Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Gosh — I’m — sorry I had to hurt — you,” he said, haltingly. “But I — couldn’t help it. That damned — roan can run. Lucky to catch you — at all.”

  “How strong you are!” she exclaimed, her eyes, darkly dilated, upon him. “You had the muscles of my back. I’ll bet I can’t wear my new formals very soon.”

  “Shall I get down? Can you ride my horse?” asked Lance, hurriedly.

  “I feel very comfortable where I am.... Lance, I deserve it. I was wrong — bullheaded — vain. You were right.... Now does that soothe your wounded vanity?”

  “My feelings don’t count. But I don’t remember that vanity entered into it.”

  “Damn you anyway, cowboy!” she exclaimed, broodingly, passionate eyes upon him in speculation.

  “That’s not very kind,” returned Lance, beginning to weaken under another kind of strain. She was resting in his arms, her head now on his shoulder. A little color began to creep into her cheeks. Lance almost collapsed under a terrific longing to kiss her.

  “For you to be the one always to catch me in the wrong — do me a service!... It’s a tough break.”

  “Miss Stewart, I had a hunch about this horse.”

  “For the love of Mike stop calling me Miss. Why don’t you cuss me out?” she replied, hotly.

  “To tell the truth I — I don’t know why,” answered Lance, lamely. He sensed that fatality for him consisted in being with her, and this close contact was insupportable. If he did not get away from it instantly he could not answer for himself. She was in his arms and if she did not like it, she was acting a part. Then Lance saw Starr approaching in a long sweeping gallop, and the others a mile or more behind.

  “They’re coming,” said Lance, in relief, as he carefully slid with her out of the saddle. “Can you stand?”

  “I can — if you hold me.” And she swayed against him.

  “Miss... Madge, you’re not hurt so — bad,” he protested.

  “That’s what you say. My back is broken.”

  “Nonsense!” cried Lance, in alarm, and he turned her round to feel of her. “It’s just bruised — sore. I must have pinched you.”

  She squealed as he felt to see if he had broken a rib.

  “You’re a swell western girl — I don’t think. Can’t you take it?”

  “What do you think, Lance Sidway?”

  “God only knows!” he responded, with an inward groan. “Here’s Ren. And the others are coming. Sit down. I’ll ride after Dervish.”

  He found upon releasing her that she could stand easily enough.

  “What’n hell come off?” shouted Starr, as he leaped from his saddle.

  “Only me,” laughed Madge.

  Lance thankfully galloped off to catch Dervish, now contentedly grazing half a mile away. What a girl! He was slipping — slipping. Then his softer agitation burned away in a tumult, some of which emotion was wrath. He had not had half a chance. To save her life, or at least, a nasty spill, was just his hard luck. All in a second to find her in his arms! Hell! What was a girl like that for? Her lying lovely eyes would make an imbecile out of a cigar-store Indian. Yet there seemed to be something so sweet, so square about her. If only she had not hated him, maybe he never would have known of her other nature! But that would have been worse. At length he caught Dervish, and by the time he had returned to the waiting group he was outwardly his cool self again.

  “Did you beat him?” asked Madge.

  “No. I never beat horses.”

  Ren glowered at the sweating roan, as he stood meekly, his racy head drooping. “Wal, I’ll beat him some day, believe me.”

  “I wonder — why is he so kind to dumb brutes,” said Madge, cryptically. “Listen, friends. Sidway saved my neck. After I refused to listen to him — insulted him! I am a cat. Now you shall see me apologize.”

  She turned to Lance in one of her bewildering flashes. “Lance, I am sorry. I beg your pardon. You were swell to keep your temper — and stay a gentleman. I’ll tell Dad. And I’ll not get on Dervish very soon again — if ever.”

  “That’s just fine,” replied Lance, heartily. “Now you ride Umpqua home. He’s gentle and easy.”

  “What will you do?” she asked.

  “I’ll ride Dervish. He’s worked off his edge now.” He helped her mount and shortened the stirrups while the others expressed their relief in various ways. The girls, especially, had been frightened. The boys, except Rollie Stevens, quickly recovered their spirits. Then just as the cavalcade got into motion, Bu Allen said slyly:

  “Lance, if I ride Dervish some time will you be a hero for me?”

