by Zane Grey
“That accounts for it.” He laughed unpleasantly. “I wondered why you was so dead anxious t’ have me take him.”
The eyes of Beatrice snapped sparks at him, but her manner was demure, not to say meek. “He belongs to my brother,” she explained, “and my brother has dozens of good saddle-horses. Mr. Cameron’s horse is a pet. It’s different when a horse follows you all over the place and fairly talks to you. He’ll shake hands, and—”
“Uh-huh, I see the point, I guess. What d’yuh say, kid?”
Keith might seem boyish, but he did not enjoy being addressed as “kid.” He was twenty-eight years old, whether he looked it or not.
“I say this: If you take my horse, I’ll kill you. I’ll have twenty-five cow-punchers camping on your trail before sundown. If you take this girl’s horse, I’ll do the same.”
The man shut his lips in a thin line.
“No, he won’t!” cried Beatrice, leaning forward. “Don’t mind a thing he says! You can’t expect a man to keep his temper with his hands up in the air like that. You take Rex, and I’ll promise for Mr. Cameron.”
“Trix—Miss Lansell!”—sternly.
“I promise you he won’t do a thing,” she went on firmly. “He—he isn’t half as fierce, really, as—as he looks.”
Keith’s face got red.
The man laughed a little. Evidently the situation amused him, whether the others could see the humor of it or not. “So I’m to have your cayuse, eh?”
Keith saw two big tears tipping over her lower lids, and gritted his teeth.
“Well, it ain’t often I git a chance t’ please a lady,” the fellow decided. “I guess Rex’ll do, all right. Go over and change saddles, youngster—and don’t git gay. I’ve got the drop, and yuh notice I’m keeping it.”
“Are you going to take his saddle?” Beatrice stood up and clenched her hands, looking very much as if she would like to pull his hair. Keith in trouble appealed to her strangely.
“Sure thing. It’s a peach, from the look of it. Mine’s over the hill a piece. Step along there, kid! I want t’ be movin’.”
“You’ll need to go some!” flared Keith, over his shoulder.
“I expect t’ go some,” retorted the man. “A fellow with three sheriff’s posses campin’ on his trail ain’t apt t’ loiter none.”
“Oh!” Beatrice sat down and stared. “Then you must be—”
“Yep,” the fellow laughed recklessly. “You ca, tell your maw yuh met up with Kelly, the darin’ train-robber. I wouldn’t be s’prised if she close herded yuh fer a spell till her scare wears off. Bu I’ve hung around these parts long enough. I fooled them sheriffs a-plenty, stayin’ here. Gee! you’r’ swift—I don’t think!” This last sentence was directed at Keith, who was putting a snail to shame, and making it appear he was in a hurry.
“Git a move on!” commanded Kelly, threatening with his eyes.
Keith wisely made no reply—nor did he show any symptoms of haste, despite the menacing tone Slowly he pulled his saddle off Redcloud, and carefully he placed it upon the ground. When a fellow lives in his saddle, almost, he comes to think a great deal of it, and he is reluctant under any circumstances, to surrender it to another; to have a man deliberately confiscate it with the authority which lies in a lump of lead the size of a child thumb is not pleasant.
Through Keith’s brain flashed a dozen impracticable plans, and one that offered a slender—very slender—chance of success. If he could get a little closer! He moved over beside Rex an unbuckling the cinch of Beatrice’s saddle, pulled it sullenly off.
“Now, put your saddle on that there Rex horse, and cinch it tight!”
Keith picked up the saddle—his saddle, and threw it across Rex’s back, raging inwardly at his helplessness. To lose his saddle worse, to let Beatrice lose her horse. Lord! a pretty figure he must cut in her eyes!
“Dry weather we’re havin’,” Kelly remarked politely to Beatrice; without, however, looking in her direction. “Prairie fires are gittin’ t’ be the regular thing, I notice.”
Beatrice studied his face, and found no ulterior purpose for the words.
“Yes,” she agreed, as pleasantly as she could, in view of the disquieting circumstances. “I helped fight a prairie-fire last week over this way. We were out all night.”
