by Zane Grey
“Wal, thet’s none of your bizness, Jim Wall,” declared Hays, more sharply.
“But it is. What do you think I am? A sucker? If I’m in this outfit, anything you plan and all you plan is my business, same as it’s Smoky’s and the rest of the outfit.”
“You’d better shet up.”
“I won’t shut up, Hays. Some one has to have the guts to tell you. And I’m that fellow. There’s no hand-out against you in this outfit. I never saw an outfit as loyal to a man as this one is to you. Never heard of a bunch of riders who’d work like dogs while the boss was twiddling his thumbs and talking mysterious.”
Hays glared like a mad bull. He dragged his feet up under him and guardedly rose.
“Take care, boss,” spoke up Smoky. “Who’s runnin’ this outfit?” he hissed. “Nobody jest now. I tried to talk sense to you. An’ Jim shore is talkin’ sense. Thet guy can talk, Hank. An’ you gotta get it in your thick head thet he’s talkin’ for all of us.”
“Who’s thet thick skulled? But I’m sorer’n hell. I ain’t ready to leave Star Ranch, an’ now, by Gawd! I’ll have to!”
“Why ain’t you ready?” queried Smoky, curiously. “Our work’s all done. We’ve cleaned out the ranch, except for a few thousand head. We’ve got the long green. You ought to be tickled to death.”
“I’m not through here,” replied the robber, righting himself.
“Wal, you ought to be. Thet Heeseman outfit will be after us. What’s the sense of fightin’ fer nothin’? This rancher, Herrick, likely has some cash around the house. He pays cash. But, hell; Hank, you can’t rob the man of his spare change. We’ve done awful good an’ we’re heeled as never before.”
Hays appeared gradually to relax under the cool persuasive arguments of his lieutenant. Jim saw his coveted chance glimmering.
“Smoky, why don’t you ask Hays what this mysterious deal is?” queried Jim, sarcastically.
From a cornered lion Hays degenerated into a cornered rat. Jim sank a little in his boots while his upper muscles corded.
“Hank, what’n hell’s got into you?” queried Smoky, high-voiced. “Glarin’ at Jim like a trapped coyote. An’ me too!”
“Smokey, the boss is up a tree,” said Jim, caustically. “He means to rob Herrick, all right. But that’s only a blind. It’s the girl!”
“Thet gold-headed gurl we seen you drivin’ hyar?”
“Yes. Herrick’s sister.”
“Wal, for Gawd’s sake! Haw! Haw! Haw! So thet’s what’s eatin’ you, Hank?”
Hays had reached his limit and probably, but for Smoky’s mirth, would have started hostilities. He hesitated, but there was a deadly flare in the eyes he had fixed on Wall.
Smoky got between them. “See hyar, Hank. So thet’s the deal? An’ you’d do fer pore Jim hyar jest because he’s onto you? . . . Wal, if you’re so damn keen as thet to draw on somebody, why, make it me. I started this. I dragged Jim into it. An’ I’ll be —— if you’re goin’ to take it out on him.”
There was an instant when a touch to the flint would have precipitated fire. Then Hank came back to himself.
“I weaken. Jim’s right. Smoky, you’re right,” he declared, hoarsely. “I’m bull-headed. . . . An’ I lost my bull-head over Herrick’s sister and the money I could make out of her.”
“There. Spoke up like a man,” declared Smoky, heartily relieved. “Why didn’t you come thet clean long ago? Neither Jim nor me nor any of us blame you fer admirin’ thet gurl. She’s a bloomin’ rose, Hank. But, hell! air you gettin’ dotty in your old age? An’ if you’d gone crazy, like you did once, an’ dragged her away into the brakes with us, by Gawd! we’d quit you cold.”
Hays bent to pick up the roll of bills, which he tossed up and caught as if it were a ball. To Jim Wall’s penetrating eye the chief had capitulated for the moment, but he was far from vanquished.
“Happy, how about grub-time?” he called through the door.
“‘Most ready, boss.”
“Fall to, men. I’ve got to do some tall thinkin’,” he said.
Before they were half finished with their supper Hays entered and sailed his sombrero into a corner. His face was a dark mask.
“We’re shakin’ the dust of Star Ranch tonight,” he said, deliberately. “Pack up an’ leave at once. I’ll come later. If I don’t meet you at Smoky’s camp at sunup, I’ll meet you shore at midday in thet cedar grove above the head of Red Canyon.”
