by Zane Grey
“But wouldn’t it be great if we had farther to go?” he asked.
“I can’t see that it would,” she replied, dubiously. “Especially if my dad was at the end of the walk.”
“Your dad. Is he Gage Preston?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a terror?”
“Indeed he is—to boys who come gallivanting after me.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed Trueman, coolly.
By this time they had reached the first corral. The big gate swung ajar. The fence was planked and too high to see over. Loud voices and thud of hoofs came from somewhere, probably the second corral. Thiry led the way in. Rock espied some saddle-horses, a wagon, and then a double-seated buckboard hitched to a fine-looking team of roans.
“Here we are,” said the girl, with evident relief. “No one come yet! I’m glad. . . . Put the bundles under the back seat, Mr. Rock.”
He did this as directed, and then faced her, not knowing what to say, fearing the mingled feelings that swept over him and bewildered by them.
“After all, you’ve been very kind—even if——”
“Don’t say if,” he broke in, entreatingly. “Don’t spoil it by a single if. It’s been the greatest adventure of my life.”
“Of many like adventures, no doubt,” she replied, her clear gray eyes on him.
“I’ve met many girls in many ways, but there has never been anything like this,” he returned, tensely.
“Mr. Rock!” she protested, lifting a hand to her cheek, where a wave of scarlet burned.
Then a clink of spurs, slow steps, and thuds of hoofs sounded behind Rock. They meant nothing particular to him until he saw the girl’s color fade and her face turn white. A swift shadow darkened the great gray eyes. That broke Rock’s emotion—changed the direction of his thought.
“Hyah she ish, Range,” called out a coarse voice, somehow vibrant, despite a thick hint of liquor. “With ’nother galoot, b’gosh! Schecond one terday.”
Slowly Rock turned on his heel, and in the turning went back to the original self that had been in abeyance for a while. When it came to dealing with men he was not a clerk.
Two riders had entered the corral, and the foremost was in the act of dismounting. He was partly drunk, but that was not the striking thing about him. He looked and breathed the very spirit of the range at its wildest. He was tall, lean, lithe, with a handsome red face, like a devil’s, eyes hot as blue flame, and yellow hair that curled scraggily from under a dusty black sombrero. He had just been clean-shaved. Drops of blood and sweat stood out like beads on his lean jowls and his curved lips. A gun swung below his hip.
The other rider, called Range, was a cowboy, young in years, with still gray eyes like Miss Preston’s, and intent, expressionless face, dark from sun and wind. Rock gathered, from the resemblance, that this boy was Thiry’s brother. But who was the other? Rock had not met many of this type, but a few was enough.
“Thiry, who’s thish?” queried the rider, dropping his bridle and striding forward.
“I can introduce myself,” struck in Rock, coolly. “I’m Trueman Rock, late of Texas.”
“Hell you shay!” returned the other, ponderingly, as if trying to fit the name to something in memory. “Whash you doin’ hyar?”
“Well, if it’s any of your business, I was in Winter’s store and packed over Miss Preston’s bundles,” replied Rock, in slow, dry speech.
“Haw! Haw!” guffawed the rider, derisively. He did not appear to be angry or jealous. He was just mean. Rock had formed his idea of what this man’s wrath might be. That, and mostly a consideration for Miss Preston, made Rock wary. Who was he? Surely not a lover! The thought seemed to cut fiercely into Rock’s inner flesh. “Wal,” went on the tall rider presently, swaggering closer to Rock, “run along, Big Hat, ’fore I reach you with a boot.”
“Ash! You’re drunk!” burst out the girl, as if suddenly freeing her voice.
The disgust and scorn and fear, and something else in her outbreak, caused Rock to turn. Miss Preston’s face most wildly expressed these things. They instantly gave Rock tight rein on his own feelings. This rider, then, was Ash Preston, of whom Rock had heard significantly that day. Her brother! The relief Rock experienced outstressed anything else for the moment.
“Whosh drunk?” queried Preston, placatingly, of his sister. “Your mistake, Thiry.”
“Yes, you are drunk,” she returned, with heat. “You’ve insulted Mr. Rock, who was kind enough to help me carry things from the store.”
“Wal, I’ll help Mishter Rock on his way,” replied Preston, leering.
