by Zane Grey
They were all there, almost strange to him after his absence for so many full weeks of hard action, and their dearness to him flooded over him like a tide. Jacqueline stood behind the rest in the doorway, her face white, her dark eyes dilated and intent. She vanished as Hal and Rona rushed out to meet Wade. They almost dragged him off his horse and Rona kissed him. She appeared to have grown or changed in some striking way. What the twins said Wade never gathered. One on each side they propelled him toward the porch.
Hogue Kinsey, whom Wade had left behind on this trip, leaned against a post, lithe and handsome as always, yet somehow unfamiliar to Wade, with his slight smile and the clear brilliance of his eyes.
“Howdy, Tex,” he drawled. “I shore am glad to see you-all.”
Pencarrow stood on the porch, his leonine head erect, his gray hair ruffled high, as if he had been running a nervous hand through it. At that moment he had all the fire of Texas about him.
“Wal, heah you air,” he said, huskily. “Am I drunk or dreamin’?”
“Wide awake, Pencarrow,” replied Wade, with a happy ring in his cool voice, as he reached for the outstretched hand. “Have you seen our new herd?”
“We been watchin’ them come all mawnin’, an’ reckoned you’d never come. Jackie saw you first, way down the road. Called you ‘Aladdin’. . . . Wal, Brandon, you’ll excuse me bein’ knocked off my pins.”
Rona evidently saw Jacqueline inside the dark doorway, for she beckoned eloquently while still clinging to Wade’s arm. “Tex,” she said, looking up at him with her tawny eyes soft and dim. “Jacque kept us up all this long while. Now she’s cracked, as Hogue would say. And Ma ran off crying.”
“Aw, I’m doin’ thet myself,” interposed Hal, as much cowboy as if he had been born on the range. “My Gawd, Tex, but we’re glad to see you.”
Wade felt strung and cool, his elation as deep as the passion that had actuated him. Anticipation of this dramatic return to Cedar Ranch had haunted him thrillingly for weeks, but he had not been prepared for the sweetness of the reunion. He needed all his nerve to hide his feeling.
“Eighteen thousand odd—the finest herd I ever saw,” he said. “None under two years, except the calves born on the way up. Steers and bulls galore, and about fifteen thousand cows. We’ll double in a year.”
“But—but—” stuttered the rancher, his face purple.
“All paid for—and cheap as dirt. Talk about luck.”
“Paid for?” echoed Pencarrow.
“Sure. I had some money, you know. And my hunch was to buy this spring when all the cattlemen south of Cedar Range were broke and scared weak by the fear of a great rustler season.”
“Brandon, you paid for thet herd?”
“I have the receipts. And I’m your new partner.”
“Wal! . . . So thet was what you had up your sleeve? . . . Jackie, come out heah. Somebody’s got to thank my new pardner.”
But Jacqueline did not come.
“Dad, I’ll thank him,” exclaimed Rona, her laugh rich and sweet. She reached up to whisper in Wade’s ear. “You’re a darling! You’re my big brother, Tex. . . . Don’t mind about Jacque. She’s crazy to see you. Oh, I found out. Give her a little time. She feels things, you know.”
Kinsey saved Wade at that juncture from a wild incredible impulse to hug Rona.
“Boss, if you don’t mind I’d like to shaks “your hand,” drawled the cowboy.
“Gosh, I’m glad to see you, Hogue,” replied Wade. “Did we miss you? I should smile we did. Wait till I tell you! You’ll never forgive me.”
“I’ll never forgive you anyhow,” returned Kinsey, enigmatically.
“Brandon, come out with it!” thundered the rancher. “How’d you ever do it? Who’re all those riders?”
“Perhaps I’d better tell you in private,” said Wade, seriously.
“Private, hell! I have no secrets from my family. . . . Jackie, come out heah.”
Jacqueline’s face showed so dimly back in the interior of the living room that Wade could make out only a pale oval accentuated by the great dark eyes.
“I’m—not presentable,” she said, almost inaudibly. “Send Brandon in.”
“We’ll all go in,” boomed the rancher and led the way.
Wade saw Jacqueline far back in the room, advancing with hesitation, evidently having controlled extreme agitation. Wade’s consciousness refuted an electrifying thought, and it made him master of himself.
