Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Wal, I knowed him in New Mexico. We worked for the same cow outfit. Reckon thet’s five years ago, almost. Time sure flies.”

  “You told me you’d have been bone dust but for Arizona Ames,” declared Esther, bluntly, vaguely disappointed in Joe.

  “Wal, I sure was excited, Miss Esther,” returned Joe, coolly. “Mebbe I was makin’ too much of a little service Ames wouldn’t like remembered.”

  Esther realized, to her disappointment, that Cabel was not going to tell her one of his fascinating stories, in which this rider Ames was to figure largely. A subtle change, which Esther felt rather than saw, had come over Joe. She had not known him like this. Esther took one intuitive glance at his impassive face and then went on with her dinner, without asking another question. But his reticence had only augmented her curiosity. The children, squabbling over the rabbit, which the cook had served for dinner, bothered Esther so that she could not think connectedly.

  But afterward when she was alone she returned to the subject and went over the few details singly and ponderingly.

  She did not need to be told that this Arizona Ames was somebody out of the ordinary. She had seen him, heard him. Recalling Joe’s indifference to a visitor, even though in need of assistance, and then the remarkable change a mere name could produce, Esther reasoned that she had been perfectly justified in conceiving some extraordinary past relation between the cook and this rider. What a light had illumined Joe’s face! Then his rushing out, and his loud wild talk as he helped Ames toward the cabin! Superstitions! That must have been a name for mountains of which Esther had vaguely heard. Cactus, rattlesnakes, and whisky! Them was the days! . . . Esther made a reservation that probably these remembered days had not been very respectable. Lastly, all of a sudden, Joe had intrenched himself behind a reserve that he had endeavored to make casual. But Esther was not deceived.

  Joe Cabel had been a source of comfort and help, and Esther’s regard for him had steadily grown since his arrival at Troublesome. Thinking of that, she recalled with surprise how his coming had not been greatly dissimilar to that of this Arizona Ames. No one at Troublesome had ever heard of Joe Cabel. And after two years no one knew any more about him than he had chosen to tell, which, despite his innumerable yarns of adventure and humor, was next to nothing. But he had been a tower of strength for Esther to lean upon. She dated the beginning of her reconciliation to Troublesome to this man’s coming. It was astonishing to realize. What had he not done for her? Halstead, her father, was always away, either out on the range to return dead tired, or on a trip to Yampa or Craig or Denver. Fred had gradually drifted to the shiftless ways of the backwoods men, if not worse. The several riders Halstead employed on and off had been eager, willing, capable, in many ways, but Esther had soon learned she dare not be alone with any one of them. It was Joe Cabel who had taken the cooking burden off her hands, and who had made easy or bearable the thousand and one other duties. Particularly when accidents happened to the children, and when they fell ill, more or less regular occurrences, Cabel had saved Esther from going frantic.

  “How silly of me — to be hurt — or angry with Joe!” she mused. “I don’t believe I ever appreciated him until — this — this Arizona Ames dropped out of the sky. . . . What’s the matter with me, anyhow?”

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE BOYS, RONALD and Brown, slept in a loft, to which they had access by way of a ladder on the back porch. This airy chamber was isolated from the rest of the house, but it looked down upon the right-hand window of Esther’s room. The last thing the boys did was to call to Esther, who always left her window open at night. Ronald and Brown were wonderfully brave in the daylight, but when darkness came their courage oozed somewhat. The Halsteads, like all mountain folk, went to bed early. But on this night the two boys were later than usual.

  While Esther sat trying to read, aware that the air had a decided touch of fall, she heard a noise outside. Perhaps the stranger, Ames, had made her nervous. At any rate, she could not get her mind off him.

  She peeped out of the window, to do which she had to stand on tiptoe. The night was starry, but there was gloom under the roof of the back porch. She heard a rustling sound. In that wild country it was nothing for foxes, skunks, coyotes, bears, and lions to visit the ranch at night. Usually the dogs gave the alarm.

  “Aw, it’s a —— ole skunk!” burst out a voice unmistakably Brown’s.

  “ —— —— —— —— !” was Ronald’s reply.

  Esther, as always, instinctively clapped her hands to her ears. Then she removed them. Presently, as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she made out one of the boys halfway up the ladder. Evidently the other was already in the loft.

