Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

“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.”

  Slone stepped back, forgotten, it seemed to him. Both joy and sorrow swayed him. He had been exonerated. But this hard and gloomy Creech — he knew things. And Slone thought of Lucy.

  “Who did cut thet thar boat loose?” demanded Brackton, incredulously.

  Creech gave him a strange glance. “As I was sayin’, we come on the boat fast at the head of the long stretch. I seen the cables had been cut. An’ I seen more’n thet.... Wal, the river was high an’ swift. But this was a long stretch with good landin’ way below on the other side. We got the boat in, an’ by rowin’ hard an’ driftin’ we got acrost, leadin’ the hosses. We had five when we took to the river. Two went down on the way over. We climbed out then. The Piutes went to find some Navajos an’ get hosses. An’ I headed fer the Ford — made camp twice. An’ Joel seen me comin’ out a ways.”

  “Creech, was there anythin’ left in thet boat?” began Brackton, with intense but pondering curiosity. “Anythin’ on the ropes — or so — thet might give an idee who cut her loose?”

  Creech made no reply to that. The gloom burned darker in his eyes. He seemed a man with a secret. He trusted no one there. These men were all friends of his, but friends under strange conditions. His silence was tragic, and all about the man breathed vengeance.

  CHAPTER XVI

  NO MOON SHOWED that night, and few stars twinkled between the slow-moving clouds. The air was thick and oppressive, full of the day’s heat that had not blown away. A dry storm moved in dry majesty across the horizon, and the sheets and ropes of lightning, blazing white behind the black monuments, gave weird and beautiful grandeur to the desert.

  Lucy Bostil had to evade her aunt to get out of the house, and the window, that had not been the means of exit since Bostil left, once more came into use. Aunt Jane had grown suspicious of late, and Lucy, much as she wanted to trust her with her secret, dared not do it. For some reason unknown to Lucy, Holley had also been hard to manage, particularly to-day. Lucy certainly did not want Holley to accompany her on her nightly rendezvous with Slone. She changed her light gown to the darker and thicker riding-habit.

  There was a longed-for, all-satisfying flavor in this night adventure — something that had not all to do with love. The stealth, the outwitting of guardians, the darkness, the silence, the risk — all these called to some deep, undeveloped instinct in her, and thrilled along her veins, cool, keen, exciting. She had the blood in her of the greatest adventurer of his day.

  Lucy feared she was a little late. Allaying the suspicions of Aunt Jane and changing her dress had taken time. Lucy burned with less cautious steps. Still she had only used caution in the grove because she had promised Slone to do so. This night she forgot or disregarded it. And the shadows were thick — darker than at any other time when she had undertaken this venture. She had always been a little afraid of the dark — a fact that made her contemptuous of herself. Nevertheless, she did not peer into the deeper pits of gloom. She knew her way and could slip swiftly along with only a rustle of leaves she touched.

  Suddenly she imagined she heard a step and she halted, still as a tree-trunk. There was no reason to be afraid of a step. It had been a surprise to her that she had never encountered a rider walking and smoking under the trees. Listening, she assured herself she had been mistaken, and then went on. But she looked back. Did she see a shadow — darker than others — moving? It was only her imagination. Yet she sustained a slight chill. The air seemed more oppressive, or else there was some intangible and strange thing hovering in it. She went on — reached the lane that divided the grove. But she did not cross at once. It was lighter in this lane; she could see quite far.

  As she stood there, listening, keenly responsive to all the influences of the night, she received an impression that did not have its origin in sight nor sound. And only the leaves touched her — and only their dry fragrance came to her. But she felt a presence — a strange, indefinable presence.

  But Lucy was brave, and this feeling, whatever it might be, angered her. She entered the lane and stole swiftly along toward the end of the grove. Paths crossed the lane at right angles, and at these points she went swifter. It would be something to tell Slone — she had been frightened. But thought of him drove away her fear and nervousness, and her anger with herself.

  Then she came to a wider path. She scarcely noted it and passed on. Then came a quick rustle — a swift shadow. Between two steps — as her heart leaped — violent arms swept her off the ground. A hard hand was clapped over her mouth. She was being carried swiftly through the gloom.

  Lucy tried to struggle. She could scarcely move a muscle. Iron arms wrapped her in coils that crushed her. She tried to scream, but her lips were tight-pressed. Her nostrils were almost closed between two hard fingers that smelled of horse.

  Whoever had her, she was helpless. Lucy’s fury admitted of reason. Then both succumbed to a paralyzing horror. Cordts had got her! She knew it. She grew limp as a rag and her senses dulled. She almost fainted. The sickening paralysis of her faculties lingered. But she felt her body released — she was placed upon her feet — she was shaken by a rough hand. She swayed, and but for that hand might have fallen. She could see a tall, dark form over her, and horses, and the gloomy gray open of the sage slope. The hand left her face.

  “Don’t yap, girl!” This command in a hard, low voice pierced her ears. She saw the glint of a gun held before her. Instinctive fear revived her old faculties. The horrible sick weakness, the dimness, the shaking internal collapse all left her.

