Man of the Desert: A Western Story

by Robert J. Horton

  But as she spoke she remembered Channing’s casual tone when he had mentioned the fact that the song had been taught him by a girl who sang in a dance hall.

  “Oh, he likes me,” said Lillian, waving her cigarette in a gesture that could mean anything. “But that’s all.”

  “Maybe he loves you,” Hope advanced.

  Lillian blinked. “Say, girlie, I’m not kiddin’ myself. I know a thing or two about men and a whole lot about Channing. He might fall for something like you, but for me . . . never. Channing hates the tinsel, and I live in it.”

  Hope was stunned. “Why, Lillian, there’s no reason in the world that Mister Channing should fall for me, as you put it. I’ve never . . . why, I’m not his kind of people. I don’t understand him or his . . . his viewpoint. And it’s certain he doesn’t understand me. It’s ridiculous . . . unthinkable.”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Lillian knowingly. “You’d be surprised what that fellow knows. I’ll bet he’s out right now slipping a word into the ears of his friends as to what he’s doin’. That means he’s on your side. Do you think that devil of a Mendicott will run a chance of a ruckus with Channing by botherin’ you again? It’d tear this country wide open. What Channing starts, he finishes. Why’s he on your side? Tell me that.”

  Hope could only flush and stare. It was too preposterous. And she detected a note of bitterness in the other girl’s tone—a poignant sense of the difference in their positions. Suddenly she felt sorry for the girl of tinsel. “I don’t know what he’s doing,” she said slowly. “I can’t say that I know exactly why he is on my . . . on our side. But it’s the right side, Lillian.” She looked at the older girl hopefully.

  Lillian lifted her brows ever so slightly. “Yes, that’s right,” she conceded. “You’re sure right. Listen, girlie, you look tired. You’d better get a wink of sleep. I’ll put you in my room. I told ’em down to the joint that I wouldn’t be around till late and I might not come at all. So I’ll stay right here with you. You do that . . . go in and snatch a few winks. Channing may want to leave tonight.”

  Hope yielded to the other girl’s entreaties and lay down on her bed. She tried to think, to reason matters out, but her mind refused to obey her will and soon she was sound asleep.

  She woke suddenly, in the midst of a dream, and found Lillian standing by the bed, shaking her gently and holding a lamp.

  “Channing’s here, and another . . . a man from your ranch. You’re goin’ to start now. It’s about two in the morning so you’ve had a nice rest. You better put your riding things on. They’re waiting for you.”

  Hope rose hurriedly. Her spirits were high. At last she was going back to Rancho del Encanto—back to her uncle, and Mrs. McCaffy, who she had come to love through remembrance of her many little favors. She put on her riding habit, shoes, and cap, and went out into the large room.

  Channing was standing by the table and the other man was sitting on the divan. She cried out joyfully when she saw Jim Crossley.

  “How is my uncle?” she asked breathlessly.

  “He’s flat on his back, Miss Hope, but he’s doin’ fine,” replied Jim, beaming. “He’ll be up in a week. I came in to town to get some medicine for him tonight.”

  “And the others . . . Missus McCaffy?”

  “Havin’ the time of her life nursing your uncle an’ worryin’ about you. She’ll be glad to see you. McDonald an’ the bunch took after that crowd when they took you away, but they couldn’t do anything. We lost one man an’ had two hit an’ had to quit. McDonald sent here for the doctor an’ he came out. I rode in for medicine an’ met Channing down at the barn.”

  “And your arm?”

  “Doctor wouldn’t reset it,” said Jim, moving the arm in splints. “Said Channing did too good a job.”

  “I reckon we better be moving,” Channing put in. “We’re going to the ranch, Miss Farman. Two men came in to see the notary,” he added with a grim smile. “But I think they’ll still be looking for him tomorrow an’ we’ll have plenty of time to beat ’em back to the ranch. Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes,” said Hope, turning to Lillian. “After I’ve thanked Lillian. I can’t tell you how . . .”

