by Zane Grey
“Hard facts, Keetch. Have they made you show yellow?”
“No, by Gawd! I’ve a queer hunch thet some miracle will save us. I know what I feel, only I cain’t tell you.”
“Miracle! I wish I had your blind hope. But—I see—only——”
“What, boss?” queried Keetch, hoarsely, as Latch faltered.
“Destruction for me—and horror for my lass.”
“You might take her an’ ride away… No, he’d trail you—ketch you oot on the prairie! Thet’d never do…. I wish I could figger like I used to. But my haid ’pears thick. Gawd! I wish Cornwall was alive an’ hyar…. Forgive me, boss, but I’ve thought of him a lot lately. He had brains—thet boy. An’ nothin’ flustered him.”
“Yes, Lester foresaw this. Many times he wanted me to let him kill Leighton. I think I always wanted to do that myself…. How fate brings things about! Keetch, this is my punishment. I committed crimes and they’ve worked out my destiny. I see only one chance in a thousand. To face Leighton in his den!”
“Jest throwin’ yore life away.”
“But I might kill him,” rasped Latch, haggard and fierce.
Yet on the morrow, when the first guests began to arrive from down the valley, Latch had never been more the courteous Southern gentleman, hospitable to friend and foe alike.
His invitations had gone far beyond the limits of Latch’s Field. Some of the arrivals had been three days on the trip. Cowboys rode in from Findlay, and one trail driver deserted at Red River, just to attend a party given to the golden-haired daughter of Latch. By noon, to Latch’s amazement, Saronto, the fiercest of Comanche chiefs, came with a full force of his wild-riding braves, brilliant and colorful in their beaded buckskins and eagle plumes. Hawk Eye, now a chief of the Kiowas, with many braves Latch remembered only too well, rode down from Spider Web Canyon. A caravan from Texas rolled in under Scout Hennesy, who announced that several of his party had declared Latchfield was the spot of their dreams and they would settle there. A detachment of soldiers arrived from Fort Union. By mid-afternoon the wide level park in front of the ranch-house resembled a great encampment, and festival was in the air. All the Mexicans in the valley and many from outside were employed in getting ready the sumptuous feast which was to be held outdoors for the many. Latch’s long dining-table was reserved for guests of prominence. It seemed a singular coincidence that Black Jack’s gang of outlaws, second only to Jim Blackstone’s band, made Latchfield that same day, by design or accident. Latch’s word was welcome and the creed of the border prohibited anything but good will.
All of Latch’s old allies except Nigger Johnson were in attendance. The Webb family, girls gaily resplendent and boys spick and span in bright scarfs, new suits, and shiny boots, preceded the guests from town. Leighton rode over, surrounded by his dark-garbed men. Latch’s kinsman looked the dandy of the age in his flat-crowned sombrero, his long black frock coat, flowered vest, and flowing tie. But the hideous disfiguration of his face made him unpleasant to gaze upon.
Billy the Kid and Bondre, with their men trailing behind, rode out to the picnic grounds, more evidences of the good business Latch’s party had brought the merchants in town. In a complete new outfit, clean-shaven and with his ragged locks trimmed, the famous boy desperado of the frontier looked like any other boy, smiling and gay, thrilled at the prospect ahead.
“Howdy, Mr. Latch. Shore is a treat,” he called out. “Where do we check our hardware?”
“Hello, Billy. Glad you came…. See Keetch, there. Don’t be offended if he slaps you all over looking for concealed weapons.”
“Gosh no! It’s nice to come to a decent party where a fellow needn’t look to be drawed on.”
It was indeed a unique social gathering. The Comanches held aloof from the Kiowas, the several outlaw groups kept to themselves, the ranchers, of whom there were a hundred or more, congregated in one great circle under a huge walnut tree, and everywhere were scat tered little bunches of Mexicans, Indians, cowboys, vaqueros, and men whose calling was not manifest in their garb.
Latch went among them, picking out here and there a guest for the big living-room, where plates were laid for seventy. Sunset, the most beautiful hour of the day in the valley, was the one in which all were called to supper. Outside, hostile Comanche and honest rancher, or wild cowboy and murdering desperado, sat side by side in the huge circle to be served.