Range, the other rider, like a flash leaped out of his saddle and jerked Preston’s gun from its sheath.
“Ash, you look out,” he called, sharply. “You don’t know this fellar.”
CHAPTER
TWO
WHASH I need gun fer?” demanded Preston, half resentful of his brother’s precaution.
“Sure you don’t, but you might if you had one,” replied Range, with a grin. “Anyway, Ash, you’re shootin’ off your chin enough. I tell you this fellar’s a stranger to us.”
The younger rider had been bending his intent, clear gaze upon Rock and had formed conclusions.
“Whash the hell we care? He’s Big Hat, an’ I’m a-goin’ to chase him pronto.”
Thiry Preston stepped out as if impelled, yet she was evidently clamped with fear. Rock was learning a good deal, but could not determine if her fear was on his account or on her brother’s. Rock, swift in his impressions, conceived instant cold suspicion of this Ash Preston. He thought, for Thiry’s sake, he had better make as graceful an exit as possible.
“Please, Ash, be decent if you can’t be a gentleman,” begged Thiry.
For answer Preston lurched by Thiry and swept out a long slow arm, with open hand, aimed at Rock’s face. But Rock dodged, and at the same time stuck out his foot dexterously. The rider, his momentum unchecked, tripped and lost his balance. He fell slowly, helplessly, and striking on his shoulder he rolled over in the dirt. He sat up, ludicrously, and wiping the dust off his cheek he extended a long arm, with shaking hand, up at Rock.
“Shay, you hit me, fellar.”
“Preston, you’re quite wrong. I didn’t,” replied Rock.
“Whash you hit me with?” he went on, sure that indignity had been committed upon him. Plain it was that his presence there on the ground was sufficient proof.
“I didn’t hit you with anythin’.”
“Range, is thish hyar Big Hat lyin’ to me?”
“Nope. You jest fell over him,” returned the younger rider, laconically.
“Ash, you’re so drunk you can’t stand up,” interposed Thiry.
“Wal, stranger, I’m ’ceptin’ your apology.”
“Thanks. You’re sure considerate,” returned Rock, with sarcasm. He was not used to total restraint and he could not remember when any man had jarred him so. Turning to the girl, he said: “I’ll go. Good-by, Miss Preston.”
With his back to the brothers Trueman made his eyes speak a great deal more than his words. The dullest of girls would have grasped that he did not mean good-by forever. Thiry’s response to his gaze was a silent one of regret, of confusion, of something more of which she was unconscious.
Rock did not pass the riders. He stepped up on the corral fence, reached the top rail, and vaulted over. Outside he saw men and horses coming, and was glad that they were not in line with him. Thoughts and emotions almost overwhelmed Rock.
“Ash Preston! Bad medicine! And he’s her brother!” muttered Rock, aloud. “Sure as fate we’re goin’ to clash.”
At first he wanted to go off alone somewhere to think, to try and figure out what had happened and what to do about it. He halted on a street corner long enough to see the buckboard, the wagon, and several mounted riders move away briskly toward the south. Rock’s sharp eye picked out Thiry’s white dress and blue bonnet. Amazing and stirring was it to Rock that she turned to look b
ack. She could see him standing there. Quickly the little cavalcade passed out of sight behind trees. Far to the southward rose a dim outline of rugged country, hazed in purple. Rock divined now that always he had been destined to return to this wild range. He broke away from the corner and the spell which had gripped him. What he must have now was information.
He strode back to Sol Winter’s store. The day was hot, and what with brisk exercise and the emotion under which he labored, he was wet with perspiration when he confronted his friend.
“Now, son, what’s happened?” queried Sol, with concern.
“Lord knows. I—don’t,” panted Rock, spilling off his sombrero and wiping his face. “But it’s—a lot.”
“True, you took a shine to Thiry Preston. I seen that. No wonder. She’s the sweetest lass who ever struck these parts.”
“Sol, we’ll investigate my—my state of mind last,” replied Rock, ruefully. “Listen. I ran into the Preston outfit.”
“Humph! You don’t look happy over it,” said Winter, bluntly.
“I should smile I’m not. But I only bumped into two of them. Thiry’s brothers, Range and Ash.”
