Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  Laramie sheathed his gun, and plodded over to his horse, to kick the stirrup straight and step into the saddle. Then he surveyed the scene. Arlidge lay flat on his back, one arm flung wide. His right arm lay across his body and his hand clutched the half-drawn gun. The years rolled back. Always Laramie had known this thing would come. What had held it back these last incomprehensible months? Once again thought impinged upon that gloomy mood.

  * * * * *

  It was ten miles and more to Snook’s ranch. Laramie and Nig did not catch up with Strickland, though they kept him in sight. The sun was setting when Laramie halted before the Snook cabin. He espied the buckboard, unhitched, and a number of horses in the corral. Ted and Strickland emerged from the cabin, and the latter advanced to meet Laramie. Wind River Charlie appeared with an armload of firewood. Again Laramie felt the easing of that cold, sick oppression.

  “Nelson, we’ll spend the night here, if you don’t object,” said the rancher. “The girl has about collapsed an’ it won’t hurt young Neale to be kept on his back.”

  “Wal, mebbe it’s as wal all around,” pondered Laramie. “It’s a good thirty miles for the buckboard. An’ our hawses air all in.”

  “Boss, one of Snook’s riders said Jerky sloped off,” called Dakota. “He’ll stop at Lindsay’s.”

  “Wal, I reckon a little sooner or later won’t matter,” muttered Laramie as he slid off. He would be glad to lie down in the darkness and quiet and spend the endless hours of a long night wearing out of this vise-clutched grip upon his senses. “Nig, look after these hawses.”

  It struck him that Ted had no more desire to be approached than had Laramie to approach him. But Lonesome came whistling out. The vicissitude lay behind this rider.

  “Hullo, pard. You look seedy,” he said. “Ted got both his hawses back.”

  “Thet’s good. What’d Snook say about it?”

  “Aw, not much.”

  “Wal. What yu mean?”

  “Snook got plumb ugly, so Ted jest eased a forty-five slug through him.”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  WIND RIVER CHARLIE’S call to supper had no allurement for Laramie. Finally Lonesome brought him a cup of coffee and a biscuit.

  “Pard, reckonin’ from your looks, you an’ me will be ridin’ away after this,” he said, sagely.

  “Wal, thet hadn’t struck me yet. But I reckon so,” returned Laramie, gloomily.

  “Ted is on. He jest taxed me about you. It’ll go tough with him, Larry.”

  “Shore. But he’s married now an’ he’ll have to stick. An’ we haven’t got anybody to care.” Lonesome sighed. “Out on the lone prairee for us, pard.”

  “Dodge an’ Abilene for us, Lonesome, an’ the flowin’ bowl,” rejoined Laramie.

  “Aw, hell! . . . Dreams don’t amount to nothin’. . . . Say, Larry, this rancher Strickland has been pumpin’ me about you. Like him all right, but I couldn’t be civil jest now. I reckon he’s afraid to brace you. I see him lookin’ hard.”

  “Wal, I don’t want to talk.”

  “Let’s say hello to Neale. He’s been askin’ for you.”

  “Go ahaid in. I’ll come.”

  The cabin was comfortably furnished, and well lighted by lamp and open fire. Strickland stood with his back to the grate. Lenta lay locked in the deep slumber of exhaustion. Ted sat beside Neale who lay on the floor, his head upon a folded blanket. His face was deathly white and his eyes burned black.

  “Wal, son, how yu makin’ out?” inquired Laramie, kneeling beside the lad.

  “Laramie! — I’m all right now. My arm hurts like hell, but I can stand it. Ted fixed it up.”

  “Any bones broke?”

  “No. I can move it, anyway. But there’s a big hole and I bled terrible.”

  “Son, how’d yu happen way over heah? This ain’t our territory.”

  “I tracked a rider. Thought it was Stuart.”

  “Ahuh. An’ yu was plumb sore?”

