by Zane Grey
Not until the wild geese came honking back did Ina realise the end of summer was at hand. By day and by night the honkers passed, some alighting on the shores of the lake, but most of them holding their flight to the south. Their melodious cries haunted Ina; and in the blackness of night, when sleep would not come, she covered up her head so she could not hear.
Early in September her father arrived at the ranch, with his cowboys and Setter.
Ina was dismayed at sight of him. If business troubles had begun to worry him before he left, they now weighted him down. Rather than add to them, Ina held her tongue, sure in her intuitive feeling that revelations would come soon enough. She scarcely saw her father, not even at meals, and certainly did not go out of her way to meet him. Most of all she was curious about what Less Setter had told him. It was conceivable that her father’s difficulties precluded serious attention to her.
With the arrival of this party at the ranch there flourished much gossip, which Marvie heard among the cowboys and carried to Ina.
Judd and his deputy had found proofs at Ben Ide’s ranch of his guilt, so far as the rustling of cattle was concerned. They had taken his trail for the hills. Amos Ide’s stock at Silver Meadow had been sadly depleted in a July raid. Strobel, the Hammell sheriff, had approached Blaine at a rancher’s homestead, and had locked horns with him about something that was not clear. The cowboys thought Strobel was calling Blaine to some accounting. Certain it appeared that this interview upset Blaine and changed his plans. Lastly the arrival of Setter had thrown the old man into a fit of spleen that amounted almost to a serious illness. Bill Sneed avowed that Setter pestered the life out of Blaine.
At this juncture Mrs. Blaine, perhaps through sympathy and worry, became indisposed, so that Ina and Dall had to nurse her, besides do all the other work.
“Dad, let’s go home,” begged Ina, the first opportunity that offered. “It’s too cold for mother. These nights are growing a little too wintry for tents.”
“Ina, I’d gone back to Tule Lake long ago,” he replied, sombrely. “But mebbe, it’s not mine any more. So Setter says. This ranch is all I’ve got without a lien on it.”
“Dad, it isn’t possible?” exclaimed Ina.
“I don’t know. I’m muddled. But I balked on Setter. He’s naggin’ me now to make you marry him. He’s like a bulldog. Reckon I wouldn’t want you to marry him if you was willin’.”
“Thank you. Dad,” she replied, in gladness. “Now don’t you give up one more single inch. Not for anything. Just you wait.”
“Wait?... Wal, daughter, I was weakenin’ over a final deal, but, by thunder! now I’ll wait.”
September brought a skim of ice round the edges of the lake, and daily it whitened and lengthened. The autumn days were glorious with blue skies, fleecy clouds, colouring hills, and a bracing sage-scented wind.
Then’ one morning, which was so beautiful that Ina forgot the shadow which hovered over the ranch, Marvie rushed in on her.
“Judd an’ — Walker’s back,” he burst out, breathlessly. “They’re waitin’ for dad before — holdin’ a regular court.” Ina hurried to the tent of her mother, who was well again, but not very active, and found her father there. She had observed that he spent a good deal of time with her mother.
“Dad, those officers from Redlands are back and want you,” announced Ina.
“Wal, I’m glad,” he said, wearily. “If they’ll only help to clear up this mess.”
She held to his arm and walked with him, studying what was best to say.
“Dad, will you listen to me?” she appealed earnestly.
“‘Course I will, child.”
“I mean really listen,” she went on, suddenly seized by impulse. “It can’t do harm. It may do good.”
“Wal, I’ve come to a sad pass if I can’t listen serious to the lass I wanted educated.”
“Then take what I’ve worked out in my mind,” she rejoined, swiftly. “Setter means to ruin you, and poor Ben Ide along with you. For I’ll not marry Setter, even if you or Ben would let me.... But, Dad, evil as Setter is, he can’t accomplish all this. Something will happen. I can’t explain. It’s what I feel — here!... No matter what apparent facts these officers show, don’t act upon them. Don’t do anything. Just wait!”
“Lass, I’ve drunk in Setter’s honey words an’ listened to everyone ‘cept mother an’ you,” he replied, with pathos. “It’s high time I remembered that.”