“Ahuh. Hard luck,” replied Winter, pertinently. His tone implied a good deal.
“Think I saw the rest of them as I came away. Sol, I had to jump the fence.”
“No!” exclaimed the storekeeper, unbelievingly.
“I sure did,” said Rock, with a laugh. “Listen.” And he related to his friend all that had occurred at the corral.
“Aw! Too bad for Thiry. She’s always bein’ humiliated. No wonder she comes to town so seldom. Why, Rock, she’s liked by everybody in this town.”
“Liked! Sol, you old geezer, this here town ought to do better than that. . . . But I sure agree with you. Too bad for Miss Thiry. Oh, she felt hurt. I saw tears run down her cheeks.”
“An’ you took water from that Ash Preston?” mused Winter.
“I sure did. Gee! it felt queer. But I’d taken a beatin’ for that girl.”
“Rock, you have changed. You’re bigger, stronger. You’ve grown——”
“Hold on, Sol. Don’t make me out so much that you’ll have to crawl later. But if I have improved a little I’m thankin’ the Lord. . . . Sol, I meant to get terrible drunk till that girl stepped in this store.”
“An’ now you don’t?” queried Winter, gladly.
“Hell! I wouldn’t take a drink for a million dollars,” replied Rock, with a ring in his voice. “You should have seen Thiry’s face—have heard her when she said, ‘Ash—you’re drunk.’”
“Yes, I know. Thiry hates drink. She has cause. Most of the Prestons are a drinkin’ lot. . . . But, son, are you serious?”
“I’m serious? I think so,” rejoined Rock, grimly. “What about?”
“Has bein’ with Thiry Preston for a little while changed your idea about red liquor?”
“Sol, it sure has. I don’t know just what’s happened to me, but that you can gamble on.”
“Son, it sounds good. If it isn’t just excitement.—Why, most every young fellar—an’ some older ones—in this country have been struck by lightnin’ when they first seen Thiry. But I can’t see that it did them good. For they drank only the harder. Thiry isn’t to be courted, they say.”
“Struck by lightnin’. Sure that might be it. Bu never you mind about me. I’m solid on my feet even if my head’s in the clouds. . . . Tell me things. I want to know all about this Preston outfit.”
“Rock, you’re hot-headed. You fly off the handle,” returned Winter, gravely. “You might give me mortrouble with the Prestons. I’ve had considerable.”
“Sol, you can trust me,” said Rock, earnestly, “We’re old friends. I’m back here for good. I’ll absolutely not give you any more trouble. I’m goin’ to help you. So come out with everythin’.”
“Same old Rock,” mused Winter. “No, not the same, either. There’s a difference I can’t name yet. Mebbe it’s a few years. . . . Wal, this Preston outfit is sure prominent in these parts. They call them ‘The Thirteen Prestons of Sunset Pass.’ It’s a big family. Nobody seems to know where they come from. Anyway, they drove a herd of cattle in here some time after you left. An’ ’ceptin’ Ash Preston, they’re just about the most likable outfit you ever seen. Fact is, they’re like Thiry. So you don’t need to be told more about that. They located in Sunset Pass, right on the Divide. You know the place. An’ it wasn’t long until they were known all over the range. Wonderful outfit with horses and ropes. Fact is, I never saw the beat of Gage Preston for a real Westerner.”
“Go on, Sol. It’s sure like a story to me. What was the trouble you had?”
“They ran up a big bill in my store. The old store, you remember. I taxed the boys about it. Didn’t see Gage along there. Well, it was Ash Preston who raised the hell. He wasn’t drunk then. An’, son, you need to be told that Ash is wild when he’s drunk. When sober he’s—well, he’s different. . . . Nick was alone in the store. Nick was a spunky lad, you know, an’ he razzed Ash somethin’ fierce. Result was Ash piled the lad in a corner an’ always hated him afterward. Fact is the range talk says Ash Preston hates everybody except Thiry. She’s the only one who can do anythin’ with him.”
“She didn’t do a whole lot today. The drunken—! . . . And Nick was shot off his horse out there in Sunset Pass?”
“Yes. An’ I’ve never breathed to anyone my natural suspicion. I think Ash Preston must have killed Nick. They must have met an’ fought it out. Sure it wasn’t murder. Ash would not shoot any man in the back. There were four empty shells, fresh shot, in Nick’s gun.”
