sweet, fleeting, precious, left him stronger to wait for her again, to hold himself in, to cease his brooding, to learn faith in something deeper than he could fathom.
The next day he tried to work, but found idle waiting made the time fly swifter because in it he could dream. In the dark of the rustling cottonwoods he met Lucy, as eager to see him as he was to see her, tender, loving, remorseful--a hundred sweet and bewildering things all so new, so unbelievable to Slone.
That night he learned that Bostil had started for Durango with some of his riders. This trip surprised Slone and relieved him likewise, for Durango was over two hundred miles distant, and a journey there even for the hard riders was a matter of days.
"He left no orders for me," Lucy said, "except to behave myself. . . . Is this behaving?" she whispered, and nestled close to Slone, audacious, tormenting as she had been before this dark cloud of trouble. "But he left orders for Holley to ride with me and look after me. Isn't that funny? Poor old Holley! He hates to doublecross Dad, he says."
"I'm glad Holley's to look after you," replied Slone. "Yesterday I saw you tearin' down into the sage on Sarch. I wondered what you'd do, Lucy, if Cordts or that loon Creech should get hold of you?"
"I'd fight!"
"But, child, that's nonsense. You couldn't fight either of them."
"Couldn't I? Well, I just could. I'd--I'd shoot Cordts. And I'd whip Joel Creech with my quirt. And if he kept after me I'd let Sarch run him down. Sarch hates him."
"You're a brave sweetheart," mused Slone. "Suppose you were caught an' couldn't get away. Would you leave a trail somehow?"
"I sure would."
"Lucy, I'm a wild-horse hunter," he went on, thoughtfully, as if speaking to himself. "I never failed on a trail. I could track you over bare rock."
"Lin, I'll leave a trail, so never fear," she replied. "But don't borrow trouble. You're always afraid for me. Look at the bright side. Dad seems to have forgotten you. Maybe it all isn't so bad as we thought. Oh, I hope so! . . . How is my horse, Wildfire? I want to ride him again. I can hardly keep from going after him."
And so they whispered while the moments swiftly passed.
It was early during the afternoon of the next day that Slone, hearing the clip-clop of unshod ponies, went outside to look. One part of the lane he could see plainly, and into it stalked Joel Creech, leading the leanest and gauntest ponies Slone had ever seen. A man as lean and gaunt as the ponies stalked behind.
The sight shocked Slone. Joel Creech and his father! Slone had no proof, because he had never seen the elder Creech, yet strangely he felt convinced of it. And grim ideas began to flash into his mind. Creech would hear who was accused of cutting the boat adrift. What would he say? If he believed, as all the villagers believed, then Bostil's Ford would become an unhealthy place for Lin Slone. Where were the great race-horses--Blue Roan and Peg--and the other thoroughbreds? A pang shot through Slone.
"Oh, not lost--not starved?" he muttered. "That would be hell!"
Yet he believed just this had happened. How strange he had never considered such an event as the return of Creech.
"I'd better look him up before he looks me," said Slone.
It took but an instant to strap on his belt and gun. Then Slone strode down his path, out into the lane toward Brackton's. Whatever before boded ill to Slone had been nothing to what menaced him now. He would have a man to face--a man whom repute called just, but stern.
Before Slone reached the vicinity of the store he saw riders come out to meet the Creech party. It so happened there were more riders than usually frequented Brackton's at that hour. The old storekeeper came stumbling out and raised his hands. The riders could be heard, loud-voiced and excited. Slone drew nearer, and the nearer he got the swifter he strode. Instinct told him that he was making the right move. He would face this man whom he was accused of ruining. The poor mustangs hung their heads dejectedly.
"Bags of bones," some rider loudly said.
And then Slone drew dose to the excited group. Brackton held the center; he was gesticulating; his thin voice rose piercingly.
"Creech! Whar's Peg an' the Roan? Gawd Almighty, man! You ain't meanin' them cayuses thar are all you've got left of thet grand bunch of hosses?"
There was scarcely a sound. All the riders were still. Slone fastened his eyes on Creech. He saw a gaunt, haggard face almost black with dust --worn and sad--with big eyes of terrible gloom. He saw an unkempt, ragged form that had been wet and muddy, and was now dust-caked.
Creech stood silent in a dignity of despair that wrung Slone's heart. His silence was an answer. It was Joel Creech who broke the suspense.
"Didn't I tell you-all what'd happen?" he shrilled. "PARCHED AN' STARVED!"
"Aw no!" chorused the riders.
Brackton shook all over. Tears dimmed his eyes--tears that he had no shame for. "So help me Gawd--I'm sorry!" was his broken exclamation.
