by Zane Grey
“Boss,” interposed Danny, impressively. “You an’ me hev a common cause. Nels has no feelin’s. I reckon we oughta git drunk.”
“You said it, Danny.”
“Say, you fellers air blessed among men,” put in Nels. “Both got purty daughters an’ you rave aboot yore troubles! I wisht to Gawd they was both mine.”
“Boss! Did you see her take thet wash? Must hev forgotten it.”
“I’m looking, boys, but I can’t see very well.”
Nels had walked to the end of the porch. Gene could make out only the streaking dust-comet, blurred in his sight. Yet that appeared to grow magically closer.
“Gene, she’s off the wust of the road. Be heah in a few shakes of a lamb’s tail.... It’s a low open car — shiny — with a long front — a nose like them staghounds Madeline used to have.”
Presently car and rising dust disappeared under the slope.
“Heah thet drone? All the same airplane,” shouted Danny.
Gene heard and thought that his ears had never drunk in such sweet music. Madge — his kid — his little girl — his second Madeline — come home for good! He heard Danny babbling in his old cowboy manner, and then Nels let out a “Kiyi!” The drone gave place to hum and then a mellow roar. Then like a flash a tan car shot into sight, passed the village, to turn left at the fork of the road, and speed out of sight up the knoll into the green foliage.
“Shore, I oughta reckoned on thet,” said Nels to himself.
“Boss, I’ll be waitin’ home when you come down,” added Danny. “Welcome Majesty home fer me.”
“Nels, I think I’ll go up.”
“Wal, I should smile.... Tell her my heart ain’t as strong as it used to be,” drawled Nels, with a hand on his breast.
That jest in earnestness troubled Gene Stewart as he made his way up the knoll. The years were flying by. This home-coming of his daughter seemed to mark an epoch in his life and Nels’, too. The old cowboy had no kin; he did not remember his age and he could not have worshiped Madge more if she had been his own. Gene fought a disloyal and disturbing thought about Madge. If she turned out to be wild and flighty, undutiful!... But he conquered the incipient fear. As a child she had been warmhearted, loving, imperious and willful as her mother had been. Gene expected to find Madge bewildering, and he walked slowly up the shady path, seeking to prepare himself for he knew not what. His steps, however, led him inevitably up to the house, through the great arch into the patio and on toward the east wing. Before he stepped into the flagstone corridor he heard a strange voice, swift and high-pitched, sweet and happy. That would be Madge. She was with her mother in the living room. Gene took some long strides to reach the wide doorway. He saw Madeline in her big armchair with the girl on her lap.
“... Mom, darling, I am wild with joy to be home. I have forgotten nothing. I am drunk with the sage. I am....”
And then Gene stepped into the room. They heard his step. The girl raised a lovely face, flushed and radiant, with great violet eyes that were wet and dim. Gene knew her, yet he did not know her. This Madge had golden hair.
“Dad!” she cried, poignantly.
“Yes — if you are — Madge,” he replied, a little huskily.
She sprang up, taller than he remembered her, and not so slim, to rush at him arms spread. She threw them around his neck, and swinging free of the floor she hugged him tight. “My handsome Dad! My El Capitan!... Oh, how — good to see — you!” And with kisses and incoherent words she at last let down her feet, to lean upon him breathlessly. As Gene gazed down, his breast congested and his utterance clogged, he saw that her long dark lashes lay upon her cheeks, and tears were streaming from under her lids.
“Madge, is — is it really you?”
“Yes, Dad — your bad chicken come home to roost.” And she opened eyes that were like her mother’s, only a deeper, darker blue, exquisite in their soft and misty lights. “Darling! You’ve changed somehow. Lines I don’t remember.... And this white over your temples! — Mom, what has grieved our El Capitan?”
“Dearest, the years leave their marks,” replied Madeline, her voice not quite steady.
“I think he’s handsomer. Can you find me a lover like him?”
“Lord forbid, Madge!” laughed Gene. “Now stand away and let me look at you.”
