Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  Two weeks passed by. Ben experienced amaze when he counted up the little sticks he had laid aside, one for each passing day. Yet he might have realised the approach of autumn in the cold mornings and the changing hues of vine and oak leaves. Modoc reported thick ice on the water in the cave from which he supplied their needs. Another proof of the changing season was the fact that deer were coming down from the heights. Modoc shot one from the camp. Ben saw deer often, and heard them every night. They knew the trail to the cave where the rustlers hid.

  One afternoon Modoc returned from his daily visit to the horses, and he wore a sombre visage.

  “Wal, Injun, what’s up?” queried Nevada.

  Ben gazed at his faithful comrade with a slow sinking of his heart.

  “Bad,” said the Indian, slowly. “Modoc no want tell.”

  “Don’t keep anything from me,” returned Ben.

  “Red stallion drink at our trap cave.”

  “Red stallion! You mean California Red?” shouted Ben, starting up wildly.

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, you dam redskin, what’d you tell him for?” yelled Nevada, furiously.

  “Me always tell boss,” replied the Indian.

  “Aw, Lord! if that ain’t hard luck,” wailed Nevada, suddenly falling back as if all was over.

  Ben leaned on a trembling elbow to stare breathlessly at the Indian. One flash of thought, following his realisation of the wonderful truth that California Red had at last been driven to the caves, was sufficient to warn him that if he vacillated a single moment he would be lost. It wrenched him to make a decision that would preclude any weak surrender to growing temptation.

  “Modoc, take your axe — destroy that trap gate,” he said, hoarsely, and then without a word turned back to his watching task ‘Water’ most gone in hoss cave,” returned Modoc. “Soon California Red have go winter range.”

  Ben did not reply, and strange to see, Nevada for another rare occasion had been rendered speechless. Resolutely Ben forced his mind to dwell upon other things. He knew it was not safe to think of California Red. But nothing except thought of Ina, which he had also prohibited himself, could keep him from longing memory of this noblest of wild horses. Therefore Ben admitted again to his consciousness the sweet face of Ina Blaine, her avowed love, her willing kisses. And then, though he stared at the black cave which held the rustlers, he thought only of this girl who had roused him to significant life.

  The day came when neither sound nor smoke emerged from the doorway of Bill Hall’s cave refuge.

  This stirred Ben and Nevada to conjecture. Had the rustlers used up all their wood? Why did they no longer speak aloud? Could it be possible they had at last found an exit from their hiding-place?

  “Shore it’s a trick,” averred Nevada, stoutly. “Bet they’ll keep it up till they’re starved out. You see, Ben, it’s wearin’ on our nerves when we don’t heah or see them. Hall savvies that. He’s smart. Mebbe he thinks we cain’t stand uncertainty. I’ll agree it’s tough.”

  “It doesn’t follow because they’re out of wood that they’re out of grub,” said Ben, ponderingly.

  “Nope. An’ if Hall had any say with his men he’d shore make them eat light. But that’s our weakness. Waitin’ without knowin’. Some fellars would have to make shore by slippin’ down there. Not us! We’ll hang right heah.”

  Ten more days passed by — days of slow, patient watching, with a gradually growing suspense. September had come. The sugar and coffee were gone. Ben and his allies were living on bread and meat and water, some parched corn and dried apples. But they did not suffer from that. Ben got to the point where he ate only once a day.

  One morning the sun did not show. A grey pall of cloud had swept down from the heights. The cold air bore a suggestion of snow. Nevada was hopeful that the long drought would be broken. Ben echoed that wish. Modoc, however, said: “Mebbe so — not soon.” And toward evening the grey curtain broke and blew away.

  More days passed, becoming interminable, endless. No sound or sign of the rustlers! It seemed impossible that they could be hidden down there still alive. But Ben, who suffered most under the strain, realised that it was probably easier for the besieged than the besiegers. Hall had no uncertainty. His only chances were for his captors to quit or else risk entering the cave.

