by Zane Grey
Lance’s endless ravings were disrupted by approaching voices. Two people were coming down the patio path. Then Madge’s silver laughter, a little mocking, froze Lance to the spot. They came clear to the inside wall.
“Majesty, you drive me mad,” came in Rollie Stevens’ subdued voice. “You know you have no use for that cowboy. You told me so. Yet for days now you’ve been rotten to me, on his account! Oh, I get it! Sidway hasn’t fallen for you — and that’s piqued your vanity. Besides you want his horse. Why don’t you give the fellow a break? He’s a real man. He’s not a sap. But pretty soon he’ll fall for you, even if he knows you’re not on the level with him.”
“Rollie, I might be in earnest,” she scoffed.
“Rot! Why, Majesty Stewart, only a month ago you said you — you might marry me.”
“That was a month ago, darling. An age!”
“Majesty, you can’t marry a cowboy,” he expostulated, incredulously.
“Rollie, I hadn’t thought of that. But — why couldn’t I?”
“You’re a lady of quality, a talented girl. Why he’s not of your class. Admitting Sidway is a fine chap — I like him, Majesty — you couldn’t marry him. Oh, to talk of it is preposterous.”
“All right. Skip it.... Rollie! don’t kiss me right here in the moonlight.”
“I’ll bet he did,” he returned, hoarsely.
“Who?”
“Your cowboy!”
“He never even thought of it.”
“My word! — Majesty, can you expect me to believe that?”
“No, I don’t.”
A slight scuffle followed, a protest from the girl, then the soft sounds of kisses.
“Rollie, you needn’t tear my clothes off. Pick up my coat. And remember, my back is too sore for hugging.”
“Darling — it maddens me — to taste your lips. I’m just wafted...”
“New kind of lipstick! All over your face. And mine too.”
“Majesty, honest to God — didn’t that Sidway even kiss you?”
“No, Rollie. He didn’t even try, I’m ashamed to admit.”
“He could have kissed you! All the boys kiss you! It was campus talk!”
“You jealous sap! Surely he could have — and they do. I rather like it. And besides what’s a kiss?”
“You know what it leads to, Majesty Stewart.”
“Yeah? Well, it never led me anywhere in particular yet, except to muss my dress and make-up, as you’ve done.”
“I’m sorry. But you drive me wild.... Kiss me good night, sweet. A real one, like you used...”
“There, little boy. Let us go back. I am cold.”
Then soft footfalls and subdued voices faded away. Lance plunged down the trail like a blind man. He had his answer.
* * * * *
Every morning Lance awakened under the shadow of impending calamity. What was going to happen next? Or what would Madge be up to doing? It did not make the slightest difference to Lance, only he seemed to be the one doomed to encounter her in moments of stress.
Things happened to Madge’s guests. Pinto ran off with Beulah; Pequita, who was a poor swimmer, fell or was pushed off the platform into the lake, and nearly drowned; Maramee was kicked in the ankle so badly that she could not ride; Allie lolled around all day on the sandy beach and was blistered by the sun. In spite of the fact that Stewart insisted on Lance’s keeping a close watch upon the girls, accidents happened.
According to Starr the long-looked-for camping trip in the mountains was approaching; and that, for two lone cowboys, was a job too big. Starr told Lance that he was trying to persuade Madge to take the vaqueros and a cook.
The boys went off on larks of their own contrivance, and on one occasion became lost less than ten miles from the ranch. Another time they slipped off to town and did not show up at the ranch until late the next day, for which jaunt Madge called them “a lot of bums.”
When, however, the least little thing or something more serious, such as Dervish’s bolt, happened to Madge, Lance seemed always to be on the spot. This morning he was morosely counting the occurrences, and wondering if the last two had been strictly bona fide, yet nursing a sense of guilt because of his doubt.
There were endless jobs. He was laboring on a corncrib. Ren had taken the boys fishing. And just about the time Lance forgot his woe, there came a wild clamor of screams from the big barn.
