Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Howdy, Reddie.”

  “Howdy, Mr. Brite.”

  “Wal, I’ll ride along with yu an’ do my share. Everythin’ goin’ good?”

  “Oh yes, sir. I’m havin’ the time of my life,” rejoined the youth. He looked the truth of that enthusiastic assertion. What a singularly handsome lad! He looked younger than the sixteen years he had confessed to. His cheeks were not full, by any means, but they glowed rosily through the tan. In the broad sunlight his face shone clear cut, fresh and winning. Perhaps his lips were too red and curved for a boy. But his eyes were his most marked feature — a keen, flashing purple, indicative of an intense and vital personality.

  “Thet’s good. I was some worried aboot yu last night,” returned the cattleman, conscious of gladness at having befriended this lonely lad. “Have my boys been friendly?”

  “Shore they have, sir. I feel more at home. They’re the — the nicest boys I ever rode with.... All except Texas Joe.”

  “Wal, now, thet’s better. But what’s Joe done?”

  “Oh, he — he just took a — a dislike to me,” replied the lad, hurriedly, with a marked contrast to his former tone. “It always happens, Mr. Brite, wherever I go. Somebody — usually the rancher or trail boss or foreman — has to dislike me — an’ run me off.”

  “But why, Reddie? Air yu shore yu’re reasonable? Texas Joe is aboot as wonderful a fellar as they come.”

  “Is he? — I hadn’t noticed it.... He — he cussed me oot this mawnin’.”

  “He did? Wal, thet’s nothin’, boy. He’s my Trail boss, an’ shore it’s a responsibility. What’d he cuss yu aboot?”

  “Not a thing. I can wrangle these hawses as good as he can. He’s just taken a dislike to me.”

  “Reddie, he may be teasin’ yu. Don’t forget yu’re the kid of the ootfit. Yu’ll shore catch hell.”

  “Oh, Mr. Brite, I don’t mind atall — so long’s they’re decent. An’ I do so want to keep this job. I’ll love it. I’m shore I can fill the bill.”

  “Wal, yu’ll keep the job, Reddie, if thet’s what’s worryin’ yu. I’ll guarantee it.”

  “Thank yu.... An’, Mr. Brite, since yu are so good I — I think I ought to confess — —”

  “Now see heah, lad,” interrupted Brite. “Yu needn’t make no more confessions. I reckon yu’re all right an’ thet’s enough.”

  “But I — I’m not all right,” returned the lad, bravely, turning away his face. They were now walking their mounts some rods behind the remuda.

  “Not all right?... Nonsense!” replied Brite, sharply. He had caught a glimpse of quivering lips, and that jarred him.

  “Somethin’ tells me I ought to trust yu — before — —”

  “Before what?” queried Brite, curiously.

  “Before they find me oot.”

  “Lad, yu got me buffaloed. I’ll say, though, thet yu can trust me. I dare say yu’re makin’ a mountain oot of a mole hill. So come on, lad, an’ get it over.”

  “Mr. Brite, I — I’m not what I — I look — atall.”

  “No? — Wal, as yu’re a likely-lookin’ youngster, I’m sorry to heah it. — Why ain’t yu?”

  “Because I’m a girl.”

  Brite wheeled so suddenly that his horse jumped. He thought he had not heard the lad correctly. But Bayne’s face was turned and his head drooped.

  “Wha-at?” he exclaimed, startled out of his usual composure.

  Bayne faced him then, snatching the old sombrero off. Brite found himself gazing into dark, violet, troubled eyes.

  “I’m a girl,” confessed Reddie, hurriedly. “Everywhere I’ve worked I’ve tried to keep my secret. But always it was found oot. Then I suffered worse. So I’m tellin’ yu, trustin’ yu — an’ if — or when I am found oot — maybe yu’ll be my friend.”

  “Wal, I’m a son-of-a-gun!” burst out Brite. “Yu’re a girl!... Shore I see thet now.... Why, Reddie, yu pore kid — yu can just bet yore life I’ll keep yore secret, an’ be yore friend, too, if it’s found oot.”

  “Oh, I felt yu would,” replied Reddie, and replaced the wide sombrero. With the sunlight off those big eyes and the flushed face, and especially the rebellious red-gold curls she reverted again to her disguise. “Somehow yu remind me of my dad.”

  “Wal now, lass, thet’s sweet for me to heah. I never had a girl, or a boy, either, an’ God knows I’ve missed a lot.... Won’t yu tell me yore story?”

  “Yes, some time. It’s a pretty long an’ sad one.”

