by Zane Grey
“Same old Wess. Always dreamin’ of thet grand ranch. I shore want to heah about it. Reckon you’ll lay over heah today?”
“We ain’t in any hurry, Brazos.”
“I’d kinda like to ride south with you, for a while. It’s been lonely.”
Tanner gave him a keen kindly glance that baffled Brazos. He expected a warm response to his suggestion that he accompany Tanner and his boys down the Old Trail, and as that was not instantly forthcoming Brazos sustained a little shock of surprise and disappointment.
“Don’t be hurt, pard. It ain’t likely you’ll want to ride with us. But I’d shore like thet. . . . Brazos, come aside over heah. I’ve news for yu. . . . I’m scared stiff, yet——”
Wess led Brazos to a corner beside a window and faced him there hopefully yet apprehensively, with a pale face full of suppressed agitation that nonplussed Brazos and gave rise again to his former irritation.
“Scared stiff, yu?” he queried darkly, almost bitterly. “Wess, I know I’m an ootlaw—an’ unfairly, by Gawd—but yu, my old pard who wouldn’t have thet blond scalp but for me ——”
“Shet up, you fire-eater,” interposed Wess. “I couldn’t be no more ashamed of yu, Brazos Keene, than of my own brother.”
“Sorry, old-timer. Reckon I’m kinda testy. . . . What’s on yore mind?”
Manifestly Wess labored under some stress that rendered liberation extremely difficult. He lit a cigarette with visibly unsteady fingers and he swallowed a lump in his throat. But the paleness under his tan had begun to tinge with red.
“Hell, man!” exploded Brazos. “You didn’t use to be so damn squeamish. . . . You’ve heahed about thet little Las Animas mess.”
“Shore, Brazos—shore,” agreed Wess, hurriedly. “Only it didn’t seem little to me. Fact is—it was big—big as Texas.”
“Yeah? An’ what of it?” rasped Brazos.
“Wal, for one thing Dodge City took it fine. Wild Bill hisself said to me: ‘Wess, thet’s the sheriff for Dodge when I get mine!’”
“Hell he did? Wild Bill Hickock! . . . Kind of a compliment at thet.”
“Mebbe you shouldn’t have rode away from Las Animas so quick.”
“I reckon you think I should have got up a party and swelled around town,” said Brazos, sarcastically.
“Nope, not jest thet, though the deal shore called for some red-eye. Where’d yu stop an’ soak up a load of likker?”
“Wess, I haven’t taken one dod-blasted drink,” declared Brazos.
“Thet settles it. Yu air crazy. I been afraid of it ever since—since——”
“Since what, you tongue-tied hombre? I’m gonna get sore pretty pronto.”
“Brazos, for the life of me I cain’t see why. If I was in yore boots I’d be so dod-blasted happy——”
“You been afraid since what? Since what?” flashed Brazos, grasping Wess’s wrist with fingers of steel. There was something wrong about this old friend—something that had to be solved.
“Wal, then, old pard—since—since Miss Neece braced me on the street in Dodge.”
“What? . . . Miss—Neece?” Brazos’ voice sounded faint in his thrumming ears. His hand fell away from Wess.
“Shore. Yore fiancée,” replied Wess. “Pard, if I’d never heerd of yu I’d have been stricken by sight of thet lovely gurl.”
“My—my fiancée? . . . How’d you know—thet?”
“She told me.”
“Good Gawd! . . . Wess, wasn’t she ashamed of thet?”
“Ha! Ha! I should smile she wasn’t.”
“Aw! . . . But what for? . . . How come? Was she visitin’ Dodge with her dad or friends . . . and heahed you might know me?”
“No, she shore wasn’t visitin’ an’ as for her dad. . . . Wal, never mind about him. . . . Miss Neece was hot on yore trail, Brazos.”
At that Brazos began to shake. What was this? His mind began to whirl. “Hot on my—trail?” he echoed, in a whisper.
“I said hot, pardner. . . . It was this way. I happened to run into the Hotel Dodge to see Jeff—you cain’t have forgot Jeff Davis? He shore hadn’t forgot you. Wal, before I could say howdy even, Jeff grabbed me an’ turned to a gurl standin’ there. I went stiff at sight of her. ‘What luck!’ burst out Jeff. ‘Heah he is now. . . . Wess, this is Miss Neece. She has been askin’ if any Texas trail driver might know Brazos Keene. An’ I told her yu—Wess Tanner—was an old pardner of his.’ . . . The gurl’s white face went red, then paled again. ‘Please come,’ she said, and led me off out of the lobby into the parlor.