  CHAPTER VIII

  THAT NIGHT AFTER supper, when Starr, in the next room, was exaggerating the story of Madge’s adventure on Dervish, and Lance sat in his big chair gazing at the beautiful photograph, there came a soft step outside and a tap on his door. Hastily hiding the picture of Madge, and with a leap of his heart he called: “Come in.”

  The door opened to disclose Beulah Allen on the threshold. She wore a henna gown that matched her hair, cut to expose her creamy arms and neck. Her charm appeared considerably magnified.

  “Good evening, Lance. Here I am,” she said, archly.

  Lance awkwardly returned her greeting, then: “So I see. Who’s with you?”

  “I’m alone. I had a scrap with Snake, so I thought I’d hunt you up.”

  “Swell. — Only, what’ll Snake do to me?”

  “He hasn’t any strings on me. We’ve been engaged several times and broken it off as often. Tonight is the last.”

  Lance had arisen, and now he stood looking at her, fully aware of her seductiveness, and half inclined to yield to it.

  “How swell you are here! Madge got a kick out of dolling up these rooms. Isn’t she a peach? Always playing Santa Claus!”

  “Indeed, she’s very kind. Which reminds me — in the excitement today I forgot to thank her.”

  “She hates to be thanked.... Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  “No. But I’ll come out,” replied Lance, and taking his sombrero he joined her and led her off the porch. She took his arm and remarked that the night and the full moon were made for love.

  “Yeah? — But how about a guy, who if he fell, would be down for good?”

  “You?”

  “I’m telling you. Beulah, you’re one attractive kid. I like you. I’ll be glad to help you with your riding — as you asked me. But don’t get me in bad with Snake Elwell. He might beat hell out of me.”

  “I don’t know about that. Snake can run with a football. But he gets hurt easily. Always crippled.”

  “You little devil!” laughed Lance. “Honest now, isn’t Snake in love with you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, reluctantly. “But he’s not alive.”

  “Beulah, I’ve met a lot of young fellows. Elwell is not flashy. He’s a rough diamond. He’s a regular guy. If you liked him well enough to be engaged to him you oughtn’t to play fast and loose with him.”

  “I don’t.”

  “What do you call this? Coming to my quarters after me?”

  “Lance, if you must be serious, I came because I felt a little out of it tonight. There’s an odd girl, you know. Snake belongs to the same fraternity as the other boys. But I don’t belong to Majesty’s sorority.”

  “Oh, I see.... But she wouldn’t slight you?”

  “No. She’s a thoroughbred — a real sport. And I’d be crazy about her if she’d let me. She’s just a little aloof with me. And I’m as proud as the dickens. So when Snake made me mad, I beat it to you.”

  “I’m sure flattered. Let’s walk down to the village cantina, and have a Mexican cone.”

  It was dark except for starlight. Lance thought that the ground was hardly uneven enough for Beulah to hang onto him so tightly. But after a while he put his arm around her. When they reached the cantina, with its open vine-covered porch and dim lights, he did not remove his arm in time to escape Bonita’s black eyes. Sh
e was there with a group of young people, and her escort was a Mexican lad Lance had never seen. He was of the vaquero type, a born rider, lithe of form, lean of face, and he had small glittering dark eyes. As Lance passed the table where they were sitting his keen faculties grasped Bonita’s jealousy and her friend’s uneasy lowering of his face. It strengthened his suspicion that some of these admirers of Bonita could have shed some light upon the rustlers.

  “Hello, Bonita. Ren is looking for you,” hazarded Lance, with a meaning glance. When her dusky eyes dilated widely he knew he had hit some kind of a mark. Before he and Beulah had finished their ice cream, Bonita left with her escort. The incident determined Lance to pay more attention to Danny Main’s pretty daughter.

  It developed that Beulah had an intense interest in motion pictures, about which Lance talked at length, and in fact all the way up the hill to the ranch house. She led him in through the corridor to the brightly lighted living room, where Madge and part of her guests sat at two card tables, and the others grouped around Stewart and his wife. Most of them were dressed in white. Lance had to bear the sight of Madge supremely lovely in filmy blue.

  Their entrance put a stop to games and conversation. Beulah, flushed and radiant, made the most of the situation. It invoked various greetings, all full of fun and interest.

  “Beulah, you look stunning,” observed Madge. “What’s your recipe for such glamour? My cowboy!... Where’d you pick him up?”

