by Zane Grey
“Say, sweetheart, if thet means so turrible much to you, we’d better hang on to most of this money, so we can go to town occasionally while we’re gettin’ rich.”
“Oh, Pecos. I was just carried away. I would come to my senses and not buy everything. But I must have a woman’s clothes.”
“Shore. I savvy. Yu shall have all the damn linens, silks, laces, ribbons, all the flimsy stuff an’ fine dresses yu want, a pack-saddle full of toothbrushes, hair combs, powders, an’ all the jimcracks yu raved aboot.”
“Oh, Pecos! … And to think I’ll start off on my honeymoon in boy’s pants!”
“Shore. An’ yu’ll come back in them, too.”
“San Antonio!”
“Listen, honey, the seriousness is this, I reckon. We’re goin’ to stay heah always?”
“Why, Pecos!” she ejaculated, suddenly down to the earth of practical things.
“Yu love this place?”
“I love my Pecos River and my Pecos Vaquero.—Listen. I’ll be serious, too. I suffered here. But I came to love the loneliness—all that makes this Pecos country. I have lived outdoors. I could never be happy in a city. I don’t want to live among people. I couldn’t think or be myself. … If it’s for me to say, then this shall be our home—always.”
“Terrill, yu’ve all to say aboot thet,” returned Pecos, with strong feeling. “An’ yu’ve settled it as I hoped yu would. … Now, little girl, let’s face it as I see it. … As a cattle-raisin’ proposition this range of ours cain’t be beat in all Texas. The grass is scant, but the range is wide. We have pure water heah, an’ a fine spring in Y Canyon. Halfway between an’ back up on the rollin’ ridges there’s Blue Lake, a cold spring-fed waterhole where thousands of cattle drink. If cattle have pure water they don’t need a lot of grass. When the river runs so salty the stock cain’t drink, we have our other water, always steady an’ pure. Thet means we can run fifty thousand haid of cattle in heah. It means what I so often joked you aboot when yu was a boy. Our fortune’s made!”
“I believe you, Pecos. But, oh! the obstacles!”
“There’s only one obstacle, honey, an’ thet’s the rustler,” went on Pecos, thoughtfully. “He’s heah an’ he’ll come more an’ more. For years yet rustlin’ will increase as the number of cattle an’ prices increase. I could hold my own, mebbe, but as yu’ve consented to be my wife—bless yore brave heart!—I’m not goin’ to take the risks I’ve taken in the past. … We’ll go get married. … Gosh! it’s sweet to see yu blush like thet! … We’ll have our honeymoon an’ our little squanderin’ fit. I shore have an outfit of cowhands who are the real Texas breed. I’ll drill them into the hardest-ridin’, hardest-shootin’ bunch thet ever forked hosses. We’ll ride these Pecos brakes together an’, by Gawd! we’ll make it tough for rustlers.”
“Oh, Pecos! All Dad’s life that was his dream. Wouldn’t it be strange if he realized it through me? … And I shall be your right-hand vaquero.”
“Terrill, yu’re goin’ to be a wife,” he replied, forcibly.
“Shore. But I want to ride, too,” she said, spiritedly. “If I cain’t, well, I won’t be your wife. So there!”
“Yu can ride yore pretty little bull-haid off! … But, Terrill dear, yu’re such a kid. Yu don’t know what bein’ married means. We—things come aboot, yu know—happen to married people.”
“I—I dare say,” she replied, dubiously, leaning away to look at him.
“Yu cain’t go on bein’ a vaquero for-forever,” he protested.
“No-o?”
“We’d want—yu know, yu cain’t never tell—I shore love the idee—we—yu might ——”
“What under the sun are you talking aboot?”
Pecos knew he was not much on beating about the bush.
“Terrill, shore yu’d want a—a little Pecos ——”
She uttered a smothered shriek, and rolling away she bounded up to run like a deer. Halfway to the cabin she stopped to turn a crimson face.
“Pecos Smith, I’ll be ready in a half-hour for anything.”
By midday Pecos and Terrill rode into Eagle’s Nest.
Pecos had scarcely stepped off his horse when he realized that this hamlet had changed in the interval since he had been there. Half a dozen Texas faces turned to him right in front of the new store, and one of them he recognized just the instant it broke its still repose to a warm smile. The owner of that face stepped out, a Texan of about Pecos’ age, sunburnt, tow-headed, blue-eyed, a fine strapping fellow who yelped:
“Pecos Smith or I’m shore loco!” he ejaculated, and Pecos laughed to think what the Heald outfit would have thought of that.
