The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  The game began. At first Madeline and Dorothy essayed to direct the endeavors of their respective players. But all they said and did only made their team play the worse. At the third hole they were far behind and hopelessly bewildered. What with Monty’s borrowed coat, with its dazzling effect upon Ambrose, and Link’s oft-repeated allusion to Ed’s matrimonial state, and Stillwell’s vociferated disgust, and the clamoring good intention and pursuit of the cowboy supporters, and the embarrassing presence of the ladies, Ambrose and Ed wore through all manner of strange play until it became ridiculous.

  “Hey, Link,” came Monty’s voice booming over the links, “our esteemed rivals are playin’ shinny.”

  Madeline and Dorothy gave up, presently, when the game became a rout, and they sat down with their followers to watch the fun. Whether by hook or crook, Ed and Ambrose forged ahead to come close upon Monty and Link. Castleton disappeared in a mass of gesticulating, shouting cowboys. When that compact mass disintegrated Castleton came forth rather hurriedly, it appeared, to stalk back toward his hostess and friends.

  “Look!” exclaimed Helen, in delight. “Castleton is actually excited. Whatever did they do to him? Oh, this is immense!”

  Castleton was excited, indeed, and also somewhat disheveled.

  “By Jove! that was a rum go,” he said, as he came up. “Never saw such blooming golf! I resigned my office as umpire.”

  Only upon considerable pressure did he reveal the reason. “It was like this, don’t you know. They were all together over there, watching each other. Monty Price’s ball dropped into a hazard, and he moved it to improve the lie. By Jove! they’ve all been doing that. But over there the game was waxing hot. Stillwell and his cowboys saw Monty move the ball, and there was a row. They appealed to me. I corrected the play, showed the rules. Monty agreed he was in the wrong. However, when it came to moving his ball back to its former lie in the hazard there was more blooming trouble. Monty placed the ball to suit him, and then he transfixed me with an evil eye.

  “‘Dook,’ he said. I wish the bloody cowboy would not call me that. ‘Dook, mebbe this game ain’t as important as international politics or some other things relatin’, but there’s some health an’ peace dependin’ on it. Savvy? For some space our opponents have been dead to honor an’ sportsmanlike conduct. I calculate the game depends on my next drive. I’m placin’ my ball as near to where it was as human eyesight could. You seen where it was same as I seen it. You’re the umpire, an’, Dook, I take you as a honorable man. Moreover, never in my born days has my word been doubted without sorrow. So I’m askin’ you, wasn’t my ball layin’ just about here?’

  “The bloody little desperado smiled cheerfully, and he dropped his right hand down to the butt of his gun. By Jove, he did! Then I had to tell a blooming lie!”

  Castleton even caught the tone of Monty’s voice, but it was plain that he had not the least conception that Monty had been fooling. Madeline and her friends divined it, however; and, there being no need of reserve, they let loose the fountains of mirth.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Bandits

  When Madeline and her party recovered composure they sat up to watch the finish of the match. It came with spectacular suddenness. A sharp yell pealed out, and all the cowboys turned attentively in its direction. A big black horse had surmounted the rim of the mesa and was just breaking into a run. His rider yelled sharply to the cowboys. They wheeled to dash toward their grazing horses.

  “That’s Stewart. There is something wrong,” said Madeline, in alarm.

  Castleton stared. The other men exclaimed uneasily. The women sought Madeline’s face with anxious eyes.

  The black got into his stride and bore swiftly down upon them.

  “Oh, look at that horse run!” cried Helen. “Look at that fellow ride!”

  Helen was not alone in her admiration, for Madeline divided her emotions between growing alarm of some danger menacing and a thrill and quickening of pulse-beat that tingled over her whenever she saw Stewart in violent action. No action of his was any longer insignificant, but violent action meant so much. It might mean anything. For one moment she remembered Stillwell and all his talk about fun, and plots, and tricks to amuse her guest. Then she discountenanced the thought. Stewart might lend himself to a little fun, but he cared too much for a horse to run him at that speed unless there was imperious need. That alone sufficed to answer Madeline’s questioning curiosity. And her alarm mounted to fear not so much for herself as for her guests. But what danger could there be? She could think of nothing except the guerrillas.

  Whatever threatened, it would be met and checked by this man Stewart, who was thundering up on his fleet horse; and as he neared her, so that she could see the dark gleam of face and eyes, she had a strange feeling of trust in her dependence upon him.

  The big black was so close to Madeline and her friends that when Stewart pulled him the dust and sand kicked up by his pounding hoofs flew in their faces.

  “Oh, Stewart, what is it?” cried Madeline.

  “Guess I scared you, Miss Hammond,” he replied. “But I’m pressed for time. There’s a gang of bandits hiding on the ranch, most likely in a deserted hut. They held up a train near Agua Prieta. Pat Hawe is with the posse that’s trailing them, and you know Pat has no use for us. I’m afraid it wouldn’t be pleasant for you or your guests to meet either the posse or the bandits.”

  “I fancy not,” said Madeline, considerably relieved. “We’ll hurry back to the house.”

