Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Oh-h! — You are a monster — or you are mad.”

  “Shore. Good night, darlin’.”

  The next day was Saturday, a drowsy summer day, with a hint of blue haze in the air and the smell of fall. Kalispel happened to meet Nugget on the street. In everyday costume, free of the scant and alluring attire of the dance-hall, she made a pretty graceful figure. Kalispel did not need to be asked twice to accompany her to Reed’s store. As luck would have it, Leavitt and Sydney appeared coming down the street.

  “Look! There’s my secret admirer with the Blair girl,” said Nugget, laughing. “Funny thing — life!... Kalispel, do you know her?”

  “I’ve met her,” replied he.

  “She’s lovely. What a damned shame if she’s stuck on that hypocrite!”

  “Nugget, when we pass them I dare you to speak to him.”

  “Never took a dare in my life.... It might be a hunch to her.”

  Perhaps twenty paces distant, Sydney looked up to espy Kalispel and his companion. Suddenly a blazing scarlet blush suffused her face. It waved away as swiftly, leaving her pale, with great tragic eyes staring straight ahead. Because of her strange reaction, which staggered Kalispel, he could not look at Leavitt.

  “Howdy, Rand,” called Nugget, with the most innocent, smiling naïveté.

  Then the couples passed each other and Nugget turned to her companion. “Gosh! but he’ll murder me!... Did you see her blush.... Why, Kalispel, you’re as white as a sheet!”

  “Am I? Wal, I feel yellow.”

  “Ashamed to be seen with me?”

  “Not on your life! I was glad, an’ don’t forget it.... Nugget, that’s the girl who broke my heart.”

  “You don’t say! The Blair girl!” she whispered, excitedly. “Oh, Kalispel, she is lovely. You poor fellow! Now I understand you and I like you better than ever. You’re true to that proud girl, though she passes you scornfully on the street. And Leavitt, the skunk, parades along with her, doing the elegant — and after dark, late at night, slips in the back door to try to make love to me.... I’ll be darned if I don’t tell her!”

  “Nugget, that’d be doin’ her a good turn,” replied Kalispel, hopefully.

  “Boy, if I know girls, she didn’t burn like a house afire for nothing when she recognized you. Kalispel, I’ll bet she’s in love with you.”

  “Aw, Nugget, don’t handle words so horrible careless.”

  “I’ll bet it,” she went on, vehemently. “Did she ever love you?’”

  “I reckon so. A little.”

  “Then it’s a lot now. Nothing like jealousy to show a woman’s heart! She saw us — she thought you were sweet on the little blond dance-hall girl. She gave herself away.”

  “No — no! It’s only worse. She’ll like him all the more.”

  “Listen, pard,” whispered the girl, wickedly. “If she does I can tell her something that will kill it pronto. And if not, I can tell you something that will make you kill him pronto.”

  “Nugget!” cried Kalispel.

  “That’s all now. Here’s the store. Don’t give up, cowboy.... Tell Dick I’ll meet him tonight, right after supper.”

  Chapter Eight

  Kalispel was scraping and stretching an elk hide when his young friend, Dick Sloan, put in an appearance.

  “Howdy, Dick. You’re not pannin’ gold while the sun shines,” was Kalispel’s greeting.

  “I don’t care,” replied the youth, flinging himself down.

  It was then that Kalispel glanced up from his work. Dick was a fair-haired and frank-faced young fellow of twenty-two, lately come to Thunder City, and had at once taken a liking to Kalispel. The mining-camp was not the best place in the world for Dick, and this morning he looked it.

  “Had a scrap with Nugget?” asked Kalispel, intuitively. “Not exactly. But she — dished me,” rejoined Dick, miserably.

  “Dished you? — Wal, the fickle little devil! She swore she liked you.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “Did she meet you last night?”

  “Yes. An’ we walked across the bridge. She was different, somehow. Sort of cold an’ gloomy. Wouldn’t let me touch her. I smelled liquor on her. I hate thet, an’ I scolded her fierce. She took it so quiet I was sorry. Then she said: ‘Dick, my boss says you interfere with my business. You take my time. An’ you don’t drink or gamble. There’s nothin’ in it for the house. So I’ll have to give up seeing you any more.’”

