Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Hell! as you Westerners say,” exclaimed Blair, frankly. “You needn’t apologize for it. Lord knows I’m used to men falling in love with Sydney. She had three proposals on the way out here. Sudden? Say, one of them was on a stagecoach. It came from a man as big as a hill, with a voice like a bull. He was a rancher. But he was bluff and honest.... You had to like him.... I’ve made up my mind that Sydney will be a disturbing element out here in the West.”

  “Any girl is that, I’m proud to say,” replied Kalispel. “But Miss Sydney will create havoc wherever she goes.”

  “Is that a cowboy compliment?” demanded the girl, lifting her face to look at him with inscrutable eyes.

  “I reckon I meant it so.”

  “Listen, young folks,” interposed Blair, good-humoredly. “First Kalispel takes my breath away. And then Sydney confronts me again with the awful responsibility of having her on my hands.”

  “Dad, that isn’t nice!” she protested.

  “Well, where are we? Sydney, we’ve just had a magnificent offer to make our fortunes. With no strings on it!... But does this perfectly natural and perhaps unfortunate state Emerson finds himself in make any difference to you?”

  “I am amazed — and sorry if it is true — which of course it really can’t be,” she replied, haltingly, her gaze falling. “But in any case, Dad, if you are really so keen to dig gold — it need not make any difference.”

  “Fine! Sydney, you are a thoroughbred.... We’ll go! — Kalispel, shake on the deal.”

  “Wait. I’ve a little more to tell,” returned Kalispel, deep stirred. “Here’s my story. I was born on a farm in Missouri. My mother died when I was little. My father married again. I wasn’t happy after that. When I was fourteen I ran away from home. Joined a wagon-train. At Laramie, Wyomin’, I got in a fight an’ left the wagon-train. I’d been used to horses all my life an’ naturally I became a cowboy. I rode all over Wyomin’, in some of the hardest outfits on the ranges. Then I drifted to Montana, an’ the same applied there. My quickness with guns, my propensity to get in trouble, especially over some girl, earned me a name I wish I could shake.... That range-ridin’ of mine lasted ten years. I’m nearin’ twenty-seven now. My brothers Sam an’ Jake had been prospectin’ gold in Montana. They got wind of my shootin’-scrape at Kalispel, an’ they hunted me up, an’ persuaded me to quit the ranges. So I went with them, an’ after long discouraging months we made this strike over here in the mountains.... I can’t see anything but a fortune for all of us. Wal, when I get mine, I’ll buy a ranch. I have the place picked out up the Salmon, a beautiful valley where the river makes a bend, an’ there are groves an’ lines of trees, long low slopes for cattle grazin’, an’ in short, just the most amazin’ wonderful ranch in the West. I’ll settle in there an’ live down this Kalispel name.... Now that’s about all to tell. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Emerson, I appreciate your frankness and confidence,” said Blair, warmly. “You didn’t say so, but I gather that you’re not so black as you were painted.... And here’s my hand.”

  Sydney offered hers without hesitation. Kalispel could only press the soft little hand in his. In that moment he could not trust his utterance. —

  “I thank you, too,” she said, softly. “I’m sure I understand your wish to tell us. This West must indeed be a savage, bloody country. But even if you had been wilder than you intimated — that ‘would not mean anything to me. It is what you are now!”

  Kalispel’s heart swelled with the contact of her hand and the significance of her words. The future seemed to beckon with enchanted promise. After all the lean, hard, wasteful years he had his chance for all a man could work and fight for.

  “We don’t appear to be hungry,” concluded Kalispel. “Let’s go back to the hotel an’ plan. We absolutely must keep secret your goin’ with me. That’d excite suspicion. Pritchard an’ his outfit would follow us. You must let me buy everythin’ except maybe clothes for Miss Sydney.”

  “You certainly are not going to buy them,” she replied, laughingly. “But you may give me hints about boots, overalls, gloves, sombrero.... Oh! what fun!... Dad, I’m reminding you that this adventure came through me.”

  Kalispel turned often in his saddle to look back down the winding river road. Certain events the last day in Salmon had convinced him that Pritchard and his cronies had somehow found out he was taking the Blairs with him. But this was late in the second day of the journey and there had been no sign of men on their trail.