  “Reddie, how long have yu been masqueradin’ as a boy rider?”

  “Three years an’ more. Yu see, I had to earn my livin’. An’ bein’ a girl made it hard. I tried everythin’ an’ I shore hated bein’ a servant. But when I grew up — then it was worse. ‘Most always boys an’ men treated me fine — as yu know Texans do. There was always some, though, who — who wanted me. An’ they wouldn’t leave me free an’ alone. So I’d ride on. An’ I got the idee pretendin’ to be a boy would make it easier. Thet helped a lot. But I’d always get found oot. An’ I’m scared to death thet hawk-eyed Texas Joe suspects me already.”

  “Aw no — no! Reddie, I’m shore an’ certain not.”

  “But he calls me Girlie Boy!” ejaculated Reddie, tragically.

  “Thet’s only ‘cause yu’re so — so nice-lookin’. Land sakes! If Texas really suspected he’d act different. All these boys would. They’d be as shy as sheep.... Come to think of thet, Reddie, wouldn’t it be better to tell Texas Joe an’ all of them?”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake! — please — please don’t, Mr. Brite.... Honest, we’d never get to Dodge!”

  Brite greeted this appeal with a hearty laugh. Then he recalled Moze’s talk about the Uvalde boys. “Wal, maybe yu’re right. ... Reddie, I’ve a hunch now thet hombre Wallen knows yu air a girl.”

  “Yu bet he does. Thet’s the trouble.”

  “In love with yu?”

  “Him!... Why, Wallen’s too low to love anyone, even his own kin, if he ever had any.... He hails from the Big Bend country, an’ I’ve heahed it said he wasn’t liked around Braseda. He claims he bought me with a bunch of cattle. Same as a nigger slave! I was ridin’ for John Clay, an’ he did let me go with the deal. Wallen made thet deal ‘cause he’d found oot I was a girl. So I ran off an’ he trailed me.”

  “Reddie, he’d better not follow yore trail up this way.”

  “Would yu save me?” asked the girl, softly.

  “Wal, I reckon, but Texas Joe or Pan Handle would have thet hombre shot before I could wink,” declared the cattleman, in grim humor.

  The girl turned an agitated face to him. “Mr. Brite, yu make me hope my dream’ll come true — some day.”

  “An’ how, Reddie?”

  “I’ve dreamed some good rancher — some real Texan — would adopt me — so I could wear girl’s clothes once more an’ have a home an’ — an’ — —”

  Her voice trailed away and broke.

  “Wal, wal! Stranger things than thet have happened, Reddie,” replied Brite, strangely stirred. On the moment he might have committed himself to much but for an interruption in the way of distant gun shots.

  “Rumpus over there, Mr. Brite,” suddenly called Reddie, pointing to a huge cloud of dust over the west end of the herd. “Yu better ride over. I’ll take care of the hawses.”

  Putting spurs to his mount, Brite galloped in the direction indicated. Hallett and Little were not in sight, and probably had been obscured by the dust. A low roar of trampling hoofs filled his ears. The great body of the herd appeared intact, although there were twisting mêlées of cattle over toward the left on the edge of the dust line. Brite got around the left wing to see a stream of long-horns pouring out of the main herd at right angles. The spur was nearly a mile long, and bore the ear marks of a stampede. With too few drivers the danger lay in the possibility of the main herd bolting in the opposite direction. Except in spots, however, they were acting rationally. Then Brite observed that already the
forward drivers had the stream curving back to the north. He became conscious of relief, and slowed up to take his place behind the most exposed section of the herd. All across the line the cattle were moving too fast. A restlessness had passed through the mass. It was like a wave. Gradually they returned to the former leisurely gait and all appeared well again. Little rode past at a gallop and yelled something which Brite did not distinguish.

  The drive proceeded then in its slow, orderly procession, a time-swallower, if no more. Hours passed. The warm sun began its westering slant, which grew apace, as did all the details of driving, the rest and walk and jog, the incessant stir of cattle, the murmur of hoofs, the bawl of cows, the never-failing smell of dust, manure, and heated bodies, and ever the solemn sky above and the beckoning hills, the dim purple in the north.

  In another hour the great herd had surrounded a little lake in the center of an immense shallow bowl of range land. Trees were conspicuous for their absence. Moze had wisely hauled firewood, otherwise he would have had to burn buffalo chips for fuel. Brite walked his horse a mile along the left flank before he reached the chuck-wagon and camp. These were at the head of the lake, from which slight eminence the whole center of the depression could be seen. Gramma grass was fair, though not abundant. The cattle would need to be herded this night.

