Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Trueman, I meant to dance only with my brothers, and perhaps one or two of the boys I know — and all the rest with you.”

  “Thiry Preston, you tell me this — this—”

  “Yes, I tell you,” she retorted. “I couldn’t do it at home, because I didn’t know. But that’s no difference.”

  “Of course it isn’t. I should have made some wild dream come true. But, Thiry, it’s not too late.”

  “Oh. it is,” she said disconsolately, yet she seemed to hunger to be persuaded. “She has spoiled—”

  “Listen,” he broke in. “I meant to befriend Amy Dabb. She needs it, heaven knows, as you will see for yourself to-morrow night. But if you let her jealous tongue spoil anythin’ for you, I’m through.”

  “Trueman, I could forgive a great deal, but no bold lie.”

  “Thiry, did she destroy what little there might have been?” asked Rock.

  She averted her face. “I don’t know. I’m all excited. But, oh, I — I want to have this dance! You’ll understand me, Trueman, won’t you? That’s one thing I do trust.”

  The arrival of Alice Preston checked Rock’s impassioned reply that otherwise he could not have resisted. The girls, laughing and talking, started for home, and Rock accompanied them to the corner.

  Just before they arrived there, a man and a woman hove in sight. Evidently she was trying to hurry away from him.

  “I tell you no — no!” she cried, in a rage. Then Rock recognized Amy Dabb! The man was a tall rider. He wore a red scarf, and his face was almost as red.

  “See heah, sweetheart, you cain’t come thet with me.” he drawled, blocking her way.

  “Shut up, you crazy fool! Someone might hear you,” she cried.

  Rock with a stride and a leap was upon them. “Somebody did hear you, Amy. Rustle now, with, the girls,” said Rock, sharply, as he gave the rider a hard thrust backward and then confronted him. “Howdy, Mister Red Scarf!”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE RED-SCARFED RIDER had evidently had a drink or two, but he appeared level-headed. His tawny gaze swept Rock from head to foot, and back again.

  “Howdy, Mister Big Hat!” he replied.

  “My name is Rock. You’re Hesbitt’s foreman, Peeples,” went on Rock curtly. “He told me you were lookin’ for me.”

  “I shore was.”

  “You’re not drunk,” replied Rock. “How’s it you insult a married woman on the street?”

  “Is thet any of your bizness?”

  “It shore is. I’m an old friend of Amy Dabb’s. Rode for her husband. Reckon it’s not exaggeratin’ to claim I’m his friend, too.”

  “All right, Rock, I apologize,” returned the foreman readily, though resentfully.

  “All right, Peeples. We’re gettin’ somewhere. Now tell me why you were lookin’ for me?”

  “I kept hearin’ aboot you out on the range. Then lately you come back an’ went to ride for Preston. Thet made me curious, an’ I reckon I jest wanted to meet up with you an’ see for myself.”

  “See what?”

  “Wal, Rock, do you know one of them queer range shadows is creep-in’ over the Prestons?”

  “Peeples, I like Gage Preston. Do you know him?”

  “Shore. Like him fine, too.”

  “I didn’t take to Hesbitt,” mused Rock, as if making comparisons.

  “Shore I never did, either,” admitted Peeples. “But — wal, I’m responsible for his stock. An’ you can bet your bottom dollar I’d never be responsible for Preston’s. Now about your connection with Preston. Speaks high for him to have you in his outfit. True Rock, clean an’ square range-rider! Old hand at the game! Sounds awful good when some new cattleman like Nesbitt or some wonderin’ puncher gets to talkin’. Rock, if Preston keeps you out there it’s a safe bet he is rustlin’ an’ will ring you in with him, by hook or crook.”

  * * *

  The new town hall was the finest structure in Wagontongue. It was of Spanish design, low, rambling, many arched and aisled, painted white, with red tiled roof. The outside had been draped with flags and bunting in celebration of the national holiday. Two aisles with arched walls formed the outside of a large patio, Here and everywhere gay many-coloured Chinese lanterns hung. Flowers and desert shrubbery lined the walks and circled the fountain where water tinkled musically.