  Blair lagged behind, changing from one side of the saddle to the other. He was rather heavy and unused to horseback. Now and then he got off to walk a little. Sydney rode ahead, driving the burros. Already she was a surprising success. Young, strong, supple, and vividly elated with this adventure, she made play and romance of what was really hard work. Then her appearance alone had transformed the world for Lee. In a light sombrero, with her dark hair hanging in a braid, and wearing red scarf, buckskin blouse, fringed gauntlets, overalls, and boots like any Western girl, to Kalispel she was an object of adoration.

  If anything, she drove the heavily-laden burros a little too fast. But Kalispel, having reproved her once over some trifle, did not care to risk it again. She could do anything she chose, just so long as she did not drive the burros into the river or endanger her life or limb.

  Before sunset that day they arrived at the widening of the valley and the ranch Kalispel had decided would be his some day. He particularly wanted to get Sydney’s opinion of the place, and to that end he tried to keep from talking about it. Nevertheless, even before she had dismounted, something she said, or the way she looked, prompted him to transgress.

  “Wal, Lady, look the ranch over, ‘cause — who knows — you might be mistress of it some day,” he drawled, in cool audacity, though he carefully avoided her eyes.

  He heard her catch her breath, and then, a little too long afterward to seem convincing, she uttered a silvery peal of laughter. It jarred on Kalispel, until he reflected that he deserved just such a rebuke.

  During the camp tasks she was as helpful as on the preced-ing night, but she made no response to his several remarks and he observed that she held her chin pretty high. He wondered what she would do when, sooner or later, something happened to frighten her. That time would surely come. The girl had scarcely any conception of what lay in store for her.

  The sun went down in golden splendor that evening. Kalispel could not have ordered a sunset more calculated to enhance the natural beauty of that impressive bend in the river and the slow-swelling slopes of silver to the gold-fired peaks. A troop of deer stalked out of the woods to stand on a gravel bar, and a flock of ducks winged swift flight along the shimmering water. Kalispel was quick to call Sydney’s attention to the wild element that made the picture perfect. If she deigned to look, she certainly did not make any comment. After supper she stole away to disappear along the river bank. Kalispel had the satisfaction, presently, of feeling that she would indeed have to be blind to miss the extraordinary afterglow of sunset.

  The expanding, slow-moving clouds spread a canopy of burning rose over the scene. And the valley filled with clear lilac light that seemed more enchantment than reality. Diamonds of rose shone on the willows, and the winding river slid along, murmuring and singing, mirroring the blaze from the sky and the fading purple of the slopes.

  Dusk fell on the valley floor, while high on the black-fringed, white-capped peaks the gold still lingered. The lowing of the cattle, the raucous he-haw of a burro, the baa-baa of sheep broke the solitude and kept the wilderness from laying its mantle over the valley.

  Kalispel put up Sydney’s little tent and unrolled her blankets inside, then went over to renew acquaintance with the settler. He was to learn that he might take a shorter route to the Middle Fork, and save miles farther on a trail cut into the hills on the west side of the Salmon, and thirty miles over the hills graded down into a valley called The Cove. From this point the trail followed down Camus Cree
k to the Middle Fork. The settler assured Kalispel that he would have no difficulty working his way up the Middle Fork as far as he cared to go. The valley boxed here and there into canyons, but these could be traversed by fording the river.

  When Kalispel returned to camp, the fire had burned low, and as the Blairs were not in evidence he concluded they had gone to bed. He unrolled his own blankets back near the road so that in case any riders came along they would surely awaken him.

  He was up at dawn and had the horses and pack-animals in, and breakfast ready by the time the sun burst red up the cleft in the valley. Blair rolled out, lame and sore, but cheerfully grumbling, and he gasped at the ice-cold water.

  “Say, what a morning!” ejaculated Blair as he ferociously used a towel on face and hands. “This isn’t water! It’s ice.... Enough to make a man out of me!... Have you called Sydney?”

  “Reckon I’d better risk it,” replied Kalispel, anxiously, and making a bold front before the little tent he called out, lustily: “Miss Blair!... Miss Blair! — come an’ get it!” No answer. After a moment he tried again, louder. “Miss Sydney!” Receiving no reply, he shouted, “Hey, you Sydney!” And as that elicited no response, he yelled, bravely, “Hey, Syd!”