“Prairie-fires is mean things t’ handle, oncet they git started. I always hate t’ see ’em git hold of the grass. What fire was that you mention?”
Beatrice glanced toward Keith, and was thankful his back was turned to her. But a quick suspicion had come to her, and she went steadily on with the subject.
“It was the Pine Ridge country. It started very mysteriously.”
“It wasn’t no mystery t’ me.” Kelly laughed grimly. “I started that there blaze myself accidentally. I throwed a cigarette down, thinkin’ it had gone out. After a while I seen a blaze where I’d jest left, but I didn’t have no license t’ go back an’ put it out—my orders was to git out uh that. I seen the sky all lit up that night. Kid, are yuh goin’ t’ sleep?”
Keith started. He had been listening, and thanking his lucky star that Beatrice was listening also. If she had suspected him of setting the range afire, she knew better now. A weight lifted off Keith’s shoulders, and he stood a bit straighter; those chance words meant a great deal to him, and he felt that he would not grudge his saddle in payment. But Rex—that was another matter. Beatrice should not lose him if he could prevent it; still, what could he do?
He might turn and spring upon Kelly, but in the meantime Kelly would not be idle; he would probably be pumping bullets out of the rifle into Keith’s body—and he would still have the horse. He stole a glance at Beatrice, and went hot all over at what he thought he read in her eyes. For once he was not glad to be near his Heart’s Desire; he wished her elsewhere—anywhere but sitting on that rock, over there, with her little, gloved hands folded quietly in her lap, and that adorable, demure look on her face—the look which would have put her mother instantly upon the defensive—and a gleam in her eyes Keith read for scorn.
Surely he might do something! Barely six feet now separated him from Kelly. If one of those lumps of rock that strewed the ground was in his hand—he stooped to reach under Rex’s body for the cinch, and could almost feel Kelly’s eyes boring into his back. A false move—well, Keith had heard of Kelly a good many times; if this fellow was really the man he claimed to be, Keith did not need to guess what would follow a suspicious move; he knew. He looked stealthily toward him, and Kelly’s eyes met his with a gleam sinister.
Kelly grinned. “I wouldn’t, kid,” he said softly.
Keith swore in a whisper, and his fingers closed upon the cinch. It was no use to fight the devil with cunning, he thought, bitterly.
Just then Beatrice gave an unearthly screech, that made the horses’ knees bend under them. When Keith whirled to see what it was, she was standing upon the rock, with her skirts held tightly around her, like the pictures of women when a mouse gets into the room.
“Oh, Mr. Cameron! A sn-a-a-ke!”
Came a metallic br-r-r, the unmistakable war cry of the rattler. Into Kelly’s eyes came a look of fear, and he sidled gingerly. The buzz had sounded unpleasantly close to his heels. For one brief instant the cold eye of his rifle regarded harmlessly the hillside. During that instant a goodly piece of sandstone whinged under his jaw, and he went down, with Keith upon him like a mountain lion. The latter snatched the rifle and got up hurriedly, for he had not forgotten the rattler. Kelly lay looking up at him in a dazed way that might have been funny at any other time.
“I wondered if you were good at grasping opportunities,” said Beatrice. When he looked, there she was, sitting down on the rock, with her little, gloved hands folded in her lap, and that adorable demure look on her face; and a gleam in her eyes he knew
was not scorn, though he could not rightly tell what it really did mean.
Keith wondered at her vaguely, but a man can’t have his mind on a dozen things at once. It was important that he keep a sharp watch on Kelly, and his eyes were searching for a gleaming, gray spotted coil which he felt to be near.
“You needn’t look, Mr. Cameron. There isn’t any snake. It—it was I.”
“You!” Keith’s jaw dropped.
“Look out, Mr. Cameron. It wouldn’t work a second time, I’m afraid.”
Keith turned back before Kelly had more than got to his elbow; plainly Kelly was not feeling well just then. He looked unhappy, and rather sick.
“If you’ll hand me the gun, Mr. Cameron, I think I can hold it steady while you fix the saddles. And then we’ll go home. I—I don’t think I really care to climb the hill.”
