by Zane Grey
“Boss, it’s a good idee, except Pan wants to go it alone, an’ I won’t stand for thet,” interposed Texas.
“Meet Hite?” echoed Brite.
“Thet’s what I said,” concluded Pan Handle tersely.
“Wal, Pan, on the face of it, thet’s hardly fair to yu,” replied Brite, ponderingly. He understood perfectly. Pan Handle Smith chose to attempt this single-handed. It was the way of the real gunman to seek the dramatic, to take advantage of the element of surprise, to subject no other to risk than himself.
“Boss, on second thought I stand by Pan,” spoke up Texas. “But thet’s the last way to get our cattle back. Shorer’n Gawd made little apples somethin’ else will turn up. We got a dozen more rivers to cross, an’ redskins to meet, an’ buffalo. Buffalo by the million! This hombre Hite is no trail driver. His ootfit air a lot of hawse thieves, some of them gray-haided. They cain’t drive cattle. Hite is plumb loco. He reckons he’ll clean up aboot thirty thousand dollars. An’ thet’ll hold him to the trail an’ the herd. He’s got no more chanct to get thet money than a snowball has in hell!”
Chapter Nine
THE night fell warm, with a hint of summer in its balmy sweetness; the stars shone white through the foliage of the trees; the river gurgled and murmured along the shore, without any of the menace that it had seemed to have by day; the frogs trilled lonesome music. And all the vast range was locked in silence and slumber. Yet even then thieves and death were at work.
Brite felt all this while trying to woo sleep. But it would not come. Reddie had made her bed near him in the shadow of the heavy bushes. Presently a tall, dark form stalked between Brite and the pale starlight. Texas Joe was roaming around camp, as usual, in the dead of night, perhaps about to call change of guards. But he stealthily went around Brite to halt beside Reddie, where after a moment he knelt.
There followed a moment of silence, then Reddie murmured, drowsily: “Huh? … Who is it?”
“Ssssch! Not so loud. Yu’ll wake the boss up. …It’s only Tex.”
“Yu again! My Gawd! man, cain’t yu even let me sleep?” returned Reddie, in a disgusted whisper.
“I heahed yu cryin’ an’ I wanted to come then. But I waited till everybody was sunk.”
“What yu want?”
“I’d like to talk to yu a bit. Never have no chance in daytime. An’ since I run into Ben sittin’ beside yore bed thet night I haven’t had no nerve.”
“I hadn’t noticed thet,” whispered Reddie, with faint sarcasm. “Wal, if yu must talk, move over a little. Yu’re settin’ aboot on top of me.”
“Ben was turrible in love with yu, too, wasn’t he?”
“Texas, I don’t know aboot him bein’ too, as yu call it, but I reckon he was. Anyway he swore it. I don’t trust no cowboys.”
“So I seen. Reddie, they ain’t all bad. …Was yu sweet on Ben?”
“No, of course not.”
“But yu let him kiss yu!”
“I did nothin’ of the sort. Thet night yu caught him it wasn’t no fault of mine. He grabbed me. At thet he never kissed my mouth.”
“Aw! I reckoned different. I’m sorry.”
A long silence followed. Brite had a desire to cough or roll over, or do something to acquaint the young couple that he was awake. He had also a stronger desire, however, not to do it. The river murmured on, the frogs trilled, the leaves rustled. There seemed to be something big and alive and wonderful abroad in the night.
“Wal, thet all yu wanted to say?” resumed Reddie.
“No. I always have a lot to say. An’ I cain’t say it,” whispered Texas, sadly. “I feel awful sorry aboot Ben. He was no good, Reddie. I’ve knowed thet for some time. But he shore died grand.”
“Don’t make me cry again.”
“Wal, did Ben ask yu to marry him?”
“Lands sake, no!” exclaimed Reddie, with an embarrassed little laugh.
“It’s not so funny. Haven’t any of this ootfit asked yu?”
“Not thet I heahed, Texas,” replied Reddie, almost with a titter.
“Funny!”
“Thet’s not so funny. They shore ought to have.”
“Wal, I’m gonna ask yu some day.”
“Texas, yu’re oot of yore head!”
“Shore I reckon I am. But it’s the first time—aboot a girl.”
“Taffy! What do yu think I am?”
“Honest Injun, kid. Since I growed up I’ve been too busy ridin’ range an’ dodgin’ gun-slingers to get moony over girls.”