  “Oh, Lance came up after me,” returned Beulah, sweetly. “He took me to the village — for a cone.”

  “For a which?”

  “Cone?”

  “You mean ice-cream cone?”

  “Yes. It was swell. I’d have liked one of those Mexican drinks we had in town, but I guess Lance doesn’t buy drinks for girls.... We saw that pretty Bonita. Say, she’s got rr!”

  “Come on, Barg,” spoke up Nate Salisbury. “Let’s drive down and grab a cone.” And the two young men went tearing out.

  “Mr. Sidway, do you play bridge?” asked Madge, politely.

  “I tried it once. Didn’t get the hang of it.”

  “Do you play any game — that is, card game?”

  “Poker.”

  “Of course. Ren plays poker. We’ll have you up some night.”

  “Thanks a lot. I’ll hate to take your money. But I’ll come.... I’m glad to see you okay, after your run on Dervish.”

  “I may look okay in front.... See, you ironfisted cowboy!” And Madge arose to turn her back. The V-shaped opening in her gown extended clear to her waistline. About half way down, disfiguring her lovely back, showed black and blue marks of a ruthless hand.

  “I’m sorry!” burst out Lance, his surprise and regret checking other feelings. “That’s terrible.... But, Miss Stewart, how could I help it?”

  Madge’s slow smile might have promised much. However, at this point, Stewart called the cowboy: “Sidway, I’ve had several versions of this runaway. Madge wouldn’t say anything. From the looks of her back, though, I’d say you laid hold of her hard. Nels whitewashed the accident. Starr didn’t see it, nor did the others. Come now, what’s your story?”

  “Mr. Sidway, take this chair here,” interposed Mrs. Stewart, beckoning Lance to a seat beside her. He felt the penetrating kindness of her eyes.

  “Thank you.... Well, really, there wasn’t much danger. For a western girl!” replied Lance, deprecatingly, with a casual gesture. “Dervish began to pitch. Mad — Miss Stewart stayed in the saddle. Then he nailed the bit and lit out. Ren had gone with the outfit. I chased Dervish across the flat. He can run, that roan. I caught up with him — and grabbed her — a little roughly, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Did you forget my instructions?” queried Stewart, his kind eyes twinkling. “I forbade Madge to ride Dervish. And I told you not to let her get on any bad horse. You’re a judge of horses, aren’t you?”

  “Not so good. I — I’m afraid I forgot, sir,” returned Lance, not meeting Stewart’s eye.

  “Dad, your cowboy is a liar,” spoke up Madge, in her rich voice, that now had a little ring. “In fact he’s an awful liar.... He advised me not to ride Dervish. He insisted that I must not. He made me furious by threatening to hunt you up. But you know your little Madge, Dad.... Dervish worked out fine as long as I held him in. We rested a while. When I mounted again he began to pitch. He made me see red, and hurt me — took it all out of me. Finding he couldn’t unseat me, the devil beat it up the valley. I stayed on somehow. After a while I heard Umpqua pounding at my heels. And Sidway yelled: ‘Let him run! Hold on!’ But for that I’d have gone off. The rocky ground scared me stiff. My arms went dead. I lost my stirrups. Just then, as I pitched out of the saddle, Sidway caught me. He certainly put his brand on me.... But, Dad, he saved me broken bones, perhaps a crushed face — maybe my life!”

  Lance groaned in spirit to be thus made out a hero, yet her eloquence radiated through him, and added another link to the chain that was fettering him.

  “Sidway, modesty is a becoming trait, but hardly justifies your lying to your boss to save his willful and wayward daughter,” said Stewart, mildly.

  “Dad, don’t rub it in,” called Madge, mirthfully. Then, taking up her cards, “Where was I, Allie?”

  The card players settled down to their game again. Mrs. Stewart began to ask Lance about Oregon, and she was so gracious and interested that he found himself telling her of his boyhood home, of his mother and sister, about that sister’s malady, and how he had left college to take Umpqua to Hollywood, how wonderfully the great horse had made good, how he loved him and would not part with him for the world, and finally how he had set out for Arizona and New Mexico.

  “Majesty Stewart! You trumped my ace!” exclaimed Rollie Stevens, incredulously.

  “She’s transported!” declared Allie.

  “Listening to Mr. Sidway,” chimed in Maramee, with a giggle. “Majesty, you’re not very flattering to us.”

