Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “It’s too late, Brazos,” she said, a little bitterly. “I’m going to Denver to marry Hal Howard.”

  “Aw! Yu ‘don’t say? Wal, I’m shore congratulatin’ thet hombre.”

  “But you don’t congratulate me?”

  “Hardly. I just cain’t see yu throwin’ yoreself away on a caird-sharp. Why, Lura, yu got all the girls oot heah skinned to a frazzle.”

  “If you thought so — so much of me why did you—” she asked, softening under his warm praise. Her hard green eyes misted over. Then she went on: “Was it because you’d heard things about my love affairs?”

  “No, it shore wasn’t,” he replied bluntly, realising that he had met her at a singularly opportune moment.

  “Brazos! You were afraid of Dad?”

  “No. Not thet, Lura. I’m not afraid of any man. But it was because he was yore father.” She met his piercing gaze with understanding, and a visible shudder.

  The train whistled for the stop. Lura designated her bag, which Brazos took up. They went out on the platform. The train halted with squeak and jar. Brazos helped Lura on, found a seat for her, and, depositing her bag, he held out his hand.

  “Good-bye an’ good luck,” he said. “Yu’re game, Lura. I’m gonna risk a word of advice. Stop Howard’s caird playin’.”

  “He will not need to gamble,” she flashed, with a smile. “One last word, Brazos Keene.” She put her cool lips to his ear, in what certainly was a caress as well as an act of secrecy. “For my sake, spare Dad the rope!”

  Brazos could find no answer. He clasped her hand hard. The train was moving. One last glance he took at her eyes, brimming with tears, and dark with pain. Then he wheeled to run back to the platform and jump off. He stood till the train passed by, and then wended a pondering, watchful way down the street.

  At the corner where the bank stood an idea struck him. He went in to see Henderson. Without any greeting, Brazos flung a query at the banker.

  “Did this heah bank get held up yesterday or maybe day before?”

  “By a bandit?” replied Henderson.

  “I reckon one man might think thet. A bandit with green eyes an’ red hair.”

  “Keene, you beat me all hollow.”

  “Wal, come oot with it, then. Didn’t Raine Surface draw a big sum of money?”

  “All he had in cash. Close to forty thousand dollars.”

  “Doggone! An’ wasn’t Howard with him?”

  “Yes. Surface claimed it was a gambling debt.”

  “Gamblin’ debt yore eye!” retorted Brazos scornfully. “Henderson, thet was the price of Howard’s silence. The gambler sold oot cheap. But still he got the girl.”

  “Lura! Good heavens!” ejaculated the banker. “I begin to see light.”

  “Yu been wearin’ blinkers long enough, Henderson.”

  “Wait, Keene,” said the other, as Brazos turned to go. “That little matter of putting Bodkin in as sheriff has come up. What’ll I do about it?”

  “Air yu still in Surface’s Cattle Association, Henderson?”

  “I resigned.”

  “Wal, if I was yu, I’d say, pretty pert, thet I was for savin’ the town Bodkin’s burial expenses by not electin’ him sheriff.”

  “That’s certainly pert. I’ll do it, Brazos. But let me give you a hunch. They’ll make Bodkin sheriff.”

  “Shore they will — if he’s crazy enough to accept it. I guess I better throw a scare into him.”

  Passing the open door of the largest store Las Animas could boast of, Brazos had a glimpse of Bodkin holding forth to a group of men. Brazos passed on and halted. What could he make out of an encounter with Bodkin? The man would not draw. But he could be made a target for speech that would sweep over town like fire in prairie grass.

  Brazos turned back to enter the store. He assumed a swinging forward crouch and the sullen mien of a cowboy who had been tilting the bottle. The little group spread, leaving Bodkin in the centre and apart. The action was like clockwork.

  Bodkin showed no marked effect. As the cowboy had let him off before, he would again. This time, however, the ex-deputy packed a gun at his hip.

  “Bodkin, I been lookin’ all over this heah town for yu,” declared Brazos in a surly voice.

  “Keene, I haven’t been hidin’,” complained Bodkin. “Wal, yu’re damn hard to find, an yu shore got thet Barsh hombre hid somewhere.”

  “He’s out of town.”

  “Can yu get word to him?”

  “I could if I wanted to.”

  “Ahuh. Wal, yu better want to. Yu tell yore ropin’ hombre thet he’d be wise to stay away from heah or else do some tall figgerin’ how he’s gonna keep me from borin’ him.”

