Sunset Pass

by Zane Grey

  Winter evidently found more in this reply to worry him.

  “Well, then, you know what the risk is.”

  “Sol, what do I care for risks’?” burst out Rock, contemptuously.

  “True, you always were a sudden cuss, but even so, you could hardly get serious—real serious over Thiry Preston so quick.”

  “What you mean—serious?” snapped Rock.

  “Sweet on her, I mean,” answered Winter, hesitatingly.

  “Sweet on that girl! No! I’ve been sweet on a hundred girls. This is different. I don’t know what. I’ll have to dig into myself and see. But it’s somethin’ terrible. Ten thousand times sweet!”

  “Son, you needn’t bite my head off,” protested Winter. “If you want to know, I’m tickled stiff—an’ scared to death. I love that girl. An’ if you haven’t forgot, I was once some fond of you.”

  “Sol, I haven’t forgotten,” replied Rock, with warmth. “But don’t you dare ever mention my—my old girl friends. And if you’d dare to tell Thiry I’d murder you.”

  “Somebody will tell her, son. For instance, Mrs. John Dabb. She likes Thiry. She’ll tell her. I see them together occasionally.”

  “Mrs. John Dabb. She couldn’t know much.”

  “I told you she was Amy Wund.”

  “Oww!” wailed Rock, bending double.

  “Trueman, your trail will sure be rough,” returned Winter, wagging his grizzled head.

  “Listen, old friend. There’s only one thing that could stump me. I don’t know what I’m goin’ to do. But I mean there’s only one thing that could queer this—this beautiful dream almost before it starts.”

  “An’ what’s that?”

  “Tell me. Do you know Thiry real well?”

  “Yes, son, an’ I can answer that question so plain in your eyes. Thiry is not in love with anybody. I know, because she told me herself, not so long ago. She loves her family, especially Ash. But there’s no one else.”

  “That’ll—help,” replied Rock, swallowing hard. “Now, Sol, I’ll sneak off alone somewhere and try to find out what’s the matter with me—and what to do about it.”

  Trueman sallied forth into the sunlight like a man possessed. He did not know whether he was trying to escape from himself or find himself. It had been all very well to talk loftily to Sol Winter, but now that he was out in the open many feelings began to edge into his incomprehensible buoyancy.

  He did not notice the heat while he was striding out of town, but when he got to the cedars and mounted a slope to a lonely spot he was grateful for the cool shade. He threw aside coat and sombrero, and lay down on the fragrant mat of cedar needles. How good to be there! He became aware of his labored breathing, of moist, restless hands, of hot face. Excitement was strong upon him.

  It would not do to dream—at least not until he had settled things with himself. Rock always went to the loneliness and silence of desert or forest when in any kind of trouble. He had not been in this shady spot for five minutes before the insidious spell of nature prevailed. He could think here. He heard the hum of bees, melodious on the mellow summer air; and the shrill call of a yellowhammer. A jack-rabbit went bobbing by, and there was a rustling of the dry leaves of brush near at hand.

  Only one thing had stood in the way of a happy return to Wagontongue, and that had been possibility of a clash with Cass Seward, the sheriff. This now no longer perturbed him. It had been reckless, perhaps foolish, for him to come back, when he had known that the probabilities were that Cass would try to make him show yellow and clap him in jail, because of a shooting affray which Rock had not started. But it had been Rock’s way to come, not knowing; and there certainly had been only a remote chance of his surrendering to Cass. That hazard was past. Rock paid tribute to the dead sheriff, and gladly welcomed the fact that he had a clean slate before him.

  That gray-eyed girl Thiry Preston! Here he did surrender. He had been struck through the heart. And all the fight there was seemed directed against himself—a wavering, lessening doubt that he could be as marvelously transformed as he thought. And then, one by one, in solemn procession, there passed before his memory’s eye the other girls he had known, trifled with, liked, or loved. A few stood out brightly. He watched them pass by, out of the shade, it seemed, into the past forever. He had imagined he had cared; he had thought he had suffered. All that had been nothing. Thiry Preston had made them vanish, as if by magic. Trueman did not sentimentalize or argue about it. She was the girl. All his life he had been dreaming of her. To realize she actually lived! Nor did he ask himself any questions about love. Whatever it was, it had been sudden, inevitable, and fearsome only in its premonition of tremendous might.

  This was not decision, but a realization and acceptance. Decision had to do with remaining at or near Wagontongue, and it was made the instant the question presented. He would ask Gage Preston for a job riding, and if one was not available he would ask some other cattleman. Not likely was it that any rancher thereabouts would not find a place for Trueman Rock. In such event, however, he could go into the cattle business himself. He had enough money for a good start, and the idea had always appealed to him. Still, he did not want to hurry into that. Range conditions had changed, and no doubt competition was greater. Also sheep-raising had begun to eat its way out over the pastures. Rock had a cattleman’s healthy dislike for sheep. It would be better to start again as he had started there years ago—a poor cowboy. What to do with his money? It had somehow become precious. Always it had been his habit, when he had any money, to carry it on him until he spent it. And that had not been long. This, however, would never do now. He would ask Winter about a safe investment. And as for minor considerations, there seemed to be some reason or other for Trueman to have a couple of thoroughbred horses to go with his showy saddle and the other fine accouterments he had brought with him.