Slone had forgotten himself and possible revelation concerning him. But when Holley appeared close to him with a significant warning look, Slone grew keen once more on his own account. He felt a hot flame inside him--a deep and burning anger at the man who might have saved Creech's horses. And he, like Brackton, felt sorrow for Creech, and a rider's sense of loss, of pain. These horses--these dumb brutes-- faithful and sometimes devoted, had to suffer an agonizing death because of the selfishness of men.
"I reckon we'd all like to hear what come off, Creech, if you don't feel too bad to tell us," said Brackton.
"Gimme a drink," replied Creech.
"Wal, d--n my old head!" exclaimed Brackton. "I'm gittin' old. Come on in. All of you! We're glad to see Creech home."
The riders filed in after Brackton and the Creeches. Holley stayed close beside Slone, both of them in the background.
"I heerd the flood comin' thet night," said Creech to his silent and tense-faced listeners. "I heerd it miles up the canyon. 'Peared a bigger roar than any flood before. As it happened, I was alone, an' it took time to git the hosses up. If there'd been an Indian with me--or even Joel--mebbe--" His voice quavered slightly, broke, and then he resumed. "Even when I got the hosses over to the landin' it wasn't too late--if only some one had heerd me an' come down. I yelled an' shot. Nobody heerd. The river was risin' fast. An' thet roar had begun to make my hair raise. It seemed like years the time I waited there. . . . Then the flood came down-- black an' windy an' awful. I had hell gittin' the hosses back.
"Next mornin' two Piutes come down. They had lost mustangs up on the rocks. All the feed on my place was gone. There wasn't nothin' to do but try to git out. The Piutes said there wasn't no chance north--no water--no grass--an' so I decided to go south, if we could climb over thet last slide. Peg broke her leg there, an'--I--I had to shoot her. But we climbed out with the rest of the bunch. I left it then to the Piutes. We traveled five days west to head the canyons. No grass an' only a little water, salt at thet. Blue Roan was game if ever I seen a game hoss. Then the Piutes took to workin' in an' out an' around, not to git out, but to find a little grazin'. I never knowed the earth was so barren. One by one them hosses went down. . . . An' at last, I couldn't--I couldn't see Blue Roan starvin'--dyin' right before my eyes--an' I shot him, too. . . . An' what hurts me most now is thet I didn't have the nerve to kill him fust off."
There was a long pause in Creech's narrative.
"Them Piutes will git paid if ever I can pay them. I'd parched myself but for them. . . . We circled an' crossed them red cliffs an' then the strip of red sand, an' worked down into the canyon. Under the wall was a long stretch of beach--sandy--an' at the head of this we found Bostil's boat."
"Wal,--!" burst out the profane Brackton. "Bostil's boat! . . . Say, 'ain't Joel told you yet about thet boat?"
"No, Joel 'ain't said a word about the boat," replied Creech. "What about it?"
"It was cut loose jest before the flood."
Manifestly Brackton expected this to be staggering to Creech. But he did not even show surprise.
"There's a rider here named Slone--a wild-hoss wrangler," went on Brackton, "an' Joel swears this Slone cut the boat loose so's he'd have a better chance to win the race. Joel swears he tracked this feller Slone."
For Slone the moment was fraught with many emotions, but not one of them was fear. He did not need the sudden force of Holley's strong hand, pushing him forward. Slone broke into the group and faced Creech.
"It's not true. I never cut that boat loose," he declared ringingly.
"Who're you?" queried Creech.
"My name's Slone. I rode in here with a wild horse, an' he won a race. Then I was blamed for this trick."
Creech's steady, gloomy eyes seemed to pierce Slone through. They were terrible eyes to look into, yet they held no menace for him. "An' Joel accused you?"
"So they say. I fought with him--struck him for an insult to a girl."
"Come round hyar, Joel," called Creech, sternly. His big, scaly, black hand closed on the boy's shoulder. Joel cringed under it. "Son, you've lied. What for?"
Joel showed abject fear of his father. "He's gone on Lucy--an' I seen him with her," muttered the boy.
"An' you lied to hurt Slone?"
Joel would not reply to this in speech, though that was scarcely needed to show he had lied. He seemed to have no sense of guilt. Creech eyed him pityingly and then pushed him back.
"Men, my son has done this rider dirt," said Creech. "You-all see thet. Slone never cut the boat loose. . . . An' say, you-all seem to think cuttin' thet boat loose was the crime. . . . No! Thet wasn't the crime. The crime was keepin' the boat out of the water fer days when my hosses could have been crossed."