by Zane Grey
“I thought he stood in strong with Hepford. Even if he didn’t, though, my cousin would keep him on the ranch. ... Ernest, please take me out of here.”
“Sure. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. We’ll get your hat and coat. Then I’ll find Nebraskie.”
To Ernest’s relief they did not encounter Hyslip or Anne, but they ran into unexpected embarrassment in the person of Nebraskie Kemp.
7
NEBRASKIE’S boyish face was brick-red and sullen. His usually big wide-open blue eyes burned with an unnatural fire. He squared himself in front of Ernest and Daisy, his hands on his hips, and regarded them as though they were two very guilty persons.
“Come on, pard, let’s get out of here,” said Selby.
“Huh! You ain’t no pard of mine, Iowa Howard. You’re a snake in th’ grass, just as I thought you was when I first seen you,” replied Kemp in a bitter voice. Certain it was that he arrested attention from others besides the two he confronted.
“Hold on with such crazy talk, cowboy. You’ve been looking at red liquor,” retorted Ernest sharply.
“Nebraskie, you’re drunk. Come out this very minute–or I’11 ask Ioway to take me home,” said Daisy in distress. She placed a nervous hand on Kemp as if she feared he might strike his friend. There appeared to be some justification for her action.
“I’m gonna sock you on yer–han’some mug,” muttered Nebraskie in a thick voice.
Selby laughed. To see the usually good-natured Nebraskie so pugnacious was funny, though evidently the scene was painful for Daisy. He laid powerful hold of Nebraskie. “Grab him, Daisy. Well drag him out.”
They did so, amid the laughter of the bystanders. It required considerable effort to pull and lead Kemp out into the street, along which they hurried him. When they reached the park he broke loose from them.
“We’re gonna fight it out–right here,” declared the cowboy.
“All right, if you’ve got to fight. But what’s it all about?” returned Ernest patiently.
“You’re second han’some galoot to steal my gurl.”
“Shut up, you big fool!” cried Daisy hody.
“S’there. She’s swearin’ at me,” said Kemp, jerking a lax hand toward Daisy.
Ernest swept a glance about them, glad to find that the street was deserted. He placed a friendly hand on Kemp’s shoulder.
“Pard, I’m your friend and Daisy’s friend.”
“Ahuh. Yore shore hers. Mebbe her sweetheart. I seen you dancin’. Huggin’ her pure shameful! . . . Aw, damn the wimmen anyhow. All same. It takes the han’some fellers to win them. . . . Ho’ard, I gotta sock you one. I hate t’do it.”
“I’d hate to have you, Nebraskie. I’m losing my patience, cowboy. Here’s Daisy wanting to go home and you acting like a coyote.... Hold on, there!–Be careful.”
Kemp swung a slow arm, which Daisy caught and clung to.
“Nebraskie, if you hit Iowa I–I’ll never speak to you again,” she protested tearfully. “You’re accusing your best friend. Why, not half an hour ago he–he knocked Dude Hyslip stiff for–for insulting me.”
“Whash thet aboot Hyslip?” demanded Kemp furiously. “You didn’t look at him again?”
“Yes–I did. I–I danced with him,” confessed Daisy. “I know I promised you. But I couldn’t help it. He asked me right before Anne and–and others. He didn’t wait–just waltzed me out on the floor. Afterward–”
“My Gawd–whadda you think of thet!” exclaimed Nebraskie, with a tragic gesture to Selby. “Wimmen are jest no good.”
Ernest began to realize that there was more to this than just a drunken cowboy’s absurd jealousy. Daisy began to cry. This evidently was more than Nebraskie could take.
“Dais, don’t you go blubberin’. I cain’t stand thet. Let Ho’ard take you home. An’ I’ll go get pretty-faced drunk.”
“No–no. I want to get you away from town. If you meet Hyslip–”
“Ahuh. So you’re feared I’ll take a shot at him, an’ not with my fist, either? What’d he do? Tell me–or I’ll go after him anyhow.”
Here Daisy broke down. “Oh, Iowa–can’t you–do–anything? People are–coming–I–I can’t stand this. I want to–go home.”