  “Cummon down an’ help me chase the —— —— —— —— ,” said Brown.

  “Ha! Like the old lady who keeps tavern out West I will,” replied Ronald.

  “‘Fraid cat!”

  “ —— —— —— !”

  “Tomorrer I’ll lick you fer thet, you —— —— —— —— !”

  “You can sleep down there, you —— —— —— —— .”

  “I’m a-comin’ up — soon as I pulverize this —— animal.”

  Brown dropped down to the porch and disappeared. Esther heard him calling names and throwing rocks. Suddenly he let out a half-suppressed yell and came bounding back to the ladder.

  “Ronnie, she’s a-chasin’ me! Lemme up!”

  “By gum! I can’t see her but I can smell her,” declared Ronald.

  “If I only had a gun! The —— —— —— —— !”

  Esther had a forced knowledge of profanity, owing to close contact with her father and Fred, and especially Joe Cabel, and she knew that the language the boys were using had no significance whatever to them. But she could not stand any more.

  “Boys, stop cursing this minute,” she burst out, in a terrible voice.

  A silence ensued. The boys were as quiet as mice.

  “Oh, I saw you and heard you,” continued Esther.

  “Ess, you better pull your nose in thet winder if you don’t want it all skunked up,” advised Brown, while Ronald tittered gleefully.

  Esther availed herself somewhat hastily of this advice. Past experience had educated her.

  “Where have you boys been so late?” she demanded.

  “Where’d you s’pose?”

  “Course we been in bed, Ess.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Aw, we ain’t lyin’. The ole skunk woke us up.”

  “Boys, I shall tell father,” warned Esther, reverting to the last resource. This threat invariably moved the boys.

  “Aw, Ess, please don’t,” begged Brown.

  “It wasn’t me, Esther. It was Brown,” said Ronald.

  “Don’t blame things on each other. Tell me,” added Esther, more forcibly, knowing now that something unusual indeed was afoot.

  “You won’t give us away?”

  “Cross your heart you won’t tell, Ess?”

  “I’ll make no promises till I know. You rascals. What have you been up to?”

  “We been stealin’ grub fer Fred.”

  “Fred! — Stealing grub! — What for? And where’s Fred?”

  “Ess, it wasn’t fer Fred. Two men fetched Fred home. An’ they made us steal some grub.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Down at the barn.”

  “Fred was drunk?”

  “I don’t know, Ess. It was ‘most dark. Fred didn’t say nothin’. He just fell down on the hay. Then the two fellars made us slip into the kitchen.”

  “Well, go to bed now. I promise not to tell on you,” replied Esther. She partly closed the window, barring it on the inside, and extinguished the lamp. Not until she was snug under the blankets beside Gertrude did she feel at ease, and then she had no great liking for the fact that there were unknown men down at the barn with Fred.

  This was the second time that had happened. If their father should disco
ver it! Fred was becoming a serious problem. Esther had lost patience with him and now began to suffer apprehensions. She had refused to give credence to various rumors about the company Fred kept. Evidently these would have to be faced, as well as other matters that seemed working to a climax for the Halsteads. When Esther at last dropped off to sleep her pillow was wet with tears.

  * * * * *

  Esther awoke with a feeling new to her and one pretty disheartening. She was sorry another day had dawned. How ridiculous and little of her! But she could not deny it. And she lay there a long while, thinking.

  She heard the boys talking and snickering, and then their noisy descent of the ladder. Gertrude crawled over her, got out of bed and dressed, making fun of her laziness. Still she lay there, reluctant to get up and meet the unknown that seemed to portend catastrophe this day.

  It drove her presently, and she arose conscious that her fighting spirit was not in the ascendant. It struck Esther suddenly, while dressing, that she was paying some attention to her appearance. She knew she was pretty and on occasion she took pride in her rippling brown hair with its streaks of chestnut, her large brown eyes and red lips. But what occasion was this? She gravely contemplated herself in the mirror. She was pleased with the image she saw, but displeased that her hair did not suit her this morning, nor the bit of red ribbon, nor the blouse, that was certainly not an everyday one. Esther was nothing if not honest. Each time a young man, stranger or otherwise, happened to drop in at Troublesome the event had affected her singularly. What was that eager, haunting light in her eyes? She was looking, hoping, hunting for something. Still, it had never been quite so pronounced as this time, and when she realized it an angry blush suffused her cheeks.