  “Wal, I’m damned! Doesn’t sound like Nugget.... An’ what’d you say to that, Dick?”

  “I told her I’d drink an’ gamble. My claim is comin’ out fine, Kalispel. You can never tell about gold-diggin’s. My neighbor, an old miner, says I’ll strike it rich. So I can afford to take Nugget’s time.”

  “Ah-huh. An’ what’d she say to that?”

  “She wouldn’t hear of it. First she talked sense to me, an’ seein’ that was no good, she pitched into me proper. Then I told her there wasn’t any use — that I loved her an’ wanted to marry her an’ take her away from the rotten dance-hall.”

  “The devil you did? Gosh! Dick, you are gone. An’ all my fault! What’d I do it for?... AN’ how’d Nugget take that?”

  “Kind of shocked her,” replied Sloan. “We were walkin’ back an’ had just got to the bridge. She stopped to lean on the rail. Burst out cryin’.... I was plumb near cryin’ myself — she looked so forlorn an’ pretty in the moonlight. But she got over it quick an’ walked on. ‘Thanks, Dick, for askin’ me. I’m sorry I can’t.’ — I asked her why she couldn’t an’ she told me she didn’t care for me. An’ I said she had cared at first. She’d admitted it, an’ kissed me, too. I kept naggin’ her all the way back. Finally she laughed sort of mockin’ an’ said: ‘You poor kid! Mebbe I’m in love with Cliff Borden!’ — Then she left me.”

  “I’m a son of a gun!” ejaculated Kalispel.

  “Borden runs the hall where she dances, doesn’t he?” went on Sloan.

  “Yes. An’ Rand Leavitt is his silent pardner.”

  “Do you think she told the truth? I can’t believe it.”

  “No. I should smile not,” declared Kalispel, vehemently, slamming his knife down. “Nugget is as good an’ fine an’ clean as the gold she’s named for. Aw, I don’t care if she is a dance-hall girl. That’s her job, her misfortune.... She dished you, Dick, because you were serious an’ she wanted to save you from trouble with Borden.”

  “Kalispel, I shore was serious.”

  “Better forget her, boy, an’ go back to your pannin’ gold.”

  “But I can’t forget her,” Dick protested, miserably. “I love her! — Pard, didn’t you ever feel thet way about a girl, an’ couldn’t forget her?”

  “Yes, I did, Dick. I do!”

  “Then you must understand, Kalispel. I’ve got to figure a way. If I go to hittin’ the bottle an’ buckin’ the tiger she’ll see there’s no help for me — an’ be nice.”

  “Dick, you’d be fool enough to do that,” snapped Kalispel, furiously. It was as if he were caught in the trap, too.

  “My mind is made up, unless you can do somethin’,” answered Sloan, simply. “Nugget thinks a powerful lot of you. I hoped mebbe you’d coax her to change her mind about givin’ me up. I don’t ask much. But I’ve just got to see her.”

  “All right, I’ll make her see you,” decided Kalispel, goaded by his conflicting emotions. “Go back to work. An’ I’ll fetch Nugget to the bridge tonight if I have to pack her. Right after supper.”

  Sloan lunged up with glowing face, about to burst into grateful acclaim.

  “Cheese it!” yelled Kalispel. “Get out quick, or I’ll change my mind.”

  Sloan fled, and Kalispel returned to his work. But often his hand dropped listlessly and his busy mind cogitated the strangeness, the mystery, the terror, and the glory of love. Kalispel knew what yearning for a girl’s lips meant. He knew, and hated himself while he confessed it, that he would be madly glad for Sydney Blair�
��s kisses even though he had to share them with other men. But his portion seemed more bitter than that. For Sydney surely despised him now. She could not but believe that he was in love with the dance-hall girl.

  Perhaps such trend of thought had more to do with Kalispel’s impotent rage than poor Sloan’s predicament. At any rate, he worked himself into one of his cool, reckless, dangerous states, and towards sunset he left his cabin and paced swiftly down the trail.

  As he passed Blair’s cabin Sydney came out on the porch, with a pan or dish in her hands. She wore a blue gingham apron, her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, and she looked bewitching. Kalispel was in a mood for anything. He would confront her, make her furious or sick or something, cost what it might. Sloan’s miserable love, so devastating and all-powerful, had called to his own.