“Howdy, Jerry Brice. I’m shore glad to see yore darned old skinny snoot.”
“Been hidin’ oot, you rascal,” returned Brice, hanging on to Pecos’ hand. “Heahed somethin’ aboot you, though. Whar you goin’? What you doin’? Who’s this heah boy with the big eyes?”
“Boy? Huh! Thet’s no boy, Jerry. Thet’s my girl, Terrill Lambeth. We’re goin’ to be married, an’ by golly yu’ve got to see me through it. … Terrill, hop off an’ meet a real shore Texas pard, one I’d be scared to have yu meet if it wasn’t our weddin’-day.”
Terrill came sliding off to slip to his side. Pecos ran his arm through hers and felt it tremble.
“Pecos, you amazin’ dod-blasted lucky cuss!” ejaculated Brice.
“Terrill, this heah is Jerry Brice, an old friend. … An’ Jerry, meet the sweetheart. I was always gonna find some day—Terrill Lambeth.”
“Wal, Miss Lambeth, this is more than a pleasure,” said Brice, bareheaded before her, making her a stately bow. “I shore am happy to meet you.”
“Thank you. I—I’m very glad to meet you,” replied Terrill, flushed and shy.
Brice gave their horses into the charge of some one he knew and dragged them into a restaurant, where he divided his pleasure between compliments to Terrill and wonder at Pecos. They had dinner together, during which Brice told him of a new ranching venture he and his brother had undertaken in New Mexico, and which was going to be slow but sure. After that there followed an abundance of news. Pecos expressed surprise at the way sleepy little Eagle’s Nest had come to life. At which Brice laughed and bade him wait till he saw something. Texas steers were on the move north. Dodge City and Abilene, the two ends of the great Chisholm Trail, were roaring towns. Rockport, the southern terminus, was full of trail drivers, cattlemen, ranchers, traveling settlers, gamblers, desperadoes, which was no news to Pecos. Stock prices were on the rise. Pecos asked innumerable questions, and finally got down to the most important thing for Terrill and him.
“How aboot this Judge Roy Bean?”
“Funny old codger. Shore is a law unto himself. Justice of peace, magistrate, judge, saloon-keeper—he’s shore the whole show.”
“Can he marry us?”
“Course he can. Good an’ fast, too, so Miss Terrill cain’t get away from you.”
“Thet’s fine,” retorted Pecos, with satisfaction. “But all the same, Jerry, just to make shore I’ll have the weddin’ service done over again when we get to San Antonio.”
They made merry over that while Terrill tried to hide her blushes.
“Come on. Let’s go an’ get it over,” drawled Pecos, and so they went out together.
Pecos did not need to see all the new houses to realize that Eagle’s Nest had indeed grown. Even during the warm noon hour the streets were lined with vehicles, saddle horses hitched, riders, trail drivers, cattlemen, and idle sloe-eyed Mexicans. There were ten Mexicans to every white man, so that altogether there must have been a daily population at Eagle’s Nest in excess of two hundred. Pecos saw a couple of familiar faces, the last of which dodged out of sight. It would be natural, he thought, to gravitate toward some incident calculated to be embarrassing on this wedding-day.
Terrill did not have a lagging step. Her face glowed and her eyes sparkled. When not directly drawn into conversation or especially notic
ed she was beginning to enjoy herself. She did not attract particular attention, though she clung to Pecos’ arm.
“Say, Jerry, yu remember Don Felipe,” said Pecos, suddenly reminded of his former employer. “Heah anythin’ aboot him?”
“Shore. He got run oot of Rockport. Down on his luck, Pecos. I reckon he’s run his rope.”
“Thet so. It ain’t such awful bad news,” returned Pecos, ponderingly.
“I met a trail driver named Lindsay. He has a ranch on the San Saba. Told me Felipe had an outfit half white an’ half greaser, workin’ the east brakes of the Pecos. Lindsay also said Felipe had a mix-up with Rangers in the Braseda last summer.”
“Ahuh. Dog-gone! Things do happen.” But straightway the momentary ominous regurgitation passed as they reached the court-house of Judge Roy Bean. Evidently something was going on, for there were a number of Mexicans on foot, and several mounted on burros.
“This is the back of his place,” said Brice. “We’ll have to go round in front, where I reckon he’s holdin’ court or servin’ drinks.”