“‘Yu know Brazos?’ she asked, and she was trembling.
“‘Wal, I used to, Miss,’ I said.
“‘Yu’ve heerd about me?’
“‘No. Sorry to confess I haven’t,’ I had to tell her.
“‘But yu have heerd about—what he did at Las Animas?’
“‘Yes, Miss. Thet’s town talk heah. But I never believe range gossip, much less about Brazos Keene.’
“‘Oh! But it is all true . . . and I am his—fiancée.’
“‘Miss Neece, whatever Brazos done it was justified. He is a true blue Texan, as fine a boy as ever forked a hawse. . . .’ Wal, she thanked me with tears streamin’ down her lovely face. An’ then she told me yu an’ she had had a lover’s quarrel. She was jealous of her twin sister. Yu had left her an’ gone to town, where yu shot her dad’s enemies, one of them the sheriff. Then yu rode away, thinkin’ yu’d made yoreself an outlaw, which yu hadn’t. She said she knew yu’d ride down into Texas an’ she wanted me to undertake to find yu. Brazos, thet scared me to death. But no livin’ cowboy could ever hev resisted her eyes, her voice. . . . ‘Could you find Brazos?’ she asked. I said it was about a shore thing thet I could. Will yu?’ she pleaded with me. ‘No matter what time it takes—what it’ll cost. I have money. I’ll pay.’ I interrupted her there. I jest couldn’t stand thet anguished face. An’ I said: ‘Lady, I cain’t take yore money, I’ll find Brazos for yu. An’ thet hombre will shoot my laig off for my pains. ‘Shoot yu?’ she cried. ‘He’ll bless yu all the rest of his life!’”
“Right you were—Wess,” mumbled Brazos, thickly, fighting the wave on wave of emotion that swayed him. How terrible and sweet this news! “I’ll shoot—yore laig off. Damn you! Wasn’t I miserable enough? . . . But tell the rest now, if there is any.”
“There’s plenty, pard. Let’s have a drink first.”
“No! Plenty? . . . Wess, I cain’t stand much more. . . . But the idee? What was her crazy idee—coaxin’ you to find me?”
“What do you think, old pard?” queried Wess, drawing a deep breath.
“Think? I cain’t think. Only thet it was sweet of June. . . . Tell me, or I’ll choke it out of you.”
Wess clapped a heavy hand on Brazos’ shoulder.
“Pard, Miss Neece’s idee was to come with me—till I found you,” replied Wess, his voice ringing.
“Come with—you? . . . Heavens above!”
“Thet was her idee, Brazos. An’ she did come.”
Brazos could only stare in fearful stupefaction into the pale face of his friend.
“She’s heah!” rang out Wess.
Brazos went blind. His shaking hand groped for Wess, who met it with his own and steadied him.
“Heah—now?” gasped Brazos, rousing to sensations that had almost disrupted his consciousness.
“Right now, pard. She’s in with Mrs. Doan.”
“Right now! She’s heah!” echoed Brazos, huskily. His legs went unsteady under him. He had to hold on to Wess. These were his physical reactions, which possessed him momentarily. Then, his mind released, wonder and joy followed, to lift him to seventh heaven.
“Brazos! For the good Lord’s sake!” Wess was saying in faraway voice, as he shook Brazos. “What ails yu? Man, yu should be the happiest man in all Texas. Why, I never seen yu like this. An’ how many gurls have I seen yu crazy over? Shore, pard, this is different. This gurl is the real an’ the last one. .
. . But . . . hell’s fire, Brazos, yu haven’t held up a bank or stole a hawse? Somethin’ bad to clinch thet outlaw name?”
“Which—one?” whispered Brazos, his eyes closed tight.
“Which one? Say, the boy’s dotty. No wonder. . . . Which what? Which gurl, yu mean? Why yu pore locoed ghost of yore old self. It’s yore sweetheart. Yore fiancée. The gurl yu’re engaged to.”
Wess’s piercing whisper penetrated Brazos’ tortured consciousness. The stupefying shock passed, if not its wake of emotion. Brazos let go of Wess and turned to the window. Gradually his dim sight cleared. Outside he saw Indians and horses, a sweep of gray slope leading up to the horizon. He found himself. What was this that had happened? The nameless thing he had felt had held him here at Doan’s Crossing. For what? Retribution had caught up with him. One of the Neece twins had followed him. He had imagined it was June—the good and quiet—the sweet and noble girl whom he had worshiped. But June could never have undertaken this wild chase. She would never have deserted her father for an outlaw. It was Jan. It was Jan—that passionate little devil who at last had given rein to the wildness in her.