  She arrived late at breakfast. The children had eaten and gone. To her surprise Fred was there, and he greeted her with more than his usual warmth. Esther’s heart governed her head now as always. Fred had shaved himself that morning and he wore a new shirt and tie. His tanned face appeared a little thin and strained. Fred’s good looks had always militated against his demerits.

  Joe came in with Esther’s breakfast.

  “Mornin’, Miss Esther. You’re a lady of leisure, I see, an’ like Fred here, all shiny an’ pretty,” he said.

  “Good morning, Joe,” replied Esther, shortly, and began to eat, wondering at Joe’s tone and what Fred was going to say.

  “Joe tells me a stranger rode in yesterday,” began Fred, when the cook had gone out. “Some fellow he used to work with. Arizona somethin’ or other.”

  “Yes. Arizona Ames.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Joe?”

  “Sure I did. But he’s grumpy. Hasn’t cussed once this mornin’. . . . What’s this Ames like?”

  “He’s a rider — no longer a boy. He could hardly walk. And he was so — so travel worn, so grimy and bearded, that I couldn’t tell what he might look like.”

  “Queer. Don’t like it. I was tellin’ Joe that he’d better have this rider go on ridin’.”

  “Why, Fred!” retorted Esther, indignantly. “Have you no more sense of hospitality than that? The man was crippled. And he looked starved.”

  “Sure. You’d take any rider in,” returned Fred, with sarcasm. “But I don’t know this Arizona Ames.”

  “You haven’t much to say about what goes on at Halstead ranch,” said Esther, likewise sarcastically. And when the cook came in at that juncture she addressed him. “Joe, please do not allow Fred’s attitude toward strangers to influence you. Please treat Mr. Ames the same as if this was your house.”

  “Thanks, Miss Esther. It’d sure gone against the grain to have hurt the feelin’s of my friend,” replied Cabel, simply. But the glance he gave Fred furnished Esther more food for reflection.

  Evidently Fred struggled against feelings of which he was ashamed. For one thing, he certainly bit his lip to hold in a quick retort.

  “Fred, where are the riders who fetched you home?” asked Esther.

  “Who told you?” he demanded.

  “Never mind. I know.”

  “I’ll skin those kids alive.”

  “If you lay a hand on them I’ll give you away to father. They fetched you home drunk. . . . This is the second time!”

  “Aw, hell!” ejaculated her brother, hotly, as he arose with the manner of one who saw the uselessness of subterfuge. “Come outside where that owl-eyed cook can’t hear.” And he stalked out, leaving Esther convinced that one of her premonitions had been correct.

  Esther called after her brother that he could wait until she finished her breakfast, which she certainly did not hurry. Meanwhile Joe returned, this time with the old fond smile for her, and anxious solicitude added, “Miss Esther, I sure never was a squealer, but I reckon I’ve got to tell you somethin’ or bust.”

  “Joe, maybe I can spare you. Listen,” replied Esther, hurriedly. “Fred came home drunk last night. Two men fetched him back. He couldn’t walk. Is that what you mean?”

  “Wal, no. Thet ain’t so bad. It’s who them fellars was,” returned Joe, seriously. “I was down the trail and seen them ride in. Didn’t come by the road. They were holdin’ Fred on his hoss. I ducked into the brush an’ let them pass.”

  “Well, who were they?” queried Esther, sharply, as he halted, loth to continue.

  “One was Barsh Hensler. I’ve seen the other fellar in Yampa, but don’t know his name.”

  “Barsh Hensler! Why, Joe, hasn’t his name been connected with those cattle-thieves whom father hates so?”

  “Sure has. Hensler lives in Yampa. He’s got a bad name, an’ it’s hinted he belongs to Clive Bannard’s outfit.”

  “And Fred is associating with them — or at least some of them? — How dreadful!”