  Rock ran the gauntlet of merry jests, admiring glances from dusky eyes, laughter and query, to the entrance at the main corridor of the hall. Inside the door was a gate, guarded by men, one of whom was the town sheriff, very important and pompous, with his silver badge conspicuous. Two placards struck Rock’s eye. One read: No ADMITTANCE TO ANYONE NOT IN MASQUERADE. And the other sign, larger, read: CHECK YOUR HARDWARE AND BOTTLE.

  “Howdy, gambler!” greeted the sheriff. “‘Scuse me while I search you. Mrs. Dabb’s orders.”

  His second slap at Rock located the gun under the long frock coat. “Ha! Not on the hip! Hangin’ low, eh? Wal, cowboy, unbuckle an’ pass.”

  A girl, slight of stature, passed Rock to peer at him with challenging eyes, disguised if not hidden by a red mask. Her costume was Spanish, gold and black, very graceful and pretty. A masker in cowboy attire accosted her, to be gayly repulsed. She passed on, and Rock forgot her in his growing, searching gaze for someone he would know the instant she appeared.

  Someone took his arm lightly, “Buenas tardes, senor,” said a low voice at his elbow.

  Rock bowed gallantly to the slim creature on his arm. He saw that she was the Spanish girl in gold and black.

  “Buenas tardes, senorita,” replied Rock, peering into the black holes in the red mask.

  She averted her face and walked with him, surely aware of the attention they roused. Rock grasped suddenly that there appeared to be a little pressure on his arm, a gradual but sure guidance of his steps. He was to find that they were entering the dance-hall, where many masqueraders had assembled.

  The orchestra burst into music, a languorous Spanish waltz, once Rock’s great favourite.

  The girl who had led him there swayed to the rhythm toward him, slowly lifting her hand to his shoulder. “You handsome gambler!”

  “You don’t know me!” she cried in arch reproach.

  “Amy!” exclaimed Rock incredulously. “You sure are a Spanish girl. Fooled me plumb good.

  “Not a soul recognised me,” she said, in delight. “I’ll tell no one but you. Come, this is your old favourite waltz.”

  Before Rock knew what was happening she was in his arms, light as thistle-down, and they were whirling, gliding to dreamy strains that found the old chord deep in his memory.

  “Trueman, hold me tighter,” she whispered, and leaned back against his arm, to look up at him.

  “Behave yourself, Mrs. Dabb,” he returned warningly, with a laugh. “Reckon I don t know quite all due my hostess, but sure not that.”

  “Well, if you won’t, I’ll have to hug you,” she went on. “Oh, I could hug you and kiss you before everybody! Trueman, what did you do to my husband?”

  “Did I do anythin’?” asked Rock, helpless in the unexpectedness of this attack.

  “Did you? Trueman, he came home the other day, at noon — something unheard of,” she went on swiftly. “He told me you’d been in to see him. That you had raked him over the coals. That you had cleared up something about you and me! Then he told me he had been sore and jealous for a long time. He admitted being mean, selfish, suspicious. He’d neglected me shamefully. He would turn over a new leaf. He would try to be young again. Oh, he knocked me cold! Since then he has been like he was when he courted me. And most amazing of all, he’s to drop in here to-night — in masquerade. He wouldn’t even tell what he’d wear.”

  “Good Lord!” said Rock.

  “You should say thank the good Lord, Trueman. I’m happy to-night — as I haven’t been in years.” Then, leaning her head forward to his shoulder she grew silent. Rock was reminded that the better side of Amy had always come uppermost when she
was dreamily, happily excited. When she was jealously excited she was about as tractable as a wildcat. Round and round they swung amid the colourful murmuring throng. The scrape and thud of cowboy boots drowned the patter and slide of lighter-footed dancers. Then suddenly the music eased.

  Amy must have had certain duties as a hostess, for she slipped away from Rock and mingled with the assemblage. He made no effort to follow, but haunted the long corridor, studying the new arrivals. He was at the entrance of the patio, standing close to the wall, when a small party entered the corridor.

  “Look!” spoke up a woman to her neighbour. “That girl in white. Colonial wedding-gown! Isn’t she just lovely? Who can she be?”