“Wal, I’ll bet yu’ve mixed up with bad women, like Mr. Brite tells me Dodge is full of.”
“Ump-umm, Reddie. If I ever did I was so drunk I never knowed it. But I don’t believe I ever did, ‘cause somebody would have told me.”
“I’d like to believe yu, Texas.”
“Wal, yu can. I wouldn’t lie to any girl, much less yu.”
“But yu lied to me when yu swore yu knowed I was a girl. All the time yu swore yu knowed.”
“Reddie, I wasn’t lyin’.”
“Shore yu was. All yu wanted was to pretend to have the edge on the other boys. I was on to yu, Texas.”
“Wal, I’ll tell yu, if yu swear yu’ll forgive me.”
“Forgive yu!—Say, cowboy, yu’re talkin’ strange.”
“Wal, I feel strange. But I reckon I better confess.”
“Texas Jack, don’t confess anythin’ thet’ll make me hate yu.”
“Yu’re forgettin’ aboot thet Texas Jack handle. I’ve warned yu. …Reddie, since way back on the trail I’ve knowed yu was a girl. Before I killed Wallen. Do yu reckon I could have shot him so quick—if I hadn’t known?”
“Damn yu! I’m scared. …How’d yu know?”
“Reddie, yu remember thet creek bottom where we camped. Prettiest camp so far. Willows an’ pecans an’ blackberries an’ flowers hangin’ over thet clear creek. It was aboot sunset. I’d been below an’ took a short cut to camp. The brush was awful thick. I heahed a floppin’ aboot in the water an’ I sneaked up to peep through the green.”
“Yu—yu. …Tex Shipman!” she cried, in a low, strangled voice.
“Yes. I seen yu bathin’ … Only seen the—the up per part of yu. …Don’t be so awful ashamed, Reddie. …Just one peep—then I fell down an’ lay there as if I was shot. Then I crawled away. …After thet I was never the same.”
“I—I should think not. …But why did yu ever tell me? … Yu’re no gentleman. …An’ I do hate yu now!”
“Wal, I cain’t help thet. But I don’t believe yu, Reddie. There’s no sense or justice in hatin’ me. For Gawd’s sake, why?”
“Yu’ve been so mean to me.”
“Mean! Say, I had to fool everybody. I had to keep yu an’ all our ootfit from findin’ oot I’d gone plumb, starin’, stark mad aboot yu. So I picked on yu.”
“Tex Shipman—thet time yu spanked me—did yu know I was a girl then?”
“So help me Gawd—I did.”
“Now! I’ll never look at yu again.”
“But, Reddie, don’t yu want a man to be honest?”
“Not—not when he knows too much.”
“I had to tell yu thet before I could ask yu to marry me. An’ I’m doin’ thet now.”
“Doin’ what?” she flashed, in a full, thrilling whisper.
“Askin’ yu to marry me.”
“Oh, indeed! Yu think I’m a poor waif of the range? No kin, no home, no friends. Just an outcast.”
“Yu come to us a pretty lonely kid, if I recollect. Reckon yu’ve had a tough time. I shore wonder how yu got through so good an’ fine a girl.”
“Yes, it is a wonder, Texas. But I did, thank Gawd. An’ now I’m the happiest girl alive.”
“Reddie!—Has my askin’ yu to—to be my wife—has thet anythin’ to do with how yu feel?”
“Wal, it’s a satisfaction, Tex,” she replied, demurely. “Cowboy, yu don’t know how high yu’re aspirin’. I was a waif but now I’m an heiress!”
/> “What? … Yu’re a locoed kid.”
“Texas, I’m Mr. Brite’s adopted daughter!” she announced, proudly.
“Aw! … Honest, Reddie?”
“Cross my heart. I don’t know how it all come aboot. I don’t care. I only know I’m happy—the first time in my whole life!”
“Dog-gone!—I’m shore glad. It’s aboot the best thet could happen to yu. The boss is a fine old Southern gentleman. A real Texan. He owns a big ranch ootside Santone. …Yu’ll have a home. Yu’ll be rich some day. Yu’ll have all the hawses any girl could set her heart on. …An’ beaus, too, Reddie!”
“Beaus?—Oh, dear! How—how funny! Me, Reddie Bayne, heah sleepin’ in my overalls!”
“Yep, an’ them beaus mean Tex Shipman an’ all his gun-totin’ breed can go hang. But no one of them will ever love yu so turrible as Tex Shipman.”
“Faint heart never won fair lady, Texas Jack,” she taunted.
