by Zane Grey
“Hyar, let up!” roared a rough voice, and its owner seized the angry Easterner by the shoulders. Like a top he spun round to strike the man before he could see him clearly. The would-be peacemaker fell his length in the dust.
“Did you sock me?” he bawled, in strident rage, as he labored to his feet, one hand at his bleeding nose.
“No — but I will if you lay hands on me again,” panted Andrew.
“You’re thet tenderfoot puncher of Bligh’s. You’re arrested. Assault an’ battery...resistin’ an officer!” Then Andrew recognized the man as Sheriff Slade. “Okay. Suits me fine, provided you arrest Reed too.”
“Who?”
“Smoky Reed, the cowboy I was punishing when you interrupted me.”
That battered cowboy manifestly had taken advantage of the moment to slink away into the crowd. Slade, however, did not make any apparent attempt to locate him.
“Stick out your hands,” ordered Slade, producing handcuffs.
“I’ll go with you,” replied Andrew quickly, as the crowd surged closer.
“Stick ’em out, I tell you.”
“No!”
Jim Fenner interposed his person on the scene, confronting the sheriff with cold narrowed eyes and hard lips.
“Slade, cut the grandstand play,” said the Arizonian sharply. “I’ll be responsible for this lad.”
“Who the hell air you?” demanded Slade.
“I left my cyard at the gate,” rejoined Jim, significantly. “If you’re keen about seein’ it, we’ll stop as we go out.”
“By Gawd, you strangers air gittin’ altogether too cussed fresh...Come on.”
Between them they led Andrew out of the press of spectators. As he passed the grandstand he looked up to see a line of girls leaning over the rail, and in the center stood Martha Dixon, white as a flower, with telltale eyes upon him.
CHAPTER IX
TWO INCIDENTS, THE bold overtures of a cowboy named Reed and the arrest of Andrew Bonning, spoiled what would have been a perfectly marvelous day for Martha Ann.
That very morning on the way to the rodeo Martha had received a letter from her mother, not only forgiving her for the mad escapade to which she had confessed, but also enclosing a check to defray her expenses home. Martha had arrived in Casper with her new friends, excited and happy. The crude overture of a cowboy whom the Glemm girls knew had disturbed her, because the man had evidently heard of her hitchhiking, and had assumed that to be sufficient license to make an advance which had to be squelched in no uncertain words. Then Andrew’s spectacular riding of the steer, ludicrous as it was, had won her unwilling admiration. These had been forgotten, however, in the excitement of the rodeo, the magnificent horses and the daring trick riders, until Andrew’s fight and arrest had broken up the show for Martha Ann.
It chanced that she had been a witness to both. Nellie Glemm, leaving her seat to meet some friends coming up the steps, had halted with them to look over the rail. Something evidently had happened below. People were leaving their seats. At the moment there was nothing going on on the track. Suddenly Nellie had turned to beckon her sister, Martha and the two other girls.
“There’s Smoky Reed now,” said the Glemm girl, pointing. “Cal Brice, and the Hazelett boys...Making fun of the young man who drove you to town. Bligh’s hired hand, isn’t he?”
“Yes. That’s Andrew...his name is Andrew Bonning,” returned Martha Ann.
“I’ve seen him before,” said one of the girls.
“Handsome fellow,” added Nellie.
“Say, look at him parade! That Brice outfit won’t do a thing to him.”
“Girls. He’s just showing off — for their benefit,” Martha had hastily interposed. “Andrew isn’t the least conceited.”
“This is going to be fun,” replied Nellie. “I’ll say he has his nerve with him. That’s a bad outfit.”
The ensuing harangue and fight, the interception by the sheriff and Andrew’s arrest had quite robbed Martha Ann of any further enjoyment in the rodeo.
“Looks like your big boy picked a fight with Smoky’s outfit,” declared Nellie Glemm, meaningly, after they had returned to town to their hotel.
“He’s not mine,” replied Martha Ann, hastily feeling her cheeks grow hot.
“Well, he sure made hash out of Smoky. And wasn’t it rich when he hit Cal Brice in the breadbasket?”
“Will they keep him — in jail?” queried Martha nervously.
“They sure will, if he can’t pay his fine.”