“All right, Wess,” declared Brazos, finally, turning to his friend. “What’s the rest?”
“Wal! Thet’s more like my old pard,” replied Wess greatly relieved. “There ain’t so much more. Yore gurl had a lot of baggage, Brazos. Easy to see she wasn’t goin’ back home. Ha! Ha! . . . Wal, we loaded it on the stage. An’ we rode with thet stage all the way from Dodge. There was several other passengers off an’ on. They an’ my boys, an’ me too, fell turrible hard for yore sweetheart. I reckon the stage come purt’ near bein’ held up once by road agents. At least Bill Hempstead, our driver, said he knowed thet outfit. But we was too many. Afterward Miss Neece confessed she had a lot of money with her an’ thet it was great luck for her thet we happened to be her bodyguard. . . . I reckon thet’s about all. Yu bet I never enjoyed the Old Trail like I did this time.”
“Lot of baggage and money!” exclaimed Brazos, bewildered again. “Wess, tell me this is a nightmare.”
“Nightmare, my eye! Look at thet—where yu bruised my wrist, squeezin’ it so hard.”
“I’m sorry, pard. Thanks for everythin’. I reckon I won’t shoot yore laig off.”
“Wal, I’m tolerable glad about thet. Brazos, I got a gurl myself, an’ when yu’ve time yu must heah about her.”
“Aw, thet’s fine, Wess. I’ll be glad to heah.”
“Brazos, there’s Mrs. Doan,” went on Wess, quickly. “She’s lookin’ for yu, I’ll bet. Come, pard, yu better get it over. I cain’t help sayin’ I wouldn’t mind bein’ in yore boots.”
Doan introduced Brazos to his wife, a comely sturdy pioneer type, blonde and buxom. She certainly gave Brazos a looking over before she relaxed into friendliness and sympathy.
“I think you had better see your fiancée at once. She is under a strain. I hope—nothing’s wrong. She is sweet and she must care greatly for you.”
“Cowboy, I seen thet an’ I had it figured when she stepped off the stage. Such eyes! Black an’ hungry as a starved Indian’s!” added Doan, with his hearty smile.
“Wal, friends, she must think a lot of me,” replied Brazos, gravely. “It’s too late now for me to worry about not bein’ good enough for her an’ ridin’ away like I did. . . . Take me to her.”
“Wal, cowboy,” interposed Doan, impressively, “take it from me. A Texan like you is worth any two Yankee gurls thet ever was!”
Two girls! Brazos suffered a piercing stab. His quick flash of eyes assured him that the frontiersman was just bragging in the simplicity of his loyalty and pride.
“Tom, if Brazos is good enough for one girl—and half good enough for this one—we have a lot to be thankful for. Come, Brazos,” added Mrs. Doan.
She led him to a door at the south end of the post. “This is my room, Brazos. You’ll be secluded there. Make it up to her. Try to realize your great good fortune.”
In the moment before he stepped into the room, Brazos faced his ultimatum. It was June he loved most and wanted for his wife, but it could never have been June who had the adventurous spirit to follow him. So Jan must never know. And love her he did, too, but not as he did June. In all humbleness, he told himself that he was lucky to have either of the twins give up everything to come to him.
Brazos was tense and tingling when he opened the door. The room appeared large and bright. Sunlight streamed in the several windows, to give the furnishing a touch of warmth and vividness. He heard a gasp. Then he wheeled.
“Bra-zos!” whispered some one, tremulously. She had been standing almost behind the door, waiting, her face white, her lips parted, her eyes wide and dark. Brazos had not expected to see her in a white dress, but of course she had had time to change. Jan would never have let him see her travel-stained or disheveled. Her face was lovely, despite the havoc he read there. That mark of grief drew him as subtly as the gratitude and love which welled up upon sight of her.
“Jan! You sweet devil,” he cried, huskily, and held out his arms.
She had been already on the way to him. Apparently his poignant exclamation, or the welcome of his gesture suddenly halted her for a moment, while a spasm crossed her face. It passed, and she flew to him, swaying the last step to his arms. She hid her face and clung to him.
“Brazos—darling. I—I had to come,” she said, in smothered tone.
