by Zane Grey
“But it’s so easy to hurt you. Ethel and I put up this job. We’re going to clean out your old store. But I didn’t intend to come in. Not until I saw Helen Andrews beaming upon you. That wasn’t in my program.”
“I guess I’m far from being hurt. You’re very kind. And they — —”
“Clifton, isn’t she just lovely?” interrupted Virginia. “Pure blond. You don’t see one often that is natural. Men fall for her like — like a lot of tenpins.”
“Small wonder.”
“Would you?” she flashed, jealously.
“Gee! I did, pronto!”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” rejoined Virginia, sharply. “Suppose she fell in love with you...Cliff, she’s modern, but clean, fine, unspoiled. I’m crazy about her. And rich! Why, her father could buy mine out and call it street-car fare! Besides, some relative left her millions...Suppose she were to fall in love with you?”
“Virginia, sure it’s you talking nonsense,” said Clifton, amazed at her. “You say the queerest things.”
“They wouldn’t be queer to anyone but a — a — blockhead.”
“Humph! I dare say. Well, since you insist on such a ridiculous presumption — if Miss Andrews were to fall in love with me, I’d return the compliment most darned pronto. I’ve been most gratefully content just to live. But in that event I’d pray to grow well and strong again, and handsome, if it were possible, and able to ride a horse like I used to, and everything.”
“Clifton Forrest, pretty soon you will tumble off my pedestal,” she warned, dubiously.
“Virginia, please don’t torment me with your childishness,” he said, sadly. “There’s no girl like her or you for Clifton Forrest.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she retorted, subtly relaxing. “But — how glad I am you’re better! Why, you’ve gained, Clifton! Those pale hollows in your cheeks are gone. You’ve a little color, too. And your shoulders don’t sag...And do you know, only once since I’ve been watching you here have you made that strange move with your hand across your eyes. Only once! Oh, Clifton, you are going to get well.”
Just then Malpass entered, carefully groomed and immaculate as a riding-master. Clifton guessed that he had been watching through the door. He had sloe-black, glittering eyes, a thin lined face expressive of restrained power.
“Virginia, we are wasting time here,” he said.
“You might be. We are not,” replied Virginia.
“But if we are to go in to town we can’t spend hours in this dump.”
Apparently Clifton’s presence was included in this comprehensive statement; certainly his gesture with his riding-whip was all embracing.
“I informed you one of the objects of this ride was to buy souvenirs and provisions,” said Virginia, curtly, with the red spots dancing back in her cheeks.
“You did. I inform you in turn that better souvenirs can be found at Watrous or Las Vegas. As for provisions — I’ll order them in town.”
“We prefer to buy them here.”
“We? You mean you. And your object is merely to help this poor beggar of a Forrest.”
“Whatever my object, it’s none of your business,” retorted Virginia, and now the red spots faded.
“Anything you want to do is my business,” he replied, showing his white teeth.
“That’s what you think. My father has got you walking in your sleep. You’ll wake up presently.”
Whereupon Virginia, with light pressure of her hand that still rested on Clifton’s knee, vaulted up on the counter, and flipped her skirts comfortably if not modestly. The action, if not her words, penetrated Malpass’ courteous impatience, and black lightning leaped from his eyes. But he had control over tremendous passions.
“Virginia, it will be better for you if I continue to slumber,” he said, and even his mockery was menace. “But about the provisions. As you persist, and time is precious, I’ll buy this rather dingy stock and have it hauled up to the house. What is not fit we can throw to the chickens.”
He surveyed the shelves, that indeed were not inspiring to a would-be purchaser. Then he fastened those glittering eyes upon Clifton.
“How much for this stock?”
Clifton stared coolly at Malpass. Dealing with men was something that held no confusion of mind for him.
“Well, señor — —”
“Don’t call me that,” interrupted Malpass, with a flash of passion that showed where he was vulnerable. “You address me as Mr. Malpass.”
“Is that so? I’m likely to call you something else pronto.”
Clifton felt a slight pressure of Virginia’s arm against his, and it had the effect for which it was probably intended.
“How much?” demanded Malpass, his olive skin turning ruddy.