“Jim Fenner went with him. I hope they have enough money.”
Martha Ann felt on pins and needles. She was at a loss how to escape from these spirited Western girls, all so friendly and eager for her enjoyment, without giving them further reason to think that she was interested in Andrew. Still she simply had to find out if he had been released. The idea of his being kept in jail over night was intolerable. The terrific beating she had seen him administer to Reed had made her forget completely the latter’s insulting words. She could not explain her swift championship of Andrew, her unholy delight at the sight of the vulgar cowboy bully standing helpless before Andrew’s amazing onslaught, and lastly her unreasonable alarm over his arrest. These varying emotions left her heart in something of a fluster. For long she had accused herself in the comforting darkness of her room of thinking too much about Andrew Bonning, a confession she had easily scorned in the light of day.
The entrance of Mr. Bligh, with Jim and Sue, delivered Martha Ann from the turmoil of her thoughts.
“Howdy, niece, we been huntin’ you,” said her uncle. “Have you had a nice day? You sure looked excited.”
“Oh Uncle Nick!...Yes, I-I’ve had a nice day — pretty nice,” cried Martha, and checked her impulsiveness.
“You girls stayin’ here?”
“Yes. We have rooms all in a row...The girls are taking me to the rodeo dance tonight. Uncle, you’ve heard of course about Andrew?”
“Yes. We just come from the jail.”
“Isn’t he — out?” faltered Martha.
“Lass, thet bloomin’ Slade locked Andy up an’ slapped a fine of a hundred dollars on him,” declared Jim, without his usual dry humor. “Andy said he had the money, but couldn’t get at it. Don’t know what he meant. So I rustled out to find the boss.”
“Martha, think of it!” exclaimed Bligh, mournfully. “Jim an’ Sue an’ I altogether can’t dig up enough to get Andrew out.”
“I can,” retorted Martha gladly, tearing open her handbag. “Came this morning from Mother. Can you cash it?”
“Sure, right here. You endorse the check,” he said, and led Martha to the desk. Jim and Sue followed.
Martha Ann found herself writing in a scribble that bore little resemblance to her usual neat, firm handwriting.
“Damned outrage!” ejaculated her uncle as he received the check. “Hundred dollar fine for nothin’ but a fist fight.”
“Wal, Andy socked Sheriff Slade,” interposed Jim. “It’s all over town. Casper don’t ‘pear to like Slade much.”
“Never mind, Uncle. It was worth a hundred dollars — even if the money was sent to fetch me home. Now I can’t ever go!”
“Andy will pay it back. But if you’ll be leavin’ us, I hope he doesn’t pay you for a long time.”
“I’m not leaving you, Uncle,” replied Martha warmly. “Lass, did you see thet scrap?” queried Jim, curiously.
“Indeed I did. Lordy! I was scared at first — and then tickled pink.”
“Andy had somethin’ up his sleeve, didn’t he?”
“He did, Jim. It looked as if he deliberately picked a fight with those cowboys. The fellow he beat so terribly was Smoky Reed. The Glemm girls know him. He was introduced to me right after we got here. And he got fresh immediately.”
The Arizonian studied Martha Ann with shrewd penetrating eyes that seemed to read her thoughts.
“Wal, I reckon thet was what Andrew was so het-up about,” he drawled.
> Something suddenly struck Martha Ann that seemed surprise and pain and bliss all together. “Jim — d-did Andrew know?”
“I reckon so, lass.”
“He beat that lout — for my sake?”
“Shore. What else?”
“But how’d he find out?”
“I heard Reed speak light of you to Andy.”
Bligh returned with the cash, which he forced into Jim’s hands. “Rustle an’ get Andrew out.”
“Jim, don’t tell Andrew—” called Martha, but Jim already had got out of hearing.
“Lass, are you havin’ supper with us?” asked Bligh.
“I’m not hungry,” replied Martha, trying to appear composed. “Besides I’ve got to fix my dress for the dance.”
“Tell me, how’d this Smoky Reed insult you?” demanded Bligh.