  They exchanged no more speech at the moment, and Madeline’s guests were silent. Perhaps Stewart’s actions and looks belied his calm words. His piercing eyes roved round the rim of the mesa, and his face was as hard and stern as chiseled bronze.

  Monty and Nick came galloping up, each leading several horses by the bridles. Nels appeared behind them with Majesty, and he was having trouble with the roan. Madeline observed that all the other cowboys had disappeared.

  One sharp word from Stewart calmed Madeline’s horse; the other horses, however, were frightened and not inclined to stand. The men mounted without trouble, and likewise Madeline and Florence. But Edith Wayne and Mrs. Beck, being nervous and almost helpless, were with difficulty gotten into the saddle.

  “Beg pardon, but I’m pressed for time,” said Stewart, coolly, as with iron arm he forced Dorothy’s horse almost to its knees. Dorothy, who was active and plucky, climbed astride; and when Stewart loosed his hold on bit and mane the horse doubled up and began to buck. Dorothy screamed as she shot into the air. Stewart, as quick as the horse, leaped forward and caught Dorothy in his arms. She had slipped head downward and, had he not caught her, would have had a serious fall. Stewart, handling her as if she were a child, turned her right side up to set her upon her feet. Dorothy evidently thought only of the spectacle she presented, and made startled motions to readjust her riding-habit. It was no time to laugh, though Madeline felt as if she wanted to. Besides, it was impossible to be anything but sober with Stewart in violent mood. For he had jumped at Dorothy’s stubborn mount. All cowboys were masters of horses. It was wonderful to see him conquer the vicious animal. He was cruel, perhaps, yet it was from necessity. When, presently, he led the horse back to Dorothy she mounted without further trouble. Meanwhile, Nels and Nick had lifted Helen into her saddle.

  “We’ll take the side trail,” said Stewart, shortly, as he swung upon the big black. Then he led the way, and the other cowboys trotted in the rear.

  It was only a short distance to the rim of the mesa, and when Madeline saw the steep trail, narrow and choked with weathered stone, she felt that her guests would certainly flinch.

  “That’s a jolly bad course,” observed Castleton.

  The women appeared to be speechless.

  Stewart checked his horse at the deep cut where the trail started down.

  “Boys, drop over, and go slow,” he said, dismounting. “Flo, you follow. Now, ladies, let your horses loose and hold on. Lean forward and hang to the
pommel. It looks bad. But the horses are used to such trails.”

  Helen followed closely after Florence; Mrs. Beck went next, and then Edith Wayne. Dorothy’s horse balked.

  “I’m not so—so frightened,” said Dorothy. “If only he would behave!”

  She began to urge him into the trail, making him rear, when Stewart grasped the bit and jerked the horse down.

  “Put your foot in my stirrup,” said Stewart. “We can’t waste time.”

  He lifted her upon his horse and started him down over the rim.

  “Go on, Miss Hammond. I’ll have to lead this nag down. It’ll save time.”

  Then Madeline attended to the business of getting down herself. It was a loose trail. The weathered slopes seemed to slide under the feet of the horses. Dust-clouds formed; rocks rolled and rattled down; cactus spikes tore at horse and rider. Mrs. Beck broke into laughter, and there was a note in it that suggested hysteria. Once or twice Dorothy murmured plaintively. Half the time Madeline could not distinguish those ahead through the yellow dust. It was dry and made her cough. The horses snorted. She heared Stewart close behind, starting little avalanches that kept rolling on Majesty’s fetlocks. She feared his legs might be cut or bruised, for some of the stones cracked by and went rattling down the slope. At length the clouds of dust thinned and Madeline saw the others before her ride out upon a level. Soon she was down, and Stewart also.

  Here there was a delay, occasioned by Stewart changing Dorothy from his horse to her own. This struck Madeline as being singular, and made her thoughtful. In fact, the alert, quiet manner of all the cowboys was not reassuring. As they resumed the ride it was noticeable that Nels and Nick were far in advance, Monty stayed far in the rear, and Stewart rode with the party. Madeline heard Boyd Harvey ask Stewart if lawlessness such as he had mentioned was not unusual. Stewart replied that, except for occasional deeds of outlawry such as might break out in any isolated section of the country, there had been peace and quiet along the border for years. It was the Mexican revolution that had revived wild times, with all the attendant raids and holdups and gun-packing. Madeline knew that they were really being escorted home under armed guard.

  When they rounded the head of the mesa, bringing into view the ranch-house and the valley, Madeline saw dust or smoke hovering over a hut upon the outskirts of the Mexican quarters. As the sun had set and the light was fading, she could not distinguish which it was. Then Stewart set a fast pace for the house. In a few minutes the party was in the yard, ready and willing to dismount.

  Stillwell appeared, ostensibly cheerful, too cheerful to deceive Madeline. She noted also that a number of armed cowboys were walking with their horses just below the house.

