by Zane Grey
At a touch of hand Modoc raised himself cautiously and turned his head to one side. “Ugh!” he whispered.
Nevada was harder to awaken, and noisy when he did rouse himself. “My Gawd! I dreamed I roped California Red an’ gave him to Hettie an’ you shot me!”
“Quiet! you big cowpuncher!” said Ben, bending low over him. “The wild horses are coming.”
Instantly Nevada’s lax length stiffened, and he rolled over noiselessly. “Now you’re talkin’, pard,” he whispered. “Aha! I hear them. Steppin’ along right pert.”
“Wind good. No scare. We have luck. Catch lot,” whispered Modoc.
Ben had not yet been able to get the exact direction from which the horses were coming, but he kept his gaze riveted on the grey depression where the trail ran. The sound of hoofs came faintly, then distinctly, and all but ceased — to begin again. Gradually the faint clip-clops, the sharp cracks, the clear rings augmented into a steady rhythm. Then as it ceased near at hand it seemed to move away to die in the distance. Ben knew this happened when the leaders halted and the others strung out behind gradually followed suit.
“Ugh! See ‘em,” whispered Modoc.
Dark shadows began to form in the grey obscurity. Ben felt thrilling expectation and satisfaction. Who would not be a wild-horse hunter? He preferred his state to that of kings. Yet on the instant a pang pierced his joy. No chance of California Red being leader of this band! The great stallion was not to be caught in caves.
Nevada laid a clutching hand on Ben. “Look! way over heah!” he whispered.
Ben withdrew his gaze from the grey depression out of which the dark forms were coming, and looked down upon the moon-blanched lava. A noble black stallion stood shining in the moonlight. He had come around a huge abutment ahead of the string of horses Ben had been watching. Obviously he was the leader. He looked rough and wild. But evidently his halt was only the caution of leadership. He stood motionless until a string of horses filed from behind the lava bank and another column filed up out of the grey depression, then proceeded toward the cave and disappeared over the rim. Long lines of horses followed him, blacks and greys, spotted and light, to mass in a dark group at the head of the trail. Ben heard the rattling and cracking of pieces of lava, the uneasy tramp of many hoofs. He crouched there transfixed with the excitement of the moment. Nevada was whispering to himself. The Indian rose noiselessly to his feet.
“Get ready to run!” whispered Ben, also rising.
“Give them time,” said Nevada. “Nothin’ on their minds, but a nice cold drink.”
It seemed long to Ben before the last of that black mass of horses melted over the rim. He waited in a tingling suspense until the crackling, rolling, rattling sounds became fused by distance, then gave the word to run. Ben was a swift runner and Nevada had long legs, but the Indian beat both of them to the rim and was dragging at the heavy gate when they arrived.
“All together,” whispered Ben, hoarsely, laying hold of the gate. “Now, heave.”
They staggered with the heavy burden to the wide crack in the rim. In a few more seconds the opening was covered, the huge rocks in place to hold the gate.
Then Ben stood up, wet with sweat, and stared speechlessly at the cool cowboy.
“Wal, Ben, how aboot my hunch now?” he drawled.
“Hunch?” echoed Ben.
“Shore. Aboot the change in our luck. Reckon you was so crazy you couldn’t see. But I figgered there was over a hundred haid of horses in that bunch. They’re trapped. They’re ours. Nothin’ to it but a little work. An’ what do we care for work?”
“Nevada — your hunch — must be straight,” panted Ben, sitting down and wiping his wet face. “My Heavens! how easy! It’s too good to be true.”
“Nope. It’s good enough to be true. When we ketch California Red — then you can rave. This is all just in the day’s work for us.”
“Let’s get back — from the rim,” said Ben, rising to peer into the huge shadowy abyss. One side was black in gloom, the other silver in the moonlight. The wild horses did not yet know that they had been trapped. Hollow ring of hoofs came from the cavern. It seemed tremendously deep and large, magnified by the night.
