by Zane Grey
“Reckon you’ve done a lot.”
“This is no joke—no Tonto trick—to—to—”
“I should smile not,” he declared, in dark, grim humor.
Then her gaze strayed away from him, and she seemed to look into the woods without seeing them. Cal had his chance to scrutinize her closely. Then he was to grasp the fact of her decline in health. The brown, and the contour of cheek, and the richness of health, won during the early part of her stay at Green Valley, all had vanished. It seemed to Cal that his pity and fear and love would make a fool out of him. If she began to cry and beseech him, he would be lost. But she did neither.
“Get up now. I don’t want to lose any more time,” said Cal.
She stood up without any assistance from him.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Time enough to tell you—when we get there,” he answered, and stepped to his horse. Mounting, he held out his hand to her. “Put your foot in the stirrup—an’ I’ll pull you up.”
He did not believe in the least that she would comply with this order, and was prepared to chase her into the woods. But thought of escape had evidently not occurred to Georgiana. With his help she climbed up in front of him, and sat as on a sidesaddle. Cal held his bridle in his right hand, and with his left he encircled her slender waist. She pushed it away.
“I don’t need your assistance,” she said.
Whereupon Cal urged the horse into a trot, and Georgiana had difficulty in staying on. With left hand twisted in the mane of the horse, and her right clutching the pommel, she clung with all her might. The trail up this ravine was open and free from brush, but it led up and down over the rocky brook.
“Make him walk or I’ll fall off,” said Georgiana, presently.
“All right. Fall off. I’ll stop an’ pick you up,” replied Cal.
And sure enough the time soon came when she began to slide and slip. But she did not cry out for assistance. When, however, Cal put his left arm round her, and hauled her back, and held her there, she made no resistance or remark. She faced ahead, and apparently scorned speech with him. Again Cal felt in a tumult. Every moment of this adventure seemed to be giving him some vague, strange assurance, in spite of all his vacillation. His fear was that she would despise him, and only by dint of goading his spirit did he hold to the order of procedure.
Soon he turned up out of the ravine, and climbing a low hill, entered the pine woods. He was now not far from Boyd’s ranch, and indeed he soon saw it down through the trees. The point he had reached was the upper end of the sorghum field. Cal must avoid meeting any travelers along road or trail. So he kept to the woods, and descending the hill he cautiously proceeded on to the road. Making sure that no one was in sight, he crossed, and rode in the edge of the woods around that side of the ranch. Toward the lower end he slewed away from the fence, to avoid pine thickets, and eventually came into a wide trail. This led to the clearing where the cabin specified by Tuck was located.
All this while the girl had maintained silence. Cal did not know what to make of this, but he welcomed it. She would burst out presently. At sight of the cabin his heart gave a leap, and then, when he espied two horsemen riding in from the far side of the ranch, he realized the crisis had arrived.
“I see two riders,” spoke up Georgiana, for the first time showing excitement.
“Ahuh!” replied Cal.
“For Heaven’s sake, can’t you talk?” burst out the girl, at last. “You’ll drive me mad. What are you going to do next? . . . Those men! I’ll call for help.”
“Go ahead. It won’t do you any good,” replied Cal, desperately. If she did call he would have to stop her somehow. But as all his part in this unheard-of adventure was pretense, he thought he might as well see how far he could go. She made no outcry. But her languor had vanished. She was now erect, keen, strung with excitement, and unconsciously holding on to his arm. They rode through a grove of beautiful pines to the clearing. The cabin was now close at hand. Two horses were tethered to pine saplings. Their riders had manifestly entered the cabin, for a thin column of blue smoke was rising from the stove chimney.
Cal gathered all the courage and desperation he could muster. If he failed now and this outlandish scheme of his became gossip, he would forever be the laughingstock of the Tonto. He had gone too far. Wrath toward Tuck Merry filled his breast, and he was shaken by other emotions. There seemed nothing to do but pretend to be fierce and dangerous until he had frightened Georgiana into compliance with his wish.
Dismounting, he lifted the girl off, and then kept hold of her.
“Haven’t you—hurt me enough?” she asked, wincing under his grasp. Her dark blue eyes flashed. She was only subdued for the moment, not conquered.
