Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Majesty — aren’t you — frozen?” asked Rollie, his teeth chattering. “Come to the — fire.”

  “My feet — are ice,” she whispered.

  “Here,” cried Lance, sharply. “They can’t be frozen. It’s not cold enough.... Sit here, on this blanket. Lean against the pack. Put this blanket over you.... Never mind, I’ll take off your shoes.”

  Her thin shoes and stockings afforded little protection against this frosty air. Her little feet did feel like blocks of ice.

  “Rollie, throw a blanket round you and sit close to her,” went on Lance. No one seemed to oppose him, and he caught Madge’s great dark eyes upon him.

  Then Lance leaped to throw the other pack, and unsaddle the horses. He turned them loose. The luxuriant grass and good water in the mountain park were the equal of any pasture. There was not much likelihood of their straying soon, and Umpqua at least would stay. Lance went back to the fire. Madge was asleep, her fair face drooping upon Rollie’s shoulder. He too had sunk into weary slumber. On the other side of the fire Uhl lay covered with his head on a log, dead asleep. Fox appeared to have crawled under a pack canvas. Flemm sat on his guard, his machine gun at rest, his eyes like gimlets.

  “Cowboy, stretch yourself right there,” he said. “Me an’ Fox will have a go at this job.”

  Lance dragged his saddle close, and wrapping himself in his blanket he lay down to make up a little for the loss of two nights’ sleep. His last thought was a wondering if he dared risk a snap shot at Flemm, and then kill Fox and Uhl as they lay. Sleep claimed him before he could decide.

  Daylight had come when he was awakened by a sound of wood being dumped upon the fire. Fox had taken Flemm’s place on guard. The others were locked in slumber. Lance fell asleep again and when he awakened the sun was high. Uhl sat huddled near the fire, his pale face showing the havoc of extreme exertion and privation. Behind him the fox-featured guard paced to and fro, gun in hand.

  Lance threw off his blanket and arose to his feet, cramped with the cold.

  “Good morning. Kind of brisk up here on top,” he said, cheerfully.

  “Brisk? — Ha! I damn near froze to death,” ejaculated Uhl.

  Lance spread his hands to the blaze, and casually looked about. The third gangster evidently was hidden under the tarpaulin. The two victims of the kidnapers were asleep. All Lance could see of Madge was her disheveled golden hair.

  “Uhl, it’s only a little way to the log cabin,” said Lance. “Much better place to camp. Hadn’t we better move over? Then I’ll cook some meat and make some hot coffee.”

  “Oke, cowboy. Step on it. I’ll follow with these duds.... Fox, kick Flemm out of his sleep.... Baby, wake up and get wise. This is the last time you’ll ever sleep with any man but me.”

  Lance, with murder in his heart, lifted a pack upon his shoulder, and stepping into the trail he strode for the clearing. He could see it through the big pines, a beautiful glade, with its frosted grass glistening under the sun. Sight of deer made him think of his rifle. That was in his saddle sheath. There might come a chance later to use it. Umpqua whistled from some point near at hand. Lance saw no sign of the other horses. A huge pine tree with wide spreading branches, and some high gray rocks marked the site of the log cabin. Its open door stared like a black curious eye, wondering what was to happen there. All around the stately pines stood up and beyond them rugged crags. This spot had once been the stronghold of the Apache chief, Cochise, at which time the trail was known only to the Indians.

  Depositing the pack under the pine, Lance hurried back for another load. Halfway he met the gangsters. Lance swerved off the trail into the brush. He had a reluctance to meet Madge Stewart face to face. Yet the part he was playing sustained him with a kind of rapture. Perhaps he was afraid she might see through him. Most certainly he must look a queer kind of villain. Returning to the glade with the second pack, which he had opened, he set that down with the other, and then proceeded to build a fire. This done, he went back to fetch his saddle and the blankets that had been left.

  Flemm, the meanest looking of the gangsters, manifestly distrusted Lance, and for that matter, the situation itself. He sat apart, holding the machine gun across his knee.

  Lance spread the tarpaulin on the grass and proceeded to empty the contents of a pack.