What Keith wanted to do was to take her in his arms and kiss her till he was tired. What he did do was back toward her, and let her take the rifle quickly and deftly from his hands. She rested the gun upon her knee, and brought it to bear upon Mr. Kelly with a composure not assuring to that gentleman, and she tried to look as if she really and truly would shoot a man—and managed to look only the more kissable.
“Don’t squirm, Mr. Kelly. I won’t bite, if I do buzz sometimes.”
Kelly stared at her meditatively a minute, and said: “Well, I’ll be damned!”
Keith looked at her also, but he did not say anything.
The way he slapped his saddle back upon Redcloud and cinched it, and saddled Rex, was a pretty exhibition of precision and speed, learned in roundup camps. Kelly watched him grimly.
“I knowed you wasn’t as swift as yuh knew how ’t be, a while back,” he commented. “I’ve got this t’ say fur you two: You’re a little the toughest proposition I ever run up ag’inst—and I’ve been up ag’inst it good and plenty.”
“Thanks,” Keith said cheerfully. “You’d better take Rex now and go ahead, Miss Lansell. I’ll take that gun and look after this fellow. Get up, Kelly.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
Kelly got unsteadily upon his feet. Beatrice looked at him, and then at Keith. She asked a question.
“March him home, and send him in to the nearest sheriff.” Keith was businesslike, and his tone was crisp.
Beatrice’s eyes turned again to Kelly. He did not whine, or beg, or even curse. He stood looking straight before him, at something only his memory could see, and in his face was weariness, and a deep loneliness, and a certain, grim despair. There was an ugly bruise where the rock had struck, but the rest of his face was drawn and white.
“If you do that,” cried Beatrice, in a voice hardly more than a fierce whisper, “I shall hate you always. You are not a man-hunter. Let him stay here, and take his chance in the hills.”
Keith was not a hard man to persuade into being merciful. “It’s easy enough to say yes, Miss Lansell. I always was chicken-hearted when a fellow seemed down on his luck. You can stay here, Kelly—I don’t want you, anyway.” He laughed boyishly and irresponsibly, for he felt that Kelly had done him a service that day.
Beatrice flashed him a smile that went to his head and made him dizzy, and took up Rex’s bridle rein. She hesitated, looked doubtfully at Kelly, who stood waiting stoically, and turned to her saddle. She untied a bundle and went quickly over to him.
“You—I don’t want my lunch, after all. I’m going home now. I—I want you to take it, please. There are some sandwiches—with veal loaf, that Looey Sam makes deliciously—and some cake. I—I wish it was more. I know you’ll like the veal loaf.”
Kelly looked down at her, and God knows what thoughts were in his mind. He did not answer her with words; he just swallowed hard.
“Poor devil!” was what Keith said to himself, and the gun he was holding threatened, for a minute, to wing a cloud.
Beatrice laid the package in Kelly’s unresisting hand, looked up into his averted face and said simply: “Good-by, Mr. Kelly.”
After that she hurried Rex up the steep ridge much faster than she had gone down it, endangering his bones and putting herself very empty lunged.
At the top of the ridge Keith stopped and looked down.
“Hi, Kelly!”
Kelly showed that he heard.
“Here’s your gun, on this rock. You can come up and get it, if you want to. And—say! I’ve got a few broke horses ranging down here somewhere. VN brand, on left shoulder. I won’t scour the hills, very bad, if I should happen to miss a cayuse. So long!”
Kelly waved his hand for farewell.
CHAPTER 13
Keith’s Masterful Wooing
Keith faced toward home, with Redcloud following at his heels like a pet dog. For some reason, which he did not try to analyze, he was feeling light of heart—as though something very nice had happened to him. It might have been the unexpected clearing up of the mystery of the prairie-fire, though he was not dwelling particularly upon that. He was thinking a great deal more of Beatrice’s blue-brown eyes, which had never been more baffling, so far as he knew. And his blood was still dancing with the smile she had given him; it hardly seemed possible that a girl could smile just like that and not mean anything.