“One thousand dollars — to you,” returned Clifton, cool and quick.
Malpass produced new bills, that had seen but little handling, and counting out a number he laid them on the counter. “I’ll have this stuff hauled away at once...Virginia, drag your friends out of here before I insult them.”
“You couldn’t insult my friends,” rejoined Virginia with incredible softness.
Malpass strode out.
“Cliff, isn’t he the limit?” queried Virginia, turning.
“He’s sure a high-class greaser,” responded Clifton, in disgust. “Maybe not so high, at that.”
“But — I’m tickled pink. We put it over on Mr. Señor Malpass...Say, didn’t he flare up at that señor?...Clifton, we made him pay for the camp grub. That’s just fine. Don’t you dare say you won’t take it.”
“Take it? I should smile I will. Why, it’s a Godsend. We’re getting poorer — —” Here he hastily checked himself to go on: “But I’m afraid I cheated him. This supply isn’t worth half that much.”
Ethel presented herself before them, packing an armful of beaded ornaments and a basketful of belts, buckles, silver buttons.
“How much, Mr. Storekeeper?” she asked, pretending to be a child.
“Nothing to you, Ethel.”
“But see here. I want to pay for these.”
“Very well. They will cost you a kiss.”
“I’ll throw that in, after I pay for them,” she retorted.
“It’s a bargain,” replied Clifton, in excitement that was not feigned. He produced a pencil and began to enumerate on a paper bag the prices of the different articles.
“Ethel, did you see Malpass bullying me?” asked Virginia.
“You bet I did. But for once he didn’t seem to crush you.”
“It was because I sat up here beside Clifton. I could have boxed his sleek ears...Ethel, don’t you think it horrid and — and cowardly of Clifton to let me be thrown away upon that man?”
“It’s a crime...Clifton, you won’t stand for that, will you? When you’re Ginia’s only friend?”
“You girls upset my figuring,” replied Clifton, imperturbably.
“Isn’t he the cold-blooded brute?” queried Ethel, in good-humored awe. “But I think I see through him.”
“Thirty-six dollars — and two bits,” summed up Clifton, at last.
“Oh, so cheap? But what’s the two bits?”
“Twenty-five cents.”
“Here you are,” counted out the girl, blithely.
Clifton did not speak of what she had agreed to throw in.
“Help me up. Ginia’s so long-legged she could step right up on this awful counter...Aren’t we having a jolly time? My kid sister and brother will be tickled with these presents, if I can part with them.”
“Ethel, we’ve bought Clifton’s stock of provisions. Never had to pay a dollar!”
“How come? I hope you didn’t let him give it to us.”
“Malpass bought it. I drove him to it.”
“Perfectly grand,” trilled Ethel, in ecstasy.
“Ethel, I dare you to call him Señor Malpass, when he comes back.”
“You’re on. Never took a dare in my life. And that
reminds me.” She peered round in front of Clifton, mischievous and daring, to see if the others were watching. They were engrossed in selection and rejection of souvenirs. “Coast’s clear.” And she raised herself swiftly to kiss Clifton plump on the cheek. “There, my debt is paid...You needn’t blush. I don’t do that as a general thing.”
Virginia bent a little to peer up into Clifton’s face.
“Cliff, if I pick out a lot of these souvenirs will you let me pay you all in Ethel’s good measure?” she asked, alluringly. “You see, I’m about broke, and it would enable me to get a lot of things I really can’t afford in cash.”
“I will not,” declared Clifton, dubiously.
Whereupon Virginia and Ethel left him, with intimate laughter and mysterious backward glances.
The upshot of this visit from Virginia and her friends was that Clifton was cleaned out of all his stores except tobacco and a few odd utensils and harness. In exchange he had a sum approaching two thousand dollars, a really staggering amount, considering that of late he had been grateful even for Mexican pennies. His mother would regard it as manna from heaven, and love Virginia Lundeen as the angel giver. Clifton wished they would hurry away so he could collect his wits.
They filled the tallyho with their purchases and the air with their happy chatter and laughter. Virginia was the only one who did not seem happy. In the confusion attending the transfer of the blankets, baskets, and other articles to the coach she shot Clifton more than one glance, the meaning of which he could not for the life of him interpret.