The structure Bean called his court-house had been built of clapboards, and stood on posts high off the ground. A stove-pipe protruded from the roof. Presently the front of the building stood revealed—a rather wide porch upon which court was apparently in session.
“Thet’s the judge settin’ on the box at the table,” said Brice, pointing. “The rest are greasers.”
Pecos bent most interested eyes upon the judge. He appeared to be a short stout man, well along in years, with a long gray beard, cut round in a half circle. He was in his shirt sleeves, wore a huge light sombrero, and packed a gun at his hip. A Mexican peon stood bareheaded before him. There were three other Mexicans, all sitting in the background. A rifle leaned against the post nearest the judge. Behind him on the corner post was a board sign upon which had been painted one word—Saloon. Above the wide steps, at the edge of the porch roof, was another and much larger one bearing the legend in large letters—Law West of the Pecos. Above that hung a third shingle with the judge’s name. Although Pecos and his companions were on the edge of the front yard, they could not distinguish what was said.
At this juncture two cowhands rode into the yard and dismounted at the steps. Red and lean of face, gun-belted and wearing shaggy chaparejos, they fetched a drawling remark from Pecos. “Folks, this heah is better’n a show.”
“Howdy, Judge,” called out the foremost rider as he doffed his sombrero. “Will you adjurn court long enough to save two hombres’ lives a-dyin’ of thirst?”
“Step right up, boys,” boomed the judge, kicking his box seat back as he rose. “There ain’t no law heah but me, an’ we adjurn.”
He waved the two tall cowmen into the courthouse, and stamped after them. The peon on trial stood there and waited. The other Mexicans peered in as if they would not have minded being invited to drink.
“Dog-gone me!” ejaculated Pecos. “If thet doesn’t beat the Dutch!”
“Isn’t he a funny old fellow?” whispered Terrill. “Fancy our being married by him! Pecos, it’s all so like a story.”
Presently the thirsty couple came out, followed by the judge, who was certainly wiping his lips. The cowhands strode down to their horses, led them aside a few steps, and proceeded to light cigarettes.
When the judge had reseated himself on his box he banged the table with a force and finality that presupposed he had imbibed instant decision while in the barroom.
“Cinco pesos!” he shouted.
One of the Mexicans jingled silver upon the table. Then all of them left the porch. The Judge closed his big book.
“Now’s our chance,” whispered Pecos, squeezing Terrill’s arm. “Jerry, be shore to stick to us.”
Terrill giggled, though laboring under suppressed excitement. Pecos whispered to her. “Honey, this shore is aboot all.”
Pecos strode up on the porch, holding Terrill to his side. She dragged a little the last few steps. Brice hung back a trifle. Judge Bean looked up. He had hard, shrewd blue eyes and a good-natured, smug face. Pecos’ instant angle was that this gentleman who constituted within himself all the law west of the Pecos might be eccentric, but he was no fool.
“Howdy, Judge,” drawled Pecos.
“Howdy yourself. Who might you happen to be?” he replied, sharply, his gaze growing speculative.
“I shore got a lot of names, Judge, but my right one is James Smith.”
“All right, James Smith. What you want heah in court?”
“Can you marry me?”
“Can I? Say, young feller, I can marry you, divorce you, an’ hang you.”
“Wal, I only want the first.”
“Where’s your woman? I’m tolerable busy today. Why you come bellyachin’ aboot gettin’ married, takin’ up my time when you’ve no woman?”
“Heah she is, Judge,” replied Pecos, who, despite his cool audacity and the poignancy of his errand, wanted to howl his mirth.
“Where?”
“Heah.” And Pecos had to indicate the drooping Terrill.
“Hell! Are you drunk, man? This heah’s a boy.”
“Nope. Yu’re mistaken, Judge,” returned Pecos as he removed Terrill’s broad-brimmed hat. “Hold up your haid, Terrill.”
She did so, struggling with mingled emotions. And her face resembled a red poppy.
Judge Bean stared. He slammed both hands on the table. He was astounded. Suddenly his smug face beamed.
“Wal, I should smile you are a girl. Prettiest who ever stepped into this court. … What’s your name?”
“Terrill Lambeth.”
“Lambeth? I’ve heard that name somewhere.”
“My father was Colonel Templeton Lambeth.”
“How old are you, Terrill?”
“Nineteen.”
Then the Judge turned to Pecos. “I’ll marry you, Smith. What’s it worth to get spliced to this pretty girl? It cain’t be done nowhere else in this country.”