  “Keene, Barsh wouldn’t dare ‘meet you in an even break. He’s only a boy. He never shot at a man. An’ you wouldn’t shoot him in cold blood.”

  “Hell I wouldn’t! Hasn’t there been a lot of shootin’ in cold blood goin’ on aboot heah? I’m sore, Bodkin. I’m spittin’ ‘fire.”

  “I’m not worryin’ none,” returned Bodkin, but the fading of his healthy tan attested to another state of mind. The interview had begun to be painful to him.

  “Ahuh. I reckon yu got me figgered good. Wal, then, yu’re so damn smart what’s to keep me from shooting Raine Surface’s laig off?”

  Bodkin’s start and expression were peculiar, and he did not reply. All the other men stood spellbound.

  “Answer thet, Bodkin. Talk, damn yu! Wasn’t yu loud-mouthed when I dropped in on yu?” shouted Brazos in a loud, rasping voice. “What’s to keep me from shootin’ Raine Surface’s laig off?”

  “Nothin’, Keene — nothin’,” ejaculated the other, harassed and impotent. “But you couldn’t do it — any more than to Barsh. Mr. Surface is out of your reach. He’s a big man on this range. You’re loco Keene. You’re drunk.”

  “Not so drunk as yu reckon, Bodkin. An’ yu’re defendin’ Surface from a likker-soakin’, fire-spittin’, gun-throwin’ cowboy?”

  “I’m trying to talk sense. You might as well bust in on Henderson in the bank, or Mr. Jones, here, as Raine Surface. Why, it’s outlandish! Mr. Surface is a big-hearted gentleman, a power in this’ town, a fine citizen who has the best interests of the community—”

  “Haw! Haw!” interrupted Brazos in harsh mockery. “Bodkin, yu must be a fool as wal as the other things yu air. I reckon next yu’ll say Surface never did anythin’ against me.”

  “Sure he — never did,” panted Bodkin loyally, beginning to sweat.

  “Yu lyin’ tool of thet two-faced cattleman!” Brazos fairly hurled the epithet. “An’ next yu’ll be sayin’ thet Surface didn’t beat Abe Neece oot of Twin Sombreros Ranch — he didn’t steal the herd of Texas longhorns thet Neece had comin’ north. Aw, no — not atall! He didn’t have his tools buy off or kill Neece’s ootfit of riders an’ drive thet herd west along the Cimarron, over the Dry Trail, across New Mexico to the railroad? Aw, no — not atall! Surface didn’t have his tools — one of which you air, damn yore yellow skin! He didn’t have them hold Neece up thet night late an’ rob him of the money Neece was takin’ to the bank next mawnin’. Aw, hell, no! Not atall! An’ yore big-hearted, respectable, fine boss didn’t have nothin’ to do with Allen Neece’s murder?”

  Brazos ended that ringing denunciation in a silence which could be felt. Bodkin’s terrified visage satisfied Brazos that he had driven his point home. The spectators equally satisfied Brazos that his incredible affront would fly swiftly as the wind on a thousand tongues to every corner of the range. Raine Surface would be a marked if not a ruined man.

  For three days Brazos watched Bodkin unobtrusively. The ex-deputy went about with a bold front, but it was evident to Brazos that the man was feeling extreme perturbation. He never went near Twin Sombreros Ranch. Bodkin was waiting for the terrible news to reach Surface’s ears.

  On the third night Brazos frightened the proprietor of the hotel where Bodkin stayed into giving him the room next to Bodkin’s.
Brazos made sure Bodkin was out, then carefully cut a hole through the partition in a corner where it would not soon be discovered. This done, Brazos sat down to wait. Some time Bodkin would be cornered in that room by Surface, or would confer with the rancher’s men. Brazos meant to hide there, going out only after nightfall, until the developments he expected reached their climax.

  But, as Brazos’s luck would always have it, his marvellous patience did not need to be exercised. At midnight, just after the eastbound train had arrived, Bodkin entered his room with two men. Brazos glued his ear to the little hole in the corner.

  “Talk low, fellers,” Bodkin said, “I’m scared even of the walls in this town. Keene hasn’t been seen for three days.”

  “Sure as God made little apples he’s trailin’ you,” whispered one of them.

  “I feel it, Brad. Set down. Hyar’s likker an’ cigars. I sure got a lot on my chest thet I got to get rid of.”