At last they had everything carried out, and were vacating to give room to the several Mexican laborers who had arrived. Malpass’ familiarity with Spanish became evident. Miss Andrews, her lovely face flushed with the excitement and fun, tripped in, evidently to say good-by. Virginia’s impulse to follow manifestly had been prompted by her friend’s action.
“Good-by, Mr. Forrest,” said Helen, offering her hand. “It has been a pleasure to meet a comrade of Jack’s — a real Westerner. He has promised that we shall see more of you.”
“It would please me,” replied Clifton, heartily.
“We have played havoc with your store. You must load up again for another raid...Good-by.”
“Good-by, Helen of Troy. I hope you come back,” replied Clifton, as much moved by Virginia’s disturbing presence as Helen’s graciousness.
“How’d you know I come from Troy?” asked Helen, over her shoulder. “Jack told you, I’ll bet. And I wanted you to think me a New Yorker.”
“I didn’t know. I sure didn’t mean Troy, New York.”
Helen went out glowing.
“Cliff,” spoke up Virginia, just as if she had not had a chance before, “you’d never see me if that girl was around.”
“Of course I would, Virginia. I did.”
“I believe you learned to flirt in France.”
The advent of Malpass saved Clifton a rather tantalizing retort, which was just as well not expressed. He saw at a glance that Malpass’ suavity and coolness were only skin deep so far as anything relative to Virginia Lundeen was concerned.
“Go on out, Virginia. Your friends are in the coach, ready to leave. I’ll follow, after I’ve made sure this storekeeper hands over all the goods I paid for.”
“Just what do you mean by that?” asked Clifton.
“Take it any way you like,” snapped Malpass.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not quite up to lifting down that heavy canned fruit,” returned Forrest, slowly feeling his way.
“You’re thick-headed, Forrest,” sneered Malpass. “You heard what I said. But if you take it that way, why get a move on and help down with the goods.”
“I’m not a peon,” retorted Clifton, hotly.
“You’re a clerk, and a poor one at that.”
“Señor, we understand each other. You think I’m a peon and I know you’re a greaser.”
“Clifton! — Mr. Malpass!” cried Virginia, stepping between them.
Malpass swung a riding whip over her shoulder, staggering Clifton with a smart cut across the face, which brought blood. Then thrusting Virginia aside, he struck Clifton, and following up an advantage so surprisingly easy, he knocked Clifton down.
Virginia, in a swift frenzy that was partly fright, gave Malpass a stinging slap across the mouth.
“You yellow dog! To strike a crippled soldier! My God! I despise you!”
Clifton got up, though it was all he could do. “Malpass,” he almost whispered, “beat it before I go for my gun.”
The threat had the desired effect. Malpass, recovering from ungovernable rage, leaped the counter and went out the back way.
“Go, Virginia, before somebody — comes back after you,” whispered Clifton.
“He hurt — you,” she returned, with quivering lips, and wiped the blood from the welt on his cheek.
“Not much. I’m all right — only excited and mad. Please go before — —”
“Do you suppose I care what they see or think?...You’re lying to me, Cliff. You’re white — you’re shaking.”
“Well, I reckon that’s natural,” replied Forrest, pulling himself together. He had been laboring under half a fear that Malpass might return with a gun. More than one shooting scrape had been attributed to this fortune-elevated vaquero.
“Cliff, I’ll go, but I must see you soon.”
She was clinging to him.
“Virginia, you’ve lost your head. They’ll see you!...There, Miss Andrews is at the door.”
“I’m glad she saw, anyhow,” replied Virginia, releasing her hold on him and stepping back. “Cliff, you’re a wonderful fellow — but the biggest dunce I ever knew.”
Chapter Seven
VIRGINIA WAS IN camp with her friends, high up in a sylvan glade under the dome of Old Baldy, and for the first time in weeks dared to approach happiness.
It was along toward the end of June, and for that high altitude rather early in the season. The cold nights and frosty mornings, however, made the time ideal for camping.