“Howdy, Jacqueline,” he said, taking her hands. “We’re all back, safe and sound, with more riders and a lot of cattle; I’ve gone in partnership with your father. . . . And you’ll have two bosses now.”
“Oh, what have you done?” she cried.
“Strikes me you’ve asked me that question before,” replied Wade, with a laugh, and he squeezed her hands. “Well, I hardly know what I have done. Played the game, I guess, Jacqueline with the cards dealt me. . . . Nothing for you or Pencarrow— for any of you to feel badly about.”
“Wal, Tex, we shore don’t feel bad,” interposed the rancher. “I reckon Jackie was so relieved to see you alive and well—for she thought you’d be killed—thet she just slumped a little, womanlike, when the dread passed.”
Jacqueline drew away from Wade with some return of dignity. “I’m not quite myself lately. I’ve had my troubles with this family. Then, you come roaring back with a million cattle and horses! It was a little too much. . . . Now what have you done?”
“I’ve gone into partnership with your Dad.”
“So you said. I don’t see the fairness of such a connection for you. But I’m happy about it.”
Wade sat down with the blood drumming in his ears. Jacqueline’s eyes were the hardest to face, so eloquent, wondering, allembracing. Nevertheless he met them, and then the other eager worshiping glances.
“Wal, folks, I was just smothered with luck,” he began, easily, as he turned his sombrero round and round, and tried to remember the narrative he had constructed. “You know we rode off intendin’ to buy a few thousand head of cattle. Rode to Aulsbrook’s ranch first day. I had a bone to pick with him about Lightfoot’s homestead and water, which Aulsbrook wanted to get hold of. But I never had a chance to mention that. The man was beside himself with rage and grief. Only the day before, rustlers had run off his herd, leaving only scattered bunches and strays. I had an inspiration. I said: ‘Aulsbrook, what’ll you sell out for—ranch, horses, including the cattle just raided?’ He took me up like a flash. ‘Give me ten thousand dollars, and I’ll shake this range pronto!’ And he began to curse Harrobin and Blue. I said: ‘Take you up. Come in and sign a bill of sale on the deal.’ . . . I paid him and took on his riders, except a couple, and his foreman. That hombre, I’ll bet, could tell something about the raid. We trailed that herd for two days before we caught up. Found them in a canyon valley, a wild beautiful place that Hicks called Red Gulch. It’s about a hundred miles from here. . . . We hid our horses and scouted. There were a good many more cattle penned up than Aulsbrook had lost. Round eight thousand, we reckoned. We found where the raiders had camped. They were gone. Hicks knew the lay of the land and the few trails. He made sure of the one these rustlers took—there were about ten riders and some extra horses—and then he led us across country to head them off. It worked. But we had to turn back some, as they had camped. We surprised that outfit. Ha, we sure did! Surprised me to see they had no idea of pursuit Instead of standing their ground to fight they broke and ran— those that could run—at our first fire. I’ll bet most of them carried lead bullets away with them. We captured a couple of cripples. Harrobin’s outfit. They confessed and swore they’d leave the country. Harrobin was at Quirts, a little town farther south, a rendezvous for these gangs, same as Pine Mound. They told us who the buyer was. . . . Make a guess, Pencarrow.”
“Buyer! You mean who Harrobin was sellin’ to?” returned the rancher.
“Yes. You’ll throw a fit when I tell you.”
“All
right. Let me throw it right heah!”
“Mason.”
“Mason? Not Lem Mason of Mariposa?—Big cattle dealer an’ merchant?”
“Yes, Lem Mason, big cattle dealer and merchant. He ran the M Bar ranch below Quirts as a blind. He sold his own brand at Mariposa and drove stolen brands into New Mexico.”
“Wal, for God’s sake, who is honest on this range?—Tex, am I a rustler, or air you?”