Ernest nodded grimly and began dragging Kemp along the street, at no slow pace, using words as blunt and forceful as his actions. Every once in a while the cowboy would rebel and try to halt, talking incoherently, but they forced him on. In this manner they traversed several blocks. The night air, sweeping down from the mountains, was cold and keen. Daisy drew her coat closer around her throat. She looked white in the moonlight. She had ceased weeping. Ernest thought she looked very sad and troubled. Again he wondered. Finally they reached the corral.
“Nebraskie, you make up with Daisy while I fetch the horses,” said Ernest.
“Make up nuthin’,” growled Kemp. “Never no more. I’ve been a sucker too often.”
“Say, you locoed range rider,” exploded Selby, “I’ve a notion to slam you the same as I did Dude Hyslip.”
“Slam! Whadda you mean?”
“Well, Daisy told you once. I knocked him stiff.”
“An’ why for?”
“I went out in the garden and presently heard a girl cry out, It was Daisy. She was on that bench with Hyslip. He was trying to pull her to him, and she was resisting–or something–so I yanked her away from from him–and slugged him one. . . . Look at my fist.... All swelled up!”
Nebraskie gazed from the swollen hand up into Ernest’s face, and then at Daisy. He was recovering somewhat from the effect of the liquor he had imbibed.
“Dais, if you went out there with him–”
“I told you how it happened–I didn’t want to go–he just rustled me along. He’s strong. I didn’t want to scream. What could I do? . . . But when he tried to–to come it over me again I screamed.”
“Honest now, Dais?”
“Yes, honest. I cross my heart.”
“It just come aboot natural–thet you got took out in the garden–when you didn’t want to go?”
“Oh, I am a–a little fool!” cried the girl bitterly. “I could have avoided it. But I–I was out of my haid. Dude always does that to me.”
“Now you’re talkin’, Dais,” returned Kemp grimly. “This shore ain’t no time to keep things to yourself, as you did before. I want it straight. Reckon I can forgive you fer lettin’ yourself in fer thet little walk in the moonlight. But if Dude laid a hand on you– against your wish–”
Here Kemp took the girl by the shoulders and shook her, and bent down to peer into her face.
“Nebraskie–don’t–you’re hurting me,” she faltered.
“Never mind Ernest. If he’s my friend, as you both swear, I don’t care if he knows aboot us. . . . Now you tell me–”
“Sure I’m your friend,” interrupted Selby. “But, Nebraskie, doggone it, I don’t like the way you’re treating Daisy.”
“Wal, you can lump it, then.”
“You’re drunk, man!”
“No, I ain’t drunk no more. Leastways not very drunk.”
As this appeared to be evident Ernest made no further effort to interfere. His sympathy went out to Daisy, but even a more sentimental person than himself could have seen that the girl appeared guilty of something. Nebraskie, however, let go of her.
“I’ll wrangle the hosses,’ he said, and strode away.
Ernest watched his lithe form move away in the moonlight, across to the dark side of the corral, where the fence and trees cast deep shadows. Then he turned to Daisy.
“What does this all mean, Daisy?” he asked gravely. “Has Nebraskie a right to speak to you that way–to bully you, as he did?”
“Oh, yes. He has the right to beat me–and I wish he would,” she replied, in bitter self-contempt.
“Daisy Brooks! How can you talk that way?”
“It’s true. I’ve treated Nebraskie as low-down as–as I don’t know what,” she went on
hurriedly. “He’s the best boy ever. . . . We were engaged, Ernest. Then–then Dude Hyslip came between us. . . . And I broke it off.”
“Well then, how comes that air of proprietorship Nebraskie showed so rudely?”
“Oh, he hasn’t broken off, even if I have. Nebraskie sticks to me, even when I’m not worth it.”
“Nonsense. Of course you’re worth it–you’re not the kind of girl you’re trying to make yourself out to be! Do you still care for Nebraskie?”
“Do I? Oh, that’s what hurts so. I do. More than ever!”
“Fine! Now be honest with him, Daisy. Absolutely honest. Then it’ll all come right.”
“I’m afraid I cain’t be. I would if I wasn’t sure he’d kill Dude.”
“Kill Dude? . . . Good Heavens! Daisy, are you serious?”
“I shore am,” she replied.
“Then–there’s evidently a good deal more to this than a–a mere lover’s tiff?”
Her answer to that was silence, almost pitiful silence, but it was enough to confirm Ernest’s fears. He felt intensely sorry for this defenseless girl.