She revolved for his inspection, like the models in fashion shows, and from the crown of her golden head to her suede shoes she appeared to be the ultimate in grace and beauty, in vivid and intense pulsing life. Then her eyes, wide upon him, brought back the child and the girl to prove this lovely young woman his own Madge. It was a profound and moving moment for Gene.
“Madge, my girl. It is you, yet not you. I recognize your eyes, your look, your smile. All else is strange — especially this.” And he caressed a waving tress of her golden hair.
“Mom said almost the same,” rejoined Madge, with a laugh. “Both of you have forgotten your darling.”
“Not much,” said Gene.
“Madge, once your hair was chestnut, like mine before it darkened,” added her mother.
“Well, honey bunches, we will waive that question. But really I am disappointed. I was sure you’d fall for me hard.”
“Daughter, if you are one hundredth as good as you are lovely, I shall be the happiest father in all the West.”
“Dubious, but eminently satisfactory.” Then with striking suddenness she changed from gay to grave. “Let’s get it over, my darling Mom and Dad.” It struck Gene that she addressed both of them but looked at him with eyes no man on earth could have doubted. “You had my letters and wires. I hope you did not see the L. A. papers.... I was expelled from college, in disgrace. It was hateful — the publicity. I’m sorry I couldn’t graduate, for your sakes. For mine, I don’t care in the least. I learned all they gave me and yelped for more. I was secretary of the student body and I’m a Phi Beta.”
“What does that mean, Madge?” asked Gene.
“Why Dad! — To belong to the Phi Beta is one of the highest honors any woman can attain in college.”
“Dearest,” murmured Madeline, “that makes me happy indeed.”
“Madge, what did they expel you for?” queried Gene, stern despite his emotion.
“Dad, I was indirectly to blame for a riot between the students and the police.”
“Indirectly? Does that mean innocently?”
“It certainly does.”
“Okay. Tell us what came off.”
“I like to drive fast and I didn’t pay overmuch attention to laws and rules,” rejoined Madge, frankly. “I never had time to poke along slowly. Several times I received tickets for speeding. Once after that I was in a rush and the officer who caught me happened to be the same one. Well, he was a sap, swelled on himself, and by making eyes at him and telling him he wouldn’t pinch his little co-ed, or some such rot, I kept him from taking me to court; he said, ‘I’ll be seeing you, sweetie,’ and the next time he saw me he was fresh. I cut him dead, of course. One afternoon I was driving up to college and saw him coming up alongside. That time I was not exceeding the speed limit. Nor did I forget to put out my hand at the corner, but he accused me of that. He followed, calling for me to stop, which I did presently along the side street halfway down the campus. It happened in between classes, and there were students everywhere. Some of my friends were right there when I stopped. They heard my argument with this policeman. And did they take my side? Students came running from everywhere. Then I noticed a young fellow in the front line, and at first took him for a student. There were two policemen in this car and a motorcycle cop came up. Both officers got out, and the mean one stepped on the running board of my car — told me to move over — that he was taking me for a ride. Then the students rushed a vegetable truck, and loading up with tomatoes and oranges they just swamped that police car. The motorcycle cop called out the reserves, and the dirty bum of a policeman who had been to blame for this — he actually laid his hands on me — to push me out of my seat. Th
en this young fellow I mentioned, socked him in the stomach — a terrific wham! The officer began to fold up. Did I get a kick out of that? Then my champion laid him out in the street and leaping into my car told me to step on it. We left the mob of reserves and students having a swell fight. When I got out of the crowd I did step on it. We escaped. ... That’s all, Dad, except the board of directors expelled me and the officers forgot to come and arrest me.”
“It doesn’t strike me as so terrible,” replied Gene, with a reassuring smile. It was certain Madge had no idea she had done the least wrong. “What do you think, Madeline?”
“Madge was rather thoughtless and indiscreet.”
“What became of the young man?” queried Gene. “I’d like to shake hands with him.”
“So would I,” flashed Madge, her eyes lighting up. “I drove him downtown, to a parking place where we chatted. He was the handsomest fellow. Shy. He had no line at all. Oh, I liked him. Made a date with him to meet me right there the next day. But he didn’t come, the idiot! Instead, oh, never mind — that was all of that.”