  “Don’t try to,” said the older girl with a flourish of a hand. “I can guess just what you want to say. It’s all right. Any friend of Channing is welcome here.” She looked at Channing, who nodded unsmilingly.

  Hope thought she saw a ray of disappointment in the girl’s eyes as she turned away. “We wouldn’t have inconvenienced you, and kept you up this way . . .”

  “Kept me up? Girlie, my day’s just starting.”

  To Hope’s surprise, Lillian threw her arms about her and kissed her. Then she led her to the door with Channing and Jim Crossley following.

  “Remember, Channing says words are what you make ’em,” Lillian whispered in Hope’s ear as she bid her good bye. “And men are what you make ’em, too.”

  Channing led the way to the horses.

  Chapter Twenty

  They rode along the hill to the upper end of town. There was no moon and the side of the hill was mostly in shadow. They turned north above the town and proceeded for some time in that direction. Then they swung down into the granite hills and soon gained the desert at a point some distance northwest of town, where they put their horses to a trot and rode westward.

  It was plain to Hope that Channing wished to screen their movements, and she suspected that Mendicott had many friends in Bandburg as well as Channing. Then he had mentioned that two men had ridden in for the notary. They might be followed by them. Channing evidently had seen to it that they hadn’t got to the notary, but it was evident that Nathan Farman had received the letter and was ready and willing to dispose of the ranch in order to secure her release. The knowledge caused a lump to swell in the girl’s throat. It did appear as though her arrival had been the signal for the start of trouble. She again found herself on Channing’s horse. He was riding on her right and Jim Crossley was riding on her left. Both men maintained an absolute silence.

  The desert was a great field of shadows. The horses picked their way around clumps of greasewood and cantered across the short open spaces where their hoofs echoed sharply against the hard earth. Hope, becoming more and more used to the saddle, found herself enjoying the ride. The air was cool and exhilarating, and a light, scented breeze blew gently from the north. It was comforting to know her uncle was recovering rapidly from his wound. Comforting, too, to know that Brood would not be able to bother them for some time. She did not blame Channing in the least for shooting Brood; she only marveled at the memory of the speed with which he did it. Brood had given her uncle far less chance.

  In less than two hours came the desert dawn. Hope turned in her saddle time after time to look at the glory of the eastern skies. She saw Channing look, also, and began to understand something about his love for the desert—something of which he never spoke but which was always discernible in his looks and actions. She saw Jim Crossley look across at him many times. The little driver appeared puzzled. It was plain he couldn’t make Channing out. But it also was plain that he admired him and entertained great respect for him. Hope could understand why Channing was a man’s man as well as one who would naturally appeal to women. He appealed to her, she confessed to herself. But she flushed as she remembered the veiled hints of Lillian. Surely Lillian had a vivid imagination.

  They halted late in the morning at a place Channing called Dick’s Wells. It was a typical desert water hole, the spring having been built up until it was in reality a small well. The greasewood was high here, affording a wee bit of shade if one had a good imagination, as Jim Crossley put it, and there was some green grass where the water seeped through. Channing prepared a light meal from the scanty supply of provisions he carried on the back of his saddle. While they ate, Hope asked numerous questions of Jim Crossley. She learned that the letter she had written and signed at the insistence of the outlaw leader had been dul
y delivered to Nathan Farman. Her uncle had considered her safety only, and had readily agreed to sign away his ranch, knowing full well that Mendicott had it in his power to enforce the deed. He had sent a reply to that effect to Mendicott, and a message of good cheer to her by the messengers. This had been two days before, for the messengers had remained at the ranch overnight—the night Channing had aided Hope to escape. The next evening two other messengers appeared. They had expressed surprise that Brood was not there. He had started, they had said. Evidently they had not known that Brood had taken the trail of Channing and Hope. These messengers had remained at the ranch that night, and then, anticipating that Brood would arrive during the day, they had pushed on to Bandburg to get the notary. They had arrived the evening before. The ranch was to be deeded to Brood, Jim understood. Thus, as matters were, the messengers were in Bandburg looking for the notary—an individual who Channing said, with a grin, they would have a hard time finding and a harder time doing anything with when they did find him. Now, on the third day after the escape, they were on their way back to Rancho del Encanto.