“Sounds scary. Now what the hell?” he muttered, darkly, and strode for the barn. The first screams might have been mirth, but those following sent Lance into a run. He dashed up the runway.
The girls were in a pandemonium of fright, shrieking, pale as death and wild-eyed. It could not be an ordinary circumstance. Missing Madge from the group Lance yelled: “Shut up! — Where’s Madge? What’s the matter?”
“Oh! — Oh! — she’ll be killed!”
“Save her, cowboy — for God’s sake!”
“If she falls... it... it’ll be terrible!”
“Where is she? What is it?” yelled Lance.
“Girls, if you tell him — I’ll hate you,” cried Madge, piercingly from somewhere. “Lance Sidway, you get out — of here! Don’t you dare look!”
At that juncture Beulah Allen ran to Lance, “She was swinging on the hay rope — from one loft to the other.... Sitting on the noose!... Something gave way — and up she went bang against the roof.... There!”
“That’s out for you, Bu Allen!” raged Madge.
Then Lance saw Madge up under the roof, hard against the wheel. The noose evidently slipped from her hips, up to her armpits, and had stripped her that far. But Lance saw only those terrible eyes and the scarlet face.
“Go away!” she shrieked.
“Madge, you’re in great danger,” flashed Lance.... “Grab the wheel!”
“I’d rather die — than — have you...”
“I didn’t look at you — directly,” fumed Lance, angrily. “I didn’t see you. I wouldn’t give a whoop to... didn’t you ever meet a gentleman?... hang on! — Help me, girls. Make a pile of hay right under her — so if she falls... .”
Frantically he began to drag huge armloads of hay from the loft, flinging them to the girls. They worked with a will. Then Lance dashed to the windlass. It was an old-fashioned hay-fork contrivance, and the heavy reel, owing no doubt to a swinging rock wired on it for a balance, had slipped to jerk her aloft.
“All right,” shouted Lance, as soon as he had loosened the rope and taken a strong grip. “Let go the wheel up there.... Down you come.... Hang on to the rope now.”
“You’re squeezing me — to death,” cried Madge.
Madge reached the floor and the rope went slack. A chorus of tender and commiserating exclamations came from the girls who had surrounded Madge. Bu Allen met Lance with a twinkle in her eyes.
“She’s not hurt much. I’ll say she got squeezed once hard enough.”
Lance made no effort to approach the circle around Madge, who evidently lay prostrate on the hay. He had been forced to expend breath as much through emotion as effort. Bu put a sympathetic hand on his arm. Lance received the impression that the girl, despite her sophistication, was someone to like.
“Girls — is — she hurt?” panted Lance.
“Not that we can tell,” replied Allie, who knelt on the hay. Maramee had Madge’s head in her lap. Her abbreviated costume had been decently arranged.
“Where’s that dragon killer?” asked Madge, her voice weak, but spirit apparently undaunted.
Bu Allen dragged Lance over to the pile of hay, where Madge lay, white as a sheet.
“You would!” she exclaimed, with inscrutable eyes on Lance.
“Would — would what?”
“Be the one to catch me in that stunt. I used to do it when I was little. It never occurred to me to look at the windlass. I’m an idiot. ... Sidway, please promise you’ll not tell Nels or Dad, or even Ren.”
“It never happened, Miss Stewart,” rejoined Lance, soberly.
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“Help me to the car,” she replied, and with Allie and Maramee’s assistance arose painfully to her feet. “The knot on that damned noose stuck into my back.”
The girls helped Madge in, and then piled in themselves, with Allie at the wheel. Madge leaned over the door and took hold of the dusty edge of Lance’s vest with unsteady fingers.
“Did I thank you?”
“No. But that’s not necessary,” returned Lance, hurriedly.
“I ought to be decent enough.”
“Madge, you said it,” chimed in Beulah.
“She’s just waiting for something big,” added Allie softly. “Anyway, Lance, we all thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”
“Lance Sidway, don’t you save me any more,” said Madge, imperiously. “Not from hayforks, fences, horses, cars — from college youths or gangsters — nor from myself. If you do, I’ll not be responsible.”