“Wal, I couldn’t be shore till I felt you—like this,” he replied, hoarsely, and he held her close and tight to his breast while he bent his head against her rippling hair. On the moment he could not see well. He seemed to float in that dim room.
“Don’t—hug me—so,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, “unless you—don’t want me—to breathe. Brazos, you’re not—angry?”
“Angry? No, Jan. I’m sort of buffaloed. My Gawd, child, it was sweet and good—and bad—of you to trail me heah.”
“Bad?” she queried, quickly.
“For you, dear. I’m an outlaw, you know. You’ve disgraced yourself, and all of them.”
“But for you, Brazos, darling?”
“I reckon it’s near heaven again.”
“Oh! . . . Then you forgive me.”
“I probably will—if you kiss me like you did thet turrible night.”
“Same old Brazos! Only you look. . . . Brazos, tell me you won’t send me back,” she importuned, softly.
“No, Jan. I cain’t do thet.”
“But you want me?” she flashed, with a show of her old fire.
“Yes. I’m mad about you, Jan. I reckoned I’d got over it, a little. But I hadn’t.”
“Darling! . . . And J-June?”
“Wal, she didn’t trail me, did she?”
It appeared then that a convulsion waved over the girl. She clung to Brazos with her face hidden against him. He felt her breast throb upon his. She did not weep. Her arms slid up round his neck. Blindly she raised her face, flaming now, with tears coursing from under her closed eyelids, and she found Brazos’ lips with her own. And she kissed them again and again, left them for his cheeks and eyes only to return, until it seemed to Brazos that her kisses gathered strength and fire and passion as they multiplied. But suddenly she sank limp against him, her arms sliding down. Holding her close Brazos leaned against a table and tried to separate conflicting tides of emotion from tumultuous and overwhelming thoughts. Presently he could see clearly through the window, the blue sky beyond the green trees.
“Jan, I reckon we—might sit down,” he said huskily, and half lifted her to the couch. But she would not let go of him. Weak and nerveless now, she still clung. “You must be kinda tired . . . all thet long stage ride.”
“No. I wasn’t tired,” she said, lifting her head. “Just overcome at meeting you. . . . Scared weak. I was afraid you’d send me back . . . that—you—you love J-June best.”
Brazos took her face between his hands and studied it gravely. The havoc he had seen appeared warmed out
and the dark eyes had lost their strain. But there was a difference. Tiny blue veins he had never noticed before shone through the white of her temples; there were dark shadows under her eyes, magnifying them; her cheeks were thinner. Beauty abided there imperishably, but it was an older, nobler, sadder face.
“Let us talk—now,” her voice had quieted. “First I have much to tell.”
“I reckoned you had, darlin’.”
“Brazos. . . . Dad died suddenly less than a week after you left,” she began, with tragic force.
“Aw! . . . Jan! How awful!” cried Brazos, shocked to his depths. “My Gawd, I’m sorry! . . . Thet fine upstandin’ Westerner—not old atall—just got his home and daughters back! Aw! but this is a tough one on me. I was turrible fond of yore Dad. . . . Jan, I don’t know what to say.”
“Brazos, you’ve said enough. It comforts me. We knew you loved Dad—J-June and I. It was partly what you did for him that made us love you. But Dad is gone. And if I hadn’t had you to think of—to save, I’d sunk under that blow.”
“Save? Jan, you think I have to be saved?”
“Indeed I do. Thank heaven I caught up with you in time. . . . Brazos, that is the saddest news. But there’s more—not sad—yet it’ll hurt you.”
“Go ahaid, darlin’,” replied Brazos, simply. “I reckon I can stand anythin’ now.”
Jan averted her face. Her breast rose and fell, indicating oppression. Her hand tightened on Brazos’.
“It’s about J-June.”
“Shore, I reckoned thet. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“She eloped with Henry Sisk . . . came home married!”
“What’re you tellin’ me, Jan Neece?” ejaculated Brazos, fiercely.
“You heard me, darling.” Her voice was low, but perfectly clear, carrying a note unfamiliar to Brazos.
“Jan, you lie!” Brazos leaped up in a perfect frenzy of amaze and fury.
“What motive could I have in telling you a lie?” she returned proudly. If she were lying it had all the guile and subtlety of a woman behind it. Brazos turned her face around so that he could see it in the light. Its pallor, the proud dark eyes, that peered straight and unfathomably into his, the set lips, almost stern now—these to Brazos were not eloquent of falsehood.