  Reddie Bayne came swinging along on the beautiful black, always a delight to a rider’s eye. Reddie reined in to accommodate Brite’s pace.

  “Heah we air, the long day gone an’ camp once more. Oh, Mr. Brite, I am almost happy,” declared Reddie.

  “There shore is somethin’ sweet aboot it. Make the best of it, Reddie, for God only knows what’ll come.”

  “Ah! There’s thet Texas Joe!” exclaimed Reddie as they neared camp. “Looks mighty pert now. I reckon he’s pleased with himself for turnin’ thet break back.... Boss, what’ll I do when he — he gets after me again?”

  “Reddie, don’t be mealy-mouthed,” advised Brite, low-voiced and earnest. “Talk back. Be spunky. An’ if yu could manage a cuss word or two it’d help a lot.”

  “Lord knows I’ve heahed enough,” replied Reddie.

  They rode into camp. Texas Joe had thrown off sombrero, vest, and chaps, and gun-belt as well. It occurred to Brite that the tall amber-eyed, tawny-haired young giant might well play havoc with the heart of any fancy-free girl.

  “Wal, heah yu air, boss,” he drawled, with his winning smile. “Fust I’ve seen yu since mawnin’. Reckoned yu’d rode back to Santone.... It shore was a good drive. Fifteen miles, an’ the herd will bed down heah fine.”

  “Texas, I got sort of nervous back there,” replied Brite as he dismounted.

  “Nothin’ atall, boss, nothin’ atall. I’d like to inform yu, though, thet this heah Pan Handle Smith might have rode up this Trail with Jesse Chisholm an been doin’ it ever since.”

  “Thanks, Joe. I hardly deserve thet,” rejoined the outlaw, who appeared to be getting rid of the dust and dirt of the ride.

  Lester Holden was the only other driver present, and he squatted on a stone, loading his gun.

  “I had fo’ shots at thet slate-colored old mossy-horn. Bullets jest bounced off his haid.”

  “Boys, don’t shoot the devils, no matter how mean they air. Save yore lead for Comanches.”

  “Wal, if there ain’t our Reddie,” drawled Texas Joe, with a dancing devil in his eye. “How many hawses did yu lose, kid?”

  “I didn’t count ’em,” replied Reddie, sarcastically.

  “Wal, I’ll count ’em, an’ if there’s not jest one hundred an’ eighty-nine yu’re gonna ride some more.”

  “Ahuh. Then I’ll ride, ‘cause yu couldn’t count more’n up to ten.”

  “Say, yu’re powerful pert this evenin’. I reckon I’ll have to give yu night guard.”

  “Shore. I’d like thet. But no more’n my turn, Mister Texas Jack.”

  “Right. I’m mister to yu. But it’s Joe, not Jack.”

  “Same thing to me,” returned Reddie, who on the moment was brushing the dust off his horse.

  “Fellars, look how the kid babies that hawse,” declared Shipman. “No wonder the animal is pretty.... Dog-gone me, I’ll shore have to ride him tomorrow.”

  “Like bob yu will,” retorted Reddie.

  “Say, I was only foolin’, yu darned little pepper-pot. Nobody but a hawse thief ever takes another fellar’s hawse.”

  “I don’t know yu very well, Mister Shipman.”

  “Wal, yu’re durned liable to before this drive is much older.”

  Somehow, Brite reflected, these two young people rubbed each other the wrong way. Reddie was quite a match for Texas Joe in quick retort, but she was careful to keep her face half averted or her head lowered.

  “Reckon we’ll all know each other before we get to Dodge.”

  “Ahuh. An’ thet’s a dig at me,” replied Texas Joe, peevishly. “Dog-gone yu, anyhow.”

  “Wal, haven’t yu been diggin’ me?” demanded Reddie, spiritedly.

  “Sonny, I’m Brite’s Trail boss an’ yu’re the water-boy.”

  “I am nothin’ of the sort. I’m the hawse-wrangler of this ootfit.”

  “Aw, yu couldn’t wrangle a bunch of hawg-tied suckin’ pigs. Yu shore got powerful testy aboot yoreself, all of a sudden. Yu was meek enough this mawnin’.”

  “Go to hell, Texas Jack!” sang out Reddie, with most exasperating flippancy.

  “What’d yu say?” blustered Texas, passing from jest to earnest.

  “I said yu was a great big, sore-haided, conceited giraffe of a trail-drivin’ bully,” declared Reddie, in a very clear voice.