When he reached the level, where she was waiting for him, he saw that she had her arms around the neck of her horse, and that she was crying dismally, heart-brokenly, with an abandon that took no thought of his presence. Keith had never seen a girl cry like that before. He had seen them dab at their eyes with their handkerchief, and smile the next breath—but this was different. For a minute he didn’t quite know what to do; he could hear the blood hammering against his temples while he stood dumbly watching her. He went hesitatingly up, and laid a gloved hand deprecatingly upon her shoulder.
“Don’t do that, Miss Lansell! The fellow isn’t worth it. He’s only living the life he chose for himself, and he doesn’t mind, not half as much as you imagine. I know how you feel—I felt sorry for him myself—but he doesn’t deserve it, you know.” He stopped; not being able, just at the moment, to think of anything more to say about Kelly. Beatrice, who had not been thinking of Kelly at all, but remorsefully of a fellow she had persisted in misjudging, only cried the harder.
“Don’t—don’t cry like that! I—Miss Lansell—Trix—darling!” Keith’s self-control snapped suddenly, like a rope when the strain becomes too great. He caught her fiercely in his arms, and crushed her close against him.
Beatrice stopped crying, and gasped.
“Trixie, if you must cry, I wish you’d cry for me. I’m about as miserable a man—I want you so! God made you for me, and I’m starving for the feel of your lips on mine.” Then Keith, who was nothing if not daring, once he was roused, bent and kissed her without waiting to see if he might—and not only once, but several times.
Beatrice made a half-hearted attempt to get free of his arms, but Keith was not a fool—he held her closer, and laughed from pure, primitive joy.
“Mr. Cameron!” It was Beatrice’s voice, but it had never been like that before.
“I think you might call me Keith,” he cut in. “You’ve got to begin some time, and now is as good a time as any.”
“You—you’re taking a good deal for granted,” she said, wriggling unavailingly in his arms.
“A man’s got to, with a girl like you. You’re so used to turning a fellow down I believe you’d do it just from habit.”
“Indeed?” She was trying to be sarcastic and got kissed for her pains.
“Yes, ‘indeed.’” He mimicked her tone. “I want you. I want you! I wanted you long before I ever saw you. And so I’m not taking any chances—I didn’t dare, you see. I just had to take you first, and ask you afterward.”
Beatrice laughed a little, with tears very close to her lashes, and gave
up. What was the use of trying to resist this masterful fellow, who would not even give her a chance to refuse him? She did not know quite how to say no to a man who did not ask her to say yes. But the queer part, to her, was the feeling that she would have hated to say no, anyway. It never occurred to her, till afterward, that she might have stood upon a pedestal of offended dignity and cried, “Unhand me, villain!”—and that, if she had, Keith would undoubtedly have complied instantly. As it was, she just laughed softly, and blushed a good deal.
“I believe mama is right about you, after all,” she said wickedly. “At heart, you’re a bold highwayman.”
“Maybe. I know I’d not stand and see some other fellow walk off with my Heart’s Desire, without putting up a fight. It did look pretty blue for me, though, and I was afraid—but it’s all right now, isn’t it? Possession is nine points in law, they say, and I’ve got you now! I’m going to keep you, too. When are you going to come over and take charge of the Cross ranch?”
“Dear me!” said Beatrice, snuggling against his shoulder, and finding it the best place in the world to be. “I never said I was going to take charge at all!” Then the impulse of confession seized her. “Will you hate me, if I tell you something?”
“I expect I will,” Keith assented, his eyes positively idolatrous. “What is it, girlie?”
“Well, I—it was Dick’s fault; I never would have thought of such a thing if he hadn’t goaded me into it—but—well, I was going to make you propose, on a wager—” The brown head of Beatrice went down out of sight, on his arm. “I was going to refuse you—and get Rex—”
“I know.” Keith held her closer than ever. “Dick rode over and told me that day. And I wasn’t going to give you a chance, missy. If you hadn’t started to cry, here— Oh! what’s the use? You didn’t refuse me—and you’re not going to, either, are you, girlie?”
Beatrice intimated that there was no immediate danger of such a thing happening.