Then followed a sudden low thump, a convulsive wrestling, and the soft sound of a kiss.
“Oh!—Don’t—yu—yu——”
“I told yu,” he whispered, passionately. “I warned yu. …An’ now I’ll get even. I swore once thet if yu didn’t quit callin’ me Texas Jack I’d make yu call me Jack darlin’. An’ I’m shore goin’ to.”
“Yu air not,” flashed Reddie, with heat. But she was frightened.
“I shore am.”
“If yu try thet again I—I’ll scream.”
“I’ll bet yu won’t. I’ll risk it, anyway.”
“Texas, yu’re hurtin’ me, yu big brute. …Don’t press me down so hard. …Yore hands. …Ah-h!”
“There!—Now say Jack darlin’—or I’ll kiss you again.”
“I—won’t—I won’t—I——”
A tense interval elapsed, significant with faint straining sounds.
“Wal, I had to take two—then. …My Gawd! I’m ruined! … I never knowed what a kiss was. …Now yu can hold off sayin’ Jack darlin’ as long as yu want.”
Evidently she fought fiercely for a moment, to judge by the commotion, then she gasped and gave up.
“Please, Tex. …This is no way to treat a girl. …Oh-h! …”
“I can do thet all night,” replied Texas, his full whisper poignant and rich. “Air yu goin’ to say Jack darlin’?”
“But, man, thet won’t mean nothin’!” she exclaimed, wildly.
“Very wal.” And he kissed her again and again. Brite heard the slight, sibilant, thrilling contacts of lips, and he was living this romance with them both.
“Oh!—yes—yes—I give—in,” she found voice to say. “Let me—breathe!”
“Not till yu say it. Pronto now, unless——”
“Devil! … Jack—dar-lin’!”
“Thanks, Reddie. An’ heah’s for givin’ in! … Next time yu’ll ask me.”
Evidently he released her and sat up, breathing hard.
“I’m sorry to offend yu. Yet I’m glad, too,” he said, no longer in a whisper. “’Cause yu’re oot of a pore trail driver’s reach now, Miss Reddie Bayne Brite. Yu been kissed an’ yu called me darlin’. Thet’ll have to do me all my life.”
He stood up. His tall, dark form crossed the pale starlight glow under the trees.
“But I didn’t mean it—Texas Jack!” she ended, in a whisper that was not comprehensible to Brite. Manifestly it was no more comprehensible to Texas, and vastly provocative, for he rushed away like the wind into the darkness.
After he had gone Reddie sighed and sighed, and rolled restlessly in her bed, and murmured to herself. Then she quieted down. Brite knew when she dropped to sleep again. The moan of the river and lament of the coyotes and the song of insects once again became unbroken. He lay there amused and stirred at the eternal feminine that had so easily cropped out in Reddie Bayne. She might be a waif, used to male attire for years, and accustomed to the uncouth and rough life of the range, but she had a woman’s heart, a woman’s subtlety and secretiveness. Brite could not tell now whether she was in love with Shipman or not. He was sure of one thing, however, and that was that she would make Texas the most wretched cowboy on all the plains before she capitulated.
At last Brite slept. Call to breakfast awakened him. San Sabe, Whit, and Less Holden were sitting cross-legged on the ground, eating. Reddie was gone and her bed had been rolled, and was now leaning on the hub of the front wagon-wheel. The morning was fine, but the cowboys appeared oblivious to that. While Brite ate Reddie rode in bareback, driving some fresh mounts.
“Boys, where’s the trail from heah?” queried Brite, remembering the drive had crossed the river above the town.
“Deuce said aboot four below,” replied Holden. “Fact is, it come across where Ben haided the cattle. An’, Mr. Brite, it’s shore interestin’ to know Deuce forgot to tell us aboot the boat.”
“Boat?” echoed the boss.
“Yes. He seen a boat across the river, on the town side. An’ he an’ Tex reckon whoever stole our cattle came over in thet boat an’ swum their hawses.”
Brite felt an eagerness to be on the move again. He had resigned himself to a loss of half his herd; nevertheless the deal rankled in him, and no doubt would grow into a bitter defeat. It was one thing to decide upon a wise and reasonable course after being robbed, and an entirely different one to follow it. These cowboys would obey orders, but they would never accept such a loss. Texas Joe and Pan Handle were the wrong men to rob.
By sunup the drivers were on the trail again, with the cattle stepping along around two miles an hour. Moze had caught up and had stopped to let his horses graze.
