Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  The ranch house stood on a bench above Troublesome Creek, and consisted of repaired and enlarged log cabins which had been erected by trappers, and which Halstead had ingeniously connected. The unit provided simple and crude quarters, but ample for all, and comfortable without any luxuries, unless clear ice-cold water running through the house could be so designated.

  Early September had brought frost, at least high up on the slopes, which always appeared so close to Esther until she attempted to climb them. When she half closed her eyes these hills were marvelously colored. She had to peer with wide searching eyes to see the ghastliness of them any more. Some day, when all the bare spear-like poles were down, and the aspens thickened, they would begin to revert to their original beauty. Esther had learned that nothing in nature was originally ugly, and after it had been despoiled by man, would soon go back to beauty.

  From Esther’s stand on the grassy bench, somewhat below the house, and from which perch she could keep track of the children, she had a never-palling view of miles up Troublesome Valley. At this season it resembled a marvelous painting. The troubled creek came babbling down between rocky, willowy banks that ranged off level across the valley floor, and then sloped up, to swell, to lift in vast mounds of gray, of green, of blue and red and lavender, marred ever by the black fallen timber, and on the crests fringed by the ghastly poles, that stood like naked masts of naked ships up into the sky. In the far distance these hills were mountains, yet appeared only foothills to the dark ragged peaks higher up.

  Downstream there was only a half mile of V-shaped valley, which terminated in the black gorge whence, even at this distance, the Troublesome growled and rumbled in angry thunder at its confinement.

  Ronald was running around with the dogs, chasing an unlucky rabbit, while Brown was fishing. Troublesome Creek was full of big trout, many of which Brown had hooked, only to lose. His father occasionally hooked one for him and did battle with it until Brown could manage to land it, and often Joe Cabel would render like assistance. But Brown had no love for this kind of fishing. He had ambition to cut his pole, rig his line and hook, find his bait, raise his trout, hook and catch him all alone without any help. This ambition, like most ambitions, had wrought havoc. Brown had always a goodly supply of fishing-poles, but he could not keep himself supplied with lines and hooks.

  This morning, however, he had fished for hours without any luck. Up to a certain limit he was amazingly patient for a lad of seven. Lunch meant nothing in his young life, wherefore Esther feared to bring wrath down upon her head by calling him.

  Presently he looked up at Esther, a freckled-faced, dirty, wet, tousled imp if there ever was one.

  “Aw, hell, Ess, there ain’t no trout,” he yelled.

  Esther saw no sense in screeching at Brown, but she made motions which signified that he was again sullying his lips. Brown grinned back in honest contrition. And just at this instant, unfortunately for Esther, Brown had a terrific strike from a trout, which, catching him unawares, jerked him off the slippery stone. Valiantly Brown bent the pole and floundered to recover his equilibrium, but he went down with a great splash.

  Esther suffered no alarm on the score of danger. Her small brother was a second cousin to a fish. But her heart leaped to her throat for fear she might in some way be held responsible for this catastrophe. Brown waded out, a bedraggled figure, and as he came up the bank, Esther, in dismay, discovered that his fishing-line was gone. It had broken off at the tip.

  Water dripped off Brown. Besides the wet blotches on his face, and the freckles, there was a green slime from the brook. His hazel eyes were beautifully full of fire.

  “ —— —— —— —— —— luck, anyhow, Ess. You made me lose thet fish. I wouldn’t ‘a’ cared, but he took my hook, sinker, line!”

  Esther was horrified in several degrees, particularly at this newer and more stunning explosion of profanity. What on earth could she do with such a child? He must be punished. And Joe Cabel must be discharged. Then Esther despaired at the futility of the first exigency and the impossibility of the second.

  “Say, Ess, look! Who’s comin’?” asked Brown, pointing up the creek. “Gee! Is he drunk or suthin’?”

  Esther espied a tall man leading a horse. He appeared to be staggering along very slowly. Her first impulse was to run into the house and call Joe, for rough characters were not infrequent in that country. Her father never permitted her to ride far alone. But on second glance Esther decided the stranger was not drunk, but lame and almost exhausted. The horse, too, showed signs of extreme fatigue.