  “Panhandle Ruckfall showed yellow clear to his gizzard,” spoke up another voice, thin and low, somehow sibilant. “He turned the job down. I raised the ante to two thousand dollars. Ruckfall gave me the laugh. ‘A hell of a lot of fun I’d get out of ten thousand after meeting Brazos Keene!’ is what he said. He had too much sense to tackle such a deal. He might have killed Keene, but it’s an even bet that Keene would kill him.

  “We’re stuck,” whispered Bodkin thickly. “I’ve been keepin’ out of the boss’s way.

  “But he corralled me to-day. Gawd Almighty! I reckoned he was goin’ to shoot me.”

  “You’re wrong, Bodkin,” rejoined the one with the curt voice. “It’s he who’s stuck. Serves him right. He’s gone too far. That Neece deal was too raw. I told him. Now, if Bard and his girl fail—”

  An eloquent silence gave Brazos time to grasp this new connection — so there was a Bard as well as a Brad!

  “Did you fetch them?” asked Bodkin.

  “Yes. And Orcutt with them. They went to Hailey’s.”

  “Now what?” asked the third man.

  “We’ll lay low till it’s over, Brad.”

  “Listen,” whispered this member of the trio. “It’ll be over pronto. Brazos Keene will see through thet dodge. Bard’s black-eyed wench is a slick one. But I’ll bet she falls hyar.”

  “She’s our best bet,” returned Bodkin. “Keene is hot after women. The town is full of talk about him runnin’ after Lura Surface an’ the Neece twins. An’ they’re all good girls. Bess Syvertsen is bad — bad from her mother up. Add to thet, she’s handsome as hell. Keene can’t resist such a combination.”

  “The hell’s fire he can’t,” retorted Brad. “Now here’s what I think of your deal. I’m not beholdin’ to any of you. An’ to-morrow I’m lightin’ out of this town an’ ridin’ far. If you’ve got an ounce of sense you’ll do the same.”

  “Brad, I can’t pull up stakes hyar. I’m goin’ to be sheriff of this county.”

  “You’re goin’ to be a stiff!”

  “Not so loud,” put in the third man. “Bodkin, I’m afraid Brad has it figured. I’d say if we had plenty of time we’d have a sure thing with Bess on the job. She’s the most fascinating girl I ever met. But the hell of it is, can we take time? It’s got to be done right now.”

  “We’ll have to give her time.”

  “Every hour adds to the doubt and suspicion already working.”

  “Even with Brazos Keene dead — which is sure a far-fetched conclusion, gentlemen — this town is going to think on. Henderson, Kiskadden, Inskip, Moore, Hadley, Stevens — all these men are getting their heads together. They are going to buck the Cattlemen’s Association. They’ll split it wide open. Most of them are honest cattlemen, you know. They’ve just been fooled. Cattlemen are the easiest of men to fool because they take a little irregularity for granted, even among themselves. But when it comes to being robbed by rustlers — they wake up.”

  “Fellers,” said Brad, “I’m pullin’ up stakes. An’ I don’t mind tellin’ you I’d take that bag of gold with me, if I could find it.”

  “Ha! Ha!” laughed Bodkin, sarcastically. Brad was not the only one who had had that ingenious idea.

  “Where did he put it?” queried the unknown man. “He must have banked such a large sum.”

  “He couldn’t bank it. An’ it’s too soon yet after Neece’s holdup. But it runs in my mind that he’ll keep it close so he’ll be well heeled when he slopes.”

  “Does Bard know where that money is?”

  “No more than do I. It’s always stuck in his craw — that bag of gold. He an’ Orcutt held Neece up. An’ once I heard Orcutt say, ‘Why did we let that gold get out of our hands?’”

  “Same reason that applies to all of us. The stronger will of a crookeder man! Well, he’s run his race. It’s not in the nature of things for all the men he has used to stand around now, waiting to be hanged or shot. How about you, Bod?”

  “I’ll stick around,” replied Bodkin.

  “Every man for himself from now on, eh?”

  “Let’s drink to thet.”

  CHAPTER 7

  ON EVERY SUNDAY the event of the day was the arrival and departure of the afternoon train. It was about as much of a social gathering as Las Animas saw except at dances and school entertainments. Brazos occupied his old stand against the wall of the station building.

  Bess Syvertsen was there with some country folk. Brazos needed only one look to convince himself that none of the four men could be Bard Syvertsen or Orcutt. The fifth was a woman of rather bold and flashy appearance. Brazos studied them with interest.