“It was at the Glemm’s. He boards there. I met him and several other cowboys. Reed had had a drink or two. He followed me out to the car, hanging on to my arm. ‘Baby,’ he said, ‘you’re such a swell little hiker, suppose you step out with me tonight?’ I declined and got into the car. He didn’t take the hint. ‘I’m the neckin’est hombre on this range. Don’t you want some of my brand?’ Here Nellie Glemm broke in. ‘Shut up, Smoky. You’re half lit. If you haven’t any manners, at least try to be decent.’ Reed drew back on the curb and said: ‘Aw hell, she’s lookin’ for it, ain’t she?’”
“Martha, I’d hoped that hikin’ stunt of yours wouldn’t become common gossip,” returned Bligh regretfully.
“Uncle, I’m afraid it was a mistake,” replied Martha Ann, her lip trembling. “But I had to come. And there was no other way...I don’t care what vile-minded people think.”
“Don’t be distressed, child. Jim says Andrew’s takin’ it up so fierce will end cowboy talk, anyway.”
Martha Ann made some excuse to the girls and fled to her room. When she had locked the door against intrusion, she went to the mirror and stood there gazing at her face. And as she looked, she felt that a false shell fell away from her. That afternoon the blazing stunning truth had burst upon Martha with Jim Fenner’s revelation. Until now she had been pretending to be in love with Andrew Bonning. Now she realized that she was hopelessly, terribly, passionately in love with him.
“In love with him?... With Andrew Bonning? With a man who thinks me a flirt, a loose woman, a hussy!...My God, if this isn’t the limit!” Her eyes filled with rebellious tears. She began walking up and down in the tiny room, beating her fist into the palm of her other hand. There came a knock on the door which shocked her into an appreciation of the time and place.
“Who’s there?”
“Just me,” called Nellie Glemm gayly. “You’ve got one hour to dress. Doll up for us, Martha. You’ll drive Wyoming mad tonight.”
“Do my — damnedest,” replied Martha Ann, trying to sound gay, too. Wyoming mad! The words stung her to battle. Quickly she undressed and washed and tried to brush her hair into staid waves. Then she put on her stockings and blue slippers, and at last the flimsy blue gown with its simple relief of color.
It was a new and demure Martha Ann Dixon whose amber eyes met her gaze in the mirror. Where had vanished all her golden tan? Her face was the hue of marble. But rouge changed that, so far as lips and cheeks were concerned. Only what to do with her eyes! It seemed to Martha that all the old mischievous and deceiving lights had gone. What she saw now no pride could hide. Now her eyes were transparent windows of amber through which love shone, unashamed. And she suddenly realized with a kind of wonder that never in her life had she looked so well. Would Andrew come to the dance? Would he see her and think her pretty? And chide herself as she might, it made no difference; she gloried in the thought.
That thought might have been short-lived, to judge from warning memory, had not happy voices in the hall and the pounding of impatient hands upon the door, given Martha Ann the glad assurance that she would not be alone any more till the dance was over.
She opened the door, to be swooped down upon and swept away downstairs, lighthearted once more; her natural response to the gaiety and the bright colors and movement of young people reasserted itself with vivid pleasure. The lobby of the hotel was filled with many young men and girls, with all of whom the Glemm girls desired to make Martha acquainted. They were all wholesome red-cheeked girls, and clean-cut tanned boys, none of the latter appearing to have the earmarks of cowboys. They escorted Martha a couple of blocks down the main street, and up a wide stairway of a large building to the top floor. Here they had to run a gauntlet to get into the hall.
It was a big bare place, decorated with bunting and every manner of rodeo paraphernalia that Martha had seen this eventful day. The shiny floor was vacant at the moment, except along the sides where young people sat or stood in gay conversation. At the far end of the hall there was a wide stage on which the musicians sat tuning their instruments. Arched doorways on one side led out upon a porch. Martha’s quick eyes took in all these details, also the obvious fact that the young men far outnumbered the girls.
Once inside Martha met many more young people including some cowboys. She did not catch many names. These Westerners were a democratic, free and easy people, not at all strong on formality. She liked their simplicity and sincerity. She had to admit, too, that she had been stared at more at a university formal than here. She had quickened to the promise of an enjoyable evening — until she suddenly found herself gazing about the hall, searching for someone who was not there.