  “Aw! Is thet all?” queried Texas, suddenly cool and devilish. Quick as a cat he leaped to snatch Reddie’s gun and pitch it away. Reddie, who was kneeling with his back turned, felt the action and let out a strange little cry. Then Texas fastened a powerful hand in the back of Reddie’s blouse, at the neck, and lifted him off his feet. Whereupon Texas plumped down to draw Reddie over his knees.

  “Boss, yu heahed this disrespectful kid,” drawled Texas. “Somethin’ shore has got to be done aboot it.”

  CHAPTER IV

  THE ASTOUNDING THING to the startled Brite was the way Reddie lay motionless over the knees of the cowboy, stiff as a bent poker. No doubt poor Reddie was petrified with expectation and horror. Brite tried to blurt out with a command for Texas to stop. But sight of that worthy’s face of fiendish glee completely robbed the cattleman of vocal powers.

  “Pan Handle, do you approve of chastisement for unruly youngsters?” queried Texas.

  “Shore, on general principles,” drawled Smith. “But I reckon I cain’t see thet Reddie has been more than sassy.”

  “Wal, thet’s it. If we don’t nip him in the bud we jest won’t be able to drive cattle with him babblin’ aboot.”

  “Lam him a couple, Tex,” spoke up Lester. Reddie’s all right, I reckon, only turrible spoiled.

  Texas raised high a broad, brown, powerful hand.

  “Shipman — don’t yu — dare — smack me!” cried Reddie, in a strangled voice.

  But the blow fell with a resounding whack. Dust puffed up from Reddie’s trousers. Both her head and feet jerked up with the force of the blow. She let out a piercing yell of rage and pain, then began to wrestle like a lassoed wildcat. But Texas Joe got in three more sounding smacks before his victim tore free to roll over and bound erect. If Brite had been petrified before, he was now electrified. Reddie personified a fury that was beautiful and thrilling to see. It seemed to Brite that anyone but these thick-headed, haw-hawing drivers would have seen that Reddie Bayne was an outraged girl.

  “Oh-h-h! Yu devil!” she screamed, and jerked for the gun that had been on her hip. But it was gone, and Lester had discreetly picked it up.

  “Ump-umm, kid. No gun-play. This heah is fun,” said Lester.

  “Fun — hell!” Then quick as a flash Reddie leaped to deal the mirth-convulsed Texas a tremendous kick on the shin. That was a h
orse of another color.

  “Aggh-gh-gh!” roared Texas, clasping his leg and writhing in agony. “Aw, my Gawd!... My sore laig!”

  Reddie poised a wicked boot for another onslaught. But she desisted and slowly settled back on both feet.

  “Huh! So yu got feelin’s?”

  “Feelin’s? — Say, I’ll — be — daid in a minnit,” groaned Texas. “Kid, thet laig’s full of lead bullets.”

  “If yu ever touch me again I’ll — I’ll fill the rest of yore carcass with lead.”

  “Cain’t yu take a little joke?... Shore I was only in fun. The youngest driver always gets joked.”

  “Wal, Texas Jack, if thet’s a sample of yore trail-drivin’ jokes, I pass for the rest of the trip.”

  “But, say, yu ain’t no better than anybody else,” protested Texas, in a grieved tone. “Ask the boss. Yu wasn’t a good fellar — to get so mad.”

  Reddie appealed voicelessly to the old cattleman.

  “Wal, yu’re both right,” declared Brite, anxious to conciliate. “Tex, yu hit too darned hard for it to be fun. Yu see Reddie’s no big, husky, raw-boned man.”

  “So I noticed. He certainly felt soft for a rider.... Kid, do yu want to shake an’ call it square? I reckon I got the wust of it at thet. Right this minnit I’ve sixteen jumpin’ toothaches in my laig.”

  “I’d die before I’d shake hands with yu,” rejoined Reddie, and snatching up her sombrero, and taking her gun from the reluctant Lester, she flounced away.

  “Dog-gone!” ejaculated Texas, ruefully. “Who’d took thet kid for such a spitfire? Now I’ve gone an’ made another enemy.”

  “Tex, yu shore was rough,” admonished Brite.

  “Rough? Why, I got mine from a pair of cowhide hobbles,” growled Texas, and getting up he limped about his tasks.

  Presently Moze called them to supper, after which they rode out on fresh horses to relieve the guard. Deuce Ackerman reported an uneasy herd, owing to the presence of a pack of wolves. Brite went on guard, taking a rifle with him. He passed Bayne’s black horse. The remuda had bunched some distance from the herd. It was still warm, though the fiery-red sun had gone down behind the range. Brite took up his post between the horses and cattle, and settled to a task he had never liked.