  A moment’s rather pregnant silence was finally broken by a clear, cold, wide-awake voice. “Mr. Emerson, are you calling me?”

  “I reckon — I was,” replied Kalispel, confusedly.

  “What do you want?”

  “Wal, the fact is it’s long past time to get up. Breakfast is waitin’ — nice buckwheat cakes an’ maple syrup. Here’s some hot water I’ll set by your tent. An’ the horses are waitin’!”

  “Oh, is that all?” she inquired, slightingly.

  “Wal, not exactly all,” he drawled. “I’m shore powerful keen to see you again in that spankin’ cowgirl outfit.”

  As he had calculated, this speech surely suppressed her. He dispatched his breakfast before Blair was half finished, and was saddling the horses when Sydney appeared. She deigned him a rather formal good morning, but to her father she was gay and voluble. Kalispel went on serenely with his work, somehow divining this glorious morning that all was well. Sydney did not come near him. She studiously averted her face when occasion made his approach necessary, but when he was quite distant, then her dark glance sought him and hung upon his movements. In less than an hour he was packed and ready to go.

  Blair had to mount his horse from a stone. But Sydney swung herself up, lithe and agile. Then Kalispel took advantage of the moment to approach her.

  “Did you tighten your cinch?” he asked, casually.

  “Oh, I forgot. I’ll get off an’ do it.”

  “Didn’t I tell you always to feel your cinch before climbin’ on?”

  “Yes, I believe you did, Mr. Emerson,” she replied, curtly, and the dark eyes lowered coolly upon him.

  “Wal, why didn’t you, then? Shore I don’t care if your saddle slips an’ you get a spill. But you hate so to be taken for a tenderfoot. An’ some day we’ll be meetin’ people.”

  “Pray don’t concern yourself.”

  “Will you move your leg, please, an’ let me tighten this cinch?... Wal, it shore was loose. Do you know a horse is smart? He’ll swell himself up when you saddle him.... There, I reckon that will hold.”

  Kalispel transferred his hand to the pommel of her saddle and gave it a shake, after the habit of horsemen, then he let it rest there and looked up at her.

  “Are you havin’ a nice time?”

  “Lovely, thank you,” she replied, with averted face.

  “Do you want our ride to last for days?”

  “I’m not tired of the ride — as yet,” she returned, distantly.

  “Sydney.”

  “Were you not in a hurry to start?” she queried, icily.

  “I made you angry with that fool speech. Please forgive me.”

  “You are quite mistaken, Mr. Emerson.”

  “Tell me, Sydney,” he implored. “Don’t you like this place? Couldn’t it be made a wonderful ranch — an’ a beautiful home?”

  Then she turned to look down into his eyes.

  “It has not struck me particularly,” she replied. “There have been pretty places all along the river.”

  “Aw!” he exclaimed, in bitter disappointment, and he wheeled to his horse.

  Soon Kalispel faced the winding strip of road, the shining river, the notch of the valley; and the vigilant habit of looking back reasserted itself. Two hours of leisurely travel passed. According to landmarks he had been told to look for, he was approaching the point where he soon must strike off the road on the trail to The Cove. He had spied the green-willowed mouth of a gully in the hills and felt relieved that soon he would be leaving the river, when, upon looking back a last time, he espied three horsemen with pack-animals not far behind.

  Kalispel was in the lead. He reined his horse and let the string of burros pass by. Blair caught up with him, and lastly the reluctant Sydney.

  “Slow today, eh? Not steppin’ high an’ handsome like yesterday,” gibed Kalispel.

  “You took the lead, so I fell behind,” replied the girl.

  “Wal, you can go ahead now, ‘cause if my eyes don’t fool me I’m in for trouble,” retorted Kalispel.

  “Trouble? — What do you mean?” she rejoined, quickly.

  “Emerson! There are three horsemen coming. Are they following us?” ejaculated Blair, anxiously.

  The three riders came on at a trot. Their seat in the saddle, their garb and general appearance, proclaimed to Kalispel’s experienced eye that they were Westerners. In a few moments more he recognized the leader and had no doubt as to the identity of the other two.