They approached the office cabin together. Cowboys lounged around lazily. Saddle horses stood, heads down, dusty and weary, waiting to be led away. Bill Sneed sat on the steps and Ina thought he meant her to catch the glint of his eye. Setter stood inside, conversing intently with Judd and Walker. Ina entered beside her father and she did not miss Setter’s dark conjecturing glance.
“Mornin’, men,” said Blaine, stiffly. “What you wantin’ of me?”
“Good mornin’, Mr. Blaine,” replied Judd, in his loud voice. “We’ve got results. I’m glad to report. We found proofs in Ben Ide’s bam that he’s been stealin’ cattle. Also we took his tracks an’ found his camp up in the hills. He got wind of us some way, mebbe with a glass, an’ left his camp the night before we got there. Left supplies, clothes, hosses, and a black wild stallion he’d just broke. We lost his tracks then, but we kept ridin’ all over, an’ one day we hit upon cattle tracks in a deep canyon. We trailed them, an’ come on a herd of two hundred an’ fifty head. Most of these had Amos Ide’s A1 brand. But there were some steers belongin’ to you. Fine stock that you got in the deal for Welch’s homestead, near Silver Meadow.”
“You rounded up some missin’ stock, hey.? Wal, how’re you goin’ to fix it on Ben Ide?” rejoined Blaine.
“I just informed you,” replied Judd, testily. “We found his camp with things that identify him near a canyon full of your stolen cattle.”
“Wouldn’t amount to shucks in court,” said Blaine. “Sure he might be guilty an’ mebbe he is, but leavin’ a camp sudden means nothin’. He’s a wild-hoss hunter. What’s your other charge?”
Here Setter intervened with step forward and authoritative mien.
“We’re withholdin’ that till Ide is arrested. I expect you to appear against him.”
“Wal, I won’t do it,” declared Blaine, bluntly.
“I can force you to. I’m your partner. He stole our cattle.”
“Setter, when I go to court it’ll be to recover more than a few head of steers,” returned Blaine with enigmatic stubbornness.
“I’ll make Ide’s own father appear against him,” shouted Setter, paling with passion.
“Wal, that’d be a low-down trick,” observed Blaine, in weary amaze.
Setter cursed behind his teeth. Ina, watching him closer, felt that his case against her father and Ben was not as perfect as he wanted it. There seemed a flaw somewhere.
One thing and another, in the way of camp articles and a rider’s apparel, were brought in to exhibit to Blaine. Ina could not doubt her eyes when she was confronted with Ben’s initials burned in leather. Her heart misgave her somewhat. It was hard to be brave in the face of all this incredible animosity toward Ben Ide. Still, her father’s gruff antagonism to Judd’s arguments and Setter’s plans surprised her. It was a hopeful sign. She was not the only one surprised. Setter chafed under a restriction that he could not afford to disregard for fear he might lose prestige in the eyes of these officers.
“Mr. Blaine, will you send cowboys to Silver Canyon to drive out the stolen cattle?” inquired Judd.
“How’re the grass an’ water there?”
“Best we’ve seen in all this country.”
“Wal, better leave the stock there, anyways till Amos Ide has his say,” decided Blaine.
“We’ll send a messenger to notify Mr. Ide an’ advise him to come over here,” added Judd, with an interrogating glance at Setter.
“Good idea,” spoke up that individual. “Ide’s deep in this, too.”
&nbs
p; For the time being then there appeared to be a deadlock. Ina left the office, to wander campward, divided between a mounting emotion of hope for her father and again that strange insidious question as to the apparent contradictions in her defence of Ben. The instant it entered her consciousness she passionately repudiated it, as if she could be so low as to doubt him. She did not.
The day endured, as if minutes were hours, every one of which wore on Ina’s nerves. She had waited almost to the limit of her reserve. Something must happen any moment. She worried over the strained situation between her father and Setter. But at last the day ended and she found much-needed oblivion in sleep. Toward dawn she awoke, almost freezing. Dall had appropriated more than her share of the blankets. She dropped into slumber again, to be awakened by Marvie, at her door.
“Ina, wake up, for goodness’ sake!” he called.
“Hel-lo, Marv! What’s up?” she answered, rousing.
“Not you, by gosh! I’m sorry, Ina, but I just had to wake you. Sun ain’t up yet, either. Gee! it’s colder than blue blazes.”