That day passed without any of the drivers catching a glimpse of the half of the herd which had been driven on ahead.
“Wal, if I know cow tracks, thet ootfit lost instead of gained on us last night,” said Texas. “They cain’t drive a herd. Funny thing, boys. Yu know we have aboot all the mean old mossy-horns in thet back half. An’ Ross Hite had the bad luck to get them. Pan’s got the deal straight. The d——stampeder will do our work for us an’ get shot full of holes for his pains.”
Camp had lost its jollity. A different spirit prevailed. These drivers reacted visibly to betrayal by two of their number, to the death of the traitor, to the ordeal of the flood, and Chandler’s fate. Loss of half their herd had made them grim and stern. Excepting Texas Joe, who had changed most overnight, they all lent a hand to Reddie wherever possible, but the fun, the sentiment, the approach to love-making, had vanished. Texas had scarcely ever a word for Reddie, or anybody else. Instinctively they all began to save themselves, as if what had happened was little compared with what was to come.
But Round Top and Brushy Creek camps, and Corn hill, Noland Creek, Loon River, Bosque River, were reached and passed with only minor mishaps. Once from a swell of the vast prairie, which had taken them all day to surmount, San Sabe pointed out the stolen half of Brite’s herd, only a long day ahead. They knew for a certainty now that Ross Hite was driving those cattle. At Belton, a little ranch settlement on Noland Creek, Hite had left behind enough to identify him.
Rains had been few and far between, but enough to keep the creeks fresh and the waterholes from drying up. Much anticipation attended their arrival at the great Brazos River. Here Brite expected another flood and strenuous crossing, but was agreeably disappointed. The Brazos had been up recently, but now offered no obstacle. They camped on the north shore, where a fine creek came in, and struck again, for the first time in days, an abundance of game. Turkeys and deer were so tame they scarcely moved out of the way of horse or man. The young turkeys were now the size of a hen chicken, and made a most toothsome dish.
Brite calculated that at this rate of travel they would drive the distance in ninety days. A third of that time had passed, and more. But he had lost track of the date. Four more days brought them halfway to Fort Worth from the Brazos; and it was noticeable that the drivers began to respond to the absence of the evil that had dogged their trail.
Fort
Worth at last! It might have been a metropolis for the importance it held for the drivers. But there were only a few buildings, a store and saloon, and not many inhabitants. Texas Joe bedded down the herd outside of town, wholly unaware that the other half of Brite’s cattle were not far away this night. That news was brought to camp by San Sabe, who was the only one of the four boys sober enough to tell anything straight. That was some time before midnight. In the morning Texas Joe hauled these recalcitrants out for what Brite anticipated would be dire punishment.
“Fellars, yu laid down on me last night,” said Texas, soberly, with not a trace of rancor. “Yu got drunk. If yu hadn’t an’ had rustled back heah pronto with this news aboot our cattle—why, we’d all sneaked over while Hite’s ootfit was in town, an’ drove ‘em back. I found oot this mawnin’ thet Hite drove away early in the evenin’. He got wind of us.”
All the cowboys, one of whom was Less Holden, showed shame and consternation at their delinquency.
“Wal, it’s too late now for this chance,” went on Texas. “But I’m askin’ yu to let this be the last till we get to Dodge. There we can get awful drunk. I shore wanted some drinks. I’d like to forget, same as yu. When we cross Red River, then we’ll have hell. Them infernal lightnin’ storms thet play bob with cattle. An’ the buffalo. We’ll shore meet up with them. So, even if we miss the Comanches, we’ll shore have hell enough.”
“Tex, we won’t take another drink till the drive’s over,” announced Ackerman. “I promise yu. I’ll cowhide any fellar who tries to break thet.”
“Fine, Deuce. I couldn’t ask no more,” replied Texas, satisfied.
Before the drivers broke camp that morning a company of soldiers passed, and a sergeant halted for a chat with Brite. Disturbing information was elicited from this soldier. The detachment was under Lieutenant Coleman of the Fourth Cavalry, and was on the way to Fort Richardson, where a massacre of settlers had been perpetrated by Comanches not long before. Comanches and Kiowas were on the warpath again and raiding all the wide territory between the Brazos and Red Rivers. Buffalo herds were to be encountered frequently south of the Red, and north of it, according to Coleman, were packed almost solid clear to the Canadian River. Beef and hide hunters, rustlers and horse thieves, were also following the buffalo.