by Zane Grey
“Wal, thet Frayne was as cold as a daid fish,” declared the Texan, resentfully. “He looked at you once an’ didn’t see you atall. An’ thet was all he looked.”
“Indeed, he was not flattering,” observed Holly, conscious of a quickening of tired pulse. “But he had just shot two of his own comrades.”
“Nothin’ atall to Renn Frayne. I reckoned thet he was a Westerner who had no use fer wimmen. You run into one now an’ then. I don’t recollect you ever bein’ so sweet to any man. An’ the damned hombre not only never seen it but insulted you to boot. It riled me.” —
“Cappy, it will be good for us. You have spoiled me,” she rejoined, thoughtfully, and rode on in silence to the corrals.
Rest and sleep and the image Holly saw in her mirror gave her back her poise, but did not eliminate from her mind the sombre sense of that day’s catastrophe.
The great dining-room was exactly as it had been in Colonel Ripple’s day, when red men and white men of high and low degree met at his table. Don Carlos’ rich and lavish hand showed in the heavy dark furniture, in the polished stone floor with its worn rugs, in the huge carved stone fireplace, and the stained adobe walls with their old Spanish weapons, the painted frieze, and the huge rough-hewn rafter that centred the ceiling all its length.
Holly’s guests arose at her entrance. Every seat had an occupant except the one of honour to her right.
“Be seated, friends,” said Holly, in the words of her father’s custom. “Eat, drink, and be merry.”
Belmet occupied the’ seat next to the one which Holly had intended for Frayne. His absence affected her as had his affront out on the range, despite the fact that her reason made excuse for the mood of a man who had just shed his fellow-men’s blood. Conchita Velasquez and the Mexican women of Holly’s household sat upon her left. Britt faced her at the end of the long table, and the seats between were occupied by the invited guests and by others who took advantage of the standing Ripple hospitality. Among the rough-garbed, bearded freighters and teamsters a young man, conspicuous because of the difference of his attire, at once caught Holly’s eye. She recognized him, and acknowledged his elaborate bow. Embarrassment, and something of anger, accompanied her recognition. This fair man, whose sharp, cold, handsome features proclaimed him about thirty years old, and whose black frock-coat and gaudy waistcoat and long hair characterized him as a gambler of the period, was no other than Malcolm Lascelles, a Louisianian, whom Holly had met in New Orleans, during the concluding year of her school. It was a shock to see him at her table, recalling her girlish indiscretion.
She had met him by accident, and then, resenting her loneliness and longing for freedom, for adventure, for love, she had been so foolish as to steal out to meet him again and again. Upon learning that Lascelles was a gambler and adventurer, she had regretted her folly and ended the acquaintance. Lascelles had persistently annoyed her with attempts to reestablish himself in her esteem, thereby getting her into disgrace with her teachers. For Holly this had its good side, for the principal wrote to her father, who hastened the advent of her departure for home. Holly had never heard from Lascelles and had almost forgotten the incident. But here he had turned up, at her own table, an older man with whom the years had played havoc, whose hungry eyes betrayed that he had been hunting for her, and intended to make her remember. Holly suffered a moment of dismay. She was to blame for this. Whatever had been in her mind — to imagine she had been in love with this Lascelles?
The supper was served by a troupe of Holly’s Mexican girls in native costume, and it was a bounteous one. The table groaned with savoury viands and steaming vegetables and luscious fruits. At the outset the burly members of the caravan were too hungry and too glad to be present for any consistent merriment. But by the time the wine was passed around they made up for their lack.
In the succeeding hour Holly heard all the news from the towns on the Mississippi, from the cattle centres in Kansas, from the camps and posts in the plains, from the forts. Not the least of this information consisted of reports of Indian attacks on the vanguard of the buffalo hunters, the advance of the railroad, the increase of travel westward, the renewal of soldier escorts for the caravans south from Las Animas, the hold-up of stage-coaches, all of which attested to the spring quickening of activity on the frontier. And the best of it was a marked rise in prices for beef, the increase in markets, owing to the pushing westward of the Santa Fe Railroad.
“Hard times for railroad construction are about over,” said Belmet. “Last December the work crossed the Colorado state line. That was well within the ten years of grace allowed the builders by the land grant. Rails will reach La Junta by 1873, mebbe, and Raton the year after, mebbe.”
“Holly, thet’s great news!” exclaimed Britt. “When the Santa Fe crosses New Mexico we want 75,000 haid of cattle heah.”