“Don’t I know how cold it is? Why’d you wake me? Is dad — has anyone — has anyone — What — ?”
“Nope. Everythin’ peaceful so far as I know, ‘cause they’re all asleep. I had to wake you, Sis, ‘cause if I was a gurl in love with a wild-hoss wrangler I’d sure want to see what I’m seein’ now.”
“Marv Blaine! I’ll — I’ll—” burst out Ina, half angry and half curious.
“Ina, the lake’s ‘most froze over this mornin’ an’ wild horses are walkin’ out on the ice. Seven of them. Pretty close to Ben’s place.”
“Honest, Marv?” queried Ina, with a thrill.
“Cross my heart.”
“I’ll get up, cold or no cold. Fetch me some hot water and I’ll let you use my field-glass.”
Ina had scarcely had time to get into some warm clothes when Marvie came with the water. She handed him the field-glass in exchange and heard him plump down on her steps. Then she forgot him, to be reminded presently that he was still there.
“Omilord! Omilord!” he was uttering in ecstasy.
“Marvie, what ails you?” she called, halting in her ablutions.
“Omilord! Omilord!” he ejaculated, in tones of most intense awe and joy.
This was too much for Ina, and hastening with her toilet, and throwing on a heavy coat, she rushed out. Marvie sat hunched on her step with the glass levelled out over the lake. Ina’s gaze followed the direction thus indicated. How beautiful the white frost-coated ice! Far across the open circle of water she saw a number of horses, black against the background. They looked small, but she saw them move.
“So they’re wild horses,” she mused. “Too bad Ben’s away.”
“Omilord!” moaned Marvie.
“You goose! Are you getting as wild as Ben?”
“Ina, look — look at that leader in front!” cried the boy, leaping up to put the glass to her eyes.
It took a little time for Ina to readjust the glass and to find anything but muddy water and white level expanse of ice. Suddenly into the clear circle walked a magnificent horse, red as fire, wild as nothing Ina had ever seen.
“Oh! — Marvie! A red horse!... Is that what you saw? No wonder!... Oh, how beautiful!”
“Is that all you see?” scornfully and agitatedly queried Marvie. “He’s red — he’s a stallion.”
“Yes, I see that, Marv.”
“Well?”
“Well what, you queer boy?”
“That’s California Red — the wild stallion Ben loves,” declared Marvie, impressively.
Ina nearly dropped the glass, lost direction and object, fumbled with fingers all thumbs, laughed at her blurred eyes — and then, controlling herself, she soon found the horse again and brought him distinctly into her sight. She saw him differently now. She revelled in his colour, grace, wildness. Long she gazed.
“Now — I don’t blame Ben,” she whispered, as if in judgment on herself.
“What the dickens!’ muttered Marvie, turning away. “Who’s yellin’?”
“It’s the cowboys,” declared Ina. “See, in the bunk-house door.... Marvie, they see the wild horses. That’s what they’re yelling at.”
“Funny. Darn. I’m sorry they seen California Red on the ice. He could be ketched easy. Nobody but Ben oughta ever own Red,” declared Marvie, turning again to the lake. “By gosh! More wild horses.... I dunno, though. Sis, gimme the glass?”
The instant Marvie got the glass levelled to suit him he yelled: “Riders pilin’ down on the ice. Ina, they’re goin’ to chase Red.”
“Oh, let me see, Marvie — please!”
“Just a minnit.... Three riders on this side — two comin’ out from the river — three more on other side.... Who’n the dickens are they? I’ll bet Ben has got some fellars to help him.... Omilord! it is Ben. He’s on his grey.... Gee! look at him go! Out on the ice!”
Ina snatched the glass away from her brother, and even as she brought it to bear she heard the wild yells of the cowboys and hoarser, deeper cries following. Like Marvie, they had at once connected these horsemen with Ben. She grew tremendously excited and thrilled.
The wild horses were moving to and fro, haltingly, it seemed. Perhaps the distance caused their movements to look slow and awkward. All of them except the red stallion showed black against the white. It was difficult for her to hold the glass steady; she trembled so that she had to sit down on the steps and rest her elbows on her knees. Then she got the circle of action under clear vision and watched with palpitating heart.