  “I’ll — be — quiet!” she faltered. She knew what her father had always feared had come to pass. And though she had been told to put no value on her life, in that event, she could not run. All in an instant — when life had been so sweet — she could not face pain or death.

  The man moved back a step. He was tall, gaunt, ragged. But not like Cordts! Never would she forget Cordts. She peered up at him. In the dim light of the few stars she recognized Joel Creech’s father.

  “Oh, thank God!” she whispered, in the shock of blessed relief. “I thought — you were — Cordts!”

  “Keep quiet,” he whispered back, sternly, and with rough hand he shook her.

  Lucy awoke to realities. Something evil menaced her, even though this ma
n was not Cordts. Her mind could not grasp it. She was amazed — stunned. She struggled to speak, yet to keep within that warning command.

  “What — on earth — does this — mean?” she gasped, very low. She had no sense of fear of Creech. Once, when he and her father had been friends, she had been a favorite of Creech’s. When a little girl she had ridden his knee many times. Between Creech and Cordts there was immeasurable distance. Yet she had been violently seized and carried out into the sage and menaced.

  Creech leaned down. His gaunt face, lighted by terrible eyes, made her recoil. “Bostil ruined me — an’ killed my hosses,” he whispered, grimly. “An’ I’m takin’ you away. An’ I’ll hold you in ransom for the King an’ Sarchedon — an’ all his racers!”

  “Oh!” cried Lucy, in startling surprise that yet held a pang. “Oh, Creech! ... Then you mean me no harm!”

  The man straightened up and stood a moment, darkly silent, as if her query had presented a new aspect of the case. “Lucy Bostil, I’m a broken man an’ wild an’ full of hate. But God knows I never thought of thet — of harm to you.... No, child, I won’t harm you. But you must obey an’ go quietly, for there’s a devil in me.”

  “Where will you take me?” she asked.

  “Down in the canyons, where no one can track me,” he said. “It’ll be hard goin’ fer you, child, an’ hard fare.... But I’m strikin’ at Bostil’s heart as he has broken mine. I’ll send him word. An’ I’ll tell him if he won’t give his hosses thet I’ll sell you to Cordts.”

  “Oh, Creech — but you wouldn’t!” she whispered, and her hand went to his brawny arm.

  “Lucy, in thet case I’d make as poor a blackguard as anythin’ else I’ve been,” he said, forlornly. “But I’m figgerin’ Bostil will give up his hosses fer you.”

  “Creech, I’m afraid he won’t. You’d better give me up. Let me go back. I’ll never tell. I don’t blame you. I think you’re square. My dad is.... But, oh, don’t make ME suffer! You used to — to care for me, when I was little.”

  “Thet ain’t no use,” he replied. “Don’t talk no more.... Git up hyar now an’ ride in front of me.”

  He led her to a lean mustang. Lucy swung into the saddle. She thought how singular a coincidence it was that she had worn a riding-habit. It was dark and thick, and comfortable for riding. Suppose she had worn the flimsy dress, in which she had met Slone every night save this one? Thought of Slone gave her a pang. He would wait and wait and wait. He would go back to his cabin, not knowing what had befallen her.

  Suddenly Lucy noticed another man, near at hand, holding two mustangs. He mounted, rode before her, and then she recognized Joel Creech. Assurance of this brought back something of the dread. But the father could control the son!

  “Ride on,” said Creech, hitting her horse from behind.

  And Lucy found herself riding single file, with two men and a pack-horse, out upon the windy, dark sage slope. They faced the direction of the monuments, looming now and then so weirdly black and grand against the broad flare of lightning-blazed sky.

  Ever since Lucy had reached her teens there had been predictions that she would be kidnapped, and now the thing had come to pass. She was in danger, she knew, but in infinitely less than had any other wild character of the uplands been her captor. She believed, if she went quietly and obediently with Creech, that she would be, at least, safe from harm. It was hard luck for Bostil, she thought, but no worse than he deserved. Retribution had overtaken him. How terribly hard he would take the loss of his horses! Lucy wondered if he really ever would part with the King, even to save her from privation and peril. Bostil was more likely to trail her with his riders and to kill the Creeches than to concede their demands. Perhaps, though, that threat to sell her to Cordts would frighten the hard old man.

  The horses trotted and swung up over the slope, turning gradually, evidently to make a wide detour round the Ford, until Lucy’s back was toward the monuments. Before her stretched the bleak, barren, dark desert, and through the opaque gloom she could see nothing. Lucy knew she was headed for the north, toward the wild canyons, unknown to the riders. Cordts and his gang hid in there. What might not happen if the Creeches fell in with Cordts? Lucy’s confidence sustained a check. Still, she remembered the Creeches were like Indians. And what would Slone do? He would ride out on her trail. Lucy shivered for the Creeches if Slone ever caught up with them, and remembering his wild-horse-hunter’s skill at tracking, and the fleet and tireless Wildfire, she grew convinced that Creech could not long hold her captive. For Slone would be wary. He would give no sign of his pursuit. He would steal upon the Creeches in the dark and — Lucy shivered again. What an awful fate had been that of Dick Sears!