“The boy had nerve and he was no slouch with a six-shooter. I wonder——”
“Well, Gage paid the bill first time he came to town. Then for a while he didn’t buy from me. But one day Thiry came in, an’ ever since I’ve sold goods to the Prestons. But none of them save Thiry have ever been in my store since. She does the orderin’ an’ she pays pronto.”
“Ahuh. . . . Any range talk among the punchers about these Prestons?”
“You mean—”
“Sol, you know what I mean?”
“Well, son, there used to be no more than concerned the Culvers, or Tolls, or Smiths, an’ not so much as used to be about the little outfits down in the woods. You know the range. All the outfits eat one another’s cattle. It was a kind of unwritten code. But, lately, the last two years, conditions have gone on the same, in that way, an’ some different in another. I hear a good deal of complaint about the rustlin’ of cattle. An’ a few dark hints about the Prestons have seeped in to me off the range. Darn few, mind you, son, an’ sure vague an’ untrailable. It might be owin’ to the slow gettin’ rich of Gage Preston. It’s a fact. He’s growin’ rich. Not so you could see it much in cattle, but in land an’ money in bank. I happen to know he has a bank account in Los Vegas. That’s pretty far off, you know, an’ it looks queer to me. Found it out by accident. I buy from a wholesale grocer in Los Vegas. He happened here, an’ in a talk dropped that bit of information. It’s sure not known here in Wagontongue, an’ I’m askin’ you to keep it under your hat.”
“Is Gage Preston one of these lone cattlemen?” queried Rock, thoughtfully.
“Not now, but he sure was once.”
“Who’s he in with now?”
“John Dabb. They own the Bar X outfit. It’s not so much. Dabb has the big end of it. Then Dabb runs a butcher shop. Fact is he undersold me an’ put me out of that kind of business. He buys mostly from Preston. An’ he ships a good many beeves.”
“Ships? Out of town?” asked Rock, in surprise.
“I should smile. They have worked into a considerable business, with prospects. I saw this opportunity years ago, but didn’t have the capital.”
Rock pondered over his friend’s disclosures, trying to reduce them down to something significant. They might be and very probably were perfectly regular transactions. He could never split hairs over deals pertaining to the cattle r
ange. Thiry Preston’s sad face returned to haunt him. Surely she was too young, too healthy and good for marked sadness of expression, such as had struck him forcibly. He felt more than he could explain. This girl had dawned upon him like a glorious sunrise. His perceptions and emotions had been superlatively augmented by he knew not what. He could not be sure of anything except that he vowed to find out why Thiry’s eyes hid a shadow in their gray depths.
“Sol, what do you think about Ash Preston?” asked Rock, coming out of his reverie.
“Well, son, I’m sure curious to ask you that same question,” replied Winter, with humor. “You used to be as wild as they come. You know the range. How did this fellow strike you?”
“Like a hard fist, right in the eye,” acknowledged Rock.
“Ahuh. I’m glad your sojourn in Texas hasn’t dulled your edge,” said Winter, with satisfaction. “Rock, the Prestons are all out of the ordinary. Take Thiry, for instance. How did she strike you?”
Trueman placed a slow heavy hand on the region of his heart, and gazed at his friend as if words were useless.
“Well, I wouldn’t give two bits for you if she hadn’t. Son, I’ve a hunch your comin’ back means a lot. . . Wal, to go on—these Prestons are a mighty strikin’ outfit. An’ Ash Preston stands out even among them. He’s a great rider of the range in all pertainin’ to that hard game. He can drink more, fight harder, shoot quicker than any man in these parts. You used to throw a gun yourself, Rock. I’m wonderin’ did you get out of practice in Texas? But Texas, now—”
“Go on,” interrupted Rock, curtly. He was shy on talk about gun-play.
“Excuse me, son. Well, to resoom, Ash Preston is sure the meanest, coldest, nerviest, deadliest proposition you’re likely to stack up against in your life. I just want to give you a hunch, seein’ you went sweet on Thiry.”
“Thanks, old friend. Forewarned is forearmed, you know. The man was drunk when I met him, but I think I grasped a little of what you say.”