by Zane Grey
“He isn’t a cowboy?” asked Mrs. Belding, quickly.
“No.”
“Shore he’d make a darn good one,” put in Laddy.
“What is he? Who is he? Where did he come from? Surely you must be—”
“Laddy swears he’s all right,” interrupted the husband. “That’s enough reference for me. Isn’t it enough for you?”
“Humph! Laddy knows a lot about young men, now doesn’t he, especially strangers from the East?… Tom, you must be careful!”
“Wife, I’m only too glad to have a nervy young chap come along. What sense is there in your objection, if Jim and Laddy stick up for him?”
“But, Tom—he’ll fall in love with Nell!” protested Mrs. Belding.
“Well, wouldn’t that be regular? Doesn’t every man who comes along fall in love with Nell? Hasn’t it always happened? When she was a schoolgirl in Kansas didn’t it happen? Didn’t she have a hundred moon-eyed ninnies after her in Texas? I’ve had some peace out here in the desert, except when a Greaser or a prospector or a Yaqui would come along. Then same old story—in love with Nell!”
“But, Tom, Nell might fall in love with this young man!” exclaimed the wife, in distress.
“Laddy, Jim, didn’t I tell you?” cried Belding. “I knew she’d say that.… My dear wife, I would be simply overcome with joy if Nell did fall in love once. Real good and hard! She’s wilder than any antelope out there on the desert. Nell’s nearly twenty now, and so far as we know she’s never cared a rap for any fellow. And she’s just as gay and full of the devil as she was at fourteen. Nell’s as good and lovable as she is pretty, but I’m afraid she’ll never grow into a woman while we live out in this lonely land. And you’ve always hated towns where there was a chance for the girl—just because you were afraid she’d fall in love. You’ve always been strange, even silly, about that. I’ve done my best for Nell—loved her as if she were my own daughter. I’ve changed many business plans to suit your whims. There are rough times ahead, maybe. I need men. I’ll hire this chap Gale if he’ll stay. Let Nell take her chance with him, just as she’ll have to take chances with men when we get out of the desert. She’ll be all the better for it.”
“I hope Laddy’s not mistaken in his opinion of this newcomer,” replied Mrs. Belding, with a sigh of resignation.
“Shore I never made a mistake in my life figger’n’ people,” said Laddy, stoutly.
“Yes, you have, Laddy,” replied Mrs. Belding. “You’re wrong about Tom.… Well, supper is to be got. That young man and the girl will be starved. I’ll go in now. If Nell happens around don’t—don’t flatter her, Laddy, like you did at dinner. Don’t make her think of her looks.”
Dick heard Mrs. Belding walk away.
“Shore she’s powerful particular about that girl,” observed Laddy. “Say, Tom, Nell knows she’s pretty, doesn’t she?”
“She’s liable to find it out unless you shut up, Laddy. When you visited us out here some weeks ago, you kept paying cowboy compliments to her.”
“An’ it’s your idea that cowboy compliments are plumb bad for girls?”
“Downright bad, Laddy, so my wife says.”
“I’ll be darned if I believe any girl can be hurt by a little sweet talk. It pleases ’em.… But say, Beldin’, speaking of looks, have you got a peek yet at the Spanish girl?”
“Not in the light.”
“Well, neither have I in daytime. I had enough by moonlight. Nell is some on looks, but I’m regretful passin’ the ribbon to the lady from Mex. Jim, where are you?”
“My money’s on Nell,” replied Lash. “Gimme a girl with flesh an’ color, an’ blue eyes a-laughin’. Miss Castaneda is some peach, I’ll not gainsay. But her face seemed too white. An’ when she flashed those eyes on me, I thought I was shot! When she stood up there at first, thankin’ us, I felt as if a—a princess was round somewhere. Now, Nell is kiddish an’ sweet an’—”
“Chop it,” interrupted Belding. “Here comes Nell now.”
Dick’s tingling ears took in the pattering of light footsteps, the rush of someone running.
“Here you are,” cried a sweet, happy voice. “Dad, the Señorita is perfectly lovely. I’ve been peeping at her. She sleeps like—like death. She’s so white. Oh, I hope she won’t be ill.”