  Modoc discovered a hole in a lava bank some distance away, and he said it might have connection with the cave they were guarding. Ben had to see it. Leaving Nevada on the lookout, he followed Modoc through the forest, down over a grassy and pine-needle descent of lava to a wide shallow depression, almost a gorge in dimensions. Here Modoc led Ben to a small black hole. A cool wind blew from it, proving that it had another opening somewhere. Ben listened intently beside the hole for a long time. Absolute silence was the fruit of his effort.

  “Modoc, you go back to Nevada,” he said, finally, and he leaned there until the Indian had disappeared from sight. Then removing his coat and boots, and with gun in hand, he crawled into the cave, careful to be absolutely noiseless.

  He felt that the floor consisted of large slabs of lava, too heavy to move with his weight. Therefore he was able to proceed silently. The roughness of the lava, however, hurt his hands and knees. When he turned round he found he had progressed only forty or fifty feet from the opening, and it had seemed that he had come a long way. Looking backward enabled him to see the grim walls near the hole. They appeared to open and spread into an enormous cave.

  Crawling on very cautiously, he attained at length another fifty feet. Then he crouched in pitch blackness. The air was cold and dark. Behind him the aperture where he had come in looked small and far away. He reasoned that it would never do to go out of sight of this exit. Besides, the floor began to slant downhill, and the rocks of lava to become small enough to stir and grate under him. Still he kept on, intense in his desire to hear, if possible, something of the rustlers. The door at the back shrunk to a pin-point.

  A few more feet, Ben thought, would be all he could dare. But he did not progress even another yard. Suddenly his free hand reached into a void. He lowered it, and as it found no support he slipped and almost lost his balance. Holding tight with his knees and toes and one hand, he moved the other, to feel that he had come to an abrupt break in the lava floor. Gradually he worked back a little, then relaxed to pant and tingle. Cold sweat broke out upon him. What a ghastly black pit!

  When he recovered he detached a piece of lava from a slab and dropped it over into the abyss. Presently he heard it rattle, far below. That hole was deep, and evidently straight down. Other bits, thrown in different directions, apparently proved a precipice of no small dimensions. One piece of lava alighted in water. Ben assured himself that no human beings could ever have escaped from there without help. This gave him such relief and joy that he thought the risk he had incurred was well worth while.

  Then he sat up in more comfortable posture and gave himself over to intense listening. Again he felt the cool wind, coming from somewhere. It was dry. It smelled of lava. The silence was deathly, and the blackness was appalling. Ben endured them for perhaps an hour — surely one of the broadening hours of his life. He might as well have been in the bowels of the earth. He was in a deep lava cave that had existed for perhaps a million years. Nature was most mysterious and inscrutable. How easy there in the terrible solitude and silence, in the impenetrable night, to believe in God!

  Laboriously Ben crawled back to the exit and out. When had he ever been so grateful for sunlight, blue sky, green trees? He pitied Hall and his men. They were indeed indomitable.

  Ben returned to camp and the unwearied Nevada. “Say,” he began, reprovingly, “you stayed away long enough for me to get plugged.”

  “Pard, I crawled down into a cave. Got my belly full of caves — don’t you forget! But I’m satisfied Hall and his gang are here yet.”

  “Shore. An’ I’ll bet we heah from them pronto.”

  At dawn next morning Ben came on watch to relieve Mo
doc.

  “Pard, I shore heahed a boot down there,” whispered Nevada.

  Ben had no time to utter a glad reply. From the black depths of the cave pealed a husky voice.

  “Hey, up thar!”

  “Good mawnin’, Bill,” yelled Nevada, clutching his rifle and leaning over it.

  “You still up thar?”

  “Shore as shootin’. Just settlin’ down now to real waitin’.”

  “Wal, damn you — we’re starved out. What’s your terms?”

  “No terms. Bill. Come walkin’ out — one of you at a time — an’ pitch your guns way ahaid of you on the ground.”

  “You agree not to shoot?” went on the hoarse voice.

  “Shore not, unless you get tricky,” replied Nevada, sharply.

  “All right.... Got any grub?”

  “Shore have. Venison steak an’ hot biscuits an’ black coffee with cream an’ sugar — mashed potatoes an’ gravy — an’ apple pie—”

  “Shut up, you lyin’ Southerner,” shouted Hall, huskier than ever. “We surrender an’ we’re comin’.”