“Looks like I was! But it happens I’m not. . . . Well, we left the herd right in Red Gulch and rode down to Quirts. . . . Some bad men escape law and justice for a long time. But few ever do so forever. . . . I rounded up Harrobin and Mason in a saloon, drinking to each other’s health and long life, I reckon. . . . Well, to be short and sweet about that meeting—I got the money from Harrobin—money just paid over by Mason. . . . I hung round Quirts until evening, hoping Mason’s tough foreman, Stewart, would ride in. But the little town was agog. Somebody must have tipped off Stewart. He never showed up. . . . We camped, and next day rode south again. By this time we knew where to go. Briefly, I bought ten thousand head from four ranchers, most of these from a cattleman named Drone, who it seems had been marked by the rustlers. He was glad to get rid of his cattle, grateful to sell cheap. His wife was ill—and in short it was good for him to sell out. . . . We drove back. I forgot to say I added five more riders to my sixteen. That was a drive. Two weeks or more back to Red Gulch! I doubt if the Red Gulch herd had stirred except to graze during our absence. . . . All the rest of the time— a month, I reckon, we’ve been driving our eighteen thousand head home.”
“Home?” flashed Jacqueline, with a smile fleeting and beautiful.
“Yes, home! . . . And maybe I’m not glad to get here.”
“Will you have a drink with me?” queried Pencarrow, his voice thick.
“No, thanks. I filled up on spring water,” said Wade, rising. ‘And that reminds me, I want a tub of hot water.”
“Tex, I’ll send some over,” drawled Hal. “Shore just got on to the fact thet you look like a niggah. . . . But did you tell us all thet happened?”
“Sure I did, son—at least all I could remember. It was a big job. Lots happened.”
“Like the old lady who kept a tavern out West, you did,” quoth Hal, and stalked jingling by to the door.
“Boss, you’re short a h——er, a right smart storyteller,” added Hogue Kinsey.
“Guess I’d better run—before the girls get after me,” said Wade, beginning a retreat.
“We’ll have lunch in about an hour,” interposed Jacqueline. “And if you’re not heah by then I’ll come after you.”
“In that case you can expect me,” returned Wade, weakly, and left. Pencarrow and Kinsey followed him, caught up, and strode one on each side.
“I seem to be kinda popular,” complained Wade, in cowboy vernacular.
“Out with it!” rang Pencarrow.
“Come clean, Tex, you can’t fool us with your stories,” added Hogue.
“Will you keep it secret from Hal and the girls?”
“I won’t make no promises,” declared the rancher.
“Tex, you cain’t keep a damn thing from Rona or Hal,” said Kinsey.
“Well, do your best. Just so Jacqueline doesn’t hear,” replied Wade, resignedly. “Listen, your curious bloodthirsty curses! We cleaned out Harrobin’s gang. Killed most—crippled the rest.”
“Ahuh! . . . How about Harrobin?”
Wade breathed hard at a grotesque and terrible picture that haunted him. “Wait!” They were silent until they reached the cabin. How the familiar dry sweet-smelling log cabin thrilled him! Wade began to remove gun belt, vest, spurs, halting between each act, as if to speak, then he went on to remove his boots.
“Boss, get it off your chest,” advised the cowboy. “You’ll feel better. An’ so will we.”
“Mason bawled like one of his bulls,” resumed Wade. “The barefaced front he made!—But it was no good. Harrobin calmly betrayed him. Shore that rustler wanted Mason, and Stewart, too, in on any deal he got. . . . Gosh, he was ugly.”
“Mason bawled, huh? He shore was a loudmouthed man,” replied Pencarrow. “What else did he do?”
Wade bent over to remove his wet and blackened socks.
“He—drew on me.”
“Aw now—he did?” ejaculated Kinsey, his breath whistling.
“Mason drew on you?—Haw! Haw!” returned the Texan, harshly. “Wal, then, how about Harrobin?”
“Pencarrow, we hanged that hombre!”
Wade did not analyze what possessed him when for the first time in years he shaved off his beard. He scarcely recognized the pale lean face, with lines too sad and stern for its youth. But he reflected, also without delving into his feelings, that he was better looking as a man than he had been as a boy. Then he hurriedly dressed in new garments, and masking himself with a handkerchief, he presented himself at the living room door. Rona who saw him first was startled. Then Hal and Jacqueline, coming in with steaming dishes, stopped in their tracks.
“Hands up, Pencarrow,” he ordered.
Rona gave a squeal of delight and snatched off his mask.
“I knew you. And all the time you’ve pretended to be an old geezer! . . . Look at him, Jacque. Isn’t he just the darlingest cowboy?”
Jacqueline regarded him gravely. “I don’t think I’d call him that, Rona, in the wildest flight of my imagination.”
Pencarrow, who had almost failed to recognize his partner, growled his amaze. “Brandon, you’re shore the damndest fellow I ever met!”