“Shore she’s only played out,” said Laddy. “But she had spunk while it lasted.… I was just arguin’ with Jim an’ Tom about Miss Castaneda.”
“Gracious! Why, she’s beautiful. I never saw any one so beautiful.… How strange and sad, that about her! Tell me more, Laddy. You promised. I’m dying to know. I never hear anything in this awful place. Didn’t you say the Señorita had a sweetheart?”
“Shore I did.”
“And he’s a cavalryman?”
“Yes.”
“Is he the young man who came with you?”
“Nope. That fellow’s the one who saved the girl from Rojas.”
“Ah! Where is he, Laddy?”
“He’s in there asleep.”
“Is he hurt?”
“I reckon not. He walked about fifteen miles.”
“Is he—nice, Laddy?”
“Shore.”
“What is he like?”
“Well, I’m not long acquainted, never saw him by day, but I was some tolerable took with him. An’ Jim here, Jim says the young man can have his gun an’ his hoss.”
“Wonderful! Laddy, what on earth did this stranger do to win you cowboys in just one night?”
“I’ll shore have to tell you. Me an’ Jim were watchin’ a game of cards in the Del Sol saloon in Casita. That’s across the line. We had acquaintances—four fellows from the Cross Bar outfit, where we worked a while back. This Del Sol is a billiard hall, saloon, restaurant, an’ the like. An’ it was full of Greasers. Some of Camp’s rebels were there drinkin’ an’ playin’ games. Then pretty soon in come Rojas with some of his outfit. They were packin’ guns an’ kept to themselves off to one side. I didn’t give them a second look till Jim said he reckoned there was somethin’ in the wind. Then, careless-like, I began to peek at Rojas. They call Rojas the ‘dandy rebel,’ an’ he shore looked the part. It made me sick to see him in all that lace an’ glitter, knowin’ him to be the cutthroat robber he is. It’s no oncommon sight to see excited Greasers. They’re all crazy. But this bandit was shore some agitated. He kept his men in a tight bunch round a table. He talked an’ waved his hands. He was actually shakin’. His eyes had a wild glare. Now I figgered that trouble was brewin’, most likely for the little Casita garrison. People seemed to think Campo an’ Rojas would join forces to oust the federals. Jim thought Rojas’s excitement was at the hatchin’ of some plot. Anyway, we didn’t join no card games, an’ without pretendin’ to, we was some watchful.
“A little while afterward I seen a fellow standin’ in the restaurant door. He was a young American dressed in corduroys and boots, like a prospector. You know it’s no onusual fact to see prospectors in these parts. What made me think twice about this one was how big he seemed, how he filled up that door. He looked round the saloon, an’ when he spotted Rojas he sorta jerked up. Then he pulled his slouch hat lopsided an’ began to stagger down, down the steps. First off I made shore he was drunk. But I remembered he didn’t seem drunk before. It was some queer. So I watched that young man.
“He reeled around the room like a fellow who was drunker’n a lord. Nobody but me seemed to notice him. Then he began to stumble over pool-players an’ get his feet tangled up in chairs an’ bump against tables. He got some pretty hard looks. He came round our way, an’ all of a sudden he seen us cowboys. He gave another start, like the one when he first seen Rojas, then he made for us. I tipped Jim off that somethin’ was doin’.
“When he got close he straightened up, put back his slouch hat, an’ looke
d at us. Then I saw his face. It sorta electrified yours truly. It was white, with veins standin’ out an’ eyes flamin’—a face of fury. I was plumb amazed, didn’t know what to think. Then this queer young man shot some cool, polite words at me an’ Jim.
“He was only bluffin’ at bein’ drunk—he meant to rush Rojas, to start a rough house. The bandit was after a girl. This girl was in the hotel, an’ she was the sweetheart of a soldier, the young fellow’s friend. The hotel was watched by Rojas’s guards, an’ the plan was to make a fuss an’ get the girl away in the excitement. Well, Jim an’ me got a hint of our bein’ Americans—that cowboys generally had a name for loyalty to women. Then this amazin’ chap—you can’t imagine how scornful—said for me an’ Jim to watch him.