“Do you want to tell me any more?” he asked gently, taking her hand.
“Not now. But I will sometime.”
At this juncture the clip-clop of hoofs broke in upon their whispered conversation, and a moment later dark forms appeared out of the gloom. Nebraskie came up leading three horses.
“Like to never found your nag,” said Kemp, handing out a rope end. Ernest took it, and searched along the fence for his saddle. Presently he returned to the gate, to find Daisy leaning white-faced and silent against the fence, while Nebraskie hitched the team to the buckboard.
“Ioway, tie your hoss behind, an’ drive Dais home, will you?” he queried. “I’ll fetch your clothes from the hotel.”
“Why sure. But I think you ought to go with us,” replied Ernest.
“I’ve a job on hand,” he said, and completing the harnessing he threw the reins up into the buckboard. His face looked dark under his wide-brimmed sombrero. He waited expectantly. Presently Daisy came slowly away from the fence.
“Nebraskie, you take me home.”
“Climb up, gurl. Ioway will take care of you.”
“Please don’t stay.”
“Look heah, Dais. It’s aboot come to a showdown. I was sore at you. But I’m gettin’ over thet. Same as I’m gettin’ sober. If you want to know, I won’t drink no more. Reckon I’d best be clearhaided for what I’ve got to do. I’ve had enough of Hyslip’s lordin’ it over you.”
“What are you going to do, Nebraskie?” she asked quietly.
“Wal, thet depends on Dude. If he draws on me–okay. But if he shows yellow, as I reckon, I’ll jest beat hell out of him fer good an’ all.”
“Dude is a coward. He’ll never meet you, for all his reputation as a gun-fighter. I’m not afraid of that But I know your fier temper. You might have good intentions, but when you meet hin you will do something rash. Please don’t stay, Nebraskie, for my sake.”
Ernest added his solicitation to that of Daisy’s. She was com posed now, though evidently under a severe strain. The cowboy wavered as he looked down upon her.
“Reckon I cain’t go far wrong,” he said. “Ye won’t tell me nothin’, so I’ll jest have to take things for granted.”
“What things?”
“Thet I’ve good reason to lick Dude, if no wuss.”
“You have good reason Nebraskie. But for my sake, my reputa tion, don’t do it.”
“Ahuh. So you’re fessin’ up. Come on, Dais. Out with it. I’l think more of you an’ so will Ioway.”
The girl seemed greatly distressed. Yet she answered bravely “Nebraskie, he can wind me round his little finger, when he get with me. But only then. Away from him I hate him. I hate him You’ve got to believe me.”
“You do? ... Dais, this is shore the seriousest moment you and me ever lived.”
“I do. I hate him,” she declared darkly. “He’s made a–a toy out of me. He comes out home and gets round Dad with a bottle of liquor. You know Dad’s weakness. And then he–he makes a play for me.”
“But, Dais, if you’re square you could hide from the skunk, protested the cowboy.
“I have hid, many a time. But some other times I cain’t give him the slip... . And when he gets hold of me I–I–”
“Then you love him, huh?”
“No! No!... Maybe I did, right at first. But not after. Only that doesn’t make any difference. I’m like a bird with a snake, I guess and he knows it. That is what he comes for. Oh, it’s shameful.”
“Ahull.... Wal, Dais Brooks, suppose you tell your true feelins aboot me.”
“I’ve never changed, Nebraskie. Despite it all I–I cared more and more–and now–”
She faltered at the end, nearly weeping again. Nebraskie snatched her to his breast and held her close. His sombrero slipped back, as he raised his head in the moonlight. His face shone.
“Pard, you heah her?” he asked his friend triumphantly.
“Yes, I heard, Nebraskie. And I guess that makes everything all right, doesn’t it?” replied Ernest with relief.
Nebraskie bent his head over the slight form in his arms. “Dais, I’m shore thankin’ you fer bein’ honest. Reckon I don’t quite understand, but thet’s no matter. You’re only a kid. Make me a promise an’ I’ll keep away from Hyslip.”
“Yes–anything,” whispered the girl.
“Be true to me from now on.”
“Oh, Nebraskie, I swear I will.”
He shyly kissed her cheek, and with that, lifted her up on the seat of the buckboard. Then he held out a hand to Ernest.