  She thought better of another impulse — to go forward to meet him, though the longer she watched him the more restraint she needed. He approached so slowly that she had ample time for impressions, that gradually grew from curiosity and surprise, to wonder and concern, and at last to thrilling interest. He was the finest-looking man she had ever seen, obviously a cowboy, or most certainly a rider. Tall, lithe, booted, spurred, belted, with gun swinging low, gray-clad, his head drooping, with face hidden under a wide sombrero that had once been white, he certainly excited Esther Halstead.

  Evidently he had espied her, because when he drew near he took off his sombrero before he raised his head. When he looked up Esther sustained a shock. Fair hair, almost silver in color, lay dishevelled and wet on a high, white brow, lined with pain, and from under which piercing blue eyes flashed upon Esther. The lower part of his face was bearded, drawn, haggard, and begrimed by sweat and dust.

  “Howdy, miss! Have I — made — Halstead’s ranch?” he asked, in low, husky tones.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Esther.

  “I reckoned so. But — any ranch — would have — done me.” Dropping the bridle, he moved to a big flat stone and sat down as if he could stand no longer. “I don’t care — so much aboot myself — but Cappy heah — I was shore sorry for him.”

  The horse he indicated, a magnificent chestnut, no longer young, stood motionless, his noble head bent, his gaunt lathered sides moving in slow heaves.

  “You have come far,” said Esther, hurriedly. “Are you crippled or ill?”

  “No, miss; we’re just — tuckered out,” he replied, with a long breath, and he leaned his face upon his hands. His sombrero lay on the ground. Esther’s eyes made inventory of the long silver spurs, of old Spanish design, the black leather gun-sheath upon which shone a worn letter A in silver, and then a bone-handled gun, which, though she was accustomed to armed men, gave her a shiver. The man’s broad shoulders heaved slowly and painfully.

  “Miss, excuse me — a minute. Shore I’ve not — forgotten my manners. . . . I’m just all in,” he gasped.

  “I need to be excused, not you,” replied Esther, quickly. “I’m forgetting to ask you in — and if anything ails you — —”

  “Thanks, miss. I’m not hurt — an’ nothin’ ails me — except I’m worn out. — Starved, too, I reckon, though I shore don’t feel hungry.”

  “Have you come far without food?” asked Esther.

  “Well, I don’t know just how long — or how far,” he replied. “But it was across the Flat Tops.”

  “Oh, how dreadful! Why, that is a great mountain range.”

  “It shore is. Up on top I met a trapper — stayed with him one night,” returned the stranger. “He told me how to hit the Troublesome — an’ follow down to Halstead’s ranch. But I got on the wrong trail.”

  At this juncture Esther’s little brother appeared, and curiosity getting the better of his shyness, he moved round in front of the man to ask, “Mister, are you hurted?”

  “Hello, there, youngster! I didn’t see you. . . . No, I’m not hurted.”

  “Gee! you look orful tired,” went on Brown, sympathetically.

  “I shore am.”

  “Did you come down the crick?”

  “Yes, all the way, from the very haid.”

  “Did you see any big trout?”

  “You bet I did, sonny. Far up, though, in the deep still poo
ls.”

  “How big?”

  “Long as my arm. You must be a fisherman. Say, did you fall in?”

  “Nope. I was fishin’ — an’ Ess, here — she’s my sister — she called me — an’ I was lookin’ up when a whale of a trout hooked himself an’ pulled me in — the —— —— —— —— —— !”

  “Brown!” burst out Esther. “You’re a disgrace.”

  The man lifted his haggard face, stared, and then laughed heartily.

  “Sonny, shore that’s strong talk.”

  “It’s unpardonable,” interposed Esther, ashamed and angry. “We have a cook whose every word is profane. And my little brothers, especially Brown here, have been utterly ruined.”

  “Well, I reckon it won’t hurt them bad,” replied the stranger, with a drawl pleasant to Esther’s ears. “So you have a cook who cusses?”

  “Terribly. We have had many cooks. It’s hard to keep one here on the Troublesome. This one is fine — the jolliest, nicest man! But he can’t keep from cursing every time he opens his mouth. But father won’t let him go and I have to put up with him.”

  “An’ he cain’t keep from cussin’? Now I shore wonder. — Is this heah cook’s name Joe Cabel?”