“Are those orders?”
“Yes, they’re orders.”
“Thanks. I’ll not be present next time. And I won’t attend your funeral!”
The car rolled away.
* * * * *
Lance felt inclined to the conviction that it was his careful avoidance of the girls the next few days which kept him out of hot water. Still he had to hear about their mishaps and stunts from Ren, who had been relegated to the job, and who raved rapturously through supper, and then long afterward, to Lance’s disgust. It did not help Lance’s mood to realize that he listened keenly when he might have gone out of hearing.
On the third night, however, Ren, for some reason appeared very glum and silent. Nels ventured a few sly queries. And when Lance added: “Has our poodle had his tail pulled?” Ren stalked out and stamped to his room.
“Wal, he ain’t often like thet,” said Nels, ponderingly. “Reckon one of us ought to make a move, anyhow.”
“I’ll go, Nels,” returned Lance, and lighting a cigarette he went out. Approaching Ren’s door and seeing that the light was out, Lance knocked and said:
“Sorry, old man. I was only kidding.”
“Shore, I know that. It’s okay,” replied Ren, gruffly.
“Little off your feed, Ren?”
“I reckon.... An’ I was made out a turrible sucker today!”
“By whom?”
“Wal, who’d you think?”
“Bonita?”
“Thet little hussy! — Say, she’s lost her haid over them boys. I cain’t do a damn thing about it.”
“Don’t try. They’re only in fun, Ren.”
“Like hell they air!” ejaculated the cowboy, bitterly.
“Ren, I lay off Bonita for your sake. Maybe I shouldn’t have. She liked me. And I’m your pal, you know.”
“You’re damn right you shouldn’t. Them boys hev been chasin’ Bonita an’ her friends pretty hard lately, an’ unbeknown to Majesty.”
“That’s not so good, Ren.”
“Good! — It’s pretty bad, if you ask me.”
“Well, I’ll walk down and give the kid a spiel, Ren.... But, I forgot. Who made the sucker out of you?”
“Never mind now, pard. I don’t want to hear you whoop.”
Lance strolled off the long porch across the square, and down the road toward the high wall of poplar trees that marked the village. The night was close and warm. Merry voices up by the lake attested to the presence of night bathers. The strumming of a guitar and the lilt of a Spanish love song suited the summer night. At the corner Lance turned left to go down the long avenue of poplars. Lance passed the deserted adobe houses, then the lighted store, and beyond that the noisy cantina. Here there was no one out under the vine-covered trellis. Peeping in he saw a number of Mexicans, but no girls or white men. Lance crossed the street, and in the deep shadow of the other lane of poplars, he went slowly on toward Danny Mains’ house. When he got to the corner he halted in the shadow. The gate was beyond a little ways. Lance thought he would hang around a little before he went in. There were both lights and music in the Mains’ cottage. Presently three bareheaded girls appeared, scarfs round their shoulders. The foremost was Bonita. They hesitated, whispering excitedly, and were evidently expecting someone. When Lance called Bonita she gave a start and then approached slowly, while the other girls hung back. He met her at the gate.
“Hello, kiddo. Where are you going?”
“Oh, Señor Lance! — I was afraid it might be my brother Manuel... I’ve — we have a date.”
“You look it. Sweet as a wild rose!... Bonita, have you gone back on Ren and me?”
“No indeed. But I never see you — and him so seldom. He’s jealous. Tries to boss me. I won’t stand it, Lance.”
“Don’t blame you. Has he asked you to marry him yet?”
“He has not,” she retorted. “But he did say I was so — so bad he wasn’t sure he wanted me to.”
“Well, that’s a tough one.... Bonita, have you been stepping out a little lately?”
“Not so very. Tonight’s the first time I’ve consented to go to town. Francisca and Maria have both been. I’m scared. If Daddy finds it out he’ll whip me.”
“Stay home. Come with me to see Ren. He’s blue. Let the others go.”