“Wal, heah’s my idea,” began Nevada, very businesslike, when they had moved back from the rim. “It’s a big haul of wild hosses. They’ll be some fine ones, an’ a lot of good stock. It’ll cost money to save them, but nothin’ compared to what they’re worth. Send Modoc to Hammell for hay an’ grain, wire an’ rope an’ nails. We’ll need a couple wagon loads of stuff. We can pack in heah from the road. While Modoc is gone we’ll cut fence posts. We’ll build a big corral. We’ll feed them hosses, an’ when we’re ready we’ll let some up into the corral where we can ketch them. A few at a time, while the main bunch down there is gettin’ used to us. Huh?”
“It’s a grand idea, Nevada,” averred Ben. “If there are as many as you think we’ll be a month and more on the job.”
“Ben, you know a bunch of hosses at night is always deceivin’,” said Nevada, seriously. “Even a small bunch will have a lot of hosses. An’ that was an awful big bunch crowdin’ to go down the trail.”
“Nevada, you’re a comforting cuss,” returned Ben, happily.
He breathed a long, deep sigh. “By golly! Some day—”
“Ahuh!” drawled Nevada, interrupting. “Don’t you try to steal my hunch. Suppose we take another little snooze.”
“Not me!” exclaimed Ben, shortly. “Dawn is not far away. I’ll sit up.”
“Wal, it’s shore nice to be in love, but I got to sleep an’ eat regular, too.”
Modoc, who had been standing to one side, suddenly uttered a low exclamation. Then he said: “More wild horse come.” Instantly Ben and Nevada became silent statues.
“Shore as you’re born,” whispered the cowboy, in elation. Ben was the last to hear the unmistakable dull thud and slow clip-clop of hoofs.
“Catch lot mote,” announced the Indian.
“By golly! Ben, we shore can,” returned Nevada, now excited. “Listen. You see the bunch we’ve trapped are far down in the cave drinkin’ an’ waitin’ for their turn. They don’t know they’re ketched. Wal, we can raise the gate, stand it to one side an’ hide close by. Some of the new hosses will go down shore.”
Ben felt the leap of temptation, but he found strength to deliberate, and attractive as the idea was he decided against it.
“We’ll let well enough alone,” he said. “A bird in the hand, you know. We might catch more. But we stand a chance to lose what we’ve got. Suppose the horses down there would start a stampede up that trail. We could never close the gate on them. It’s too risky.”
“Wal, second thought is best. I reckon you’re right,” returned Nevada, reluctantly. “An’ even if our luck held we might ketch too many to handle.”
It seemed to Ben that the moon would never go down and dawn never come. To and fro he strolled over the lava, under the pines, revolving thoughts new to him. Several times a trampling, snorting uproar came from the cave. The trap was an efficient affair, because in the upper part of the trail there was room for only one horse at a time. With the gate closed over the outlet the horses could not get started. Ben had an idea they would give up rather quickly for wild horses.
At length the moon went down and gradually the grey obscurity turned to black shadow. The darkest hour came and passed. Then a faint brightening in the east told of the approach of day. Soon the sky lightened and turned rose; the shadows paled and vanished; quickly then, it seemed, day was at hand.
Ben and his two companions crawled into a covert of brush and peeped over the rim of the cave. Nevada evidently got the first glimpse of the wild horses, for he gave Ben a tremendous punch that all but knocked both breath and sight out of him. It certainly was not because Ben discovered anything that he returned the punch with good measure. In another instant, however, he saw clearly. The white ash floor of the great hole was covered with wild horses, an
d toward the ascent where the trail started up horses were packed closely. A line of them narrowed up the trail clear to the top. They stood motionless, dejected, as if they knew their case was hopeless.
Ben drew back to relax and collect his wits. Nevada kept looking for a long time. When at length he did move back to confront Ben his face was alight with amaze and joy, and his dishevelled black hair appeared to stand on end.
“By — golly!” he whispered, hoarsely. “Did you see that bunch of hosses?”
“I — sure did — but not very clear,” replied Ben, breathlessly.
“Pard, we’re rich!”
“Oh, now, Nevada, don’t you go off your head,” whispered Ben, hurriedly.
Modoc drew back to join his two comrades. His bronze face was wreathed in a smile seldom seen there.
“Lot horses all good,” he said.