  “Just as I figured,” muttered Kalispel, angrily.

  “Who are they, Emerson?” asked Blair, hurriedly.

  “Pritchard an’ his pards.”

  “Oh!” cried Sydney.

  “Blair, go on with your girl till I catch up.”

  “I don’t want to do that, Emerson,” rejoined Blair, nervously. “I ought to stick with you.... Do you think they mean violence?... Sydney, you ride on.”

  “I shall not,” she declared.

  “Blair, drag her horse to one side — pronto!” ordered Kalispel, sharply.

  He slid out of his saddle and blocked the road. The approaching trio slowed to a trot, then a walk, and finally halted in front of Kalispel. Pritchard’s lean, gray visage needed no speech to confirm Kalispel’s suspicion.

  Chapter Four

  “HOWDY, KALISPEL,” CALLED the gambler, coolly, making a point of deliberately lighting a cigarette. “Have you turned road-agent, along with your other accomplishments?”

  “Now I got you placed, Pritchard,” snapped Kalispel. “I set in a game with you once at Butte. An’ my pardner reckoned you slick with the cards.”

  “Case of mistaken identity,” returned the other, puffing a cloud of smoke. Evidently he thought he had the situation in hand. His companions sat nervously in their saddles. “I ain’t denyin’ any compliments about my game. Those days if a man wasn’t slick with the cairds he’d be a lamb among wolves.... Are you holdin’ us up?”

  “I reckon you’re trailin’ me.”

  “Wrong again. Haskell an’ Selby here are goin’ to Challis with me.”

  “You’re a liar, Pritchard.”

  “Wal, I’m not arguin’ the case with you, Kalispel. If you’ll let us pass we’ll ride on, mindin’ our own business.”

  Kalispel concluded that it would be a wise move on his part to let the trio get ahead. Pritchard manifestly would avoid a clash, but there was little doubt that he wanted to keep track of the Blairs.

  “Pritchard, you an’ your pards mozey along. An’ don’t make the mistake to come slippin’ along on my back trail again,” snapped Kalispel, and strode aside to let the restive pack-animals and saddle-horses go by.

  “Blair,” called Pritchard as he rode on, “you’ll regret exchangin’ our deal for wha
tever this cowboy has sprung on you.”

  “All right, Pritchard,” replied Blair. “It couldn’t be much worse than yours and it’s my business.”

  “Wal, we wasn’t after your girl, anyway. You’ll wake up some mornin’ to find her gone.”

  Kalispel was not of a caliber to let that gibe pass. He concluded that the whistle of a bullet by the gambler’s ear would be more effective for the future than any verbal threat. Whereupon he whipped out his gun and took a snap shot at the top of Pritchard’s high-crowned sombrero. He knocked it off, too. The horses plunged. The man on the off side shouted: “Rustle, you damn fool! Thet fellar is rank poison.” Pritchard did not even look back, let alone halt to get his sombrero. He spurred after his galloping comrades, who already had the pack-horses on the run. Kalispel flipped his gun and, sheathing it, he walked forward to pick up the gambler’s hat. The bullet had cut a furrow across the crown. Returning, he hung the sombrero on the pommel of Blair’s saddle.

  “Just to show you I wasn’t intendin’ him any hurt,” he said. “But I ought to have shot his leg off. Reckon I was mad enough to.... Blair, they were followin’ us as shore as you’re born. But it hasn’t struck them yet that we’re turnin’ off into the mountains pronto. They’ll find out, though, an’ if they track us again there’ll be real trouble. I’m dam sorry. For two bits I’d call the deal off with you. If I had the money I’d pay you what—”

  “See here, Kalispel,” interrupted Blair, earnestly, “this incident didn’t please me, but I’m getting hunches, as you call them. If Sydney and I have to get used to these nice gentle ways you Westerners have — well, I think we’re lucky to be with you. That’s all.”

  “It’s pretty straight talk. But look at Sydney’s face.”

  That sweet face had indeed not recovered from the fright of the meeting and Kalispel’s sudden termination of it.

  “A little pale around the gills,” laughed Blair. “Why, boy, three days ago she would have fainted! Sydney’s doing fine.”