  “Rollie, you’re one of these worthless rich guys, I know,” said Lance, not without sarcasm. “But if you’d condescend to help me, we’d have breakfast sooner.”

  “I’d starve to death before I’d associate with you in any way,” declared the collegian.

  “Yes, and you’d let Madge starve, too. If you and she were left alone on your own, she’d soon get your number.”

  “Don’t address me again, you two-faced scoundrel. You’re a dirty rat, Sidway, and your pleas won’t get you anywhere with Miss Stewart or me.”

  “What would you call yourself for night before last?” queried Lance, in bitter scorn.

  Stevens’ pale face flamed red, but it was fury more than shame that strangled his speech in his throat.

  “Cowboy, you said a mouthful,” interposed Uhl, caustically. “What’d this swelled-up sap pull on my baby?”

  “I don’t know whom you mean,” snapped Lance.

  “Well, then, Miss Stewart.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Yeah? — See here, cowboy. Don’t let this dame work on you. Flemm swears you’re sore because we beat you to this snatch.”

  “Bee, I tell you he’s not on the level,” interposed Flemm.

  “Sidway, you’re not on the spot with me,” went on Uhl. “You’ve done me service and I’m for you. But don’t strain things on account of a pretty skirt. That doesn’t go with me.... What’d this swell sap do to Madge Stewart that burned you up?”

  Lance was quick to see how jealousy and heat had imperiled him, and therefore the girl. Despite his calculations he had erred.

  “Chief, you wouldn’t think it much,” Lance said, with an outright laugh. “I happened to see Stevens trying to take liberties with Miss Stewart.”

  “Did he get away with it?”

  “I’ll say he didn’t.”

  The gangsters’ explosion of mirth was no compliment to Madge. Lance resisted a strong impulse to look at her then. No doubt she would be something unforgettable to see.

  “Skip the dirt about me, you poor fish!” she interrupted shortly.

  Suddenly Lance felt her close to him, and then heard her light step. He was on his knees on the tarpaulin fumbling among cans and parcels, and he was aware that his hands shook.

  “Did anyone see the sack I had with me last night? Coffee and butter.”

  “If it was a snake, it’d bite you,” spoke up Madge, sweetly. “There, under your nose! — Lance, can I offer my services as assistant cook?”

  Lance sustained a slight start. “Are you — any good?”

  “Pretty good — in that way.”

  “Can you mix biscuit dough?”

  “Swell. Nels taught me.”

  “Go to it. Here’s flour, salt, lard, pan. Fetch some water. I’ll heat the Dutch oven.”

  Uhl showed interest in the proceedings. The other gangsters grinned sardonically. Stevens sat dejectedly with his face in his hands. Lance cut strips of bacon into a skillet all the while bafflingly aware of the going and returning of the girl, and then her agitating presence close beside him, on her knees. The shine of her hair, the fragrance of her, the vitality of her, and more than all that nameless and irresistible attraction seemed propelled into his senses. Hurriedly he arose to rake red coals out of the fire, to put on the oven to heat, and the coffeepot to boil, to fetch more firewood, and to find other tasks. It was the eyes of Uhl and his allies fixed upon the kneeling girl that drove Lance to look at her. She had thrown off the heavy coat, and knelt in her thin slacks, her round, gold-tanned arms bare, her beautiful voluptuous form revealed in all its devastating allurement. Lance cursed under his breath. This gangs
ter was a ghoul for both money and flesh. Madge was in deadly peril, yet seemed oblivious of it. Lance’s calculation had been that by midday Stewart would be on his trail. That would fetch him to the mountain clearing late the coming night or at dawn. What might happen before then? No matter what happened, Stewart and his men could be expected to waylay or ambush the gangsters and kill them. No doubt Tim Sloan and the Spencer boys would be with them. It was all up with Uhl right that moment. They would not escape these relentless rangers. Gene Stewart would experience a throwback to his wild frontier days. But they were hours and miles away. And Lance had to escape with Madge before nightfall. These thoughts revolved in his mind as he performed the tasks of cook around the campfire.