“Ben, I’m knocked into a cocked hat,” whispered the cowboy. “There’s at least a hundred an’ fifty haid in that bunch. Reckon I never seen a finer lot of wild hosses.”
“Let’s peep again, then chase back to camp and get things started,” said Ben.
This time Ben took his fill gazing, and his sober conclusion was that Nevada had not exaggerated in the least. What a splendid catch! Ben could not locate the magnificent black stallion that had been the leader, but he saw enough individually fine horses to fulfil the most exacting hopes of a wild-horse hunter.
“Reckon they might just as well have a look at us,” said Nevada, and, rising, he exposed himself on the rim. Ben got up in time to see the horses break into a trampling, whistling, plunging uproar. They surged from one side to the other, plunged at the ascent, only to press closer into a dense mass. Many on the outside ran back into the dark cavern; some pounded at the steep iron walls; those on the trail were crowded off to admit of others. A cloud of white and red dust rose to hide them. Nevada called down to the captured horses, but in the din Ben could not distinguish what he said. Drawing the cowboy back, Ben led him in the steps of Modoc, who was hurrying toward camp.
They partook merrily of a hearty breakfast. Then after Modoc had been dispatched post-haste on the important mission, Ben and Nevada set to work in grim earnest on the long, strenuous task.
During the day they often left off cutting poles and posts to walk around the rim of the cave, purposely showing themselves to the trapped horses. On each occasion a terrific mêlée ensued. The second day was like the first, and on the third the wild horses began to get used to their captors.
Modoc arrived eventually with all Ben’s pack-horses heavily laden, and he announced the wagons would reach the end of the road late that day.
It took two whole days to pack the supply of hay, grain, rope, hardware, and other supplies up to the camp. By this time the wild horses had grown thin and gaunt, but not to the extent that Ben was concerned about them.
While Ben and his comrades were in sight on the rim the wild horses would not eat the hay thrown down to them, but when morning of the next day came it had all been consumed.
With these important initial steps of the plan wholly successful, Ben and his men were jubilant, and confident of the outcome. They built a large corral around the level space on the trail side of the cave, with high fences running to the gate. Then began the strenuous job of letting out a few of the horses at a time, roping them, and breaking them sufficiently to lead them across the miles of forest and sage to Ben’s pasture on Forlorn River.
Early and late they toiled, dexterous, patient, indefatigable. Horses were skinned, bruised, lamed during the laboursome process, but not one was seriously crippled. The hardest job of all was to drive the half-broken horses across to Ben’s pasture. Nevada managed four, while Ben and Modoc had about all they wanted with three each.
Once out of the corral, these horses plunged into a run, stretching the lassoes and dragging their captors at a breakneck pace. They ran until they gave out. Then the task was to pull them the remaining distance to the pasture. This drive took half a day. Then, after a rest, the men, mounting fresh horses, rode back to their camp.
Ben lost track of days. But he knew indeed that summer had come, for the days grew hotter and hotter, and the drought correspondingly worse. The situation as regarded cattle and horses on the ranges became aggravated. If the fall rains failed this year all live stock in that section was doomed.
CHAPTER VII
FOR INA BLAINE the early summer weeks were full and sweet, despite the slow tangling of threads that bade fair to grow into an inextricable knot.
It became a certainty that she was helping her mother. Her merry presence, her patience and tact, her affection were making life easier for that perplexed woman. And Ina saw how greatly she was influencing Dall and Marvie in a situation their youthful minds could not have encompassed. Then she had become an intimate friend of Hettie Ide, to their mutual benefit. The more she saw of Hettie the more she found her to be good and lovable, the comfort and stay of a broken-hearted mother.
Over against these happy facts were arrayed others fraught with bitterness. Ina’s father, finding that he could not dominate her, had become harsh and hard, unyielding to the genuine love he bore her. The older brothers did not understand her. Kate, from being covertly jealous, had grown openly hostile, which situation, however, had been relieved by her marriage and consequent absence from home. Sewell McAdam had in no wise been discouraged by her indifference. Every Sunday he went regularly to church with the family, and spent the rest of the day with them, complacently vain in the position gossip gave him as Ina’s suitor. On these occasions he was her shadow, until Ina could scarcely conceal her disgust and chagrin. Her resentment had grown to the proportions of a revolt. The last time her father had broached the subject of marriage with McAdam he had intimated an obligation to the McAdams that was beginning to be serious. Ina had refused, appealed, protested, argued, all to no avail. She began to be afraid he might marry her to McAdam against her will, though she did not see how that could be possible.