California Red pranced forward and back, then moved swiftly and fell on the ice. His efforts to rise were those of a horse with crippled hind quarters. He appeared left alone. The horsemen drew closer. Ina made out the grey horse mentioned by Marvie, and though she did not recognise it she believed she recognised its rider. She strained her eyes. The lithe form and wide shoulders belonged to Ben Ide. She was unable to hold the glass so as to enclose him and the wild stallion at one and the same time. When she changed the direction it took a moment for her to find anything. Then she found California Red again and decided to keep the glass on him.
For a wild horse he acted strangely. Why did he not flee? If he was the king of all swift horses, he could escape. She wanted him to have freedom, yet contrarily she hoped Ben would gain the desire of his heart. The stallion appeared moving with mixed gait that was very ungraceful. Horsemen appeared beyond him, drawing closer. He wheeled this way, then that, and his actions were expressive of uncertainty. He was hemmed in.
All at once he seemed to lower himself, then plunged into a run. How his red mane and tail flew in the wind! Swift — he was like an arrow from a bow. Ina screamed in joy of his freedom. Suddenly he went headlong. Had he been shot? He slid over the ice. The grey horse flashed into Ina’s field of vision. His rider swayed in the saddle. Other horsemen entered the circle. From under the hoofs of the grey horse flashed white puffs, probably ice cut by the sharp iron shoes. Suddenly he plunged back on his haunches. Ina saw California Red slide to a quick stop.
“Oh, Marvie, Ben has caught him!” exclaimed Ina, in a transport.
“Gimme the glass!” shouted Marvie. “Yes — he’s down — he’s down. Ben’s horse holdin’ back.... There’s another rider close. Ropin’. Gee! I know that swing.... Ina, your California Red is a gone goslin’!... Whoopee!”
Marvie’s yell of conquest and exultation appeared strangled before full utterance. Ina saw him look and start. Then she discovered that horsemen were galloping away from the ranch.
“Aw, hell!” groaned the lad, and that was the first profane word Ina had ever heard him use. “Look!... Judd an’ Walker goin’ over to arrest Ben.”
CHAPTER XV
THE REMAINDER OF that morning, so thrillingly started, was a long-drawn-out hateful period of suspense for Ina. She spent the last of it in her tent with a coverlet over her eyes to shut out the light of day.
A little befor
e noon, Marvie, acting under her instructions, returned for her, rapping at her door.
“Ina — they’re comin’,” he said, reluctantly.
“Have — have they got Ben?” she asked, uncovering her face. “Yes. They’re a good ways down the road yet. But I seen with the glass. They’ve got Ben an’ the Indian.”
“I’ll come. I must — be there,” faltered Ina, rising.
“I should smile you will,” retorted Marvie, more like his real self. “We just gotta get mad, Ina. Wait till you see Setter down there — big cigar — swellin’ out his chest — an’ rubbin’ his hands when he thinks he ain’t seen. But I was spottin’ him.” Marvie’s resolute passion and the content of his words held strange power to inspirit Ina. She felt the shock of suddenly released blood, with its accompanying heat and accelerated pulse. She brushed her scarf, and went out to join Marvie.
He met her with a quick, intent look of pride and confidence. “Come on; we mustn’t miss nothin’ now,” he said, taking her hand. “Mother is down at the office. Setter an’ dad wanted her to sign papers. She wouldn’t. Then Setter got ugly an’ that made dad mad. He an’ Setter were havin’ it hot an’ heavy when Mr. Ide come in.”
“Ben’s father!” exclaimed Ina.
“Yes. Gee! he looked like an owl. But his comin’ stopped the row. Setter took Mr. Ide to his cabin, where they are now. Dad fired me out of his office, but I peeped in a winder. Heard him tell mother he was glad she wouldn’t sign the papers. An’ dad cussed Setter awful. ‘Somethin’ wrong about that man.’... An’ then ma said, ‘It oughtn’t be new to you.’... Then dad: ‘Wal, it’s too late. I’ll not give in. I’ll go to jail with Ben Ide. That’s what sticks in my craw — the way Setter is houndin’ this poor boy. It’s come to have a queer look.’”
“Oh, Marv, did dad say that?” whispered Ina, squeezing her brother’s hand. “Did you hear any more?”