The Dude Ranger

by Zane Grey

  First Skyhorse Edition 2017 by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency

  Copyright © 1930, 1931 by McCall Company

  Copyright © renewed 1958 by Romer Zane Grey, Elizabeth Zane Grosso, and Loren Zane Grey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Cover design by Tom Lau

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-066-1

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-085-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

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  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

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  20

  01

  I’LL palm myself off as a cowboy!” In his excitement Ernest Selby spoke his thought aloud. Then he looked around quickly to see if anyone had overheard him. His fellow travelers paid him no marked attention and he breathed freely again.

  A growing elation had been mounting in Ernest ever since the train had climbed the Raton Pass into New Mexico. Now he was fairly in Arizona. This was the West, the real West that had always spelled romance to him; and almost miraculously had come his opportunity to become a part of it.

  Time and again, since he had left his home in Iowa, Ernest had pulled out the papers and letter from the lawyer in Chicago. These set forth that his uncle, Silas Selby, had died suddenly of a heart attack and had bequeathed to his nephew a certain property in Arizona called Red Rock Ranch. The lawyer went on to say that just before his death Mr. Silas Selby had decided to make a trip to the ranch to ascertain just why the revenues had so greatly fallen off. The reports of the manager, Hepford, were apparently in good order. They explained why, in the last three years, twenty thousand head of cattle had dwindled to six thousand. But Mr. Selby had felt the discrepancy warranted investigation. Now his death had put the matter squarely up to Ernest Selby, the new owner.

  While the lawyer did not commit himself to a definite implication of dishonesty on the part of this Hepford, the facts were sufficiently arresting to give that impression.

  Ernest had talked the matter over with his father and mother, and then had permitted no grass to grow under his feet before boarding a westward-bound train. He was extremely grateful to Uncle Silas for having left him the ranch, but still more for the opportunity it gave him to forsake his circumscribed life in a small Iowa farm community for the romance and adventure that the West promised.

  But he must be sensible, he told himself; he must curb the exultant leap of his blood and make an effort to figure out the best way to proceed. He knew little or nothing about ranching, and was entirely unfitted to step in and manage a large ranch. He would have to learn the business from the ground up, to gain by actual experience the various activities connected with stock raising, to find out what was going on. He would not even know how to go about uncovering any dishonesty or maladministration.

  Then had come the idea: why not, under an assumed name, ask for employment as a cowboy on his own ranch? That would certainly be one way of getting experience from the ground up. Of course, being a cowboy would be new, too; but Ernest had had plenty of experience with horses and farm work; he was strong and husky, and thought he ought to be able to overcome tenderfoot reactions in short order. In that way he could also get the inside track on the ranch management. There might be difficulty in persuading Hepford to employ him, but Ernest was inclined to meet that issue when he came to it. He felt equal to any situation, now that he was really in the West with all its mysterious and glamorous possibilities.

  Selby left the train at Holbrook. Sight of several cowboys lounging on a corner opposite the station caught his attention. The cowboys were young, red-faced, sharp-eyed, lazy in movement, and garbed in the usual picturesque, big sombreros, flannel shirts, levis tucked in high-heeled leather boots to which were attached enormously long spurs.

  He stepped up to the lounging group, glad that he was dressed plainly.

  “Any place round here to eat?” he asked.

  They eyed him without apparently seeing him. “Shore,” replied one, pointing across the street. “There’s a hotel. An’ there’s a lunch counter at the depot. If you cain’t get enough at them, there’s a Chink restaurant down the street, an’ a Navaho joint.”

  “What time does the stage leave for Springertown?” asked Ernest, risking one more query.

  “Wal, it goes at eleven an’ then again it don’t,” was the cryptic reply.

  “Thanks for your courtesy,” returned Selby, without change of inflection or expression. His speech drew a suspicious glance. But nothing further was said, and he walked off toward the hotel. There he left his bag, and after asking a few more questions sallied forth to see the sights. The first object his eye fell upon, of any particular interest to him, was a handsome red-haired girl. As Ernest passed, half turning to get a glimpse of the western girl’s face, he heard her say to a companion: “Sorry, Polly, but I’m taking the stage this mawnin’ for Red Rock Ranch. Dad had me draw more money than I like to be responsible for.”

  That remark interested the new owner of Red Rock Ranch. Impulsively he turned back and doffed his hat.

  “Excuse me, Miss–” he began, then broke off abruptly, realizing he had been about to introduce himself.

  The girl turned on him a pair of amused green eyes.

  The young man from Iowa stuttered, but managed to go on: “W-will you, that is, can you direct me to a store where I can buy a riding outfit?”

  “Can’t you read, Mister?” she replied, rather flippantly, as she pointed to the large white-lettered signs on the windows directly across the street.

  Selby thanked her and started to cross the street, catching a remark as he did so about a good-looking tenderfoot. Part of the laughing remark pleased him and part of it did not. He was sensitive about being taken for a tenderfoot, because he knew he was one.