And at this moment Estelle came running out to be presented by her father. She wore white and her lovely flushed face beamed upon all. Latch, swift to catch any mood or action of hers, saw her violet eyes sweep the circle, linger over the cowboys, as if she were looking for some one in particular. It was the same when he let Estelle into the great dining-room, where her girl friends, the neighbors, the chiefs, and the outlaws all rose from their seats to greet her. Whom did the girl miss? Latch felt his heart contract. Slim Blue! Every person in the valley except Blue was present.
Latch bade his guests be seated while he remained standing. “Neighbors, friends, enemies, chiefs and outlaws, strangers within my gates, be welcome at my daughter’s party. This is her birthday. She is sixteen. She belongs to the West. Eat, drink, and be merry.”
“Oh, Dad!” whispered Estelle, with shining eyes on him. “I was afraid you were about to say, ‘for tomorrow we die’!”
All through the wonderful meal Latch had assurance that Estelle still expected a late guest. Her dark eyes continually sought the door. Only he, perhaps, could read the disappointment in them. For all, then, except father and daughter, the sumptuous feast was a huge success. Then when chairs and table were moved out to make room for the dancers, and the fiddlers had begun to tune up, a slim strikingly handsome youth entered. It was Slim Blue. Not only the blush that dyed Estelle’s cheek hurt Latch; this trail driver broke open a sealed chamber of memory. He seemed Cornwall come back from the grave.
Slim Blue was easy, graceful, cool when he greeted Estelle, and she presented him to her friends. Marcella and Elizabeth made much over the trail driver. Acquaintance had gone so far as friendship here. But it was the radiance in Estelle’s eyes that broke the troubled knot in Latch’s breast. Cynthia had looked at him with such light in her eyes.
Latch gave no consideration to the bitter rage that consumed him. He strode across the great room to face them.
“Blue, I told you not to come,” he said, loud and cold.
“Shore, Mr. Latch, I wasn’t likely to forget. An’ fact is I came to see you.”
“Bah! You can’t soft-soap us, cowboy. Now you rustle or I’ll throw you out.”
“Father.!” cried Estelle, her face flaming red.
Blue sustained a subtle change. Latch had seen eyes like those before—eyes that veiled cold thought of death.
“See heah, Latch, you cain’t insult me like that,” said the trail driver.
“I couldn’t insult you at all, Blue.”
“Yeah?—Wal, we don’t agree. I told you I came to see you.”
“Get out!”
“Ahuh…. Everybody welcome heah but me!” ejaculated Blue, bitingly. “Greasers, redskins, bandits, cow thieves an’ hoss thieves—all welcome but me?”
Latch waved the trail driver to the door. “Begone!”
Estelle confronted Latch with white face and blazing eyes.
“Father, have you forgotten that this boy saved my life?”
“No. I offered to reward Blue. But I will not have him here.”
The trail driver dropped his head and turned to the door. Estelle ran to halt him, appeared to entreat him, and even caught his arm. Blue was not proof against that. Shamed and pale, he gazed down upon her, and then turned eyes of fire upon her father. Estelle led him out upon the porch. Latch stood petrified at the significance of that action. A terrible fear assailed him. Could his beloved child have become seriously interested in this handsome wild youth? She returned almost immediately.
“Father, all my life you have said ‘yes’ to me,” she announced, with the
first anger she had ever expressed to him. “It’s too late in the day to start with ‘no.’”
“But, Estie dear, listen,” he burst out.
She pierced him to the heart with Cynthia’s eyes, proud and dark and grieved, and passed on to join her friends.