Lastly, and most disturbing, her father had become deeply involved with Less Setter in horse dealing on a large scale, in land and cattle deals, in the foreclosing of mortgages on small ranchers forced to the wall by the unprecedented drought.
Ina’s keen ears had heard a good deal not intended for her. Less Setter was the big factor in these deals, but her father furnished the money. Several worthy ranchers had been ruined by Setter’s drastic measures. To be sure, the law was on Blaine’s side, but the consensus of opinion around Hammell appeared to be that Blaine had not gained any liking or respect through his partner’s high-handed methods. Added to all this there was a personal implication for Ina, inasmuch as Setter had been making preposterous and offensive advances to her. Ina had not told her father, because she had sensed veiled threat and power in this man’s talk. She exercised all her wits to keep out of his way, but sometimes it was impossible.
One day, early in June, Blaine announced to his family that he would close the house at Tule Lake Ranch for the summer.
“I’ve got hold of a place on Wild Goose Lake,” he said. “It’s all run down an’ cabins ain’t fit for women folks. But we’ll put up some tents for you an’ the kids.”
Marvie and Dall, who happened at the time to be in the good graces of their father, let out yelps of joy. Ina was taken aback, but she managed otherwise to hide her own amaze and delight. Mrs. Blaine did not evince any regrets at the idea of closing the big house for the summer.
“Sort of summer outin’, as they call it in town,” went on Blaine, blandly. “Lots of families with means do this nowadays. The McAdams go to Upper Klamath Lake.... Now as I expect to have large interests around Wild Goose Lake an’ up Forlorn River, we may just as well start developin’ a summer place up there. Reckon it’s about forty miles, considerable higher an’ cooler. There’s a fine grove of trees a little ways from the cabins, an’ I aim to put up the tents in it. The problem is water. But that’s a terrible problem everywhere this
year. I’ve sent well-diggers. If they fail to reach water Setter has a plan he thinks will work. So I reckon you can all pack up an’ get ready to move.”
Whereupon there followed considerable excitement and bustle in the Blaine household. Marvie’s first statement to Ina, when they were alone, proved the predominance of his ruling passion.
“Sis, the fishin’ in Forlorn River is grand. Only ten miles across the lake,” he whispered, with wide, bright eyes.
“But, Marvie, the lake and river are drying up, I hear,” replied Ina, who was conscious of disturbing and not unpleasant emotions on her own behalf.
“There’re spring holes in Forlorn River an’ the trout will collect there,” asserted the boy. “Ben Ide will show us.”
Ina found herself blushing and consciousness of the fact brought an added wave of scarlet.
“Say, Sis, you’re as red as a beet,” declared Marvie, wonderingly.
“Am I?... Oh, it’s nothing,” replied Ina, feeling her hot cheeks. But she knew it was a great deal.
Marvie leaned close to her and his loyal eyes pierced her. “Ben lives across the lake, at the mouth of the river. We can see his home from where we’ll be campin’.”
“Well, what of that?” queried Ina, smiling at him.
“Why, nothin’ much, except you can bet I’ll slip over there to see Ben, an’ take you along if you want to go.”
“Marvie, you think I’ll want to?” went on Ina, composedly. Marvie was showing depths hitherto unsuspected.
“I’ve a hunch you will,” declared the boy, bluntly. “Outside of ridin’ an’ fishin’!... Now listen, Sis. I knew about this plan of dad’s before he sprung it on us. I heard him an’ Less Setter talkin’ out by the bam. They were talkin’ about gettin’ hold of Ben Ide’s water an’ land. Dad wanted to buy from Ben, but Setter swore he was goin’ to run Ben out of the country. An’, Ina, after that I heard one of our cowboys say Setter had dad buffaloed.”