  Presently breakfast was ready, and it was Madge, not Lance, who called: “Come and get it!” Kneeling over the fire had caused her cheeks to burn red, and it was only in her deep somber eyes that there was any sign of physical or mental distress. They all sat or knelt to eat and drink, except the cursed Flemm, who patrolled his short beat. Fox brought him food and drink.

  “Baby, I didn’t think it was in you,” declared Uhl, devouring one of the hot biscuits.

  Then Lance discovered that as she did not reply, nor deign to glance at the gangster, he took offense at her indifference. Evidently he had a tremendous egoism. “Get this, baby,” he flashed, in cold passion. “Soon as I thaw out and get some sleep, I’ll change your damned snooty manner.” With that he stamped away into the pine brush beyond the clearing. Stevens appeared to shrivel up at the significance of that threat. Madge gazed intently at Lance, her wonderful eyes, hypnotic in effect, searching his very soul. She was delving into his depths. What did she imagine she saw there? She was strangely uncertain of her convictions about him. Her present bad conceptions might be warring with good ones of the past. Lance nearly betrayed himself before her tremendous appeal. But he was aware that the beady and fox-eyed gangsters were watching, too. Kneeling once more, Lance bent over the utensils, and began collecting them preparatory to washing. Presently Uhl returned.

  “Flemm, I’ll give you a rest for half an hour. Then I want to sleep. God, that sun feels good!” Then he turned to Madge.

  “Baby, you can go into the cabin.”

  She hurriedly acted upon the order.

  “Uhl, hadn’t I better look up the horses?” queried Lance.

  “Horses? I forgot them.”

  “They’ve strayed. I didn’t see any tracks going down the trail. So they must be around. You realize how important horses are, don’t you?”

  “By God, I do now!... Here, Stevens, you wash up that mess. Cowboy, find those horses.”

  Lance, making a show of anxiety and hurry, strode off. Circling the clearing he found Sloan’s roan and near by his own horse Umpqua. No sign of the other animals. Lance did not bother to hunt tracks. He made a detour and came up within sight of the camp, and sat down on a log to peer through the foliage. He could see the cabin. There, watching intently, he brooded over the situation. Presently he saw Flemm rejoin Uhl. The three gangsters held a colloquy, which was unintelligible to Lance. But they did not appear concerned. Once Fox pointed at Stevens, who knelt with his back turned, laboring over his task. Again Uhl made a passionate gesture toward the cabin, at which Flemm threw up his hands in resignation. Then Uhl lay down on a blanket in the sun and went to sleep.

  Lingering there for some time Lance finally retraced his steps.

  “Found only two horses,” he informed Flemm. “The rest have wandered off. I’ll have to saddle up to find them.”

  “Wait. If we waked up the boss now he’d bump you off.”

  “But every hour they may stray farther away.”

  “Okay by me. I’d a hell of sight rather walk.”

  Whereupon Lance proceeded to wipe the utensils for Stevens. “Rollie, this is a tough break,” he said. “Don’t take it so hard. You’ll come out okay, except for loss of some dough you won’t miss.”

  “I don’t mind the money. I fear for Majesty. It was all my fault — that we were caught by these ruffians. I persuaded her to come out — lied to get her, in fact. And we were held up.”

  “Sidway,” interrupted Flemm, sarcastically, “you don’t strike me as a snatch scout.... Cheese it!”

  Lance wisely refrained from further talk, though he gnashed his teeth. When the chores were finished he cut and packed firewood, mostly bark from dead trees. After that he cut great armloads of spruce boughs and dragged them to camp.

  “Sid, there’s somethin’ rotten about you, but it ain’t in this camp stuff,” commented Fox.

  “Ha! He learned all that in Chi,” laughed Flemm.

  “Say, tenderfeet, if you’re stuck up here for a week, you’ll appreciate soft beds,” replied Lance.

  “Week! What in hell’s eatin’ you? Two days is my limit,” retorted Fox.

  Lance strode off, ax in hand, groaning over a thought of what complications would evolve among these violent men in another day. He cut armloads of spruce, and packing that back he approached the door of the cabin, and without a glance at the gangsters, made bold to enter.

  To his amaze Madge had been waiting, surely watching for him, for she leaped at him.