Latch sought among the remnants of his self-control for something to preserve his dignity, to carry on in the face of this last and unexpected blow. The young folk, boys and girls, white and red, began to respond to the fiddlers. The Mexican vaqueros and señoritas entered in their colorful costumes. Latch left the clever Mrs. Benson in charge and sought the crowded porch, where he could watch unseen. His delight in Estelle’s party had almost been extinguished. But he might have exaggerated his fears. Still, his love and pride were so great that he could not but thrill to see her dance, to revel in possession of her, to yield momentarily to the old dreams for her happiness. It was a big moment for Latch, and no doubt for all, especially Estelle, when Mrs. Benson presented Billy the Kid to the daughter of the house. Estelle gave no sign that he stood apart from the other youths of her village, and graciously gave him a dance. The border desperado did not look his fame and he certainly made the most of his opportunity. Estelle got him a dance with each of her friends. Soronto, the great chief, held her hand and pranced a little for her, his dark fierce face lighted with the spirit of the hour. Leighton stood outside one of the windows in the shadow. Perhaps only Latch noticed the passion in the Southerner’s eyes.
A gay, dancing, crowded hour had passed when the sharp-eyed Latch saw Estelle slip out through the throng on the porch and flit away down the shaded path. He followed, amazed and sorrowful. What should he have expected? Had he not been young and hot-blooded once? The moon shone bright, so that Latch had no difficulty following the white form. Out in the garden, along the edge of the orchard, Estelle glided until she came to the edge of the first pond. Here she halted as if to peer into the shade of the trees. Latch tortured himself with the query—had she made a rendezvous with Blue? Preposterous! Yet Estelle had reached woman’s estate. She was Cynthia Bowden’s daughter. And Cynthia Bowden had loved a renegade, a bloody partner of the ruthless Satana. Latch realized that he was a fool. But he had to prove his suspicions. Estelle’s white form dimmed into the shadows.
Latch went swiftly around the pond, to slip like a stealthy Indian along the border of willows up to the outlet where the water spilled over the mossy stones. Here was a nook under a large oak much visited by the dark-eyed senoritas and the riders.
Suddenly Latch froze in his tracks. He had come nearly to the opening before he discovered what he sought—the slim white figure of his beloved. Aye, he saw it—and all havoc seemed proved and ended. Estelle stood wrapped closely in Blue’s embrace and she had her arms around his neck. She was kissing him with a wild abandon that left no doubt of what this obscure youth, this fiery-eyed trail driver, meant to her.
“Oh, darl—ing—I thought I’d missed you,” she said, low and poignantly. “Or that you’d left in a huff.”
“No, sweetheart, I came heah an’ I’d have stayed heah till mawnin’,” replied Blue, despondently. “’Cause I reckon it’s the last time.”
“Last time—you’ll meet me!”
“I reckon, honey.”
“No! No!… Slim Blue, have you made me love you—only to desert me?”
“You child! I didn’t make you love me an’ I—I’m turrible scared an’ troubled ’cause you do.”
“You did make me love you…. I mean so—so—Oh!… like this… and that!”
The soft contact of lips accentuated the latter broken end of that speech.
“Dog-gone-it, darlin’! I cain’t help myself. You’re a witch—an’ I love you turrible. But, Estie, funny as it may ’pear, I’ve got idees of honor.”
“Honor! Well, I just guess you have…. Boy, don’t mind Dad’s insult. Oh, he was a beast. I’ll make him suffer for that. I’ll make him crawl. But it was nothing to make you desert us.”
“No, I reckon not. But I’m deceivin’ him right heah. Makin’ myself oot just what he believes I am. An’ I cain’t do it any more.”
“Dearest, am I not deceiving him, too? My daddy! Oh, he’ll kill me when I tell him—we’re engaged.”
“My Gawd, Estie!… Shore you cain’t mean that?”
“Don’t you love me?”
“Aw, quit your teasin’.”
“Don’t you worship me?”
“I reckon, Lord help me!”
“Didn’t you say it’d be heaven you’d never dreamed of—to h—have me—yours—your wife—and——”
“Of course I did,” expostulated the trail driver, sadly. “But that was only dream talkin’.”
“Sir! I took it you asked me to be your wife… Didn’t you?”
“No! Why, Estie, I never dared think aboot that really.”
“Then let me go. You swore you had honor. It is not honorable to make sweet eyes at a girl—to smile at her—to tell her you love her—and then hug and kiss her very heart out of her body.”