“Cap, you can breed them on this wonderful range,” said the scout. “But keepin’ them long enough to sell — thet’ll be the rub!”
When the supper-party broke up Holly was standing with Britt, saying good-bye to Belmet, as Lascelles presented himself. Looked at through more mature eyes, he did not revive even a hint of the old girlish thrill. Still he had a semblance of Southern grace.
“Holly Ripple, we meet again,” he said, with a gallant bow. “I have long dreamed of this moment. May I present my compliments? You have changed from the girl I knew so well at Madam Brault’s school in New Orleans. From pretty girl to lovely woman!”
Holly did not offer her hand and she met his eyes with level gaze.
“I remember you, Mr. Lascelles,” she said. “Are you not lost, away from the boulevards of Orleans? What are you doing on the frontier?”
“Holly, I have never ceased to search for you,” he returned, boldly. “You alone brought me West.”
“Indeed? I am sorry. You must have over-rated the silly flirtation of a pent-up school girl. You are welcome, of course, at the table of my father. But I have no wish to renew the acquaintance.”
“Holly, I’d like to meet the gentleman,” interposed Britt, in his cool drawl.
“Mr. Lascelles, this is my father’s old trail comrade, and my foreman, Captain Britt.”
Holly moved toward the door with Belmet. “Thet’d shore took the hide off the impudent fellow if it hadn’t been so thick,” observed the scout. Holly went out on the porch with him. The last group of guests were thudding down the path. Stars were shining; the peep of spring frogs came plaintively from the ponds; a cold tang of mountain air made Holly draw her wrap close about her bare shoulders. She bade the plainsman good night and went into the living-room, to turn up the lamp. Cedar logs burned ruddily on the hearth. She thought again of Frayne. Presently Britt entered, with his keen eyes gleaming unwontedly.
“Say, Holly Ripple, air you responsible fer thet flash gambler showin’ up heah?” he demanded.
“He says so.”
“Has he any hold on you?”
“None whatever.”
“I heahed you tell him. An’ shore I shouldn’t need more. But he ruffled me, lass. I must be gettin’ testy in my old age.
... Dog-gone-it, I’m the only Dad you got!”
“Cappy, you are indeed, and I love you. Don’t waste concern on Mr. Lascelles.”
“Wal, he tried to make oot there was somethin’ between you. Kind of brazen, or thick-haided. I told him he’d had supper at Don Carlos’ Rancho, an’ to slope. All the same, if I don’t mistake my figgerin’ men you’ll heah more aboot this kid flirtation.” —
“Cappy, you don’t mean this man will take advantage of that indiscretion of mine to — to—”
“I shore do,” returned Britt, as Holly hesitated. “The damn fool thinks you air — or was — sweet on him. Reckon it’s a bluff. He’s an adventurer, an”way down on his luck. He fetched his pack up heah, an’ I had to give him a room. Another instance of yore Dad’s famous hospitality to anyone! I cain’t throw him oot.”
“No, indeed...
. But it might prove annoying. I certainly don’t want to meet him again.”
“Wal, how air you goin’ to avoid it, if he stays heah? Remember thet army officer who bored you half to death?”
“You might try the same remedy,” said Holly, with a little laugh.
“Brazos! — Holly, I must say thet when you air sick of a man you reckoned you liked — wal, you show yore Spanish. It wouldn’t never do to give Brazos a hint aboot this gambler.”
“Did Brazos get back?” asked Holly, quickly.
“Yes, before supper. Mad as a wet hen because he had to pack Stinger on his hawse, an’ walk ten miles. How thet boy hates to walk!”
“Oh — Stinger! Is he—”
“Shot up some, but nothin’ to worry aboot.... It happened thet Frayne seen Brazos comin’ an’ packed Stinger in. Frayne said he knowed gun-shot wounds, an’ thet this wasn’t bad if dressed proper. Which he proceeded to do. Done it swift an’ slick, too. I shore get a laugh oot of those cowboys. Brazos said, ‘I’m dawg-tired an’ I don’t care a damn if he croaks. An’ I’m gonna bore Mugg Dillon!’... Then Stinger looks up at Frayne an’ asks, suspicious like, ‘Who’n hell air you, stranger?’ An’ Frayne says easy an’ cool, ‘Renn Frayne’... Thet bunk-house went as quiet as a church. They’d heahed of him. Cowboys air a curious lot. They never fail to talk whenever they meet riders or go any place. An’ they never forget an’ they tell each other. Some of our new boys have rode the Pan Handle. Ride-’em Jackson is from Texas. They’ve heahed of Frayne an’ have talked aboot him, same as of every bad hombre on the range. It worries me.”