  “Lance — darling,” she whispered, and circled his arm with two steellike hands.

  He let the load of spruce fall with a sodden swish. Her extraordinary loveliness must have been due to intense spirit and emotion. Her face was like a pearl — her eyes glowing purple.

  “Are you crooked or honest?” she added.

  “Crooked — as hell!” he gasped.

  “I fear it.... But still you must save me from him — and get the ransom. I’ll pay anything.... He means to attack me — keep me!... For God’s sake — for Mother’s — for mine — save me from that!”

  “I’ll try.... Keep your nerve. Watch!” he whispered, huskily, and turned to stride out. Before facing the gangsters he thought it best to go into the woods and cut more boughs. Recovering his poise he packed another huge load back to camp. Presently he said to Flemm.

  “It’s getting late in the afternoon. I ought to be wrangling the horses.”

  “Yeah. An’ what’s that?”

  “Hunting them.”

  “Set down an keep your shirt on. Or you might peel potatoes an’ what have you.”

  “Uhl!” yelled Lance, suddenly.

  The gangster leader roused out of his slumber with surprising quickness, and sat up, blinking.

  “These guys won’t let me hunt for the horses. I found only two. I ought to ride around these woods and find them.”

  “Hop to it, cowboy. But don’t forget we want supper soon.”

  Lance ran to get his saddle and bridle and blankets, tingling with the vibration of his nerves. All day he had pondered over the need to saddle Umpqua. Once astride the horse he felt that the critical hour was near at hand. Riding off out of sight he returned to the point where he could watch the camp. The heat of the day was waning, and sunset burned in the west. Lance saw Uhl, bare-headed and coatless, get up to go toward the cabin. And he went in!

  That was a signal for Lance to ride back toward the camp. He had to meet the crisis. Terror and panic gave way to fury, and by the time he had reached the clearing he was steel — cold and tight in mind and body. Boldly he rode to the big pine opposite the cabin, and there halted. Flemm and Fox were watching him curiously. With warning gesture, Lance pointed down the trail toward the opening into the clearing. Both gangsters were impelled to leap up and look. On the moment Lance heard Madge’s ringing voice: “No!... Bee Uhl, I’ll pay the ransom. But....”

  “Baby, you started it. You got to come through. No dame who ever lived can play with me,” he replied, in cold passion.

  “I did play with you,” she protested. “But I didn’t mean what you mean!”

  “No matter now. You’ll come across.”

  Lance leaped off Umpqua and ran over to the excited gangsters. His manner would have struck anyone into amaze and
fear.

  “Where’s Uhl?” he queried.

  “He said he was goin’ to love his baby,” replied Fox. “What’s eatin’ you?”

  “I rode up high back there on the slope. And I saw two horses down where the trail comes up. First I thought they were our horses. But they had riders and were coming this way.”

  “Riders! You mean men on horseback?”

  “I sure do.... There may be more than two. Looks damn bad. You better sneak down the trail, keeping out of sight, and make sure.”

  “What of?”

  “Who it is and what they want.”

  “Fox, you go,” ordered Flemm.

  “Okay. But what’ll I do!”

  “Hold them up. An’ use your gray matter.”

  Fox looked to his machine gun, and ran out to the trail, which he entered, and glided along till he reached the green foliage where he soon passed out of sight.

  Lance stepped up on the pack beside Flemm.

  “There! Look!” he whispered, tensely. “That little open place, beyond the yellow pine. See!”

  “My eyes must be damn poor. I see nothin’ but green,” growled Flemm.

  “Okay! then see stars,” hissed Lance, and swung his heavy gun on the gangster’s bare head. Flemm fell soddenly. Whereupon Lance sped across the space to the side of the cabin, listening, watching the door.

  He heard a scuffle, then swift light footfalls, then panting breaths, and — : “I’m not — afraid of you — Bee Uhl!”

  “Swell! I like my dames to be wildcats,” replied Uhl, with something exultant in his voice, no longer cold. “Make me fight for it, eh?”

  “You lousy bum! Fight you? I can whip you,” cried Madge, hotly.

  Lance made for the door. He heard thudding footfalls, a cry, and then a rip of cloth.