  “Yes, but I kept my head. I sure didn’t get any welcome from this outfit. When I saw Ted’s horse and a lot of Peak Dot yearlings I just up and asked Arlidge how they got here. He told me to run along home. Then I cussed him and told him about Stuart eloping with Lent. He haw-hawed and made a dirty remark about her and said he’d be eloping with Hallie next.”

  “What’d yu do then, son?” queried Laramie.

  “I kicked him good and hard. He knocked me flat. I tried to throw my gun while I was on the ground. Then he crippled me. It wasn’t an even break when I was down. . . . Oh, it was decent of him not to kill me, I know. All the same, I’ll lay for him and get even.”

  Laramie was silent, pondering what seemed best to say to this lad too suddenly thrust among hard characters of the West.

  “Neale, old man,” spoke up Lonesome, “you won’t never need to get even with Arlidge.”

  “What! . . . Why not?”

  “Arlidge finally run into the wrong man.”

  “Laramie!”

  Lonesome nodded, and giving Neale a kindly pat he rose to his feet and went out.

  “Son, I feel sort of responsible for this,” went on Laramie. “I shore didn’t spend time enough with yu to get yu started right out heah. But there’s been so many things. . . . An’ I let yu run amuck. I’m shore sorry.”

  “Laramie, it was all my fault. I’ve been bull-headed. But I’ll do better after this.”

  “Thet’s straight talk. Don’t get into any more jams, an’ don’t throw yore gun unless in self-defense. This little gun-shot hurt ain’t nothin’. But let it be a lesson to yu. Lay off the bottle an’ cairds, an’ keep yore haid with the riders.”

  “Laramie, I promise,” replied Neale, eagerly.

  Long hours Laramie paced and sat under the cold white stars. Somewhere in that vigil peace came back to him. Then he slept, and when morning broke there seemed to be far distance and time between this rosy dawn and that fading dark yesterday. He had done well, even if almost too late. And no matter where and how the future trail led, he had memory to sustain him.

  Soon the riders were up and doing. Clay Lee had gotten in late the preceding night, having been advised of the fight by Jerky. By sunrise Strickland drove off with Lenta and Neale in the buckboard. If a night had calmed Laramie, what had it done for Lenta Lindsay? Her pretty face bore the pallor and strain of fatigue and fright, yet appeared all the more bewitching for that. Laramie observed that Lonesome had avoided her, though he could not escape her haunting eyes. Laramie made the startling reservation that no doubt he would be riding away from Spanish Peaks Ranch alone.

  The riders wanted to take the trail across country, as it was shorter, but Laramie held them to the road and Strickland’s buckboard. Of all the rides Laramie had ever made, this one was the strangest, the most endless. He imagined he grew old upon it. There were hours like years. But they passed, and the miles fell behind. Finally from the last rise of rangeland they viewed the magnificent scene dominated by the old fort. The westering sun sent gold rays across the peaks to glorify the rolling sea of grass and sage, the green spreading valley, and the ribbon of shining stream.

  When Strickland reined his team inside the court Laramie dismounted to approach the occupants and say: “Strickland, let Lonesome or me do the talkin’. We reckon it’d be kinder to sort of hold back the truth, yu know. . . . Neale, can I depend on yu?”

  “Mum’s the word, Laramie.”

  “An’ yu, lass?”

  But either Lenta did not hear or care. She was staring at a dark-eyed girl who had come out of the living-room, followed by a man and a woman, also strangers. Lindsay next appeared, his face working. Then the riders arrived.

  “Ted!” screamed the strange girl.

  “Holy Mackeli!” yelped Ted, falling off his horse.

  “Laramie, help me — or I’ll keel over,” cried Lenta, and as Laramie wheeled she half leaped and fell into his arms. Then Hallie appeared running across the court. Laramie met her.

  “Oh, Laramie — yo
u brought her home! . . . Bless you! I can never — never repay you for. . . . My Heaven! Is she . . .”