  This remark caused Rock to take a second glance at the entering petty. It struck him that the girl in the wedding-gown was certainly worth looking at.

  Her hair was done up in some amazing style and as colourless as snow. Arms and neck, of exquisite contour, likewise were of a dazzling whiteness. The gown, a hoop-skirted, many ruffled affair, took up the space of three ordinary dressed women.

  Trueman flattened himself against the wall. Nevertheless, the young lady so marvellously gowned was forced to sweep her skirts aside to avoid contact. The momentary halting of the party, evidently to choose a direction, brought this Colonial masquerader so close to Rock that he meant to step forward and allow her more room. But she seemed to be looking at him and he felt suddenly rooted to the spot.

  As the soft, fluffy, perfumed gown swept him, Rock felt a hand touch his — slip a folded paper into his palm with quick pressure. Then she passed and he leaned there staring.

  Rock’s trembling fingers tightened on the paper. It was a note. That girl had been Thiry. In one glance she had pierced his disguise. Rock peered into his palm at the note, then rushed off to find a light by which he could read it. Finally he found one, and here, after a keen glance around, he opened the note.

  Dear Trueman,

  I am in terrible fear, but I will come to the dance, cost what it may.

  Ash is in town, hiding. I do not know what he means. Allie and I will go to the Farrell’s to dress, and come with their crowd.

  Ash never saw my great-grandmother’s wedding-dress. He won’t recognise me, when he comes. For he will come! You must keep close watch over me, else I would not dare take the risk. He is capable of stripping’ me before the crowd. I will dance with the Farrell boys a little — the rest with you. I shall not stay till they unmask. I want to go before he knows me. You must take me away before that.

  It may be madness. But I let my heart become set on this one dance. I grow furious at the thought of giving it up. I don’t know myself of late. I will come — if only to —

  Thiry.

  Rock placed the note inside his vest and strode back toward the corridor. As he entered it, Thiry came toward him. Rock, removing his hat, made her an elaborate bow.

  “Lady from Virginia, I salute you,” he said gallantly.

  “Sir knight of the Card Table,” she replied, and offered her hand.

  Rock clasped it and kissed it with the old-fashioned courtesy due the character she personified. But they acted no more. She seemed silently confused as he led her to the patio. There in the subdued glow of the lanterns they were comparatively alone.

  “Thiry! You paralysed me,” he said. “I didn’t know you. I didn’t know you. And, oh, how lovely you look!”

  She murmured her thanks. They stood under an archway beside the fountain.

  “How ever did you know me?” he asked.

  “It was the way you stood.”

  “Reckon that makes me awful happy — an’ fearful, too, Thiry.”

  “You! You have little to be fearful about. But I—”

  “Never mind. If I ever had eyes I’ll use them tonight. I’ll let no insult, no humiliation touch you.”

  The music ceased and the gay dancers poured out of the hall to promenade in couples and quartets and crowds.

  “My brothers — the twins and Al — and the Farrell boys know me, of course,” said Thiry, as if remembering where she was. “We must find them. Then after a few dances I’ll be free — if — if you—”

  “Thiry, there’s no if — now or ever,” he replied unsteadily.

  “Will you dance while I dance?”

  “No. I’ll watch you — and see if anyone else is watchin’ you.”

  “Oh, but surely you must want to dance some?” she queried.

  “Only with you.”

  “Not Amy Dabb?” she flashed.

  “Not Amy Dabb,” he said, turning to find, her face averted.

  “But, Trueman, she is your hostess. If I remember correctly, she meant to embody the duty of all her masculine guests in your attendance.”

  “Did she?” replied Rock, a little nettled at her satire. “You mean she gave you a hunch I’d dance all my dances with her?”

  “Something or other like that,” murmured Thiry.

  “Reckon she was just talkin’.”

  “Then I was wrong to believe her. Forgive me. But I didn’t see how you could be so — so — such a liar.”

  “Thiry, I couldn’t lie to you,” he returned, with low voice ringing. “Save me agony by believing that now. For some day you’ll know.”

  “But you must dance with, your hostess — at least once.”

  “Once. Would you stand for it once? — I mean, straight out — do you want me to dance with you instead of Amy Dabb?”