“I’m takin’ you into that cabin, an’ you’ve got to do as I tell you,” he said, in suppressed passion.
“Who’s there?” she faltered.
“Friends of mine. Tuck Merry an’—Parson Meeker.” Cal’s voice helped him carry on. He felt that he wanted the earth to open and swallow him. Yet the gaze he bent so darkly upon Georgiana seemed to see her as a girl to be overcome.
“Parson Meeker!” she whispered.
“Yes. . . . An’ you’re goin’ to marry me.—Do you get that?”
She only stared.
“I said—you’re goin’ to marry me,” he repeated, hoarsely, giving her a shake. He sensed then that she was physically afraid of him, and this through a false impression. She was white again, and one shaking little hand sought her breast.
“Cal—you can’t make me say—yes,” she said.
“No. But it’ll be worse for you an’ me if you won’t.”
“I can tell Parson Meeker you dragged me up here—when I resisted you knocked me senseless. Then he wouldn’t dare marry me to you.”
“But you’re not goin’ to tell him,” declared Cal, fiercely.
“Why am—I not?”
“Because I’ve gone too far. I don’t care what happens. I’d just as lief throw a gun on Parson Meeker. . . . If you tell him, I’ll carry you off anyhow.”
“Where?” she gasped. “Not to your homestead.—Why, your own family would rescue me!”
“I’ll take you somewhere deep in the woods—until you do consent to marry me.”
“Cal—have I driven you—mad?” she faltered, in distress.
“It’s too late.—Do I marry you or not?” he rasped out.
“Cal Thurman—I’ll never go with you alive unless you do marry me,” she retorted.
“Ahuh! So—it’s—settled,” panted Cal. “Come on. Let me do the talkin’.”
He led her toward the cabin, and all the will he could summon did not halt his riot of emotions. He was in a dream one instant, and the next he was poignantly alive to the girl whose little hand he held closely in his. She was walking beside him willingly. He must hurry. How the cabin blurred in his sight! The pines seemed grotesque, dark and moving.
Then there was the cabin right before his eyes. He made a supreme effort.
“Come—on—Georgie,” he said, huskily, and pushed open the door, to lead her across the stone threshold.
It was dark and smoky inside. Cal closed the door. For a moment he could not see. Then Tuck towered over him, eagerly and joyfully.
“Here you are,” he boomed out. “Right on time.—Buddy, it’s great . . . Georgie, I’m sure glad to see you. Looks like you must have rode some. Well, elo-pin’ from big sister is some stunt, I’ll say. . . . Parson Meeker, this is the little lady, Georgiana Stockwell.”
The parson, a tall gray man, bent low in the dim light to shake hands with Georgiana and peer into her face.
“I’m shore glad to meet you, Miss,” he drawled, in the unmistakable Texas accent. He did not seem to consider the event unusual.
“Thank you,” replied Georgiana, in low, nervous voice.
“Howdy, Parson,” broke in Cal, heartily, and wrung Meeker’s hand. “It’s sure good of you to
rustle up here quick. You see—Georgie an’ I have been up against a—little trouble over this marryin’.—We had to ride the brush to avoid meetin’ anyone, an’ I’m askin’ you to hurry.”
“Right-o,” gaily replied Tuck. “Grab her hand there, Buddy, and we’ll soon arrange this little matter.”
It was then that the dark, smoky little room whirled round Cal, and all he seemed to be sure of was the shaking little hand in his. He heard the preacher and his own voice, and Georgiana’s whisper, all strange and far away.
Then Tuck was pounding him on the back, wringing his hand, and talking at a great rate. Parson Meeker, too, shook his hand. His mind seemed to clear with the marvelous fact that he had married Georgiana.
“Ho! Ho! I guess I get to kiss the bride,” quoth Tuck Merry as he bent over the girl. “Georgie, I always had a hankering to kiss you just once.—There! That’s for good luck. . . . And listen, I’ve a little sister of my own. If she was in your shoes today, I’d be happy. Get that! You’ve married a real man, my dear.—God bless you.”