  “Fainted, I reckon. She was all right when we got heah.”

  “Thank God! — I — I was terrified. Bring her to my room, Laramie. . . . Hurry!”

  Laramie strode across the court with his light burden, and entering Hallie’s room behind her, laid Lenta upon the white bed. Her eyes were open.

  “Sister! — Lenta dear, you’re home,” cried Hallie, softly, leaning over. “My prayer has been answered. . . . Are you — all right?”

  “Sure I’m all right. When I stood up — I went dizzy. . . . Hallie, old honey, I’ve had a hell of a time — but I’m home, safe — a sadder and wiser girl.”

  “Do you forgive me?” whispered Hallie, poignantly.

  “Yes. You and everybody — even that damn Lonesome,” replied Lenta, and wrapping her arms around Hallie’s neck she hugged and kissed her.

  “Honey, I too am — sadder and wiser,” said Hallie, brokenly. “I never knew how dear — you were to me.”

  “Same here, Hal. Maybe it was a good thing. But we can talk about that some other time. . . . Hal, I’ll bet the girl who yelled to Ted is his sister.”

  “Yes indeed. Ted’s family is here, and they’re the nicest people you ever met.”

  “Dog-gone. I’m sure glad. Do they like Flo?”

  “Love her.”

  “Gee! the luck of some girls!”

  “Lenta, I’ll call mother — dad — all of them.”

  “Wait a minute,” cried Lenta, sitting up. “I’d rather see Lonesome first. . . . Laramie, call him — make him come.”

  Laramie stepped to the door and yelled. “Mulhall, where air yu?”

  An answering shout came out of the babble of voices across the courtyard.

  “Come heah pronto!” added Laramie, in a voice no rider would have failed to obey.

  Lonesome came, but he did not run. He had removed his chaps, coat, and sombrero. A hint of some apprehension gleamed in his eyes.

  “What you want?” he growled.

  Laramie met him at the edge of the porch and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “Come in heah.”

  In another moment Lonesome stood before Lenta, in mingled consternation and resentment.

  “What’s the — idee?” he queried. At that moment Lenta Lindsay was not a girl to retreat from.

  “Lonesome Mulhall, you’ve been perfectly rotten to me,” she said, accusingly. Tears in her eyes did not hide their soft, eager, mysterious light.

  “Aw! . . . When?”

  “Ever since you saved me from that devil Gaines. . . . What’d you shoot him for — if you hated me afterwards? I’d just — as lief — he’d . . .”

  “I didn’t hate you, Lent,” interrupted Lonesome, evidently stung into self-defense. “But you can’t expect men engaged in a bloody business to go cuttin’ didos around to — to please a cantankerous kid of a girl.”

  “Oh! — So you don’t hate me?”

  “No, I don’t,” retorted Lonesome, as flippantly as she. But Laramie saw that he was lost.

  “You know I — I’m all right, don’t you? . . . That Gaines — that I suffered no harm? . . . You believed it? . . . Lonesome!”

  “I wouldn’t have to be told — after I seen you,” returned Lonesome, loftily.

  “Well, then, why have you been so — so indifferent? Even since you blew the brains out of that dog; I couldn’t help it if he had evil designs on me. . . . You’ve never spoken to me. You’ve never done one single little thing for me.”

  “Lent, I reckon I didn’t savvy I was thet mean. But what’s it matter now? You’re home safe with yore family. I’m ridin’ away tomorrow with Laramie. We’ve done our best, an’ lookin’ at it from range-riders’ point of view, thet hasn’t been so bad. You’ll realize it some day.”

  “I realize it now,” she cried, reproachfully. “Do you think I’ve no good in me at all?”

  “Wal, I haven’t jest been overwhelmed with thet,” drawled Lonesome, essaying a hint of his old self.

  “Lonesome, you shan’t go away. . . . Laramie, would you let him leave us now? Would you leave Hallie in the lurch? When we know now you’re the wonderfulest man?”