“If you don’t feel badly over it, why should we?” asked Madeline, happily.
“Then we’ll forget it. I think you are both darling. I’m going to make up for my long absence by loving you to death.”
“Madge, we can stand some loving,” returned Gene, fervently. “Are you really going to stay home now?”
“Dad! Don’t look so wistful. Oh, how I have neglected you both! But you wanted me educated. You’ve had your way. I am, and how!”
Neither Madeline nor Gene could resist a laugh.
“You will stay home with us — at least once in a while?” asked her mother.
“Forever, darling. I’ll have my friends come to see me. I wired you to expect a crowd after graduation. What a place this ranch is to entertain city tenderfeet! I’ll have the time of my life.”
“Madge, the ranch — is run down,” said Gene, hesitatingly. “Hardly fit now for your friends.”
“But, Dad, it’s so western, so Spanish. I adore the atmosphere of years and leisure. Before I left L. A., I bought three truckloads of stuff. Everything under the sun. Mom, I hope you like my modernistic taste. I’ll refurnish my rooms, and all those in the west wing. Oh, it’ll be swell.”
“Only three truckloads!” ejaculated Gene, with a smile at Madeline. He had to laugh. His daughter was amazing, electrifying. He felt shot through and through with new life. The flush on Madeline’s lovely face was pleasant to behold. “What about your baggage?”
“My car outside is full. And I expressed ten trunks and a lot of bags. They will be at Bolton today. The other stuff comes by freight. I do hope soon. We have only two weeks to get ready for my crowd.... Dad, will you carry in my truck? I brought you both presents galore, when I can unpack. Mom, are my rooms ready?”
“They are clean, my dear, and exactly as you left them.”
Gene went out in front, conscious of varied emotions. A good deal of the happiness that possessed him was the pent-up delight Madeline had betrayed.
“Gosh! No wonder this car could travel!” ejaculated Gene, sizing up the magnificent machine, new, glittering, apparently all engine. The back seat was packed full of bags and parcels. And there were three beautiful coats, one of them fur. All about the car and its contents reminded Gene of Madeline Hammond when she had first arrived at El Cajon, which was now Bolton. Like mother, like daughter! Still could Madge ever adjust herself to the changed times? She had a fortune but she could not squander her principal. Aunt Helen, wise in her vision, had seen to that. But Madge’s income now could not support her present extravagance. Gene thought of these things and many more, in the fifteen trips he made with Madge’s baggage. On the last she and her mother met him in Madge’s sitting room.
“Mom! Why should you apologize for my rooms?” Madge was saying. “They are just swell. I wouldn’t change them. Of course the furnishings are rather dingy and old. But I anticipated that.... I’ll paint these walls.”
“You’ll what?” asked Gene, incredulously.
“I’ll paint them. I bought the paint and brushes.”
“You learned that in college?”
“I certainly did. See here, Dad Stewart, you give me a job I can’t do?”
“You’re on, Madge.... I’d like, though, that you’d run down to see Nels.”
“Nels and my horses! Oh, am I happy?... Where’s my purse? I don’t want Nels to see me such a sight,” she babbled. Finding the purse she sat down to open it and take out something shiny on a chain. From this she extracted a powder puff, with which she powdered her nose. This act was performed deftly and while she talked to her mother. But when she took out a small metal tube and began to paint her lips with it, Gene observed that she was careful and quiet. Her lips took on a hue still more scarlet. Madge, bouncing up, encountered her father’s nonplused gaze, and she burst into mirth.
“Why do you do that?” he asked, curiously.
“You old range rider! Why do you suppose?”
“I’ve no idea, unless you imagine it makes you prettier. Nothing artificial could do that.”
“Dad, don’t you fool yourself. I just could. I’ll make up really for you some day. It’s an art.... I suppose, to answer you, that the custom grew popular through motion pictures. The most beautiful stars are those who have the artistry, or do their making up under experts.... Mom, would it interest you to know that I had an offer to go into the movies?”