They had dinner, which seemed a kind of dream to Wade. Often he felt Jacqueline’s dark eyes on him, in puzzled wonder. But he was certain this was not caused by any association in her mind with their first meeting so many years ago.
After lunch Pencarrow took him off to a point where they could view the range, and the afternoon passed in discussions and planning for the future.
He had supper with the cowboys. Kinsey had filled the chuck wagon with supplies to use on a very necessary trip to Holbrook. There were twenty-two cowboys, counting Hal, and excluding Wade. They were a merry and a hungry lot.
“Wal, of all the hawgs I ever fed, you hombres take the cake,” ejaculated Dickerson, who had been elected cook because he was the best in the outfit.
Their camp was at the edge of the nearest group of pines, on the brook that ran down from the range. A nearby corral shut in a drove of kicking snorting horses. Several canvas tents shone in the light of the camp fires.
Pencarrow brought his daughters down or else they came of their own accord. Wade scarcely approved of the visit. The ejaculations of admiration were loud and profound, not wholly unaccompanied by characteristic comment.
“Jerry, you run this outfit in my absence,” Wade was saying. “All you got to do is ride out in bunches of five, day and night, and circle that herd. If you run into any riders shoot first and ask questions afterward. . . . Let’s see. I’ll take the three wagons, leaving the chuck wagon here. And I’ll want Kid Marshall, Bilt Wood, Hal and Hogue to go with me.”
“All right, boss,” replied the cowboy.
“Get me a list of things you all want.”
Hogue Kinsey drew Wade aside. His demeanor was in marked contrast to his usual nonchalance. “Boss, let me off on thet trip to town,” he begged. “I’m not atall well an’ you know I can’t drive a team—an’ I don’t want to go nohow.”
“Hogue! What the hell’s wrong with you?” demanded Wade, in curt surprise.
“I’m kinda sick.”
“Sick? Say, are you trying to bamboozle me?”
“Honest to Gawd, boss, I ain’t myself atall,” protested Hogue almost writhing.
“I should smile you’re not,” snapped Wade, not knowing what to make of his favorite’s lame excuses. “Like as not I’ll run into Blue’s outfit. Some rider dropped in on us last camp. He’d come from Winslow. Said Blue and Kent had been there. . . . Do you want to stay here when
that chance faces me?”
“Hell no!” exclaimed Kinsey, as if wrenched. “I was lyin’— shore, but don’t ask me why.”
“Well!” ejaculated Wade, as Hogue stalked off in the gloom. Then Wade lounged along the brook, pondering Kinsey’s queer statement. Ahead of him a little tent, the kind sheepherders used, gleamed pale in the light of a campfire some rods off. Rounding the tent toward the light he almost ran into Jacqueline. Behind her came her father with some cowboys.
“Oh!” cried Jacqueline, breathlessly, her hands going up.
“Sorry to startle you. I didn’t see you coming.”
Then, as she stood like a statue, he became acutely aware of her intensity. She appeared as if she had come upon a ghost. Her lips were parted, her magnificent eyes burned like black opals.
“You remind—me—” whispered the girl, breaking off with a hand clapped to tremulous telltale lips.
Wade’s panic sent a shudder over him. In the night, with the tent pale in the firelight, she had all but recognized the outlaw fugitive she had succored and whose secret she had kept. What if she did recognize him! All his love, his courage surged in a response to spare her and save himself.
“No wonder,” he laughed. “With my clean face and all these beardless cowboys about!”
He passed on, trying not to hurry, pretending some business with his riders. But she called:
“Brandon, don’t go! I was hunting for you.” He turned back and she approached swiftly and eagerly.
“Miss Jacqueline! What is it?” he rejoined as she halted with a hand half outstretched.
“I’m so worried,” she whispered, and taking his arm with both hands she led him away from the camp. Wade’s mind whirled with many suppositions, while the fact of her dependence upon him and the sense of her clinging person confused him. Jacqueline looked back at the camp as they crossed the little bridge. The night was balmy, with a fresh smell of dank earth and growing things, and full of the plaintive peep of frogs. From the range came a prolonged bawling of calves. Wade heard the bay of wolves, the yelp of coyotes. He had forgotten these enemies of the cattleman. Jacqueline appeared bent on getting somewhere in a hurry and without being seen.