  “Lass, I reckon the kind of work — Lonesome an’ me air good fer is about — done,” rejoined Laramie, haltingly. He did not dare to face Hallie with that. Out of the tail of his eye he had seen her start and pale.

  “Well, I won’t let you go,” declared Lenta, passionately.

  “Aw now — who won’t?” asked Lonesome.

  “I won’t.”

  “Miss Lindsay, with all doo respect to you — jest why won’t I go on my lonesome way one more, ridin’ the lone prairee?”

  “Because! . . . I didn’t like you much before—” whispered Lenta, radiantly, and held out her arms. “But I — I love you now.”

  Lonesome uttered a gasp and fell on his knees beside the bed, to be clasped by those eager arms. As Laramie turned to the door he felt Hallie join him, slipping her arm through his.

  “Wasn’t that — sweet? Oh, I’m so — happy,” she murmured.

  Her touch effectually obviated what little reply Laramie might have been capable of.

  “Look! Everybody coming,” cried Hallie. “This will never do. Let’s go out — hold them up.”

  She stepped out and Laramie closed the door behind him.

  “Dad — mother — Flo — and friends,” began Hallie, eloquently, “please wait a few moments.”

  “Hallie, I want to see my dear child,” cried Mrs. Lindsay.

  “What’s happened? Ted said she was all right,” added Lindsay, anxiously.

  “What’s she doing in there — alone?” queried Flo, giggling.

  “She’s not alone. It’s a very serious occasion,” returned Hallie, gravely. “If I am not deluded our dear child is about to make it impossible for her to play any more wild pranks. . . . Laramie, is not that your opinion?”

  “Wal, if I was Lonesome I’d shore be ridin’ the clouds,” drawled Laramie.

  * * * * *

  Some hours later, after supper, when they all assembled in the living-room, the story could no longer be withheld.

  “Folks, I’m shore no good at tellin’ stories,” drawled Laramie, in answer to their insistent demands. “If yu must heah all about it I reckon Lonesome is yore man.”

  “Me? Aw, I’m turrible shy in company, an’ I hate to talk, anyhow,” replied Lonesome, in voice and manner calculated to insure more importunity. He received it in full measure. “All right. You-all set down now like we was round the camp fire. When was it Lenta got kidnapped? Seems a long time. But fact is it was only three days. . . . Laramie got me up thet mornin’ early. He had heard a hawse. We found tracks under her window an’ the bars broke an’ Lenta gone. By the way thet hawse went we figgered Lent an’ her — her friend were jest playin’ a joke on her dad because he’d locked her up. Wal, we got our hawses an’ trailed them tracks up to Cedar Point. There we found a camp. An’ soon spied Stuart — that was Lent’s friend, ridin’ fer dear life across the range. Gaines an’ his pards had been hidin’ there to kidnap Lent. They chased Stuart off an’ throwed Lent on a hawse. Tied her hand an’ foot, an’ gagged her too ‘cause Lent shore can holler.”

  Lonesome coolly surveyed his audience, nonchalantly unaware of Lenta’s wide eyes and open lips. Laramie prepared himself to hear the greatest liar he had ever known, now at the supreme hour of his rider’s career. Strickland edged back, a slight smile on his fine face. Hallie wore an expression of extreme bewilderment. The rest of the listeners, especially the Williamses, were enthralled.