  “Yes, I do,” she returned hotly. “She hurt me. She said catty things all in a nice way. She offered to lend me a dress. She made me feel a — a country bumpkin. I told you before, what she hinted about you. It’s selfish, little, miserable of me to want to show her. But she made me almost hate her.”

  “Thiry, my obligation is paid,” replied Rock. “I have had that one dance with Mrs. Dabb. I didn’t recognise her until she made herself known. It’s over. So there.”

  “I’d like you to dance with Allie,” returned Thiry shyly. “She won’t tell on you. For that matter, it’d be fun, if we can fool her.”

  “Fine. Let’s find her and your friends.”

  CHAPTER 11

  THIRY HAD INTRODUCED Rock to her sister Alice as Senor del Toro of Las Vegas. And Rock felt that so far as dancing was concerned he had acquitted himself creditably.

  The dance was soon over, and Rock surrendered Allie to her next partner. He became all eyes then. He was no longer a masquerader. He shifted in one moment to the cool, searching cowboy on a trail. His searching gaze was concerned with the masculine element of that gay crowd.

  He lounged around the door of the hall during two dances before he convinced himself that Ash was not among the cowboys dancing. Then he strolled down one long aisle and up the other, peering at every man and into every shadow. Likewise he searched the patio. Returning to his post just inside the dance-hall door, he took up his vigil there.

  Another dance had just started. The big hall was a wonderful spectacle of movement, colour, youth, beauty, and humour.

  Then Rock espied Thiry. “Senor del Toro, you look lonesome,” she said gayly. “Are there no charming senoritas here?”

  “I can see only one.

  “Come. The rest is yours,” she said, and took his arm.

  “Has anyone discovered you?”

  “Only one I know of, Amy Dabb. She was quick to see through it.”

  “Well. Did she say anythin’?”

  “I rather think so. She said: ‘Hello, Thiry! You look great. But wedding-gowns don’t always mean wedding-bells.”

  Again they strolled under the magic rose and purple of the dimming lanterns, and on to the secluded bower in the patio. Here the stars shone white and watchful through the foliage.

  “It’s very — warm,” murmured Thiry, as Rock leaned over her in the shadow.

  “Take off your mask,” he suggested.

  “No, senor.”

  Trueman took her hand in his. It was an almost instinctive action on his
part. She made no attempt to withdraw it, greatly to his surprise and joy.

  “Trueman you must take me home soon,” she said, as if coming out of a spell.

  “Oh no, not now. Just one more dance,” pleaded Rock. “You said the rest were mine.”

  “But I’d forgotten. Ash will come any moment. I feel it — here,” she whispered, her hand on her breast.

  “Thiry, he is not here now. I’ve looked clear through every man in the outfit. Please risk it.”

  “Well, then — one more.”

  But at the end of this dance she forgot again or could not resist the joy of the hour. Once more Rock led her to their shadowed corner.

  “Take off your mask,” he begged again.

  “Can you put it back on — right?” she asked a little tremulously.

  “Sure I can.”

  Then she was unmasked under his worshipping eyes, under the dim rose light of the lantern above and the far, white, and knowing stars. Once she lifted her eyes to him — eyes that betrayed the spell of the moment — then no more.

  Rock won her to stay one more dance, revelled in his power to persuade her, though his conscience flayed him. What risk’ he might incur for her! But he gambled with his happiness.

  “Trueman, we must go now,” she said nervously.

  “Yes. But don’t you hate to?”

  “No. I’m too thankful for — for all it’s been.”

  They reached the patio. Something had happened, as Rock guessed from excited voices. A girl cried out in dismay.

  “Hey, look out there!” called someone, unmistakably a cowboy.

  “He snatched at my mask,” replied a girl, angrily.

  “He got mine,” added another.

  Rock drew Thiry out of the press. “Some cowboy snatchin’ masks,” he said hurriedly.

  Suddenly into the open space before him leaped a lithe figure of a cowboy, wearing a red handkerchief as a mask. He was as quick as light — so quick that Rock scarcely guessed his purpose in time to thwart it. One sweep of hand tore Thiry’s mask from her white face! She cried out and spasmodically clutched Rock’s arm.