  “Caught with the goods!” cried Madge, leaping up with a blush, and slamming down her cards. “I hate bridge anyway.... Turn on the radio, you all. Or play the Victrola. Dance! What’d you come here for? ... Mom, please surrender Mr. Sidway to me for a little. I want him to talk to me!” And approaching Lance she tugged at his sleeve. He arose, bowed to Mrs. Stewart, and allowed himself to be led toward the door.

  “Madge, take a coat or wrap, if you’re going into the patio,” advised her mother.

  “There’s one in the hammock, Mom.”

  Rollie Stevens called forcefully after them. “Majesty, I’ll cut in — what do you call it — pronto.”

  “He will, the sap!” whispered Madge. “But we’ll fool him.” The patio was silver-bright under a full moon. The fountain tinkled, there was a stir of leaves, and peep of sleepy birds. Madge caught up a white coat from the first hammock and gave it to Lance. He helped her into it, and turned up the wide collar, and buttoned the upper buttons, his fingers clumsy, while she stood still and gazed up at him with eyes he felt but dared not meet. Then she took his arm and led him along the wide porch, where the shadows of foliage played black on the tiles. Lance was helpless in the thrall of the moment.

  “Lance, it’s coming to you right now — while I’m hot under the spell,” declared Madge. “Beulah Allen has fallen for you. They all saw that. I saw it long ago. What did you do to her? She sailed in positively regal. That was for my benefit, Lance Sidway. Only yesterday I told the girls you didn’t neck. What a liar you’ve made me out!... They all like you. Dad doesn’t throw a fit over every fellow who comes along, not even a cowboy. And Mom!... Young man, do you know you couldn’t pull a greater stroke here than that? I listened. It couldn’t be a line. All that about your sister! Oh, Lance.... Mom likes you! That is the last straw! My lovely patrician mother!”

  “She was just — moved by my — my service to you,” said Lance, unsteadily.

  “No. Don’t start that stuff. This is serious,” she rejoined, and halting beyond the last archwa
y, she turned to him in the white moonlight. In that light, shining from the pale oval of her face, her eyes held the sum of all beauty. “Isn’t it a pity — I don’t like you?”

  “Maybe that is lucky for me,” he returned, huskily.

  “Lance, are you engaged to any girl in Oregon?”

  “No — indeed.”

  “Are you fancy-free?”

  “Yes,” he lied, glibly enough.

  “You made a play for Bonita. Oh, I know. She gave you away — and herself. I was brazen enough to pump her.... Lance, do you know Ren Starr has a terrible case on Bonita?”

  “I found that out pronto.”

  “You were only playing with her?”

  “I didn’t admit that.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Not since I found out about Ren.”

  “Listen, these college friends of mine, particularly Barg and Nate, are nuts over that little Mexican hussy. She’s half white, yes, but the Latin blood dominates.”

  “Bonita isn’t quite all that,” rejoined Lance, stoutly.

  “She is. And I’m a jealous cat. But all this is for Ren’s sake.... You seem to be as big as that mountain there. Are you big enough to play Ren’s game — to keep these college devils away from her? They’re on the make. One or the other, most likely Nate, will get her.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not quite so — so big as that,” answered Lance, led on and on by the deadly sweetness of her, and by the infernal power of his bleeding vanity.

  She released his arm and averted her face. Like a cameo the perfect profile shone as if cut out of marble. The night breeze stirred her golden hair. “I’m disappointed in you — again.”

  “Why should you be, Miss Stewart?” he queried, stiffly, fighting a struggle almost vain. “I’m human — the same as you. Just no good!”

  “How dare you!” she cried, wheeling with a startled movement. “Smile — when you say that.”

  But Lance did not smile. She had wanted to be serious and he had told her the truth. Without a word she left him standing there. Lance stepped into the black shadow of the wall, his thoughts whirling, his conscience stinging, his judgment at fault, his love valiantly championing this perverse and wayward beauty. A thousand wild queries did not lodge in his mind, let alone find an answer. There was not any answer to anything. Why had she asked those direct thought-provoking questions? How easy to escape from her if she were only like Beulah! But Madge Stewart had the insidious power to make men believe in her sincerity. Her look was enough to lift any poor masculine fool to the seventh heaven — to be convinced that he was the one man!