  Hope was so happy she threw her arms about Jim Crossley and hugged him. “Jim,” she said, laughing, “you needn’t be afraid to chew tobacco when I’m around.”

  “Miss Hope,” said Jim, rather red in the face, “I reckon you’re larnin’.”

  Channing’s beautiful tenor burst forth in song as he tightened the saddle cinches. Hope looked at him quickly. He seemed in good spirits. Apparently her mood was contagious. And during the long, hot afternoon, when the sun blazed down upon them, and it seemed as though they never would reach the blue foothills in the west, Channing sang more than once.

  It was sunset when they rode over the ridge that separated the mesa of Rancho del Encanto from the desert. They cantered down the west side and up the road lined with hedges and brought up at the front door. Mrs. McCaffy had heard them coming and looked out the door. When she saw who it was, she came out on the porch and down the steps as fast as her feet would carry her.

  “Bless my stars!” she panted. “Bless my stars, dearie, is it you? Come down here this minute an’ let me give you a bear hug. Why, you poor dear! Jim Crossley, stop grinning like an ape. Here, dearie, let me help you down.”

  Hope literally fell into the housekeeper’s arms, and Mrs. McCaffy hugged her and kissed her. Then she stood off and wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron.

  “My eyes, but it’s good to see you again, girlie,” she said with a catch in her voice. “What you’ve been through! How did you ever come to get back?”

  Hope pointed to Channing, who was looking on soberly.

  “Oh, it’s him again, is it?” said Mrs. McCaffy. “Well, I’m glad there was a man on the job.” She scowled at Jim Crossley and Hope surmised that there was good-natured discord between them. “Well, we’ll be going in the house, dearie,” Mrs. McCaffy went on. “It’ll do your uncle a world of good to see you again. He’s worried his heart out. You menfolks put up them horses and get ready for supper,” she added, addressing Channing and Crossley.

  Hope walked up the steps ahead of her and hurried into the house. She found her uncle on a bed in the big cool living room and dropped on her knees beside it. The tears came, but they were happy tears. Nathan Farman stroked her hair and told her in endearing terms how glad he was to have her back.

  “But . . . you were not hurt badly . . . Uncle?” she asked anxiously.

  “I’ll be around in no time, now that you’re safe again, Hope,” he said cheerfully. “I saw this thing coming for a long time. I ought to have known better than to go out on the porch with that gun. I should have shot Brood from inside the door an’ I’d do it if I had it to do over again.”

  “He won’t bother us for a while, Uncle,” said Hope. “He . . . he molested me in Bandburg, and . . . Mister Channing shot him.”

  “Channing?” said her uncle quickly. “Did Channing bring you back?”

  “Yes, Uncle. He got me out of that place up there and brought me home.”

  She rose as Mrs. McCaffy passed through the room.

  “You just sit right there with your uncle a piece,” the housekeeper said to her. “Supper’ll be ready in a few minutes, but you’ll have time to put yourself to rights. Why, Nathan looks lots better already.”

  Hope rearranged the pillows under her uncle’s head and drew up a chair.

  “Now do you think you can tell me about it?” he asked, taking one of her hands in both of his. “Or, if you’re too tired . . . but you must be.”

  “No, Uncle Nathan,” Hope said with a smile, “I guess I’ve passed the stage of getting tired any more. Now that it’s all over, I look upon it as an interesting adventure. If it hadn’t been for my uncertainty as to how you were, and about that . . . that letter about selling the ranch . . .”

  “I sent word right back that he could have it,” Nathan Farman interrupted.

  “But I didn’t want him to have it,” said Hope quickly. “Oh, Uncle! I signed the letter because it was the only way I could see to get out of there at the time, and I wanted to get to you. I thought we would find a way somehow to get the ranch back, because getting it that way would be illegal.”