  “It is. Do you know Joe?” burst out Esther, amazed and somehow glad.

  “I reckon — a little,” he said, with a smile that softened the piercing blue fire of his eyes. “Miss, will you be so kind as to ask Joe — to come heah.”

  “Indeed I will!” replied Esther, cordially. “But come in now with me. Joe would surely fetch you in.”

  “I’m sorry. — I cain’t make it. My legs are daid.”

  “I will help you. Come, lean on me,” rejoined Esther, impulsively. “I’m strong as a horse, father says.”

  He regarded her attentively, as if he had scarcely seen her before.

  “You’re shore kind, miss. But — —”

  “I’ll call Joe,” interrupted Esther, hastily. “Who shall I tell him you are?”

  The stranger studied over that query a moment, as if it had awakened latent considerations. Presently he replied, “Tell him an old friend — Arizona Ames.”

  “Arizona Ames?” echoed Esther, blankly.

  “Yes, Arizona Ames, miss, I’m tolerable sorry to have to tell you,” he replied. And as Esther turned away she heard him go on to himself, “This heah West used to be big, but shore no more!”

  She hurried to the house, and running round the long corner of the kitchen extension she called: “Joe! — Joe!”

  Esther rushed into the clean light kitchen, which had taken on these desirable qualities only since Joe’s advent, but he was not there. She heard him whistling, however, in the store cabin, which was adjacent, and she ran to the door.

  “Joe, don’t you hear me yelling?”

  The cook was a little man, past middle age, with a cadaverous solemn face, huge nose, and eyes like the faithful brown ones of a dog. He wore a white cap with a black rim, and an apron.

  “Wal, now, Miss Esther, what the hell you-all so flushed an’ rarin’ about?” he queried, with a smile that engulfed her.

  “Joe, there’s a stranger just come — down the Troublesome,” said Esther, breathlessly. “He’s worn out — had to sit down. Oh, he must have had — an awful ride. Over the Flat Tops! — His horse, too, poor thing, is ready to drop. Come out, Joe. He says he knows you.”

  “Wal, thet’s nothin’ much fer you to get such red cheeks about,” replied Joe, calmly. “There’s a hell of a lot of fellars know me. I’ve fed about a million.”

  “But this man’s different. Come, Joe. Hurry!”

  “Wal, now, Esther Halstead! When did I ever see you hurry on any man’s account? Different, is he?” queried the cook, as he sat there with his lap full of cans. He was not in the least curious about the visitor, that was most irritatingly evident to Esther.

  “He’s weak. He can’t walk. You must help him in.”

  “Miss Esther, is this galoot who’s upset you a young fellar?” demanded Joe.

  “No, not very. — Joe, he’s an old friend of yours. Arizona Ames.”

  “Who?”

  “Arizona Ames. He’s a rider — a wonderful-looking — —”

  “Arizona Ames!” Joe leaped up, scattering the cans with a metallic clatter all over the storeroom.

  “Joe, do you know him?” asked Esther, eagerly.

  “Know Arizona Ames? —— —— —— ! I’d have been bone dust long ago but for that —— —— —— —— !”

  Then he darted out, his apron flying, and sped round the cabin. Esther started to run, but presently reminded herself that it did not seem imperative for her to use indecorous haste. Nevertheless, her intense interest could not be thus checked. Presently she came upon Brown leading the visitor’s horse, and Joe half supporting him down the path. What struck Esther most vividly then was the expression on Joe Cabel’s face. It halted Esther. The ugliest man in the world had suddenly become beautiful. But his language! She was about to clap her hands over her ears when the cook changed to rationality.

  “Miss Esther, I’ll take him to my cabin. An’ Brown’s leading his hoss to the barn.”

  “All right, Joe. If you need anything, tell me. Perhaps I had better go with Brown to the barn.”

  They passed on, with Ames leaning heavily upon Joe, who was roaring: “My Gawd! to think it’s really you, Arizona Ames! You long-legged, iron-jawed, fire-eatin’, cow-punchin’ —— —— —— —— —— ! What you need is a —— drink an’ I’ll have one with you, by the —— —— —— —— ! Aw, the old cow camp in the Superstitions! Cactus, rattlesnakes, an’ whisky! Them was the days!”