“Good!” ejaculated Smoky.
“Wal, it was about time,” added Brad Lincoln. “You’ll aim to roost up somewheres till this blows over?”
“Thet’s the idee. Smoky, did you remember to pack out them extra supplies I told you to?”
“Yep. We could hole up six months an’ not get scurvy.”
No one asked any more questions or made any more comments. Whatever they thought about Hays’ peculiar way of leading his band they kept to themselves. Jim Wall was not greatly relieved; still, he concluded that Hays must abandon any plot he might have concocted toward Herrick’s sister. To be sure, he would take the bull by the horns this last night, and attempt to rob Herrick. But that latter possibility did not worry Jim particularly. The young woman had just had a valuable lesson. She would not be easy to surprise or take advantage of. At any rate, whatever was in Hays’ mind, Jim could not further risk alienating him or his men. Jim would have to ride out with them. If he stayed behind to spy upon Hays or frustrate any attempt he might make to call upon the Herricks, he would have to kill Hays. He did not mind that in the least, but he did not care to go riding it alone in this unknown country, with Smoky and the others hunting for him.
“Pack up fer me, somebody,” said Hays. “I’ll keep watch outside. We shore don’t want to be surprised by Heeseman the last minit.”
Dusk was mantling the valley when Jim went out. Under the bench the shadows were dark. From the shelter of the pines he looked for Hays, expecting to find him standing guard. But the robber was not on the porch. He was stalking to and fro along the brook, and he was no more watching for Heeseman than was Jim. His bent form, his stride, his turning at the end of his beat, his hands folded behind his back — all attested to the mood of a gloomy, abstracted, passion-driven man.
Jim cursed under his breath. Here was a situation where, if he gave way to suspicions that might be overdrawn, prompted by his own jealousy rather than facts, he would certainly outlaw himself from Hays’ band. Almost he yielded to them. Almost he distrusted his own fears. But he was in love with Miss Herrick and that had biased him. Hank Hays was blackguard enough to do anything to make money out of a woman, but he would scarcely betray his faithful followers. Hays was as loyal to them as they were to him. Honor among robbers! Still, in the case of a magnificent creature like Helen Herrick —
Jim wrenched himself out of sight of the stalking robber. He was not superhuman. He had to make a choice, and he made it, on the assumption that his fears for Helen, surrounded by servants and with her brother, were actually far-fetched, if not ridiculous.
Whereupon Jim repaired to his covert, rolled his bed and made a pack of his other belongings. What to do with the two packages of bills, this last of which was large and clumsy for his pockets, was a puzzle. By dividing the two into four packets he solved it. Then he carried his effects down to the cabin. All was cheery bustle there. The men were glad to get away from Star Ranch. They talked of the robbers’ roost Hays had always promised them, of idle days of eat and drink and gamble, of the long months in hiding.
“Wal, you all ready?” queried Hays, appearing in the doorway.
“Yep, an’ bustin’ to go.”
“On second thought I’d like one of you to stay with me. How about you, Latimer?”
“All right,” declared Sparrowhawk.
“This is all right with you, Smoky?”
“Suits us fine. If you ask me, I’d say you’d better keep Jim an’ me, too, with you.”
“I would if there was any chance of a fight.
. . . Take Sparrow’s pack-hoss, an’ mine, too.”
In a few more minutes all the men leaving were mounted. The pack-animals, with packs gray against the darkness, straggled up the trail. Jim tried hard to get a look at Hays’ face, but the lights were out and gloom hung thick everywhere.
“Wait at your camp till sunup,” said Hays, conclusively. “An’ if I’m not there I’ll meet you about noon shore at head of Red Canyon.”
Without more words or ado Smoky led off behind the pack-horses, and the five riders followed. Once across the brook, all horses took to a brisk trot. Jim Wall looked back. The cabin faded in the gloom under the bench. Not for a mile or more did Jim glance over his shoulder again. Then he saw a bright light on the bench. That was from Herrick’s house. He and his sister would be sitting in the living-room, reading or talking. After all, how easy for Hank Hays to corner them there! Jim’s reluctance, his uneasiness, would not down. An unfamiliar sensation, like a weight of cold lead in his breast, baffled Jim. He knew he was glad that he would never see Helen Herrick again.
The spring night waxed cold as the hours wore on and the riders took to the slope. When they got up above the valley, out of the gray mists and shadows, the stars shone bright and white. A steady clip-clop of hoofs broke the silence. The riders proceeded in single file and seldom was a word spoken, except to a lagging pack-horse.