  Ben’s piercing gaze caught a moving shadow that merged into the burly form of the rustler leader. He strode fearlessly into the light of the shelving cavern, carrying his gun by the barrel. When he reached the open he pitched the gun into the middle of the hole. Bareheaded, unkempt, dirty, and haggard, he looked the terrible havoc of those weeks.

  “Fine, Bill,” shouted Nevada. “Step out an’ over to your right. Stick your hands up.... There. Now call out your men, one at a time.”

  “Come out, Jenks, an’ do the same as me,” called the leader.

  A tall, ragged ruffian appeared, and flinging his gun with an oath took a stand beside Hall, with gaunt, hungry face exposed to the light. The third form in line was a young stalwart man with blond locks and yellow beard. And the fourth was slight of build and as dark as a Mexican. The last came out slowly with a limp, proving manifestly that he was the crippled rustler.

  “Where’s your rifles?” queried Nevada, whose sharp eye did not miss anything.

  “Down thar,” replied Hall, wagging his huge head toward the cave.

  “Wal, let one fellar go back an’ pack them up an’ pile them with your other guns.”

  This order was soon complied with, whereupon Nevada rose, rifle held in readiness, and told Ben and Modoc to remove the obstruction from the trail.

  “Now, Hall, come up pronto,” continued Nevada. “An’, Ben, when he gets up you cover him with a gun, make him set down so Modoc can tie his feet.”

  It seemed to the exultant and tingling Ben that in a very few moments the five rustlers sat with feet securely bound. What a ghoulish crew! Their ragged garb and unkempt hair and beards, their smoke-blackened, weary faces and hungry eyes, attested to the ordeal that had at last driven them to succumb “Jest three of you?” queried Hall, gruffly.

  “Shore. What you want?” drawled Nevada. “But we got some outfits comin’. Ben, heah, is the son of the man whose cattle you had in Silver Canyon.”

  “Hey, air you Ben Ide?” asked Hall, bending his evil, intelligent eyes upon Ben.

  Ben nodded, not with any evident enthusiasm. It struck him that Bill Hall had heard of him.

  “Wal, now you got us, what’re you a-goin’ to do?’’ demanded Hall, turning back to Nevada.

  “Bill, you’re goin’ first to Hart Blaine’s ranch. We want you to face a fellar named Less Setter. Ever meet him?”

  “Wal, I’m not gabbin’ about it now,” replied Hall.

  “Ahuh. Shore there’s no hurry aboot talkin’. I’m a close-mouthed cuss myself.”

  “All right. Feed us.”

  “See heah. Hall. You’ve been out of grub for days?”

  “Not more’n five or six. But we’re damn hungry.”

  “Hadn’t you better go a little easy on eatin’ first oft? Stuffin’ yourself now might kill you. I’ve heard of starved men—”

  “We’ll risk thet. Rustle some of thet grub you sang about.”

  “Wal, we’re not goin’ to risk it, you bet,” declared Nevada. “But we’ll feed you a little — three times to-day. More tomorrow an’ then good square meals.”

  Nevada’s next move was to replenish the camp fire. Ben went to his assistance. Modoc was dispatched to fetch up the rustlers’ guns and saddles, after which he was to go for the horses. While Nevada worked he kept close watch upon the five men. Ben caught Hall’s curious gaze fixed upon him more than once.

  Excitement and strenuous labour, with the unexpected in hazard always impinging, made the ensuing hours like moments to Ben.

  Not until he was in the saddle in the rear of a string of bound rustlers did he have leisure to see the actual evidences of this wonderful enterprise and to dwell upon the incredible good they represented to him. Then he soared to the blue skies. Toil and weariness were as if they had never been. He dared again to think of Ina — of the precious reward she would bestow upon him for this deed. To defeat that crafty Setter! To show Ina’s father what her lover was made of! To meet his own father and see him shamed and sorry! To keep his promise to his mother! These thoughts were sweet — sweeter than any that had ever engulfed him in irresistible emotion. He lived as many changes of them as he passed trees of the forest. His mind was full while he performed his duty as the rear guard of that cavalcade.

  Nevada was leading the way and it was his dominant will in command. Ben felt content to obey orders.