“Martha, here’s Texas,” whispered Nellie Glemm. “You remember the cowboy who wanted to drive you out to the ranch? Well, it’s he. Such a handsome boy! He’s a gentleman, too! Too bad he’s so wild.”
Martha looked up easily recognizing the red-haired cowboy.
“Howdy, Nell. I shore am glad to see you-all,” he drawled.
“Howdy, yourself,” replied the Glemm girl pleasantly, and turned to Martha. “Let me introduce one of our real cowboys, Texas Haynes...Tex, meet Miss Martha Ann Dixon.”
Texas made her a graceful bow and his flashing blue eyes took her in admiringly.
“Evenin’, Miss. We’ve met before but not reg’lar,” he drawled.
“Good evening, Mr. Texas Haynes,” returned Martha Ann smiling. “I seem to remember something about you.”
“Wal, my red hair, I reckon. Doggone it, I don’t see why I cain’t be towhaided, or somethin’ else.”
“No. I was not alluding to your hair.”
“Did you ever dance with a cowboy?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Will you let me be the first?”
“Certainly, if you ask me!”
“Thank you. I’m askin’ you for the openin’ dance, an’ if I don’t step all over yore feet, mebbe I’ll make bold to ask for another.”
“I don’t know about two dances,” replied Martha, dubiously. “I’ll ask Nellie. Your last name is Haynes, isn’t it.”
“Wal, I don’t use it very often,” replied Texas with a smile. “Fact is, Miss Martha, I kinda forget it myself.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I don’t care much about Tex fer a handle, but I’d like you to call me Jack.”
“You do things rather quickly in Wyoming, don’t you?”
“Shore, an’ I gotta be quick now. Let’s dance before them other buckaroos horn in heah.”
He led her out and somewhat diffidently put his arm around her. Martha needed only that and his touch to decide that he was quite all right, and that she need not have been on her guard against this cowboy. He held her lightly and at a distance. He took his dancing very seriously and did almost no talking. According to Martha’s standard he was a very poor dancer. At the conclusion of this first number he led her back to her party. There was something quaint and charming and deferential about him.
“Gosh, thet was the swellest dance I ever had,” he said gratefully, as his dark blue eyes gazed admiringly down on her. “Last summer I was up at Cody where the dude
ranches are. An’ I met an eastern girl who rode an’ danced with me — when she couldn’t get nobody else. I shore fell for her powerful hard. But I’m tellin’ you, ma’am, as a looker an’ as a dancer she wasn’t in the same corral with you.”
“I see you have kissed the blarney stone, Mr. Jack,” returned Martha with a laugh.
“Nope. I’m no kissin’ bug. Don’t brand me with these other punchers, Miss Dixon,” he said curtly. “I was jest tryin’ to tell you how proud an’ happy you made me by dancin’ with me.”
“Thank you. That is a lovely compliment,” she replied, quick to sense a fiery pride in him. “It will be something to remember my first cowboy dance by.”
“Wal, thet makes me bold—”
“Hello, you two. How’d you get along?” interposed Nellie Glemm, with her frank eyes upon them.
“Powerful swell for me, Nell. I’m hankerin’ turrible to ask—”
“For another dance? The nerve of you, Tex.”
“Nellie, I’d be glad to give him another if you say it’s all right,” interposed Martha hastily. From what she had seen of couples on the floor, Texas Jack would be more than acceptable as a dance partner.
“You lucky cowboy! All right, let’s see. As for me, I’m dolin’ out these treats pretty stingily, believe me,” replied Nellie, consulting a card. “You can have the sixth from this.”
“Gracias, señorita, I shore will dance at yore weddin’,” he drawled, with the bow that became him so well. “Don’t forget, Miss,” he said turning to Martha. “I’ll do better next time.”
He made way for other aspirants to Martha’s hand. From then on she met and danced with five young Westerners, all of whom were more accustomed to dancing, and four of whom added to her growing pleasure of the evening. The fifth, however, a tall, dark-faced young man, reminded her that all dances could not be so innocently enjoyed.
“You are holding me too tight,” she said, the instant she took to the floor with the tall stranger. He laughed and eased the clasp of his arm, and during the round of the hall he acquainted her with the fact that he had run over from Cody to see the rodeo.