“Did you tell Mr. Frayne that I invited him to supper?”
“I shore did, Holly. He just refused, short an’ sweet. I was sort of stumped, an’ told him when you invited people, same as yore Dad before you, an’ Don Carlos before him — why, they just come plumb glad. Then he says: ‘Thank Miss Ripple for me, and tell her I appreciate the honour, but that I do not want to come.’”
“Britt, is Frayne a criminal, with good instincts?”
“No criminal, believe me, in the sense you mean. No lowborn man could ever look straight at you like Frayne does.... An’ I shore don’t believe he was ashamed to come.”
“Could it have been because he shot his comrades?”
“No. Frayne wouldn’t think no more aboot shootin’ them than jackrabbits. Holly, you’ll have to swaller it. Heah’s an outlaw you’ve been gracious to. An’ he just plain snubs you. I reckon, though, thet it’d mean nothin’ to you except fer thet absurd old custom of yore Dad’s, an’ one you think every man should kow-tow to.”
“It’s not absurd, Britt,” protested Holly, spiritedly.
“Be reasonable, lass. What could an old Spanish law of hospitality or the pleasure of a great pioneer mean to a man who survives only by eternal vigilance?”
“Survives! I don’t understand you.”
“Renn Frayne is a hunted man. By officers perhaps, but mostly by men who want revenge fer the killin’ of friends or relatives. Or by genuine bad men he has got the best of. Or by the bluff bad hombres or wild cowboys who’d like the fame of killin’ him.”
“Oh! — Frayne is indeed to be pitied,” murmured Holly.
“Look at his hands next time you get a chance. Kept careful as yores, Holly. I’ll bet Frayne never chops wood or digs postholes. He keeps them hands limber an’ soft so thet he can handle them guns swift as lightnin’.”
“I can excuse his rudeness,” concluded Holly, and bade her foreman good night.
Holly was at breakfast in her room when she heard a familiar clinking step out upon the path. She was expecting Britt, but this step was quicker and more vibrant than that of the old Texan.
“Mawnin’, Cap,” spoke up a lazy resonant voice. “How’s our Lady of the Rancho?”
“Howdy, Brazos,” returned Britt, who evidently had arrived first. “Haven’t seen her yet this mornin’. She’s late. But yesterday knocked her oot, I dare say.”
“Who’s the flowery-vested caird-sharp I jest met?”
“Name’s Lascelles. From New Orleans. Dropped in heah yesterday with thet wagon-train. Used to know Holly when she was at school. She confessed she’d flirted a little with him before she found oot he was a gambler. An’ he pestered her after thet. It was plain last night thet he meant to take advantage of the early acquaintance.”
“Wal, you don’t say,” drawled Brazos, in a tone that sent little shivers over Holly.
“Yes, I do say,” rejoined Britt, testily. “Dog-gone! We never know what’s goin’ to bob up. Lascelles fetched his pack. An’ I had to give him a room. If he hangs aboot heah it’ll be unpleasant fer Holly.”
“How you know thet?”
“She told him plumb oot thet she had no wish to renew the acquaintance.”
“Ah-huh. Holly can shore tell a fellar.... What you gonna do aboot it?”
“Reckon I’ll give Lascelles a hint to leave with the wagon-train.”
“Holly won’t like thet. It ain’t Ripple hospitality.”
“But the four-flusher might set down to live heah. Thet’s happened before.”
“Shore. But if Holly doesn’t like the galoot he wouldn’t be around long.”
“I savvy. You’d set in a little game of cairds with him, huh? An’ then we’d have to plant another stiff back on the hill. Brazos, you’re just plain devil.”
“See heah, boss. Haven’t you forgot thet little confab you had with me when you persuaded me to ride heah?”
“No, Brazos. But I hate to distress Holly. She was game yesterday. All the same thet blood-lettin’ made her sick.... Besides, dog-gone-it, I don’t want you to get any wuss name on the range. I like you, Brazos.”
“You don’t say? Nobody’d ever notice it. Wal, there’s some hope of me likin’ you, Cap.”