The preacher had kind words of congratulation and hope for both Cal and Georgiana. Tuck Merry, however, was the dominant figure there. Perhaps he was the only one with a true perspective of the situation.
“Cal, old scout, we’ll be rustling along,” he said. “It’s all over now and you’re the luckiest boy in the Tonto.—I’ll go back to the ranch and break the news. Won’t they be surprised?—Too late! Nobody can change it now or stop you. Georgie and you are married.—Can’t you realize it? Well, Georgie does. You bet no girl could be married without being wise to it.—Tomorrow I’ll have Mary pack all of Georgie’s things and I’ll bring them up to Rock Spring Mesa.—The new homestead, Cal. . . . Georgie, remember my prophecy. You will love that homestead.”
If Cal had been in a strange state of locked suspension on his way to that cabin, he was in a stranger one leaving it, leading Georgiana back to the edge of the clearing, where he had tied his horse.
Once outside of the fence, in the edge of the woods again, there came a break in his peculiar mental condition. Strangely, it came when Tuck Merry and Parson Meeker had passed out of sight. He was alone now with the girl, and chances that they would encounter anyone were slight. This he had feared, and all at once he realized that now it would make little difference whether they met anyone or not. The impossible had been accomplished. Georgiana Stockwell had married him. For a moment he lived in a fool’s paradise. And the next he began the long descent down to sober reality.
Cal unhaltered his horse, and began to shorten the stirrups. Georgiana stood close by, watching him. How keenly he felt her eyes upon him! He did not look at her. This miserable pretense of his would not last much longer.
“Are you going to walk?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s hard trail uphill, an’ you’ll have to ride,” he said.
“Is what Tuck Merry said true—about you taking me to your homestead?”
“Wait an’ see,” he replied, trying to assume the former gruff voice. It did not seem to take much to intimidate her now. But how preposterous and horrible that she could imagine he had knocked her senseless!
Cal untied the blanket from in front of the saddle, and then motioned for her to mount. She had difficulty in getting up, but he could not trust himself to help her then. He was afraid even to look squarely into her face. Her skirt, which was short and tight, was going to make riding uncomfortable. Cal folded the blanket lengthwise and threw it over the saddle in front of her, so that it would afford some protection from the brush. Then he took up the bridle, and started off at a brisk walk, leading the horse.
What a relief to get his back turned to those steady, searching eyes! Had she guessed his secret? Had she seen through his poorly acted part? The fact of her having married him, and of her being here on his horse, was proof that her wits were still scattered. He might hope to carry out the subterfuge perhaps a while longer, at least until he got her up to his homestead. He realized he could never hold out any longer. And for that matter he did not care. His action began to loom enormously. Still he did not regret it. He had married her. That simple fact would go abroad all over the Tonto, and while he would be ridiculed, he was bound to be respected. And her status had changed. She would leave him, of course, the moment she learned that this desperado character of his was all a sham. Tomorrow, when her sister came! But how would Mary Stockwell take his action? She, of all people, would understand and be lenient. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that she would even be glad.
So Cal pondered as he strode along. The afternoon, with its short winter sun, had begun to wane. A chill had come to the air. The deep shadows of the pines hid what little sunshine filtered down.
“Are you cold?” asked Cal, turning once.
She was huddled down in his saddle, a forlorn little figure.
“Pretty cold,” she replied.
Cal slipped out of his coat. “Here, put this on,” he said, stepping back and handing it up to her.
Their eyes met. He saw there weariness and pain, and a shadow he took for fear.
“No,” she said.
“It won’t soil you,” he retorted, with resentment.
“I refused it because I thought you needed it, not because it’s dirty and ragged,” she replied, haughtily.
“Ahuh! You’re wonderful considerate of me all of a sudden,” he said, sarcastically. “Well, you put it on pronto, or I’ll yank you out of there an’ throw you into it. Savvy?”
Her eyes dilated, even while a blaze rose and died in them, and her lips trembled. She lost no time putting on the coat.