  Kalispel went up on the porch, to Sydney’s amaze. He had never done that before. Her violet eyes, suddenly dilating, appeared to search his face for signs of intoxication. “Where’s your dad?” asked Kalispel.

  “I don’t know. He left in a huff.”

  “How are things goin’?”

  “They could not be worse.... But as Dad is out — please—”

  “Please rustle, eh? Ump-umm. I’m hopin’ you’ll ask me to supper.”

  She laughed contemptuously. “You flatter yourself, Mr. Emerson.”

  “Do you expect to be alone?”

  “Yes. Dad will not come back. And I don’t care.... Oh, I hate the way things are turning out.”

  “Tell me, Sydney.”

  “No. You may be Dad’s friend. He thinks so. But you are certainly not mine.”

  “Is Leavitt comin’ over tonight?”

  “I’d like to lie to you. But he is not.”

  “An’ you’ll be alone till late?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like it a damn bit,” declared Kalispel, forcibly. “You don’t! As if it were any of your business,” she returned, and again her mocking little laugh scorned him.

  “Wal, take your choice,” said Kalispel, with the chill in his voice. “Either you let me come back here or I’ll drag your father out of that gamblin’-joint an’ beat him so he’ll be laid up for a spell.”

  “You cannot mean that — that last,” she protested.

  “I shore do.”

  “You would hurt Dad?”

  “Hurt him? Isn’t he hurtin’ you more an’ more? Isn’t he slippin’ more every day? Isn’t he leavin’ you alone for this slick-tongued Leavitt to—”

  “Yes,” she interposed hurriedly. “But that is no reason for violence. Your kindness is misplaced, Mr. Emerson. You are not my champion.”

  “Not with your consent, I shore can see. But I am, anyhow.”

  “You are, in — in spite of my scorn for you?”

  “In spite of that.... I’ve had a rotten deal, Sydney. From life, from luck, from this liar, Leavitt — from you. But deep as it all has sunk into me, I’m still a man. An’ I’m goin’ to raise hell around these diggin’s pretty pronto.”

  “In my behalf, Sir Galahad?”

  “Aw, Sydney, that doesn’t become you!” he ejaculated, reproachfully. “Scorn me all you want, but don’t bemean yourself.”

  “I declare — you are the most amazing person. I simply cannot understand you.”

  “Wal, that’s because I’m simple an’ honest. An’ you’re deep an’ deceitful. You’re a woman. You don’t play fair.... But as always we get into a fight. I’ll be goin’. Make your choice. Do I come back here or —— —”

  “Very well, you may come. I prefer even your presence to having my poor, misguided dad beaten.”

  “Oh no. You can’t say cuttin’ things. Not at all!... All right, I’ll come, unless I can persuade your dad to,” replied Kalispel, and he leaped off the steps and strode away, smarting under her gibe, sick with his impotence. Yet as he recalled that last unfathomable gaze, his nerves seemed to quiver. When she hated him so flagrantly why did she look at him like that? It seemed as if some part of her personality was in conflict with another. But whatever complexity of emotion ruled her, the effect on Kalispel only added to his somber state. He felt the old swamping wave roll over him — the need to drown his woe in drink. As he could not resort to that, he ceased to rail against passion and bitterness. He was just Kalispel Emerson, kicked by fate, and he could not stay the inevitableness of things.

  He went into the Chinaman’s little shop and passed some time over a biscuit and a cup of coffee. Then at half after six o’clock he wended his somber way toward Borden’s dance-hall. It was the hour when fewest of Thunder City’s thousands were abroad, yet there were enough of the motley crew to cause Kalispel to take to the center of the street. The yellow lights cast their flare out into the night; music thrummed and beat somewhere; the saloon emitted a ceaseless hum; the smell of smoke and sawdust and rum filled the drowsy summer air.

  Kalispel sensed events. He could no more stave off the ominous violence of the time and the place than he could the fire in his spirit. Restraint and resistance seemed spent.

  “Wal, things happen this way,” he muttered. “Just now I wouldn’t budge a step to avoid Leavitt or Borden.”

  The music-hall building occupied considerable space, and as it was only one story high, the dining-room, kitchen, and other rooms were on the ground floor. Kalispel presented himself at the door of the dining-room. Half a dozen young women were at supper, but Nugget was not with them. “Evenin’, girls. Where’s that golden-headed Nugget?”