“Before I could catch my breath an’ figger out what he meant by ‘rush’ an’ ‘rough house’ he had knocked over a table an’ crowded some Greaser half off the map. One little funny man leaped up like a wild monkey an’ began to screech. An’ in another second he was in the air upside down. When he lit, he laid there. Then, quicker’n I can tell you, the young man dove at Rojas. Like a mad steer on the rampage he charged Rojas an’ his men. The whole outfit went down—smash! I figgered then what ‘rush’ meant. The young fellow came up out of the pile with Rojas, an’ just like I’d sling an empty sack along the floor he sent the bandit. But swift as that went he was on top of Rojas before the chairs an’ tables had stopped rollin’.
“I woke up then, an’ made for the center of the room. Jim with me. I began to shoot out the lamps. Jim throwed his guns on the crazy rebels, an’ I was afraid there’d be blood spilled before I could get the room dark. Bein’s shore busy, I lost sight of the young fellow for a second or so, an’ when I got an eye free for him I seen a Greaser about to knife him. Think I was some considerate of the Greaser by only shootin’ his arm off. Then I cracked the last lamp, an’ in the hullabaloo me an’ Jim vamoosed.
“We made tracks for our hosses an’ packs, an’ was hittin’ the San Felipe road when we run right plumb into the young man. Well, he said his name was Gale—Dick Gale. The girl was with him safe an’ well; but her sweetheart, the soldier, bein’ away without leave, had to go back sudden. There shore was some trouble, for Jim an’ me heard shootin’. Gale said he had no money, no friends, was a stranger in a desert country; an’ he was distracted to know how to help the girl. So me an’ Jim started off with them for San Felipe, got switched, and’ then we headed for the Rio Forlorn.”
“Oh, I think he was perfectly splendid!” exclaimed the girl.
“Shore he was. Only, Nell, you can’t lay no claim to bein’ the original discoverer of that fact.”
“But, Laddy, you haven’t told me what he looks like.”
At this juncture Dick Gale felt it absolutely impossible for him to play the eavesdropper any longer. Quietly he rolled out of bed. The voices still sounded close outside, and it was only by effort that he kept from further listening. Belding’s kindly interest, Laddy’s blunt and sincere cowboy eulogy, the girl’s sweet eagerness and praise—these warmed Gale’s heart. He had fallen among simple people, into whose lives the advent of an unknown man was welcome. He found himself in a singularly agitated mood. The excitement, the thrill, the difference felt in himself, experienced the preceding night, had extended on into his present. And the possibilities suggested by the conversation he had unwittingly overheard added sufficiently to the other feelings to put him into a peculiarly receptive state of mind. He was wild to be one of the Belding rangers. The idea of riding a horse in the open desert, with a dangerous duty to perform, seemed to strike him with an appealing force. Something within him went out to the cowboys, to this blunt and kind Belding. He was afraid to meet the girl. If every man who came along fell in love with this sweet-voiced Nell, then what hope had he to escape—now, when his whole inner awakening betokened a change of spirit, hope, a finding of real worth, real good, real power in himself? He did not understand wholly, yet he felt ready to ride, to fight, to love the desert, to love these outdoor men, to love a woman. That beautiful Spanish girl had spoken to something dead in him and it had quickened to life. The sweet voice of an audacious, unseen girl warned him that presently a still more wonderful thing would happen to him.
Gale imagined he made noise enough as he clumsily pulled on his boots, yet the voices, split by a merry laugh, kept on murmuring outside the door. It was awkward for him, having only one hand available to lace up his boots. He looked out of the window. Evidently this was at the end of the house. There was a flagstone walk, beside which ran a ditch full of swift, muddy water. It made a pleasant sound. There were trees strange of form and color to to him. He heard bees, birds, chickens, saw the red of roses and green of grass. Then he saw, close to the wall, a tub full of water, and a bench upon which lay basin, soap, towel, comb, and brush. The window was also a door, for under it there was a step.
Gale hesitated a moment, then went out. He stepped naturally, hoping and expecting that the cowboys would hear him. But nobody came. Awkwardly, with left hand, he washed his face. Upon a nail in the wall hung a little mirror, by the aid of which Dick combed and brushed his hair. He imagined he looked a most haggard wretch. With that he faced forward, meaning to go round the corner of the house to greet the cowboys and these new-found friends.