  Choosing the restaurant kept by the Chinaman he went in to get breakfast. The place contained a long lunch counter and some tables. Evidently the kitchen was back of the counter. Mexicans and roughly garbed men seemed to be the only patrons of the place. Ernest took a seat at one of the tables placed along a thin board partition which separated the restaurant from the business next door. It must have been a very flimsy structure for his keen ears caught the sound of low voices from the other side. Every word was distinct.

  “I seen Hepford’s gurl get it.”

  “At the bank?”

  “Shore. An’ she’s takin’ the Springer stage this mornin’.”

  “S’pose thar’s others goin’, too?”

  “Wal, Bud’ll git it if we don’t. He’s gone on ahead. But we’ll lay low
fer a good chanct fer ourselves.”

  Then came the sound of scraping chairs, followed by footsteps. Selby looked out of the window and a moment later saw two men emerge from the place next door. They were certainly hard-looking customers, and Ernest scrutinized them carefully. He would not be likely to forget either. They went quickly down the street, and such was Ernest’s degree of excitement that he could scarcely make the Chinaman understand what he wanted to eat. Then when he finally got it he had lost his appetite. What a wonderful opportunity had been fairly thrust upon him! The girl he had spoken to was the daughter of Hepford, the manager of Red Rock Ranch, and she was evidently going to be robbed. Now that he was in possession of such knowledge, he realized with growing excitement that it was going to be his duty to circumvent the robbers. The bandit referred to as Bud probably intended to hold up the stage somewhere while the two hardbitten men he had overheard would take passage upon it, waiting until a favorable opportunity presented itself for carrying out their plans. Well, he was going to be aboard that stage, too, and he would watch carefully for a chance to nip the bandits’ plot in the bud with little or no risk. To be able to introduce himself at Red Rock Ranch with such a coup to his credit would assure his reception there and the possibility of being employed as a ranch hand. Nothing tenderfoot about that!

  The idea possessed him to such an extent that he completely smothered an inward voice which advised notifying the town authorities. He could handle this thing. The adventure would have appealed to Ernest even if the girl had not been involved, and even if she had not been pretty.

  He would require a gun, along with the cowboy clothes he had planned to purchase. Thrilled at the prospect he sallied forth to find the store to which he had been directed.

  When Ernest entered the store he was surprised to see that the establishment would have done credit to a much larger city. He strolled from the dry goods department into the grocery, from that to the hardware, and thence to the saddle and harness section. This ought to be close to where he could supply his needs. It was a pretty busy place. Finally a clerk accosted him, and the Iowan replied: “Plain cowboy outfit.”

  It did not take long to purchase what he wanted. The clerk evidently suspected that his customer was a tenderfoot, which hurried Ernest into additional purchases of chaps, scarves, blanket, and finally gun, belt and shells.

  The last thing Selby desired was to excite curiosity; and in his hurry to escape from the store with his large bundle he turned a corner so fast that he collided with someone on the sidewalk. It was a girl, and the collision staggered her a little, so that in stepping backward she sat down rather breathlessly upon some grain sacks. To his horror he recognized her to be the Hepford girl. Her beautiful green eyes were certainly now regarding him with undisguised annoyance. She sat there with face flushed, angrily adjusting her hat.

  “I–I beg your pardon,” stammered Ernest. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m very awkward. Are you all right?”

  She stood up and shot him a glance that sent the color to his face. As she passed Ernest saw a spot of rich red under the clear brown of her own cheek. His first impulse was to follow her and explain that even his genuine admiration for a pretty girl would not lead him to the extreme of purposely colliding with her. But he decided against it.

  Ernest went back to the hotel, got a room, and changing his clothes for the cowboy garb, was so pleased with himself that he quite forgot his embarrassing encounter. Rough garments became him. The effect was not too dudish. He decided he had better leave off the spurs until he had taken a few lessons in walking with them. If he kept them on, he certainly would be bound to stumble and give himself away. The gun was big and heavy. He loaded it and stuck it in his hip pocket. Packing up, he sallied forth to where he had been directed to find the stage. There he was to learn that despite his pessimistic cowboy informant, the stage was to depart in a few minutes.

  The vehicle looked to Ernest like a very large spring wagon, with four wide seats behind the driver’s seat, and a top with rolled curtains, which evidently were to be let down in inclement weather. Two well-matched teams were hitched to it, and they seemed impatient to be off.

  “Whar you goin’, cowboy?” inquired the driver, a weather-beaten man of fifty, with twinkling blue eyes.

  “Springertown,” answered Selby, as laconically as he was able. He took considerable satisfaction at being taken for a cowboy.

  “Ten–in advance,” demanded the driver bluntly, implying no question as to his experience with range gentry.

  “Ten what?” inquired Ernest.

  “Say, boy, air you advertisin’ the Kansas plains?” queried the stage driver in real or assumed amaze. “Ten bucks. Simoleons! Cartwheels! Pesos! Otherwise good old U.S. coin!”

  “Oh, I reckoned you meant ten cents fare,” replied Ernest guilelessly, and produced his wallet, out of which he guardedly extracted a greenback.

  “Ahuh,” grunted the driver, taking the money. “You can have the back seat. Stow your bags under.”