Pecos saw through this old robber. “Wal, it’s shore worth aboot a million dollars to me,” he drawled. “But I cain’t afford much—no more’n say twenty.”
“Fork it over,” retorted the Judge, swiftly, extending one hand toward Pecos while with the other he felt for something in his desk.
Pecos was in an embarrassing position. He had forgotten to segregate a twenty dollar bill from the roll he had inside his vest. There was no help for it. When the Judge’s eyes came up from a search for the little Bible in his hand and espied Pecos stripping a bill off that fat roll of greenbacks, they popped right out.
“Say, have you held up a bank?” he growled, snatching the bill Pecos dropped on the table.
“No. I been savin’ up a long time for this heah occasion.”
“I forgot to charge you for the certificate. That’ll be ten more.”
“Yeah. Make it twenty, Judge.”
“All right, it’s twenty,” retorted Bean, and he took the second bill with alacrity. Then he opened the book and began to read a marriage service. He skipped some unimportant parts, but when he came to the vital points he was less hurried. The questions he put were loud and emphatic. But Pecos realized what was happening so fleetingly, and he choked over his “Yes,” and heard Terrill’s low reply.
“I pronounce you man and wife,” finished the Judge. “Whom God has joined together let no man put asunder!”
Then he sat down at his desk to fumble in his drawer for the certificate which he soon filled out.
“Sign your names.”
Pecos’ hand was as steady as a rock, but Terrill’s shook. Brice leaned over them and said, gayly: “Pecos, old boy, good luck an’ long life! … Mrs. Smith, I wish you joy an’ all ——”
A loud voice, slightly foreign, interrupted Brice.
“Señor Judge, stop da marriage!”
Brice exclaimed violently and wheeled to mark the intruder, a tall thin man in black sombrero. Pecos, who stood on the inside behind Terrill and his friend, fro
ze in his tracks.
“What’s eatin’ you, Felipe?” boomed Bean, angrily. “A-rarin’ into my court this way.”
“I stop da marriage. Da Lambeth señorita ——”
“Hell, man! You’ll stop nothin’ heah, unless it’s breathin’. … I’ve pronounced this young couple man an’ wife.”
“Oh, Pecos, it’s Don Felipe,” whispered Terrill.
“Jerry, take her aside,” hissed Pecos, straightening up to push them toward the judge. Then in a single leap he landed in front of the steps.
His enemy, stalking swiftly, had reached the lower steps. His trim, small, decorated boot halted in midair, stiffened, slowly sank.
“Howdy, Don. The bridegroom happens to be Pecos Smith.”
“Santa Maria!”
The half-breed’s lean, small face, black almost as his stiff sombrero, underwent a hideous change that ended in a fixed yellow distortion. Fangs protruded from under his stretched lips. His slim frame vibrated under the thin black garments. And that vibration culminated in a spasmodic jerk for his gun. As it left the sheath Pecos fired to break his arm, but the heavy bullet struck the gun, spinning it away to the feet of the cowhands. Then a swifter and a different change transfixed the half-breed. He appeared to shrink, all except his beadlike eyes.
“Ump-umm, Don. Yu’ve got a bad memory,” said Pecos, cold and sarcastic. “It’s damn lucky for yu this is my weddin’-day.”
Pecos aligned his gun a little higher, where it froze on a level, spurted red, and thundered. The bullet tore Felipe’s stiff sombrero from his head and never touched a hair. Then Pecos aimed at the flowery silver-spurred boots.
“Dance, yu ——”
And he threw the gun down to fire again. This bullet cut more than leather. “Dance on my weddin’-day or I’ll bore yore laig!”
Felipe made grotesque, almost pitiful dance steps until his will or flesh ceased to function.
“Wal, yu’re as rotten a dancer as yu are a shot. … Stand still now ——! And heah me. I’m callin’ yu before Judge Bean an’ these cowmen, an’ the rest of this outfit. … Yu’re a low-down greaser-hirin’ rustler. Yu hire pore ignorant vaqueros an’ kill them to get out of payin’ their wages. I rode for yu. I learned yore Braseda tricks. I know yu stole most of Colonel Lambeth’s stock an’ tried to steal his daughter. I chased yore new outfit across the river just a day or so ago. Brand-burnin’ my stock. Watson caught yu an’ got away, only to be shot by yore pard Breen Sawtell. An’ before I killed Sawtell I got yore case from him.”