by Zane Grey
“What—bag—of gold?”
“Yu know. Syvertsen held Neece up an’ robbed him of it”
“That! I haven’t got it,” replied Surface.
“Wal, thet’ll be too bad. Think again an’ maybe yu’ll remember. I heahed Bodkin an’ Brad an’ another man talk aboot thet bag of gold. Yu got it. Find it—or I’ll bore yu pronto an’ find it myself.”
“All right. I—I’ll get it,” rejoined Surface, thickly.
At the point of Brazos’ gun the rancher led the way into the ranch house, and into his room, where from under the floor of a closet he dragged up an extremely heavy satchel.
“Open it,” ordered Brazos, eagerly.
Surface complied to expose packs of greenbacks and bags that gave forth a musical clink of precious metal.
“All right. Carry it oot.”
Brazos had Surface drive him back as they had come. Groups of men stood on corners and in front of saloons. There was a crowd in front of Hailey’s.
“Drive to the station, Surface. It’s aboot time for the afternoon train.”
With gun in hand Brazos saw that the deposed rancher bought a ticket to Abilene—saw him stand on the platform a target for all eyes—saw him mount the platform of the passenger coach of the train. Then he delivered himself of a final word.
“Surface, yu’re gettin’ off turrible lucky. Maybe it’ll make yu think when I tell yu thet it’s due to yore daughter. . . . Get oot of Colorado an’ stay oot. . . . If I ever run into yu again I’ll kill yu.”
Brazos stalked back to the buckboard as the train pulled out. Through a window he saw Surface, white and haggard, stare out with unseeing eyes.
Bilyen came hurrying across the tracks carrying heavy gun belts.
“My Gawd—cowboy but yu’re hard to keep track of,” he panted.
“Hank, I let him off,” said Brazos, as if the fact was incomprehensible. “First low-down rustler I ever weakened on . . . all ’cause of thet green-eyed, red-haided girl of his!”
“Best thing you could have done,” rejoined Bilyen, heartily. “Brazos, it may have been yore weakness for women, but it’ll look different to hardheaded men of this range. . . . But where’d yu go—what’d yu do?”
“Hank, I got thet bag of gold an’ bills Syvertsen stole from Neece,” declared Brazos, triumphantly. “Heah, under the seat.”
“You—dod-blasted amazin’ son of a gun of a Texas cowboy!” ejaculated Bilyen, utterly confounded.
“Listen. Take this bag oot to Neece. An’ yu drive him right in this heah buckboard oot to Twin Sombreros. Today! . . . Tell June an’ Janis their home is ready for them—an’ no blood spilled oot there to spoil their home-comin’. Tell them they won’t have to sling hash over the counter any more. . . . An’—an’ tell them I’ll be goin’ oot in the country for a spell, but I’ll come back shore.”
“Brazos, no man on earth but yu should tell Neece thet an’ the twins. Cowboy, think what yu’ll miss!”
“Hank, for a Texas yu’re plumb thick. I just got through some bloody gunplay, didn’t I—an’ damn near killed a woman?”
“I savvy. Mebbe yu’re right. But the girl Bess ain’t bad hurt. . . . We carried her to Hailey’s an’ Doc Williamson fixed her up pronto.”
“Ahuh. Any bones broken?”
“Wal, she won’t try to throw any more guns. . . . Gee, wasn’t she wild, Brazos? Funny how a woman can love you an’ kill you almost in the same breath. . . . Heah’s her little gun—an’ the hardware we found on them hombres. . . . Money, too, Brazos. Both of them had stacks of bills. Here, you better take charge of that. You sure earned it, ha-ha!”
Brazos slung the gun belts on his left arm, and gazed with a grim smile at the little gun Bess had drawn on him. “Doggone! Yu gotta hand it to her! She would have bored me, Hank. . . . Right in thet weak spot I had for her! All right. I’ll take charge of these an’ the money if yu think I’d better. . . . Gosh! what a wallet!”
“Thet was Syvertsen’s,” said Hank, “an’ heah’s Orcutt’s.”
“Ahuh. Money was easy for those hombres. Wal, they won’t need any of it where they’re goin’. Bess will.”
“An’ so will you, Brazos. You should keep Orcutt’s wallet yourself, and if I know you, everyone but yourself will be gettin’ the good out of it.”
“Well, we’ll see. . . . So long, Hank.”
“Look us up soon, Brazos,” called Bilyen after him. “Oot at Twin Sombreros!”