  “We’ll take a rest an’ eat at the edge of the woods,” Nevada had decided. “Feed the hosses all the grain left an’ empty the water bags. That’ll let us travel light. We’ll ride all night an’ get to Forlorn River by sun-up.”

  Not long after dark they were on the move again and found cool travel by night much preferable to that by day.

  Hall, the rustler leader, was loquacious and inclined to belittle the capture of his outfit. He did not address Nevada, but it was plain he wanted to talk with Ben. They trotted and walked the horses out across the flat sage country, and as the night wore on the air grew colder. Fortunately there was no wind; if there had been the riders, especially those with hands and feet bound, would have suffered severely. Ben wanted to talk to Hall, but had decided to wait until he had seen the rustler face Setter. Something would come of that.

  They rode on and the night grew colder. White frost sparkled under the starlight. The sharp iron shoes of the horses rang with metallic clink on the stones. Modoc was far ahead with the pack-animals. Nevada rode in front of the rustlers, his rifle across his saddle, and every moment or so he would turn to look at them. Ben kept close behind Hall, who was the last in the string of bound riders.

  Ben watched for the paling of the stars. When it came he was thrilled anew. Dawn was not far away. Soon he would be home, and then not far from the Blaine ranch and Ina.

  Mule Deer Lake shone ghastly white in the wan starlight. It was frozen. The sight augmented Ben’s consciousness of cold, and it surprised him, too. But he reflected he had once seen ice on Forlorn River at an earlier date than this. Nature seemed relentless. The drought had been terrible, but now ice had been added. What would become of the deer, the cattle? It hurt him like physical torture to think of wild horses dying of thirst.

  The stars paled in the grey dome. After a dark hour the east lightened and over the black ranges came the dawn. How bitterly cold!

  Progress was very slow, not because of lagging horses, for they were in fine fettle, but owing to the gradual weakening of the injured rustler.

  Bright daylight came while the cavalcade drew close to Ben’s ranch. They passed between the empty pasture and the frozen river. All the doors of the barn and the gates of the corral were open. Surely Frisbie had not done that. The cabin door, too, was open. Ben was about to declare himself forcibly when he saw Modoc rise in his stirrups as if to peer across the lake, then duck down quickly. Ben, sensing something most unusual, rode quickly by the rustlers to face Modoc, who had turned. Nevada was peeping o
ver the rise of ground to the lake.

  “What do you see?” demanded Ben.

  “Wild red stallion — way out on ice,” replied the Indian, impressively.

  “California Red.’... On THE ICE?” cried Ben, poignantly “Shore’s you’re born, pard,” returned Nevada, lowering himself into his saddle. “Only six hosses with him. The lake’s frozen ‘cept for circle in centre. They’re talcin’ a drink. Look!”

  “No,” whispered Ben, but he had not the will to do what he divined he should. Raising himself in the stirrups, he peered over the edge of the bluff. Wild Goose Lake was white with ice, and everywhere tufts of bleached grass stood up. Far out, perhaps two miles, he espied horses. Wild! He knew the instant his eyes took in the graceful slim shapes, the flowing manes and tails, the wonderful posture of these horses.

  California Red stood at the edge of the ice. He was not drinking. Even at that distance Ben saw the noble wild head high.

  “Nevada, watch Hall,” said Ben, and fumbled at the leather thongs which secured his field-glass to the saddle. He loosened it, got it out of the case, levelled it. But his hands shook so he could see only blurred shapes. Fiercely he controlled himself and brought the round magnifying circle of glass to bear upon horse after horse, until California Red stood clear and beautiful.

  Red as a flame! Wilder than a mountain sheep! Ben saw him clear and close, limned against the white ice, big and strong, yet clean-limbed as any thoroughbred racehorse. While his band drank he watched. To what extremity had he been brought by the drought!

  Ben fell limp into his saddle. Any other time in his life but this! What irony of fate! But he knew in another flash that he could not pass by this opportunity, cost what it might.

  “Well, pard, it’s shore tougher than any deal we ever got,” said Nevada, in distress. “California Red on the ice! We always dreamed we’d ketch him waterin’ on a half-froze lake, an’ lay a trap for him, or get enough riders to run him down.”