Dick had taken but one step when he was halted by laugher and the patter of light feet.
From close around the corner pealed out that sweet voice. “Dad, you’ll have your wish, and mama will be wild!”
Dick saw a little foot sweep into view, a white dress, then the swiftly moving form of a girl. She was looking backward.
“Dad, I shall fall in love with your new ranger. I will—I have—”
Then she plumped squarely into Dick’s arms.
She started back violently.
Dick saw a fair face and dark-blue, audaciously flashing eyes. Swift as lightning their expression changed to surprise, fear, wonder. For an instant they were level with Dick’s grave questioning. Suddenly, sweetly, she blushed.
“Oh-h!” she faltered.
Then the blush turned to a scarlet fire. She whirled past him, and like a white gleam was gone.
Dick became conscious of the quickened beating of his heart. He experienced a singular exhilaration. That moment had been the one for which he had been ripe, the event upon which strange circumstances had been rushing him.
With a couple of strides he turned the corner. Laddy and Lash were there talking to a man of burly form. Seen by day, both cowboys were gray-haired, red-skinned, and weather-beaten, with lean, sharp features, and gray eyes so much alike that they might have been brothers.
“Hello, there’s the young fellow,” spoke up the burly man. “Mr. Gale, I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Belding.”
His greeting was as warm as his handclasp was long and hard. Gale saw a heavy man of medium height. His head was large and covered with grizzled locks. He wore a short-cropped mustache and chin beard. His skin was brown, and his dark eyes beamed with a genial light.
The cowboys were as cordial as if Dick had been their friend for years.
“Young man, did you run into anything as you came out?” asked Belding, with twinkling eyes.
“Why, yes, I met something white and swift flying by,” replied Dick.
“Did she see you?” asked Laddy.
“I think so; but she didn’t wait for me to introduce myself.”
“That was Nell Burton, my girl—step-daughter, I should say,” said Belding. “She’s sure some whirlwind, as Laddy calls her. Come, let’s go in and meet the wife.”
The house was long, like a barracks, with porch extending all the way, and doors every dozen paces. When Dick was ushered into a sitting-room, he was amazed at the light and comfort. This room had two big windows and a door opening into a patio, where there were luxuriant
grass, roses in bloom, and flowering trees. He heard a slow splashing of water.
In Mrs. Belding, Gale found a woman of noble proportions and striking appearance. Her hair was white. She had a strong, serious, well-lined face that bore haunting evidences of past beauty. The gaze she bent upon him was almost piercing in its intensity. Her greeting, which seemed to Dick rather slow in coming, was kind though not cordial. Gale’s first thought, after he had thanked these good people for their hospitality, was to inquire about Mercedes. He was informed that the Spanish girl had awakened with a considerable fever and nervousness. When, however, her anxiety had been allayed and her thirst relieved, she had fallen asleep again. Mrs. Belding said the girl had suffered no great hardship, other than mental, and would very soon be rested and well.
“Now, Gale,” said Belding, when his wife had excused herself to get supper, “the boys, Jim and Laddy, told me about you and the mix-up at Casita. I’ll be glad to take care of the girl till it’s safe for your soldier friend to get her out of the country. That won’t be very soon, don’t mistake me.… I don’t want to seem over-curious about you—Laddy has interested me in you—and straight out I’d like to know what you propose to do now.”
“I haven’t any plans,” replied Dick; and, taking the moment as propitious, he decided to speak frankly concerning himself. “I just drifted down here. My home is in Chicago. When I left school some years ago—I’m twenty-five now—I went to work for my father. He’s—he has business interests there. I tried all kinds of inside jobs. I couldn’t please my father. I guess I put no real heart in my work. The fact was I didn’t know how to work. The governor and I didn’t exactly quarrel; but he hurt my feelings, and I quit. Six months or more ago I came West, and have knocked about from Wyoming southwest to the border. I tried to find congenial work, but nothing came my way. To tell you frankly, Mr. Belding, I suppose I didn’t much care. I believe, though, that all the time I didn’t know what I wanted. I’ve learned—well, just lately—”