Cal picked up the bridle and resumed his walk. Any exchange of words between them could lead only to scorn, anger, hatred. If she had never hated him before, she surely must hate him now. A melancholy resignation came to Cal. Most certainly, in spite of Tuck Merry’s superlative language, Cal had expected to gain only two things by this venture—one was to make Georgiana his wife, and the other to put an end to her dangerous trifling with the young men of the Tonto. Marvelously to behold, he had succeeded in both. Absolutely he had not a hope beyond that. When it occurred to Cal that Tuck had mentioned packing Georgiana’s belongings up to the homestead, he had to indulge in a bitter silent laugh. Georgiana would be gone before Tuck could reach there.
Cal kept to the dim back trails, and he walked fast. It was two hours’ horseback ride from Boyd’s ranch to Rock Spring Mesa, over the regular trail. This one was longer, rough and brushy, and steep. Cal did not feel any fatigue or cold, or anything but a terrible disfavor with himself. What an end to his poor little romance. To marry a girl through brute force, terrorizing her into consenting, and to lose her next day—how cowardly and vulgar it began to look! Yet always his mind wandered back to the motive which had impelled him.
Sunset caught him on the rim of the last bench under Rock Spring Mesa. Purple clouds massed in the west, and wondrous gold lights shone between them. Promontory blazed its reflection, and the cliff-barred Rim zigzagged away into the dim hazed east. Cal’s mesa stood up above him, a green-brushed ascent, symmetrical on all sides, and shining in the rays of sunset. The trail here was hard on both man and horse. Cal rested often, and at these intervals he gazed out over the darkening Basin. He did not look at Georgiana.
At last the summit of the Mesa no longer seemed an unattainable height. Soon Cal led his horse up on the level, in under the great, gnarled, gray-colored checker barked junipers, through the brown-matted aisles, to the new clearing.
There, across the open field, where the blackened stumps still smoked, stood the new cabin. Sight of it gave Cal a sudden pang, as if a blade had pierced his side. His homestead! What mockery was this bringing home a bride! In the gloaming the cabin seemed to presage the loneliness that must always belong to it.
A few more steps, a few more false words, and then the farce would be ended.
At that very moment Tuck Merry’s words returned to Cal. Make it a grand finale! Out
of sheer mockery at himself Cal gathered force to fling that ridiculous speech at Georgiana. Why not? What would she do or say? There might be a grim humor in it for him. She would call him “a poor fish,” or laugh in his face. Yet somehow to say just what Tuck had invented seemingly was as far as Cal had gone in thought or plan. He would do that just for the devilry of it. Then, unless the world came to an end, he would tell her the truth. Would there be any use to fall on his knees at her feet, to beg her to listen—that it had all been a trick to frighten her into marrying him—that never, except in self-defense, would he have harmed Bid Hatfield—that the blow which had stunned her had come from riding under a low branch of a tree—that he never could have hurt her—that he loved her with all his heart and soul—that if she left him now he would be lost? That was what he yearned to confess. But let her, when she came to tell the story, have Tuck Merry’s absurd finale with which to amuse her friends.
Cal dropped the bridle in front of the porch. Turning to Georgiana, he found her sitting up, peering curiously at the cabin. She did not look much the worse for this second long ride. Then her dark gaze fell upon him. In the twilight her face appeared small and wan. Pulling the blanket from round her, he threw it upon the porch.
“Get down an’ come in!” he said. The old cordial welcome of Westerners to any visitor! Here it did not ring true.
Georgiana neither moved nor spoke. Her head appeared tilted back a little. Cal expected one of her stinging slang remarks that would make him hate himself worse than he did already. His nerves were all unstrung.
“Come on—my bride!” he called, hoarsely, and laid a heavy hand on her.
Suddenly she slapped him violently across the face. It was such a shock that he almost staggered. The blow burned him. He had not meant to insult her. To himself he could have explained that facetious mocking allusion.
Then a kind of bursting passion made a savage of him. One powerful pull brought her out of the saddle, sliding into his arms. He held her there, hard and tight, so that her feeble resistance was futile. He kissed her, almost as violently as she had struck him. All his wrath and love and agony then found terrible expression in the kisses he pressed upon her eyes and cheeks and lips. She became limp in his arms. Had she fainted again? He drew back. Her dark eyes were open wide in her white face, and in the gulf of them he seemed to see his own soul.