  “She just left the table,” replied one of them. “Down the hall, last room on the right. But she don’t receive gentlemen in her budwar.” The last sentence had something of a sneer in it.

  Kalispel thanked the girls, but made no other reply. He found the narrow dark hall, and at length reached the end and knocked.

  “Who’s there?” came the answer.

  “It’s me, Nugget.”

  “So I hear. But who’s me?”

  “Kalispel.”

  The little door swung open to let him step into a small room, well lighted and furnished. Nugget welcomed him with glad eyes.

  “Howdy, cowboy,” she said, gayly, as she closed the door. Then as she observed him more closely: “Kalispel, what’s wrong? Oh, you look—”

  He reached for her with powerful hand and pulled her close, to peer down into the startled face.

  “For two bits I’d wring your white neck.”

  “Why, Kalispel! — you’re drunk!” she gasped.

  “Nugget, you’ve seen too many drunken men to make a mistake about me. No, I’m sober, an’ as mad as I’m sober.”

  “Mad! — At — me?” she faltered, her hands catching at his arms.

  “Wal, I reckon it’s you. I’ve a mind to beat you good, drag you out of this hell-hole, an’ shoot it up proper.”

  “Oh, my friend, you wouldn’t hurt me!” she cried. “What have I done?”

  “You’ve played fast an’ loose with my pard.”

  “Dick — I did not. I played square with him. Poor boy! He wanted to marry me.”

  “He’s crazy about you.”

  “Dick will get over that.”

  “I reckon not. If I thought so, I wouldn’t be here after you. I don’t get over my case.”

  “After — me?”

  “Yes, after you,” he replied, giving her an ungentle shake. “Nugget, you’re going to break Dick’s heart.”

  “Kal, don’t — don’t hurt me,” she begged, like a child. “I can’t stand to be beat. That’s why I ran away from home. — Choke me — shoot me — if you think I deserve it. But don’t—”

  “Do you care for this boy?”

  “No! No! — Not any more than I do for you,” she protested.

  “That’s not what I mean. I’m your big brother.”

  “Oh, I know that!”

  “Wal, he loves you, too wonderful to... Nugget, don’t lie to me. You love this boy?”

  “I — I like him terribly,”
she sobbed. “But I don’t want to — to get him into trouble with these men.”

  “He’s ruined now. An’ we’ve got to save him. Put some clothes on. I’m takin’ you to meet him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’ll wait at the bridge.”

  “Fetch him here — to my room. I’d keel over if — I went with you.”

  As Kalispel released the girl she sank on the bed, weak and white, with her blue eyes fixed in tragic solemnity upon him.

  Kalispel ran out into the alley, and had almost reached the street when he remembered that such hasty procedure was perilous for a man with enemies. Resuming his habitual vigilance, he went on across the street and down to the bridge. Dick loomed out of the darkness.

  “Pard, I was afraid she wouldn’t come,” he said dejectedly.

  “Come on, idiot. It’s all right. An’ if you open your face, I’ll punch it,” growled Kalispel.

  In a very few minutes he and Dick entered Nugget’s room and closed the door. She had not moved since Kalispel’s departure. But there had come a subtle change in her. “Nugget,” began Sloan, huskily.

  “Don’t call me that. My name is Ruth,” she replied as she slipped off the bed to confront him.

  “All right... Ruth,” said the young man, hopefully. They forgot Kalispel. They stood with glances locked, tense in that uncertain moment, searching each other’s souls.

  It was the girl who swayed. Sloan caught her to his breast.

  “Oh, Dick! I do love — you for wanting to — to marry me,” she whispered, brokenly. —

  “Darlin’, there’s only one way to save me.”

  “Don’t — don’t make me!”

  “Kiss me!” he demanded, emboldened by her entreaty. She flung her arms round his neck and pressed her lips to his. Kalispel saw the tears streaming from under her closed eyelids. And then she was looking up at him, as beautiful as any woman could be, transfigured.

  “Mad boy!... Oh, why do you love me?” she whispered. “I just do.”

  “Can’t you get over it?”

  “Never.”

  “Borden will be wild,” she whispered, wavering.

  “Does he own you?”