“Estie, I cain’t let you go this minute. I’ll be strong enough—maybe—after a little. ’Cause this will be good-by.”
“Oh no!”
“I reckon. Your father would never consent to us marryin’.”
“Well, I’ll marry you without it. I’ll elope with you. We can always come back. Oh, he’ll forgive us.”
“Cain’t you have mercy on a poor fellow?”
“Mercy! Cain’t you have some on a poor girl?”
“Estie, all this is fool talk. It’ll only make it harder for you. An’ shake my nerve, darlin’!—Think what I’ve got to do! An’ my nerve mustn’t be shook!”
“Listen, you wild trail driver,” she responded, running her white hands through his hair. “Once settle this—this awful affair of ours—then I’ll give you all the nerve any man might need to be another Jason or Her-cules or Goliath.”
“Yeah? Who was those geezers?”
“Darling, don’t call them geezers. They were great heroes!”
“Estie, we’re gettin’ away from the point. An’ you should rustle back to your dance.”
“I am dancing now—in your arms.”
“Cain’t you be serious, honey? This is hard on me.”
“It should not be,” she replied, sweetly. “I’ll be serious. Listen. You saved my life—more than life. You helped me to be brave. You gave me back my faith in him. You made me love you. And you could never have done that if you hadn’t loved me first. I’m a Latch. Then you told me the story of your life—about your mother—oh, I would have loved her!—and your brother!…You come from as fine a Southern family as does my own father. And just because you’re poor—because you haven’t had much schooling—because your great gift is guns—your great fault is spilling blood—because of these you imagine you’re not good enough for me. Well, you are…. And right now you had better prove the respect you swore you had for me.”
“Aw!… Estie, if—if I ever come oot of this turrible mess—will you—marry me?”
“Yes. And you will come out of it. Dad showed the cloven hoof tonight. He seemed a stranger. Sometimes I felt that I never knew him. But you dispelled that, bless you!”
“Lass, don’t ever think nothin’ but that Steve Latch is the biggest an’ finest man in the West.”
“Indeed, darling, that old conviction has come back. Tonight, of course, he hurt me. But it’s only his care of me. And he believes you a no-good trail driver. Oh, when he learns the truth! Oh, what revenge I’ll take.”
“Wall, Estie, you set me on fire. I reckon I could do anythin’…. But it’s been hard for me—settin’ quiet as a mouse in my room, hour after hour, night after night, waitin’ for a chance.”
She spread wide her arms and leaned back from him.
“Think of me while you wait…. Take me now, darling—take all the kisses you need for all the nerve you need…. Oh!”
Her arms closed round his neck as Bl
ue clasped her as if to make her one with him. Latch, gazing with abated breath, with fixed eyes upon the slight white form pressed so closely to the tall dark one, saw back into the past, saw Cynthia Bowden in his arms, even as his daughter now lay spent and still on the breast of the trail driver.
“There—Estie—forgive me,” he whispered, huskily. “I’m a new man, an’ yours—by Gawd! Whatever comes. Run back home now—an’ dance your pretty haid off.”
“When shall we meet again?”
“I don’t know. Not soon. But trust me.”
“I live in you—Adios, Slim Blue. Oh, I love that name. To think I never can be Mrs. Slim Blue!”
She laughed happily and low and, slipping from him, ran out into moonlight, flashed across an open space, to vanish behind the shrubbery. Blue stood like a statue until she was out of sight, then glided away behind the willow hedge toward town.
Latch sank down as one becoming aware of unstable limbs. This revelation was the end for him. The last catastrophe! It broke his heart yet left him free. He passed over the many puzzling remarks that had been exchanged between Blue and Estelle. He had no way to divine their meaning, except to realize that the youth must be worthy, else he never could have won Estelle’s devotion. Latch fought with a horrible might to wrench himself away from jealousy and selfishness. Estelle was amazingly like Cynthia. She had made her choice. Her father must abide it. His first strange impressions of this mysterious firebrand of a trail driver returned with a redoubled strength. Another boy from the South like Lester, only soft-hearted instead of flint—another Billy the Kid in bold action, but not gone the road of the criminals!