  Ernest leisurely did as he was bidden, after which he settled back to enjoy the situation. The seat in front was empty, and the one next to it contained the two hard-looking fellows whose plans he had overheard.

  Presently, on the sidewalk, he caught sight of the girl with the red hair he had so unceremoniously encountered twice before that morning. She had come out of the hotel with a middle-aged woman, and a cowboy much burdened with bags and bundles. As they reached the stage Ernest averted his face, notwithstanding the fact that he would have liked to see hers when she recognized him.

  “Good-by, Jeff, and thanks for everything,” the girl was saying

  “Shore sorry I didn’t know sooner you was in town an’ sorrier you’re goin’,” replied the cowboy, in a likable drawl. “But shore you’ll be in fer the Fourth.”

  “I’m afraid not, Jeff,” she replied regretfully.

  “Aw, you’re missin’ the dance!”

  “Reckon I’ll miss more than that. If it hadn’t been for some particular business of Dad’s, I’d not have got to town this time … Fact is, Jeff, we’re awfully upset out at Red Rock Ranch these days.”

  “You don’t say, Anne! An’ what aboot?”

  “Well, I suppose I may as well tell all my friends,” said the girl resignedly. She lowered her voice, but her words, nevertheless, fell distinctly on Ernest’s ears. “You know we don’t really own Red Rock, though it always seemed as though we did. Dad only runs the ranch for that old skinflint Selby. And now it appears Selby died. We never heard about it until a letter came from his lawyer. That letter acquainted us with the fact that we must expect someone to arrive in Arizona, sooner or later, to take charge of the ranch.”

  “Doggone! Thet’s shore tough,” ejaculated the cowboy. “Who’d old Selby leave Red Rock to?”

  “The lawyer didn’t say. I suppose to a tenderfoot son or nephew. But Dad thinks not. Selby had a middle-aged brother,” replied the girl bitterly.

  “Wal, I’d stand to be a lot myself to get thet ranch left to me,” rejoined Jeff, with a mellow laugh. “Cheer up, Miss Anne. Reckon things will go on aboot the same. This heah man won’t show up, an’ if he does you can marry him. Ha! Ha!” The cowboy roared with laughter.

  The ladies joined in the laugh. “That’s what Mrs. Jones advised,” continued the girl presently. “But it’s not funny. Catch me marrying some white-necked tenderfoot, or some bald-headed Easterner, even to save Red Rock.”

  “Shore, thet’s lucky for one of us cowboys,” said Jeff, fervently. “Wal, adios. Hope after all you get in for the Fourth. An’ say, give my love to your little cousin, Daisy Brooks.”

  “Catch me, Jeff Martin!” she retorted. “You cowboys! ... Well, adios.”

  Silas Selby’s nephew very soberly agreed with the red-haired young lady that this Red Rock inheritance matter was not at all funny. The fact that this attractive western girl, who had a temper to match her hair, was a daughter of John Hepford, who for
years had managed the Red Rock Ranch for Uncle Silas, stirred Ernest considerably. At first sight of Anne Hepford he had been decidedly attracted; at second sight, it seemed he had been rather badly smitten. Weighing her rather sharp remarks about Silas Selby, he decided he was not smitten after all. But when she sat down in front of him with her companion and he saw the blazing hair, and the nape of her firm, round neck, white where it met the gold tan, he feared that at least he was interested. He recognized the symptoms. They had attacked him occasionally up to the time he was twenty-one, and once or twice during the three years since. But this was something different. After all, when had he seen such a gorgeous creature as Anne Hepford?

  “Anne, you didn’t tell me this news aboot the ranch,” the older woman was saying to the girl in an excited voice, as she settled herself in the seat. “Why, everybody round Springer look on it as yours–you bein’ the only child. An’ it’s been your home for so long!”

  “Well, it’s not mine or Dad’s either–that’s shore,” rejoined the girl shortly. “When I threw a fit at the news, Dad let me know pronto where we stand. Oh, he was upset!”

  They began to whisper then, and though Ernest listened shamelessly he could not catch a word. And when the stage started, the roll of the grating wheels and the clatter of hoofs drowned even ordinary conversation. Presently they left the town limits for the ranch country.

  Ernest fell into a reverie which precluded neither his own problem nor strict watch upon the two plotters in the seat behind the driver. Nevertheless he got genuine enjoyment from the scenery. The four horses clicked off the miles at a good pace, and each mile appeared to lead into more fascinating country. The green pastures, the gray fields dotted with cattle, the occasional little ranch house, situated in a valley or on a wooded knoll, the rolling, cedared ridges and the dark patches of timber, all pleased the Iowan, yet scarcely prepared him for the rangeland. He had been used to unrestricted view, but this vast sweep of rolling gray with its lines of white and its outcroppings of red, leading the eye to the wide upheaval of land, belted black to the sky, made him catch his breath. Arizona! Rangeland! Up to now, the name had been a myth. He had no recollection of his Uncle Silas, though at home they told him how once he had danced Ernest on his knee and said he would someday make a Westerner of him. The prediction bade fair to come true. But at the moment Ernest was not wholeheartedly sure that this tremendous stretch of wild, lonely and colorful land would altogether account for it.