  So as she rode on Lucy’s mind was full. She was used to riding, and in the motion of a horse there was something in harmony with her blood. Even now, with worry and dread and plotting strong upon her, habit had such power over her that riding made the hours fleet. She was surprised to be halted, to see dimly low, dark mounds of rock ahead.

  “Git off,” said Creech.

  “Where are we?” asked Lucy.

  “Reckon hyar’s the rocks. An’ you sleep some, fer you’ll need it.” He spread a blanket, laid her saddle at the head of it, and dropped another blanket. “What I want to know is — shall I tie you up or not?” asked Creech. “If I do you’ll git sore. An’ this’ll be the toughest trip you ever made.”

  “You mean will I try to get away from you — or not?” queried Lucy.

  “Jest thet.”

  Lucy pondered. She divined some fineness of feeling in this coarse man. He wanted to spare her not only pain, but the necessity of watchful eyes on her every moment. Lucy did not like to promise not to try to escape, if opportunity presented. Still, she reasoned, that once deep in the canyons, where she would be in another day, she would be worse off if she did get away. The memory of Cordts’s cavernous, hungry eyes upon her was not a small factor in Lucy’s decision.

  “Creech, if I give my word not to try to get away, would you believe me?” she asked.

  Creech was slow in replying. “Reckon I would,” he said, finally.

  “All right, I’ll give it.”

  “An’ thet’s sense. Now you lay down.”

  Lucy did as she was bidden and pulled the blanket over her. The place was gloomy and still. She heard the sound of mustangs’ teeth on grass, and the soft footfalls of the men. Presently these sounds ceased. A cold wind blew over her face and rustled in the sage near her. Gradually the chill passed away, and a stealing warmth took its place. Her eyes grew tired. What had happened to her? With eyes closed she thought it was all a dream. Then the feeling of the hard saddle as a pillow under her head told her she was indeed far from her comfortable little room. What would poor Aunt Jane do in the morning when she discovered who was missing? What would Holley do? When would Bostil return? It might be soon and it might be days. And Slone — Lucy felt sorriest for him. For he loved her best. She thrilled at thought of Slone on that grand horse — on her Wildfire. And with her mind running on and on, seemingly making sleep impossible, the thoughts at last became dreams. Lucy awakened at dawn. One hand ached with cold, for it had been outside the blanket. Her hard bed had cramped her muscles. She heard the crackling of fire and smelled cedar smoke. In the gray of morning she saw the Creeches round a camp-fire.

  Lucy got up then. Both men saw her, but made no comment. In that cold, gray dawn she felt her predicament more gravely. Her hair was damp. She had ridden nearly all night without a hat. She had absolutely nothing of her own except what was on her body. But Lucy thanked her lucky stars that she had worn the thick riding-suit and her boots, for otherwise, in a summer dress, her condition would soon have been miserable.

  “Come an’ eat,” said Creech. “You have sense — an’ eat if it sticks in your throat.”

  Bostil had always contended in his arguments with riders that a man should eat heartily on the start of a trip so that the finish might find hi
m strong. And Lucy ate, though the coarse fare sickened her. Once she looked curiously at Joel Creech. She felt his eyes upon her, but instantly he averted them. He had grown more haggard and sullen than ever before.

  The Creeches did not loiter over the camp tasks. Lucy was left to herself. The place appeared to be a kind of depression from which the desert rolled away to a bulge against the rosy east, and the rocks behind rose broken and yellow, fringed with cedars.

  “Git the hosses in, if you want to,” Creech called to her, and then as Lucy started off to where the mustangs grazed she heard him curse his son. “Come back hyar! Leave the girl alone or I’ll rap you one!”

  Lucy drove three of the mustangs into camp, where Creech began to saddle them. The remaining one, the pack animal, Lucy found among the scrub cedars at the base of the low cliffs. When she drove him in Creech was talking hard to Joel, who had mounted.

  “When you come back, work up this canyon till you git up. It heads on the pine plateau. I can’t miss seein’ you, or any one, long before you git up on top. An’ you needn’t come without Bostil’s hosses. You know what to tell Bostil if he threatens you, or refuses to send his hosses, or turns his riders on my trail. Thet’s all. Now git!”

  Joel Creech rode away toward the rise in the rolling, barren desert.

  “An’ now we’ll go on,” said Creech to Lucy.

  When he had gotten all in readiness he ordered Lucy to follow closely in his tracks. He entered a narrow cleft in the low cliffs which wound in and out, and was thick with sage and cedars. Lucy, riding close to the cedars, conceived the idea of plucking the little green berries and dropping them on parts of the trail where their tracks would not show. Warily she filled the pockets of her jacket.

  Creech led the way without looking back, and did not seem to care where the horses stepped. The time had not yet come, Lucy concluded, when he was ready to hide his trail. Presently the narrow cleft opened into a low-walled canyon, full of debris from the rotting cliffs, and this in turn opened into a main canyon with mounting yellow crags. It appeared to lead north. Far in the distance above rims and crags rose in a long, black line like a horizon of dark cloud.