Climbing up there had been a severe ordeal for most of the Eastern visitors, who, outdoor people though they were, had been unused to strenuous work, let alone miles of perilous, rocky trails where horses had to be led. But once arrived at the beautiful mountain meadow, they said they would not have missed the trip for worlds.
Two green mountains sloped down from the heights, forming at the base a little open valley containing a gem of a lake surrounded by a forest of pines, a fringe of grand monarchs gradually thickening with the rise of ground into the impenetrable timber belt. At the upper end of the oval lake a small peninsula jutted out. Among the scattered pines the tents had been pitched, within sight and hearing of the white cascade that slid down from the green notch above.
At the lower end of the lake the outlet glided swiftly between brown banks, to glance over a fall and tumble with a roar into a purple gorge. Here the mountain slopes sheered away, showing the desert five thousand feet below on the other side of the range.
Of all Western views that Virginia treasured, here was her favorite. To attain it one had to climb to a ledge above the gorge. There were shady nooks under a dwarf pine, mats of brown pine needles and silver-flowered amber moss; and a scene from which no lover of the solitude and beauty and grandeur of nature could turn without regret.
Selfishly Virginia went there alone, desiring humbly to renew her allegiance. This was, she recalled, her sixth trip to this isolated fastness; and the last one, three years in the past, seemed long ago and far away. No longer was she a schoolgirl, but a woman, now, wildly in love, with an abandon that could not have been possible in her romantic teens. Yet the hero of those dreamy, girlish years was still the hero of her womanhood.
She had slipped away from Ethel and Helen, who were the only friends close enough to think of her intimately. Ethel knew her secret and Helen suspected it. Virginia loved them dearly, but she wanted to be alone, here, of all places. For the rest of her
friends she was not particularly concerned. Some were exhausted from the arduous climb, and the others were in ecstasies over this ideal spot. Jake and Con, her own cowboys, were in charge, and they had efficient help. Malpass had been left behind. Virginia had not spoken to him since his attack upon Clifton. She absolutely would not consider him in any capacity. A furious quarrel between her and her father, with Malpass present, had ended in the establishment of an armistice until such time as Virginia’s guests, all except Ethel, would leave. So this camping trip, planned as a climax in the entertainment of Eastern friends she probably would never see again, bade fair to be a great success.
Virginia was tired, not so much physically as mentally. She threw herself down in the old, comfortable, mossy spot, that had not changed, and invited the spell of loneliness, of murmuring melodious stream, of the purple depths, and lastly the vast silent and illimitable desert far below.
How she had ached to be alone! And here she was far from camp, the white tents only specks above the shining lake, under the spread of the blue heavens, in the sight of marvelously-visioned eagles, perhaps, surely of the birds and squirrels that abounded among the crags and trees. It was not only being out of sight of human kind that constituted solitude, it was the fullness of realizing that none of them knew where she was nor how much alone. The fragrant air, the gray crags, the inclines of tufted green, the bold, lofty dome of the bald mountain above, and through the wide gateway below the ribbed sweep, the endless reach, the vanishing of the desert into the dim haze of distance — these things which in that moment she shared with no one, flooded her being, pervaded her spirit, soothed her troubled soul with the ultimate essence of loneliness.
Close at hand, under her, the tips of lacy spruce trees, the downward steps of lichened blocks of granite, led into a purple glen crossed by bars of golden sunlight, by shadows of pines, whence floated upward the muffled murmur of a slow stream, reluctant to take the downward plunges. It glided brown and shallow over the flat ledge, to spread into a white foamy fan that closed again, and took a narrow leap, disappearing in rainbow-chased spray.
These sights and sounds were intimate. But it was the desert, on which at last she spent her reluctant gaze, that forced her into slow-realizing reverence. For she had grown in mind since she had watched there. She had seen great cities, states of endless farms, the gloomy, restless Atlantic, and the plains and mountains of foreign lands. Nothing like this! All so pale in comparison! What was it to see a few miles of tossing green salt waters? Here the desert air was clear, and there wandered two hundred and more miles of rock and sand, of canyon and range, of the dim, red Arizona walls that vanished in haze.