There were two windows in Bess’s room, letting the sunlight flood in, to show her white, strained face on the pillow. But the fire, the hate, the passion were gone.
Brazos advanced to the bed as he spoke to the woman in attendance. “Leave us alone a little, nurse.”
“Howdy, Brazos Keene,” said the girl, looking up with her unfathomable eyes.
“Howdy yoreself, girl,” he replied, and carefully sat down on the bed. “Air yu in pain?”
“Not so bad now. It did hurt like hell, though.”
“Close shave, Bess. . . . Gosh, I was scared.”
“You didn’t mean to kill me?”
“Heavens no! I had to do somethin’ pronto an’ tried to wing yu.”
“I wish you had killed me.”
“Shore, yu mad girl. But I didn’t. An’ yu’re gonna get over this, an’ somewhere far from heah, live yore—yore trouble down, an’ turn oot fine.”
“Brazos! You believe that’s in me?”
“Yes, I shore do.”
“But won’t I have to go to prison?”
“I should smile not . . . Bess, have yu any relatives or friends yu could go to?”
“Some friends back in Illinois. No kin, Brazos. . . . Oh, how good you are! Back of all your deviltry. . . . Brazos, if I can go I should go at once. This town will hum.”
“I reckon. Yore mix-up with cattle rustlers was not so bad. But thet deal of Surface’s—hirin’ yu an’ yore pards to do away with young Allen Neece. . . . Pretty raw an’ lowdown, Bess! Yu’ll do wal to get oot of Colorado pronto.”
“I’ll leave on the night train,” she returned, hurriedly. “I can be carried. This woman will take me—across the line, anyway. . . . But, I’ll need money, Brazos. I have none. Bard had a wallet full of big bills. Did they find that?”
“Heah it is, Bess,” answered Brazos, and slipped the wallet under her pillow. “An’ I reckon it’d be wise for yu to go pronto. Nothin’ might come of yore stayin’, but when yu recover—wal, men air queer, Bess. An’ whether yu were forced or not, yu had somethin’ to do with Allen Neece’s murder. Thet’ll come oot.”
“Oh, yes, I know, It’s horrible,” she returned. “I was forced. But that’s no excuse. They tried harder to force me in your case. It didn’t work.”
“Wal, it damn near worked, at thet,” said Brazos.
“You wonderful, terrible cowboy! . . . You’re lovable, too. I’m going to remember you that way—instead of . . . God! it all came to me like a flash—when you dragged me into that saloon to spin me before Syvertsen and Orcutt. There was death in your face. But I was thick—I couldn’t figure your dodge. . . . I know now. Orcutt had you figured. Too late! I’m glad it’s over. I think—if I was sure of one thing—I could go straight now.”
“Shore of what one thing, Bess?”
“I could stand your—your fooling me—if you really cared,” she said, unaware of her strange inconsistency.
Brazos took her little tight cold hand in his and held it close. He did not need to perjure himself to help this girl, but he would have done so and thought it justified.
“Bess, I knew yu was in with a bad ootfit,” he said. “But I thought yu was Syvertsen’s daughter, an’ I was plumb loco aboot yu until I found yu wasn’t. Thet hurt like hell, Bess. Yu’re not atall like one of these dancehall girls. Yu’ve got class, Bess—an’ I mean thet as I’d mean it when I called a hawse thoroughbred. Yu’re the prettiest darn thing I ever saw. The other night—heah at yore door—when yu got yore arms around my neck I was scared plu
mb stiff.”
“Scared!” she echoed, wondering. She was softening. Her face lost its pallor. “Don’t tell me you thought I had it planned for Bard and Hen to catch you in my room—or coming out of it—and use that for an excuse to shoot you? Not then, Brazos!”
“Ump-umm, sweetheart, I didn’t—”
“Brazos, say that again.”
“Ump-umm, sweetheart. For once I forgot Syvertsen an’ Orcutt. I was plumb scared ’cause I feared yu might mean—wal, what yu did mean—an’ scared wuss ’cause I wanted to. . . . Thet would have ruined all, Bess. How I got away from yu I don’t know.”
“You loved me then, Brazos?”
“Wal, what would yu call it?”
“But after you had time to think . . . and now, Brazos?”
“It’s different, Bess. Somethin’ to despise yu aboot—yet sweet an’ regretful. . . . I’m gonna remember yu, Bess. I’ll forget, after a while, yore—wal, yu know, an’ think of yu as yu made yoreself for me. Thet’s all.”