“Lance, if you wanted me for yourself I’d break any date. I’d rather. These young college men are too swift for Bonita Mains.”
“Listen, honey. Now don’t be a little chump. It’s all right to go if you refuse to drink. You’ll enjoy the movies and dancing.”
“They all drink like fish.”
“Right.” And Lance laughed at the frank girl. He drew her close to him and kissed her. “Bonita, get a load of this. I like you myself — more than these college guests of Miss Stewart’s. But Ren loves you, dearly. I know it. And I’d hate to see you two fail to make a go of it. Now be a good kid. Promise me. I’ll make a date with you for tomorrow night, like this, so we can talk.”
“I promise, Lance,” she replied, happily, her hands on his arm. “I’ll not drink tonight. If you can’t patch it up between Ren and me, it’ll not be my fault.”
“Swell! You’re okay, Bonita, and Ren is a crabby old sourdough. We’ll fix it.... Hello! — a car?”
“They’re coming. Perhaps it’d be just as well if you weren’t seen.”
Lance gave her dark head a pat and hurried back into the shadow of the trees. But the car did not come close to the house, and Lance could not ascertain to whom it belonged. The girls ran out and were taken in with merry greetings. As the car went on, Lance thought he saw a figure hanging on behind. Presently, being certain of this, he took to the road and strolled down the hill. He knew that if someone had stolen a ride, he would not stick on for long, not on desert roads at the speed these fellows liked.
This car, however, did not appear to open up, until it reached the level valley floor. Lance kept on, presently reaching the level, where the dry wash and the sand made rough going for a space. At length he gave up and was about to turn back when he almost bumped into someone sitting on the low bank of the road. A little peal of silvery laughter magnified his start.
“Lance Sidway! I was just gambling with myself how soon you’d arrive,” said Madge Stewart.
“Well, I’m damned!”
“So am I. Fatally damned to have you get me out of every scrape.”
“That’s a tough break. You’re not alone?”
“Yes, I am. Allie was in the plot with me. She was to hang onto the other side. Either she did not get on or she was jolted off. You didn’t see her along the road?”
“No. She couldn’t have come. I saw only one person hanging on the back of that car.”
“You saw me? When?”
“When the car stopped outside Mains’ house. I was with Bonita. The other girls waited in the yard.”
“Oh! I see. Johnny on the spot! — Did you get who the boys were?”
“No. That didn’t interest me particularly. Bonita told me these boys were too swift for her. What Bonita does is probably none of m
y affair, but I am interested because of Ren. So I urged her not to drink and she said she wouldn’t. Bonita is easily influenced if you go about it right. I’ve been Ren’s friend, with her, if you know what I mean.”
“I didn’t until now,” returned Madge, bluntly. “We girls thought the boys were going to the cantina with the girls. I think it lousy of them, especially of Barg Hillcote. Just engaged to Maramee! There I go spilling my insides.... Lance Sidway, men are all rotten.”
“Yeah!” answered Lance, uncertainly. She had begun to strike him rather singularly, as she had not moved, and she sat leaning back on both hands with one leg up over the bank. In the starlight he could see her lovely face and speaking eyes.
“Maramee would break her engagement with Barg for this. I would. And she’s been so happy.... I hope to goodness Allie didn’t get on and fall off.... Surely she’ll come soon.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Lance said suddenly, and he leaned close to Madge, peering at her.
“Guess I got hurt,” she replied, with great inscrutable eyes meeting his.
“Where?”
“My foot. This one. Thought at first I’d sprained my ankle. But I’m not sure.”
“Let me see.” Lance stepped up on the bank and knelt. She had taken off her shoe and stocking. Her white foot and leg gleamed in the starlight.
“Don’t touch it!” she cried. But he went right on until she screamed out.
“All right, all right, touchy!... Let me see you move it.... Flex it!”
“Oh, I can do that. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Your ankle is okay. You’ve sprained your instep — or something. But if you keep off it and use hot water frequently, you’ll be all right tomorrow or next day.”