  “Wal, don’t be upset, Miss Esther,” went on Cabel, calmly. “Fred ain’t bad at heart. He’s easy-goin’ an’ when he drinks his brain gets addled. He sure can’t stand liquor. Wal, he likes to play cards an’ strut around Bosomer’s saloon in Yampa. Naturally he falls in bad company. I’m afraid your dad hasn’t handled him proper. Anyway, I reckon it’s through this thet Barsh Hensler has got hold of Fred.”

  “Oh, Joe, what shall we do?” asked Esther, almost in distress.

  “Wal, I’ll talk it over with Ames. Queer thet he should drop in on Troublesome jest now,” replied Cabel, his deep, cavernous eyes gleaming.

  “I don’t know that I like the idea of your talking it over with a stranger. . . . But why does it seem queer to you — that Mr. Ames should drop in on Troublesome just now?”

  “Things are comin’ to a sad pass here, Miss Esther,” said Joe. “An’ it’s queer because Arizona Ames is the man to straighten them out.”

  “Oh, indeed! Why is he — particularly?” queried Esther, her curiosity augmenting.

  “Wal, no use to tell you unless I can get him to stay. An’ I’m afraid thet jest ain’t possible.”

  “Why impossible? — Perhaps father might give this — this rider a job,” rejoined Esther, and marveled at the thrill the thought gave her.

  “You bet he would — if I tell him who Ames is. I’ll do it, too, if Ames will let me.”

  “Joe, you excite me! — Tell father anyhow, without asking Mr. Ames.”

  “Wal, thet’s not a bad idee,” said Cabel, pleased with Esther. “But it’s jest a hundred to one Ames will ride away soon as he is fit to travel.”

  “What would be his hurry?” asked Esther, resentfully. “Are we such — terrible people?”

  “Wal, if you must know, the only thing Arizona Ames ever run from was a pretty girl.”

  “Joe! — Meaning I’m the pretty girl?” exclaimed Esther, with a merry laugh. Nevertheless her cheeks grew hot.

  “I sure do.”

  “But I am not so pretty,” retorted Esther.

  “Lord! girl, you sure are, all the time an’ any time. An’ when you’re dressed up in white, like thet night here once, my —— ! Beg pardon, I’m forgettin’ my tongu
e.”

  “Yes, Joe, you are, rather,” she rejoined, demurely. “So this wonderful Arizona Ames is likely to run away from me? What’s the matter with him, Joe? Is he a woman-hater?”

  “No, I reckon Arizona wouldn’t hate anyone, much less a nice girl.”

  “He didn’t strike me as a bashful rider. How old is he, Joe?”

  “Ames? Wal, I don’t know. But he’s young, compared to me.”

  “I saw his hair was silver, over his temples. He looked old, Joe.”

  “Wal, he’s sure old in the life of the ranges, Miss Esther. But Arizona can’t be much over thirty, if he’s thet.”

  “Oh, come now, Joe. Be reasonable.”

  “I’m tellin’ you straight, Miss Esther,” replied Joe. “An’ I’m talkin’ too much.”

  “Joe! — See here. You’re not going to run from me like that,” cried Esther, seizing Joe’s sleeve as he started to leave. She rose from the table. “Please don’t go. . . . Joe, you’ve been my very good friend. I’d never have stood it all but for your help and kindness.”

  “Is thet so, Miss Esther?” he queried, amazed and delighted.

  “It is, indeed. I’ve never realized how much I appreciate you, until lately.”

  “Wal, now, I reckon no one could make me no happier than tellin’ me thet.”

  “Then don’t freeze up again, like you did last night and just now. No matter what the reason is! Shake hands on it, Joe. I’ve a hunch I’m going to need you more than ever.”

  Joe was so overcome that even his profane tongue failed him, but he squeezed Esther’s hand so hard it was numb. She smiled ruefully, holding it up, then she ran out to find Fred.

  He was waiting, his brow like a thundercloud.

  “‘Pears to me you talk a lot to that cook,” he growled.

  “Yes, I do. He’s more of a big brother than you are, Fred Halstead.”

  That made him wince, and then flush. “Sister, you sure have a knife-edge tongue.”

  “Fred, I’m in no mood for you, if you’re in a temper. I’m too disgusted.”

  “The kids told you about me bein’ fetched home drunk?” he queried.