  The train arrived, and the woman, accompanied by the two best-dressed of the men, boarded it. Bess, with the other two, turned away to stroll along the station platform, following the crowd upstreet. Brazos, from under his sombrero brim, looked that trio over as if his eyes were magnifying glasses. The two men he had seen somewhere.

  Monday brought back the bustle to the cattle town. Brazos felt that this day he would meet Bess Syvertsen and he was on edge for the event. Wherefore he was all primed and set for the momentous meeting when it came about at the post office.

  Bess had dropped out of the sky, apparently, to follow him up to the window where Brazos was asking for mail. She pressed close to Brazos and asked the clerk for a stamp. What a hot gush ran along Brazos’s veins at the sound of that young, high-pitched voice! For the stamp she tendered a hundred-dollar bill, which the clerk pushed back with a laugh.

  “What will I do?” she complained.

  “I’ll trust you. Go to the bank and get change.”

  Brazos promptly produced some coins. “Heah, lady, I’ll oblige yu,” he drawled, handing her the money.

  “Oh, thank you,” she replied. She took two cents and paid for her stamp, but she had no letter upon which to put it. Then she turned to Brazos.

  “Cowboy, how is it I haven’t seen you?” she asked merrily.

  Brazos took off his sombrero.

  “Wal, I was just thinkin’ the same about yu,” he drawled, with his slow smile.

  “I am Bess Syvertsen,” she said.

  Brazos made her a gallant bow. “I shore am happy to meet yu,” he replied, but he did not mention his name.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Aw, I hate to tell yu.”

  “You needn’t be afraid,” she said, with a smile. “I can stand a shock.”

  “Wal, then, doggone it — I’m thet poor hombre, Brazos Keene.”

  “No!” she exclaimed. Despite her deceit she betrayed sincerity as well. “Not that hard-riding, hard-drinking, hard-shooting cowboy?”

  “You forget yore West, my girl,” he drawled. “Range talk blames me for a lot thet I’m innocent of.”

  “You might be taking a risk. My father has no use for cowboys.”

  “Is he heah?”

  “Yes. Bard Syvertsen. He’s a cattle buyer. We travel all over. Father has a deal on with Surface and Miller.”

  “Wal, it’s just too bad. Al
ways my luck! I ride the ranges an’ I meet girls. Reckon I’m hard to please. I don’t care for town hussies or camp trulls. I caint stand these nice goody-goody spoony little girls, neither. Lura Surface was one to make a cowboy ride high an’ handsome. But she was a flirt. An’ heah I meet yu!”

  “Brazos, I might be a flirt — or worse.”

  “I don’t savvy yu, Bess. All the same I feel as if yu were fightin’ somethin’ yu didn’t want me to know. Tell me or not, as yu like. But if I strike yu pretty pronto, yu know, an’ bold — it’s because I see no sense in holdin’ back things. I’ve a bad reputation an’ I’m liable to be shot any time. Life is too short for my kind not to live from day to day.”

  She clung to his arm during the walk to Hailey’s, where she released it.

  “Brazos, I thought I was glad to meet you — at first. But I’m not so sure now.”

  “Aw, thet’s not kind. Is it good-bye then?”

  “Where will you meet me tomorrow?”

  “Heah. Anywhere — any time.”

  “Anywhere?” she asked, her eyes piercing him: “How about out of town?”

  “Wal, I reckon it’d better be heah,” returned Brazos. And when he said that it seemed a passion wrenched her.

  “To-morrow, then. Here, at two o’clock. Adios.”

  Next day Bess Syvertsen was late. She came at length, betraying signs of anger, and vouchsafed no explanation. But Brazos did not need one. They spent the afternoon together, walking, sitting in the station.

  On the fourth day of this strange relation Bess came an hour late. Her face was colourless and showed other signs of havoc. Behind her stalked two men, one tall, the other short. That they were without vests and gunbelts Brazos’s sharp eye recorded before he paid attention to their features. The little man had a visage that was a map of frontier crime. This should be Orcutt. The tall man then was Bard Syvertsen, and he was a splendid specimen of Norwegian manhood, lofty of stature, fair-haired, with eyes like blue ice, and a handsome craggy face.

  “Brazos,” said Bess hurriedly, “meet my father, Bard Syvertsen, and Hen Orcutt.”