  “Mendicott usually gets what he goes after,” said her uncle in a troubled tone. “When he starts working to an end, he keeps goin’ till he succeeds. How did he treat you, Hope? Did he mistreat you in any way?” Nathan Farman’s voice was fierce as he put the questions.

  Hope shook her head. “He was going to put me on bread and water,” she said, “but he told me afterward that he only intended to do so for a day or two. But . . . I wouldn’t have liked to stay up there long. He has a terrible pair of eyes, Uncle. I’ve never seen anything like them. I shiver when I think of them.”

  “Men shiver, too, Hope,” said Nathan Farman seriously. “Mendicott has terrorized this part of the country till even the authorities are afraid to move a hand against him. That’s why I didn’t bother sending for the deputy at Bandburg or the sheriff at the county seat. It wouldn’t do any good. It would just make him all the more vicious. It’s a shame that a man like that should practically rule a district as big as two or three of the states in New England, but he does . . . an’ that’s all there is to it.”

  “Someone will break his power, Uncle,” said Hope with conviction.

  “There’s only one way to do that,” said Nathan Farman slowly, “by killing him. An’ I don’t reckon, there’s a man on this whole California desert, or in the valley across the mountains that could stand up against him.”

  Hope wondered. She thought steadily for several moments. Slowly her viewpoint was changing. She was considering the chances of Mendicott’s power being taken from him in the way her uncle had suggested.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked. It was plain he was anxious to hear the details of Hope’s experience.

  Hope started slowly and told him the story of what had happened from the time she had been taken from the ranch. She told her experience at Ghost Wash and in Bandburg. She omitted nothing except the meeting of Brood and Channing in the rendezvous. She didn’t include that because she passed lightly over Channing’s presence in the retreat of the outlaws. She said nothing to indicate that he was one of them. She did not tell her own views and surmises and conjectures. But it made a thrilling story as it was.

  When she had finished her uncle was silent for some time. Then he cleared his throat and looked at her in the fast-fading light. “How did Channing come to be in that place?” he asked quietly.

  “Why . . . I . . . I don’t know,” Hope faltered. “I’m only glad he was there.”

  “Did you see him with Mendicott at any time?” her uncle inquired.

  “No. I only saw Mendicott the two times he visited me at the cabin.”

  “Was Channing a captive, also?” Nathan Farman persisted.

  “No . . . that is . . . oh, I don’t know, Uncle!” Hope exclaimed.

  “Supper’s ready!�
� called Mrs. McCaffy from the doorway of the dining room. “Do you want to eat in there with your uncle, dearie?”

  “No, she’ll preside at the table,” said the rancher, speaking for Hope. “We have a guest.”

  Hope understood and went hurriedly upstairs to wash her face and hands, change into a dress, and arrange her hair. When she came down, she kissed her uncle before she went into the dining room. Channing was there with Jim Crossley, McDonald, and Mrs. McCaffy.

  The men were mostly silent, except for a light discussion of range affairs. Mrs. McCaffy rose again after they were seated and took Nathan Farman’s supper to him herself.

  Hope’s brain was in a turmoil. She had anticipated her uncle’s questions about Channing, but had no idea how she was going to answer them until it came to the actual test. She knew Channing was connected in some way with Mendicott, yet she had sought to protect him. Why was she protecting him? In doing so, wasn’t she condoning his association with the outlaw? True, he had saved her life, but she had practically lied for him. She recalled Lillian Bell’s final message: Words are what you make ’em, and men are what you make ’em, too. That was the gist of it. She looked up at Channing. A last feeble ray of the gorgeous sunset stained his copper hair a deep auburn. His gray-green eyes, shot with flecks of brown, were turned on her frankly for an instant. She flushed deeply.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hope hardly spoke during the meal. Mrs. McCaffy and Jim Crossley kept up a continual fire of banter that brought many a laugh from the others. Channing and McDonald talked ranch matters. But Hope saw that McDonald was not as free with Channing in his conversation as he was in his occasional remarks to Crossley. This, she assumed, was because Channing was not employed on the ranch.