  Esther was relieved when the verbose cook had gone out of earshot. Then she followed, and when they cut off to go to Joe’s cabin she hurried on to join Brown. The lad would not relinquish the bridle to her, but at the barn he had perforce to turn the horse over to her. The teamster, Jed, would of course be absent, as he had driven her father to Yampa. But Smith, who looked after the farming on the ranch, might be available, and she sent her brother to call him.

  Meanwhile she patted the horse and rubbed his nose and talked to him, discovering in the performance that he was neither shy nor mean. His eyes were tired.

  Brown came running back: “Ess, that —— —— —— farmer ain’t anywhere!”

  “If you dare to swear once more in my presence I — I’ll lick you!” burst out Esther, goaded to desperation.

  “Aw, Ess, I don’t know when I swear — honest to Gawd.”

  “Get some hay down. We’ll take care of Cappy. . . . He called him that. Anyone could see he loves the horse.”

  Esther knew how to go about this sort of work because she often took care of her own horse. She led Cappy into a stall, gave him water sparingly, and likewise grain, and then she combed and brushed him, finding infinite satisfaction in the task. Finally she spread hay for a soft bed and barred him in.

  “Come, Brown. You must change to dry clothes. And wash, too, you dirty boy.”

  “Ess, you ain’t so orful clean yourself this minnit. Funny you rubbin’ down thet horse. Fred would have a fit. You’d see him in —— . Aw, you’d die before you’d do it for him.”

  “Don’t you dare tell Fred,” warned Esther.

  “All right, Ess, if you give me two bits. You owe it to me, anyhow, fer losing my hook an’ line. . . . Gee! I wish dad would get home today. He promised to fetch some.”

  Upon their return to the ranch house, they discovered Ronald carrying a rabbit by the ears.

  “Look what I ketched,” he cried, in glee, holding up his prize.

  Ronald was dark and small, a quiet, solitary boy, easier than Brown to control, but as much of a responsibility because of his habit of staying away. Several half-grown, long-eared hounds hung at his heels. He and Brown fell into one of their endless arguments.

  Esther entered the living-room, which was the newest and most comfortable of the many apartments
of the divided ranch house. Her own room, which she shared with her sister Gertrude, opened from the living-room, and had been a small cabin in itself, into which two windows had been built. It had a rude fireplace, upon the yellow stones of which a trapper had once kept count of his beaver hides. Esther had played carpenter, mason, decorator, and what not in her never-ending efforts to make this room livable.

  Gertrude, a dark, pretty child, growing like a weed, bent over the sewing she had been commissioned to do. Seldom, indeed, did Esther and her sister ever have any clothes save those they themselves made. They also manufactured garments for the boys. Gertrude hated to sew, and that was why she scornfully ignored Esther, who told about the strange visitor. So Esther, while removing dust and stains, communed with herself. Something very much out of the ordinary had happened, most unaccountably accelerating her pulse.

  It was not because she did not want to, that she did not see Joe until dinner time. Then he presented quite a puzzle to Esther. Joe was nothing if not loquacious, and he had a reputation for story-telling. But he vouchsafed not a word about this stranger, Arizona Ames.

  “How’s your friend, Joe?” she asked, finally.

  “He’s dead to the world,” replied the cook. “I made him a hot toddy an’ almost before I could get his boots off he was asleep. I just peeped in on him. Like a stone! Reckon he’ll sleep all day an’ all night, an’ mebbe then some. Last thing he said was to ask about his hoss. Reckon you turned the hoss over to Smith.”

  “No. We couldn’t find him. But I took care of Mr. Ames’ horse. Brown helped me.”

  “Wal, why didn’t you wait an’ tell me,” protested Joe, perturbed. “Thet was imposin’ on you.”

  “Not at all. I can take care of a horse, Joe. Goodness! don’t I do it often enough? . . . Who is this man, Joe?”

  “Wal, you heard his name, didn’t you?” returned the cook, rather evasively, Esther thought. “He’s a range-rider.”

  “Where is he from? Arizona?”

  “They call him Arizona, but he’s from all over.”

  “An old friend of yours?”