“Reckon I haven’t been much of a pard tonight, Ioway. But heah you are, from now on.”
“Nebraskie, I’m downright glad, for both your sakes,” replied Ernest, coming to grips with that proffered hand. “For myself, too. I’m going to need friends.”
“Wal, you’ve got two, anyhow,” said Kemp with a laugh. “Dais, our pard heah has trouble of his own. Heart trouble, most like ours!”
“I’m afraid I saw it coming,” replied the girl regretfully. “Oh, we’re all tangled up in–in life.”
Nebraskie clambered up into the buckboard while Ernest mounted his horse. Then they started off on their long ride back to Red Rock. Ernest trotted behind the buckboard. Soon they were beyond the outskirts of town, out into the country. And then the ride became pleasant to the Iowan. The exercise warmed him blood. The night was still, cold, frosty, and clear as a bell, with a soaring full moon blanching the rangeland. The mournful wai of a coyote floated down from the hills. At first Ernest had no liked these desert beasts. But now he felt they were part of this lonely land. As they made their way along the road the far-of cries came only at long intervals. Jack-rabbits like gray streak crossed the road. Gradually the flat cedared country gave way to the encroaching pass through to the dark rugged foothills. Fall beyond them the pale peaks stood up. These too were coming to have an inexplicable effect upon Ernest.
Presently he turned his eyes toward the buckboard rattling and jouncing ahead of him. Nebraskie had his free arm around Daisy and she was leaning against him until their forms seemed merged into one. The sight thrilled the Iowan, but at the same moment gave him a peculiar pang.
Only an hour or two before, he had held the beautiful form of Anne Hepford in his arms. A wave of emotion passed over him He found it difficult to remember intelligently. Still, how could he have any reason or sense where Anne was concerned? He wanted to recall clearly, to analyze her reaction to his wild impulse, to find something tangible to substantiate his absurd conviction that Anne had been surprised by his ardor and forced for once into sincerity. But that could be only his wild hope. He realized he was in a bad enough situation, without Anne Hepford really and truly having responded to him in one weak moment. Is that were true, if in spite of her brazen coquetry, her scorn of him as a crude cowboy, if the yielding she had betrayed were genuine
and for him, then indeed his plight would be desperate. For he knew that he could never resist her. He would be always way laying her, to force a repetition of that tumultuous moment in the garden.
Vainly Ernest regretted his going to the dance. He had committed himself. It was too late. Passionately he denied being really in love with Anne. But he knew that he was. Whatever he had been before that mad moment he could not recall: now he was caught in the toils of passion, infinitely worse than he had ever been before, and for a woman he knew he could not trust. The realization fetched the hot stinging blood of shame to his cheek. It hurt his pride, his vanity. He had continually to fight down a clamoring championship of Anne. To invent excuses for her! To delude himself with a belief that deep down, in her heart, she was really good!
Ernest rode on through the night, a prey to conflicting emotions. Nebraskie waited at the turn of the road. They had reached Red Rock. The stars were paling. Dawn was not far off. The coyotes had ceased wailing. The moon had gone down behind the mountain.
“Most daylight, pard,” said Nebraskie in a low voice. “Hell of a Fourth, huh? The wust and happiest I ever lived though! . . . Dais is asleep. Poor kid! She’s had to stand a lot. Men are no good, Ioway. . . . I’ll be back early in the mawnin’. Lay low till I come. Reckon Dude will be ugly. So long, pard.”
“So long, pard,” echoed Ernest, sitting his horse. He was learning things and the things he had learned that night brought him closer to this friend of his. He watched Nebraskie gaze down at the little head sagging on his shoulder, and a lump came up in his throat. The cowboy drove on up the road, to disappear among the cedars. Ernest headed his horse for the ranch corrals.
8
ALL next day cowboys kept trailing back to the ranch, each betraying more or less the effect of a hilarious Fourth. Dude Hyslip did not show up at all, nor did several of the visiting riders, who had come from over the Blue Mountains to take charge of the big drive of cattle Hepford was starting on Monday. Late in the afternoon Nebraskie was still asleep in his bunk.
Ernest had not slept a wink and his face showed the effect of both physical and mental fatigue. He was restless, nervous, watchful, and spent a good deal of his time on the bunkhouse porch. Toward sundown Siebert, the foreman, encountered him there.