About midnight Smoky turned the pack-animals up the slope into the woods, and after a mile of rough going emerged into an open canyon head. Water splashed somewhere down over rocks.
“Hyar we air,” said Smoky, making leather creak as he wearily slid off. “Throw things an’ git to sleep. I’ll stand first guard.”
Evidently the horses were not to be turned loose. Nevertheless, Jim put hobbles on Bay. The men spoke in subdued voices while they unsaddled and threw the packs. Jim overheard Brad Lincoln offer to bet that Hays would not show up at sunrise. Gradually they quieted down, one by one. Jim unrolled his bed beside a rock and, pulling off his boots and unbuckling his gun-belt, he crawled under the blanket. He was neither tired nor sleepy. White stars blinked down pitilessly and mockingly. Would he ever lie down again without the face of Helen Herrick before him, without the lingering fragrance and softness of her lips on his? But that was something different to remember. He welcomed it. And he lived over everything leading up to that kiss, and after it that fierce attack he had made upon her lips. Lastly came her amazing request to him not to leave Star Ranch, and this abode with him until he fell asleep.
Crack of ax and Happy Jack’s voice pierced his slumber, both recognized before he opened his eyes. The sun was topping the eastern range. Jim sat up, stretched, and reaching for his boots he gazed around. The camp was an open draw, with level floor narrowing to a timber belt below. Behind rose shrubby limestone walls, in a crack of which poured a gush of water. The men were stirring, two around the camp fire and others among the horses. Happy Jack fetched an armload of wood; Bridges was slicing bacon. Jim smelled a mixture of wood smoke and coffee.
“Wal, long past sunup,” said Slocum as he approached the fire. “Who was it bet Brad thet Hank wouldn’t show up?”
“Nobody,” replied Lincoln.
“Jim, suppose you take your rifle an’ sneak down an’ knock over a deer,” suggested Smoky. “I see a buck an’ three does a minnit ago. If you get one, gut it an’ leave it lay. We’ll throw it on a hoss as we go down. We’re gonna need fresh meat. But shore step out of the woods first an’ see if Hank’s comin’, or anybody.”
Three hundred yards down the slope Jim emerged into the open. Such a wonderful blaze of sun! The valley burned purple and red. There were no riders on the winding, white trail. Jim took a long look at the lilac-hazed, canyoned abyss to his left. It was a sight to make even a hardened rider gasp. It was enough to make Westerners love their wilderness. There seemed to be no reality in the endless black link of Wild Horse Mesa.
Stealthily working back into the timber, he soon espied two deer about sixty paces distant, long ears erect. He killed the buck standing, and sent a quick shot after the bounding doe, but missed.
Upon his return to camp, Smoky greeted him with a grin. “I jest bet Brad thet you busted two.”
“Sorry; you lose, I missed the doe. Buck’s big and fat, though.”
“Fine. We got two extra pack-horses. Wal, Jim, gobble some grub. We’re on the prod.”
“How far to Red Canyon?” asked Jim.
“I don’t know. About fifteen miles — Utah miles, haw! haw! Don’t you remember thet heavy grove of cedars leadin’ down into a red hole?”
“Reckon I do. If Hays joins us there, it’ll mean he comes by another trail, doesn’t it?”
“If! So you figger he might not? — course he’d come around the mountain, or mebbe over another pass. He shore knows trails thet we don’t.”
“Aw, Hank’ll show up on time.”
“Wonder if he stayed back to plug Heeseman? He hates thet rustler.”
In less than an hour the riders were on the move down the mountain. Packing on the deer Jim had slain occasioned a little delay for all, because Smoky kept them close together. At the edge of the timber belt he halted them again while he peeped out to reconnoiter. Then he called, “Come hyar, a couple of you long-sighted fellers.”
They all rode out to join him, where he sat his horse, pointing to a faint blur on the purple valley floor. “Is thet dust?”
Most of the riders inclined to the opinion that it was just haze.
“Ten miles or more back and hard to make out,” spoke up Jim. “If this was my range, I’d say it wasn’t haze or smoke.”
“Wish I had Hank’s glasses. My eyes are no good any more fer long shots. Wal, let’s mozey. At thet distance we don’t give a damn what it is.”