Holly finished her coffee rather hurriedly, and went through the living-room to the door. Britt was sitting on the porch steps, looking up at his tall companion. Brazos Keene was the youngest, the wildest, the most untamable, yet the most fascinating and lovable of all Holly’s cowboys. His slim, round-limbed rider’s figure lost little from the ragged garb and shiny leather; his smooth tanned face, fresh and clear as a girl’s, clean-cut and regular as a cameo, his half-shut, wild blue eyes and clustering fair hair, all proclaimed his glad youth and irresistible attractiveness, without a hint of his magnificent lawlessness and that he was a combination of fire and ice and steel.
“Howdy, Texans. Come right in,” invited Holly, gaily. “Mawnin’, Lady,” drawled Brazos, doffing his sombrero. “How air you, Holly?” asked Britt, rising uncovered.
“My dreams were troubled, but I am fine this morning.”
“Thet’s good. You were so late I... Wal, I cain’t waste more time. The wagons air heah, Holly. There’s a whole wagon-load for you. Jim said ‘Shore we know spring is come!...’ Boxes, bags, an’ what not. Where’ll I have the boys pack this stuff?”
“In the patio by my storeroom. Have the boxes opened, Britt.”
“All ready fer you in less’n an hour,” returned Britt, stepping down. “Adios, Holly... Then he looked at Brazos, as if prompted by an afterthought. “Say, cowboy, rustle along pronto.”
“Aw, boss, I have a report to make,” complained Brazos. “Wal, cut it short an’ leave oot the smoke,” concluded Britt, curtly.
“Come in, Brazos, I’d rather not see the frocked gentleman who is loitering around.”
“Thet pale-faced gent! — Britt told aboot him,” said Brazos, and following her into the room to her desk he took her hand. “Holly, you never was in love with him?”
“No, I don’t believe I ever imagined that. But I was pining for company — for masculine company, I confess. Then I was mad at my teachers. I met this Lascelles and I was a foolish girl. It was an adventure. I flirted with him — a little.”
“Holly, you never let him kiss you?”
“Gracious no! Nor allowed him to hold my hand as you are doing now.... Braz
os, promise me you won’t pick a fight with Lascelles.”
His imperturbability lay only on the surface. Holly felt the throb of his sinewy hand and the blue flame of his eyes. “Promise me,” she repeated, imperiously.
“Why should I, Lady?”
“Because you are more to me than just one of my cowboys.”
“Yore word is the only law I know.... Holly, do you care anythin’ aboot me atall?” —
“Si, senor,” she replied, smiling, and gently endeavouring to remove her hand.
“When I fust come to this rancho you liked me a heap, Holly. An’ it kept me straight. You rode with me more’n any of yore riders. My land, how jealous they was! An’ I got my hopes up, Holly.”
“Hopes of what, you foolish boy?”
“Wal, thet you’d love me — an’ marry me some day,” he replied, with a soft frankness that touched Holly with contrition.
“Brazos, I do like you a heap. I am proud that I have kept you straight. But I do not love you.”
“Aw!... Thet night at the fandango — last summer. You let me kiss you!”
“No, Brazos.”
“But, Lady, you made no fuss. An’ you didn’t run off or — or slap me.”
“Brazos, please be honest. You kissed me, not by force, but by surprise.”
“My God, girls air strange! — Holly, how aboot my puttin’ my arm around you thet night in the buckboard, when I drove you home from San Marcos?”
“Yes, you did. I was very foolish, Brazos — and cold, too.”
“Then it never meant nothin’ atall,” said Brazos, with pathos. “Not even at first?”
“Brazos, I asked you to be honest,” replied Holly earnestly. “So I can be no less.... I never quite understood myself. I did have a — sweet, romantic feeling for you. I did. But I had had that before. It didn’t last. And I’ve had it since. For that young army officer who came here wounded and we cared for him. It didn’t last, either. I am a fickle jade, Brazos. It must be my Spanish blood. But I do really love you, Brazos — as a sister. And I want you for a brother. I’m a lonely girl.”
“Shore. But I don’t want to be yore brother,” he replied, stubbornly. “I want to be yore husband. You need one, Holly. You’ll never leave Don Carlos’ Rancho. You ought to marry a cowman. Yore Dad would have wanted thet. An’ I’m as good as any of these ridin’ gents an’ better than most.... If you’d marry me — you’d come to love me some day. An’ I wouldn’t ask you to be my — my real wife till then. I could take care of you, Holly.”