“Yes, of course. But it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“There was one studio hot after me. It turned out that I had met some official or director at some function, or the Grove, I forget which. He talked me deaf, and phoned the house until I told him where to get off. I was interested, of course. Any girl in the world is keen about the movies. I’d like to have taken a fly at it. But — I decided it would cost more than I’d pay.”
“Cost? Why, I read about the big salaries the companies pay their stars.”
“Oh, Dad! — Mom, isn’t he a darling old dumbbell?... I’ll be back right away to unpack.” She ran out, her high heels clicking.
Gene stood there, smiling quizzically at Madeline. Presently he heard the slam of a car door and the burst of engine.
“Dumbbell? I suppose I am. Poor Nels and I are in for hell.”
“Gene, I’m tremendously relieved. Whatever college and city may have done to her these four years she is wholesome and sweet. And oh! so lovely!”
“I liked the way she looked when I spoke of Nels.... Maddie, I think, if she’s got a heart, we can stand anything.”
“Be assured then, Gene, and relieved as I am. She is warmhearted. She loves us. She loves — this home.”
“Why, Madeline! You’re crying.... At that I feel sort of — weak myself. Our little girl come home — grown up — a woman! I never saw a princess, but she’s one. I’m so proud of her I could burst.... Wife, I forgot to ask you. Don’t you think we ought to patch up the telephone system to town? The wires are down in places. And there are other things.” Whereupon Gene went over with her the talk he had had with Nels and Danny Mains. After that he proceeded to the room Madeline and he used as an office, and there he read neglected mail, carefully studied books, and figures that always were Greek to him, and wrote some important letters. Madge’s coming had seemed to fire his energy, to make a break in the old mañana habit of mind he had fallen into, and to stimulate his determination to see this climax of hard times through. To Gene’s surprise he was called to lunch before he had any idea the morning had passed.
Madge met him as he entered the living room, and he halted in sheer amazement. She looked like a slim boy.
“Madge, what kind of a riding outfit is that?” Evidently his reaction to her appearance gave her delight.
“Dad, I have on slacks. Don’t you like them?”
“Daughter, I’m afraid I’ll like anything you wear,” he replied, putting his arm around her.
“Against your better
judgment, yes?”
They entered the dining room, which appeared brighter than for many years. The sunshine sifted through the foliage over the open window. There were roses and Indian paintbrushes and sage in the vases. Madeline had celebrated the occasion by gracing the table with white linen and some of her old silver and china.
“Swell to be home!” exclaimed Madge.
“Disappointed in — anything?” asked Gene, haltingly.
“Not a thing. The ranch had gone to hell when I was home last. But I didn’t mind the tumble-down corrals and sheds. Fits the range. But the big barn must have a new roof.... Dad, it gave me a shock to see Nels. I think he has failed a little. But he is the same old darling. I was so overjoyed to see him that I forgot my horses. Fancy that? Then the luncheon bell rang. I had scarcely time to change. This afternoon I’ll get into riding togs, just to please Nels. What do you think he said, Dad?... ‘Wal, Majesty, the only things aboot this heah ranch thet ain’t gone daid is yore hawses. Me an’ yore vaqueros hev seen to thet.’... Oh, I love to hear the old Texan talk.”
“Yes, your horses are okay, Madge,” replied Gene. “I hope Nels didn’t talk too much.”
“He couldn’t keep anything from me.... Dad, I’ve known for a couple of years that your financial situation was not so hot. Mom told me when I was home last. And of course I’ve read about the depression going from bad to worse. Just how bad is it for you?”
Madge’s direct query and the gaze that added more to it were not easy to meet.
“Pretty tough, Madge — but I’d rather not confess just what a poor businessman your dad is.”
“Gene, it is not your management of the ranch,” interposed Madeline. “You made it pay expenses until the bottom dropped out of everything.”
“Madeline, that’s darn good of you,” protested Gene. “But it’s not so. We had too much money and too many cattle. For ten years we ran behind, a little more every year. Then came the crash... .”
Gene hesitated, spreading wide his hands, looking from wife to daughter. Nels was not the only one who would find it difficult to lie to Madge Stewart.