Nevertheless, Jim noted that Smoky led to the left, across the ravine, along the edge of the timber belt over a ridge, and then down to the trail. Soon they turned a yellow corner of wall to come out at the point where Hays had described the expanse to Jim. It had been wonderful enough then, at noonday, when all was pale and dim in the white, solemn light, but now, just after sunrise, it seemed a dazzling world of rainbow wheels, glorious to the gaze. So different was it that Jim could not recognize any particular point Hays had designated. There were now a thousand striking landmarks rising out of the colorful chaos.
To Jim’s regret, however, this spectacle soon dropped behind gray foothills.
Smoky pushed the pack-horses at a trot. They wound in and out of the brushy hills, at length to leave them for the long slant of greasewood and gravel which led down into the brakes. Here on the left the great bulk of the black white-tipped Henrys towered majestically, lost in perpetual clouds. Once Jim caught sight of the winding serrated wall of rock across the ghastly barrens, and it was a brilliant purple, except at the far-distant end, where it paled to lavender. Far ahead a black fringe of cedars thickened to a grove above a red jagged line which was the canyon head where the riders had a rendezvous with Hays.
When they reached another turn from which it was possible to look back for five miles or more, Smoky halted while the others caught up.
“Jeff, you hang right hyar,” he said, “an’ keep your eyes peeled on the back trail. I ain’t so shore thet gray patch back on the valley was haze. It sort of moved to me. An’ there wasn’t a lick of wind. Wal, from round this corner you can easy see the cedar grove where we’ll hang up fer the boss. An’ if you ketch sight of any more’n a couple riders on the back stretch, you come ridin’ hell-bent for election. Don’t stay long after noon.”
Perhaps another five miles down the slope lay their objective to which they headed. The gait was slowed a little, if anything, yet in somewhat over an hour the riders arrived at the cedars. Jim recalled the place, but it was not, as he had imagined, the point where Hays had led up out of the brakes of the Dirty Devil.
The hour was still some time before noon. Smoky scanned the slope to the south and east. It would not have been
possible to see riders at any distance, as the rocks, brush, ridges, and washes intervened profusely.
“What’ll we do, Smoky? Throw the packs or not?” queried one of the riders.
“Dog-gone if I know,” replied Slocum, peevishly. “It’s a rummy deal. Hot as hell now an’ gettin’ hotter. I forgot to ask Hank. Reckon you’d better herd the hosses an’ we’ll wait. I’ll keep a lookout fer the boss.”
Jim tied his horse in the shade of a cedar, and climbed a jumble of rocks so he could command a better view. Almost at once he sighted riders coming down a wash about a mile away, and he had opened his mouth to shout the good tidings, when something checked him so abruptly that he bit his tongue.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Three riders! Assuming that two of them were Hays and Latimer, who could the third be? They disappeared behind a corner of bank. Jim sank down in a cold sweat. Perhaps these men were Indians, or strangers from Hankville, or prospectors. But he had not seen any pack-animals.
After a long, anxious watch he saw the three reappear in the wash, considerably closer. The one in the middle rode a gray horse and otherwise contrasted sharply with the dark mounts and dark clothes of the other two. A second time the trio disappeared. Smoky was peering about in a desultory manner, but he was too low down to sight the riders. Jim was now shaking. An awful premonition attacked him. He had met it and almost overcome it as another unaccountable attack of nerves when the foremost horseman emerged from behind a bank. He recognized the stalwart figure, the wide, black sombrero, the poise in the saddle. That man was Hank Hays.
Jim scarcely dared shift his gaze back to the second rider, but he was irresistibly forced to. A slighter figure in tan, drooping in the saddle!
“So help me God!” he whispered, and sank down on the stone. That center rider was Helen Herrick. For a moment a hell rioted in Jim Wall’s breast. How he cursed himself for a vacillating idiot! His intuition had been right. He had seen through this robber leader’s behavior at Star Ranch. But like a fool he had not trusted himself. That trick spelled death for Hank Hays. Jim grew cold to his very marrow. Yet his intelligence did not wholly succumb to his fury. He strove to think. This black-hearted hound had gotten Helen, just how, it was useless to conjecture. But to kill him then, right on the spot? That gave Jim Wall pause. Hays’ men would roar at this deal, involving them in the abduction of a woman; still, they would hardly go so far as to resist him with arms. He would be cocky, radiant, conciliatory now. Jim crushed down his deadly impulse. He would wait. He would hear what the others had to say. He would bide his time.