“Kiss me, Brazos.”
He bent over and kissed her as he might have if she were indeed what she had tried to deceive him into believing.
“Oh, Brazos! What have you—done to me!” she cried, brokenly, clinging to him.
“Wal, wearin’ yu oot, for one thing,” he replied, gently disengaging himself and rising. “I’ll go now, sweetheart. Yu look most as turrible as when yu lay on the floor at Hall’s, an’ I reckoned yu was dyin’ . . . I’ve excited yu too much.”
“You’ve broken—my heart . . . and made me bless you—for it—and want to—to live.”
“Wal, think of breakin’ a girl’s heart an’ makin’ her the better for it!” drawled Brazos and he bent to kiss her again. “Thet’s somethin’ for a hombre like me to remember. I’ll come down to the train an’ see yu off.”
She whispered something too faint for him to hear and her dark eyes followed him to the door.
CHAPTER
10
BRAZOS sat his horse and gazed with mingled feelings of relief, pain and gladness down into Coglan’s valley nestling between the last foothills and the rugged barrier of the mountains.
Though only early September, the altitude provided for the frost that had begun to gild the aspens and fire the oaks. Brazos had been there years before. Time did not make much difference with nature if man did not come to despoil it. He could see no change. He remembered the lone dead pine that stood like a sentinel along the trail which crossed over into New Mexico.
The hour was near sunset, with thunder rumbling among the heavy cumulus clouds along the black horizon. Through rifts, bars of gold shone down into the green valley, with its squares of alfalfa, its gray pastures, dotted with horses and cattle, its meandering stream of shining water.
“Doggone!” soliloquized Brazos, pensively. “Thet was the kind of a nook I was gonna homestead some day. An’ now I reckon I gotta ride for a big ranch.”
This valley was forty miles up the foothills from Las Animas, a secluded spot once inhabited by Ute Indians, who still came down from the mountains occasionally. The tribe had moved on into a more inaccessible spot, driven farther by the advance of their unscrupulous foe—the white man. They were friendly to Coglan, Brazos remembered.
“Wal, I reckon it was aboot time for me to hole-up a spell,” went on Brazos. “’Cause I’d shore got in a wuss fight somewhere. . . . Them hombres with Bodkin thet night—Brad an’ the other fellow—they kinda worry me. The job wasn’t finished. I’ve a hunch I’ll look up Bodkin someday, anyway. . . . Heah I am, an’ it’s aboot time—or I’d been lookin’ at red likker. Already I feel sorta loosenin’ up around my gizzard. I’ll chop wood ‘till I drop, an’ I’ll pack a rifle up on those slopes—an’ after a while maybe I’ll let myself think——”
It was over—the long strain, the uncertainty, the continual need of watchfulness and sleeplessness, the drain on his reserve force, the hard cold expectancy of a fight—the blood lust. He was sick now, with that ice in his bowels—the gnawing remorse of the man who was not a killer by instinct. And his gladness was that of freedom to work and rest and dream, and presently to think of the splendid girls he had served and the love he had won.
Brazos rode on down into the valley and up to the log cabin among the firs. Two little girls were playing about the door. They ran like Indians. Presently a buxom, rosy-cheeked young woman looked out. The sight both startled and pleased Brazos. Coglan had gotten himself a wife.
“Evenin’, lady,” said Brazos, taking off his sombrero, “is Coglan anywhere aboot?”
“He was. Get down an’ come in, stranger.”
Brazos had scarcely dismounted when Coglan appeared, ax in hand. He was a strapping man, still young, half hunter and half trapper, brown as an Indian.
“Howdy, Coglan,” drawled Brazos, “I shore am glad to see yu.”
“Brazos Keene, by Gawd!” ejaculated the mountaineer, with a whoop. “You pestiferous, long-legged cowpuncher! Put her thar!” And he nearly crushed Brazos’ hand.
“Hey, man, be careful of thet paw,” yelled Brazos, trying to extricate it. “I just had to use it an’ I might be needin’ it bad.”
“Haw! Haw! I figgered thet. Nothin’ else would fetch you up hyar to see me. But you’re welcome, cowboy, as the flowers in spring. . . . Rose, this is an old pard of mine. Brazos Keene! We rode together in the Panhandle . . . an’ but for him you wouldn’t have me for a husband. Brazos, hyar’s the little wife you always told me to get.”
They made Brazos welcome and the little girls, owleyed and shy, came forth to capitulate.