  “We hung to thet trail all day an’ made camp late,” went on Lonesome. “Thet was, Ted an’ me, ‘cause Laramie had gone home to get grub an’ fetch Wind River Charlie an’ Dakota. Next day about noon we came to a place where Gaines had run into another outfit. They split an’ so Ted an’ me had to do the same, one on eac
h trail. Now the trail I took soon doubled back an’ I figgered thet outfit had evil designs on the other. So it proved. I found where they went down off the mountain to head off the other bunch. Presently Ted come along an’ between us we figgered it. The other outfit was after Gaines, so we trailed ’em to a lonely cabin, an’ as we hung around waitin’ for dark who should slip up but Dakota an’ Wind River Charlie. They had come on with Laramie, an’ had split same as we. They didn’t know where Laramie was. But I’d been with thet Suthern gennelman so long I could figger him. An’ I bet the boys a month’s pay thet Laramie was in the cabin with them two outfits. When it come on dark we sneaked up to the cabin. Would you believe it, folks, there sat Lent on the floor gamblin’ with them desperadoes. They had a bright fire. No sign of Laramie! I seen thet the second outfit was bossed by a rustler named Price. I met him onct under pecooliar circumstances, an’ never forgot him. Wal, you could see easy thet he was mad in love with Lent already. They was playin’ poker. Lent won all their money. I’ve got thet roll in my saddle-bag, Laramie. You could choke an elephant with it. I didn’t know Lent was such a good caird sharp, but then I hadn’t figgered a lot about her. After she won the money Price proposed to Gaines thet they gamble for the girl or fight. Gaines didn’t like the idee. But Price had a gun-slinger in his outfit, a bad hombre named Beady. So he wilted an’ they played one hand of draw-poker. Gaines won. He was so dog-gone tickled thet he imagined winnin’ the game was winnin’ Lenta’s heart. So he got obstrupurous with her. Lent slapped him an’ cussed him, an’ finally scratched his face. Thet made Gaines ugly.”

  Lonesome, warming to his narrative and wiping his sweaty face, paused for breath and to see if he was holding his audience. Satisfied, he resumed.

  “I hate to tell you-all this. So I’ll hurry it along. . . . Gaines began to wrestle Lent an’ was tearin’ her clothes off right there. I stuck my gun in the door about to bore him when Price blew his brains out. I seen Lent crawl under a shelf, as hell busted loose in there. Wal, when it was over we found three or four dead men, one gone, an’ the nigger, Johnson, sittin’ there turned clean white. We got Lent outside. She’d never turned a feather. An’ she laced it into me like this. ‘Fine slow outfit you are! You dam’ near got heah too late.’ I didn’t say nuthin’. We was havin’ supper outside when Laramie rode in an’ asked what all the shootin’ was about. We went to bed then, an’ next mornin’ the nigger led us down to Lester Allen’s ranch. Mr. Strickland was there, an’ we seen he was tolerable suspicious of Allen. Laramie had Nig face Allen an’ expose his guilt as a pardner of Arlidge an’ a buyer an’ seller of stolen stock. Allen roared like a bull an’ raved about what Arlidge would do to Laramie when he got back. Just then I seen Arlidge ridin’ up, hell-bent for election. Two riders behind him! We-all slipped off an’ got out our hardware. But Laramie stood there rollin’ a cigarette, sort of careless like. Seein’ him thet way I went cold to my gizzard an’ I wouldn’t of been in Arlidge’s boots for a million. Arlidge rared off his hawse, so mad he couldn’t see quick, an’ he yelled to Allen: ‘Hell to pay — hadda shoot young Lindsay!’ . . . Then all of a sudden he seen Laramie. They was old enemies. Years ago Arlidge had killed a pard of Laramie’s. . . . We all froze an’ nobody breathed. All the same I wasn’t worried none. Arlidge showed he knowed he was a goner. But for a low-down river-bullyin’ range thief he was game. . . . Folks, there’s no law on the range but this kind of law. An’ Laramie gave this rustler his chance. As I seen it Arlidge moved first . . . but . . . wal, these things have to happen on the range or no nice people like you-all are would ever be safe. . . . After thet Laramie offered Allen his choice — to hang or leave Colorado forever. Allen left right then, without his coat or hat. . . . We rode over to the Meadows, where we learned Neale had been in a little scrap. He can tell you about thet better’n I can. We made camp, started early this mornin’, an’ heah we are, with the little lady who upset us as lively as a cricket.”