  “Wal, you-all had a nice little run,” Stillwell said, speaking generally. “I reckon there wasn’t much need of it. Pat Hawe thinks he’s got some outlaws corralled on the ranch. Nothin’ at all to be fussed up about. Stewart’s that particular he won’t have you meetin’ with any rowdies.”

  Many and fervent were the expressions of relief from Madeline’s feminine guests as they dismounted and went into the house. Madeline lingered behind to speak with Stillwell and Stewart.

  “Now, Stillwell, out with it,” she said, briefly.

  The cattleman stared, and then he laughed, evidently pleased with her keenness.

  “Wal, Miss Majesty, there’s goin’ to be a fight somewhere, an’ Stewart wanted to get you-all in before it come off. He says the valley’s overrun by vaqueros an’ guerrillas an’ robbers, an’ Lord knows what else.”

  He stamped off the porch, his huge spurs rattling, and started down the path toward the waiting men.

  Stewart stood in his familiar attentive position, erect, silent, with a hand on pommel and bridle.

  “Stewart, you are exceedingly—thoughtful of my interests,” she said, wanting to thank him, and not readily finding words. “I would not know what to do without you. Is there danger?”

  “I’m not sure. But I want to be on the safe side.”

  She hesitated. It was no longer easy for her to talk to him, and she did not know why.

  “May I know the special orders you gave Nels and Nick and Monty?” she asked.

  “Who said I gave those boys special orders?”

  “I heard Stillwell tell them so.”

  “Of course I’ll tell you if you insist. But why should you worry over something that’ll likely never happen?”

  “I insist, Stewart,” she replied, quietly.

  “My orders were that at least one of them must be on guard near you day and night—never to be out of hearing of your voice.”

  “I thought as much. But why Nels or Monty or Nick? That seems rather hard on them. For that matter, why put anyone to keep guard over me? Do you not trust any other of my cowboys?”

  “I’d trust their honesty, but not their ability.”

  “Ability? Of what nature?”

  “With guns.”

  “Stewart!” she exclaimed.

  “Miss Hammond, you have been having such a good time entertaining your guests that you forget. I’m glad of that. I wish you had not questioned me.”

  “Forget what?”

  “Don Carlos and his guerrillas.”

  “Indeed I have not forgotten. Stewart, you still think Don Carlos tried to make off with me—may try it again?”

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  “And besides all your other duties you have shared the watch with these three cowboys?”

  “Yes.”

  “It has been going on without my knowledge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I brought you down from the mountains last month.”

  “How long is it to continue?”

  “That’s hard to say. Till the revolution is over, anyhow.”

  She mused a moment, looking away to the west, where the great void was filling with red haze. She believed implicitly in him, and the menace hovering near her fell like a shadow upon her present happiness.

  “What must I do?” she asked.

  “I think you ought to send your friends back East—and go with them, until this guerrilla war is over.”

  “Why, Stewart, they would be broken-hearted, and so would I.”

  He had no reply for that.

  “If I do not take your advice it will be the first time since I have come to look to you for so much,” she went on. “Cannot you suggest something else? My friends are having such a splendid visit. Helen is getting well. Oh, I should be sorry to see them go before they want to.”

  “We might take them up into the mountains and camp out for a while,” he said, presently. “I know a wild place up among the crags. It’s a hard climb, but worth the work. I never saw a more beautiful spot. Fine water, and it will be cool. Pretty soon it’ll be too hot here for your party to go out-of-doors.”

  “You mean to hide me away among the crags and clouds?” replied Madeline, with a laugh.

  “Well, it’d amount to that. Your friends need not know. Perhaps in a few weeks this spell of trouble on the border will be over till fall.”

  “You say it’s a hard climb up to this place?”

  “It surely is. Your friends will get the real thing if they make that trip.”

  “That suits me. Helen especially wants something to happen. And they are all crazy for excitement.”

  “They’d get it up there. Bad trails, canyons to head, steep climbs, wind-storms, thunder and lightning, rain, mountain-lions and wildcats.”

  “Very well, I am decided. Stewart, of course you will take charge? I don’t believe I—Stewart, isn’t there something more you could tell me—why you think, why you know my own personal liberty is in peril?”

  “Yes. But do not ask me what it is. If I hadn’t been a rebel soldier I would never have known.”

  “If you had not been a rebel soldier, where would Madeline Hammond be now?” she asked, earnestly.

  He made no reply.


  “Stewart,” she continued, with warm impulse, “you once mentioned a debt you owed me—” And seeing his dark face pale, she wavered, then went on. “It is paid.”

  “No, no,” he answered, huskily.

  “Yes. I will not have it otherwise.”

  “No. That never can be paid.”

  Madeline held out her hand.

  “It is paid, I tell you,” she repeated.

  Suddenly he drew back from the outstretched white hand that seemed to fascinate him.

  “I’d kill a man to touch your hand. But I won’t touch it on the terms you offer.”

  His unexpected passion disconcerted her.

  “Stewart, no man ever before refused to shake hands with me, for any reason. It—it is scarcely flattering,” she said, with a little laugh. “Why won’t you? Because you think I offer it as mistress to servant—rancher to cowboy?”