Later Brazos and Coglan walked down to the corrals leading Brazos’ horse.
“Coglan, I want to hang aboot heah for a month or so,” Brazos was saying. “Chop wood an’ hunt an’ loaf. An’ be alone. Yu know!”
“I savvy. Tell me when you feel like it or not at all.”
“Wal, I’ll get it off my chest,” replied Brazos, and briefly related the Las Animas tragedy.
“So thet was it,” said Coglan, soberly. “I thought you looked kind of pale an’ peaked. Another McCoy-Slaughter deal, eh? . . . I’ve heerd of Surface. An’ I’ve lost cattle this summer. I had about a thousand head.”
“Wal, I reckon rustlin’ will slow up for a spell,” said Brazos, thoughtfully.
“Hope you winter up hyar with me, cowboy,” returned Coglan, warmly.
“Aboot a month will be all. I’ll sweat oot this poison. Gosh, I haven’t had enough to eat lately to keep a grubline rider alive. Yu’ll have to feed me up, Coglan. An’ I want yu to ride in town once a week an’ fetch me the news. Yu can make some excuse to call on Neece. Bilyen knows I’m gonna be heah. Yu can talk to him. I’ll be powerful interested in all thet’s goin’ on. But don’t tell anybody, especially the Neeces, thet I’m up in heah.”
Brazos erected a bough shack for himself under the pines on the bank of the brook. He made a mattress of fir boughs and spread his blankets upon that. Later he returned to Coglan’s cabin and ate a bountiful supper, among the good things of which were venison and wild turkey. He did not linger long with the hospitable Coglans. To the children he said: “We’re gonna be friends after a bit.” Then he sought his bed in the darkness of the pines and stretched out on it as if he wished never to move again. The mountain air was cold and rare; the brook rushed murmuringly over the stones; the wind moaned through the pine tops; and the old familiar lonely wail of coyotes came thrillingly at long intervals.
He had it out then with the dark forces that had actuated him. This time Brazos did not have a drunken spree to bring oblivion and to dull memory. That ruthless side of him was only a part of his nature. Like a demon in the night it passed out, leaving him free to sleep.
Next day he awoke to new life, but he could not let himself revel in perfect solitude, in the colorful beauty of the autumn morning, in the songs of bird-travelers that had halted in the valley on their way south. He must drive himself physically to make the hours and days strin
g out behind him with their softening influence.
As a boy in Texas he had been a great hand with an ax. Here at Coglan’s woodpile, where logs of dead aspen and oak lay heap on heap, Brazos went to work. He wore gloves because it was one of his melancholy cares to keep his hands, especially the right one, soft and flexible. He heaved and he chopped and split wood until, as if by magic, that day was gone and he was spent.
Days passed swiftly then until the evening of one came with Coglan returning from Las Animas. Brazos saw that he was bursting with news which he did not care to impart before his wife.
“Brazos,” he said, after supper, “I got a couple two-bit cigars thet was give to me. Let’s go out an’ smoke them.”
They went out in the mellow gloaming. The red was fading off the ramparts; cool air was blowing down from the heights; the late crickets were at their autumn requiem.
“Brazos, I heerd so damn much thet I’ll never remember it all,” began Coglan, enthusiastically.
“Talk, man, or I’ll bounce somethin’ off yore haid,” retorted Brazos, impatiently.
“Listen to this. The very day you rode out hyar Raine Surface was killed on the street in Dodge City.”
“No!” ejaculated Brazos, amazed.
“Fact. An’ it caused a heap of talk from Dodge to Denver.”
“Who?” flared Brazos, in sudden sharpness.
“Nobody in Las Animas could say just who killed him. But talk laid it to a tall man with a queer voice. He was heerd to cuss Surface an’ after the shootin’ he left Dodge pronto.”
“By thunder! I’ll be doggoned. It was thet third party I heahed the night I spied on Bodkin with his two cronies. The other was called Brad. He an’ this unknown hombre was nursin’ a grievance. . . . Wal! So Raine Surface got his just deserts pronto.”
“He sure did. I wonder if they don’t all get it, sooner or later.”
“Nope. They shore don’t. I’ve known more than one cattle baron who was respected by most an’ known only by a few to be a bloody thievin’ rascal. I know one now over heah in New Mexico who’ll die in his bed surrounded by family an’ friends. But there air only a few great cattlemen of thet stripe. . . . Go on, Coglan. Talk! You haven’t told me nothin’ yet.”