  The thought of Ash Preston was disturbing. When Rock, having burned his bridges behind him, tried to give up to the trance-like memory of Thiry, this wild brother obtruded his evil fame and person to spoil it. Rock had a premonition that he would have trouble with Preston, but he deliberately refused to harbor it. He absolutely must not fight with Thiry’s brother. There might be ways to propitiate Ash, and Rock promised himself that he would go far. But if he could not get along with Ash he could keep out of his way. Fortunately, it was not likely that the range would ever believe True Rock shied from meeting any man. Rather it had been that he had gone out of his way to meet men. Had he not come back to Wagontongue ignorant of Seward’s death? He had always intended to return.

  At length Rock left the cedar nook and started to retrace his steps. He had come quite high up the slope, and he could see the town below, and beyond it, to the south. Wagontongue had grown considerably, and from this vantage-point it looked promising. Some day it would grow into an important center.

  Far to the south, across a belt of gray desert, rose the range country. It looked its reputation. It rolled away to east and west, far as eye could see, an empire for cattlemen, needing only water to make it a paradise. Capital and labor would some day bring that vast land to its limit of production.

  Folding down over the range at its southern line lay the purple broken highlands of rock and gorge and forest, and above these rose the black mountains, not peaked, but wave on wave of great flat domes limned against the blue. The scene caused Trueman to draw a deep breath. He could not discern Sunset Pass from that point, but he saw the bulge of mountains into which it opened to the west.

  Rock returned to town and Winter’s store. His friend was busy with customers, so Rock betook himself towards the hotel. A young woman, coming out of Dabb’s large establishment, almost ran into Rock. It might have been his fault, because he was lost in thought. He tried to avoid her, but she did not make a like effort.

  “Excuse me,” he said, touching his hat.

  “True Rock—aren’t you going to speak to me?” she burst out.

  He knew the voice, the face, too
, the dark, sparkling, astonished eyes. But who was this holding out both gloved hands?

  “True—don’t you know met?” she asked, with mingled reproach and gayety. “It’s Amy.”

  Indeed it was. Amy Wund, older, fuller of figure, with dark flushed face and roguish eyes. She was richly and fashionably dressed, and that fact, somehow, put surprise and confusion far from Rock.

  “Why, Mrs. Dabb, this is a surprise!” he said, doffing his sombrero, and bowing over her hand. “I’m sure glad to see you.”

  “Mrs. Dabb? Not Amy?” she rejoined, with captivating smile and look Rock found strangely familiar.

  “Some one told me you were married to my old boss, John Dabb,” said Rock, easily.

  “Yes, it’s true, but you can call me Amy, as you used to.”

  Rock smiled, but did not avail himself of the gracious privilege. “You sure look well and fine. And prosperous, too?”

  She did not like his penetrating gaze and his slow, cool speech.

  “True, I can return the compliment. You are handsomer than ever.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You don’t look your years, cowboy.”

  “Am I so ancient? I plumb forget.”

  “True, you’re not glad to see me,” she rejoined, almost petulantly.

  “Why, sure I am! Glad you’re settled and happy and——”

  “Happy! Do I look that?” she interrupted, bitterly.

  “If my memory’s any good you look as gay and happy as ever.”

  “Your memory is bad—about that—and other things. . . . Trueman, have you come back on a visit?”

  “No; I aim to stay. I always was comin’ back.”

  “If you only had come!” she sighed and looked eloquently up at him. “I’m glad—terribly glad you’re going to stay. We must be good friends again, True. You’ll come to see me—ride with me—like you used to. Won’t you?”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Dabb wouldn’t like that. He never had any use for me.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he likes,” returned the young woman, impatiently. “Say you will, Trueman. I’m horribly lonesome.”

  Rock remembered that Amy had always been a flirt, but he had imagined she would change after marriage. Evidently she had not changed. It was rather a melancholy moment for him, realizing that he could no more dangle after her than fly, and he was sorry for her and wished to spare her discomfiture.

  “I’ll call on you and John sometime,” he replied, with all friendliness.

  “Me and—John! . . . Well, your long absence in Texas hasn’t made you any brighter. I dare say it hasn’t changed you any—about girls, either.”

  “No?” he drawled.

  “I saw you with Thiry Preston,” she went on, spitefully. “At your old tricks, cowboy!”

  “Did you? I don’t call it old tricks to carry a few bundles for a girl,” replied Rock, stiffly. It annoyed him to feel the blood heat his face.

  “Bundles, rot!” she retorted. “I saw you through a window and anybody could have read your mind.”

  “Indeed! Could you read it?”

  “I sure did.”

  “Well, if you’re such a mind-reader, what am I thinkin’ about now?”

  “It’s not flattering to me—I have that hunch,” she snapped. “Oh, I know you, True Rock, inside and out. You’ve lost your head pronto over Thiry Preston.”

  “I’m not denyin’ it, am I?”

  “You’re flaunting it like a red flag right in my face. Well, I’m telling you, cowboy, that this once you’ve lost your head for nothing. Thiry Preston will have none of you. I know her. She is not your kind. She’s cold as ice to every cowboy on this range. Heaven knows, they’ve run after her.”

  “Thanks for that last news, anyhow,” he responded, dryly.

  She was searching the very depths of him, her eyes keen with jealous intuition.

  “More. Thiry Preston has no use for lovesick cowboys, much less one like you, who’ve been at the beck and call of every girl in the land. And she worships that handsome devil of a brother, Ash.”

  “I’d hold it a virtue for a girl to love her brother—whether he was bad or good.”

  “Bah! Thiry Preston is queer. Some folks say her love is unnatural.”

  “Folks around Wagontongue talk a lot,” returned Rock, significantly. “Sure used to say some unkind things about you. . . . Good day, Mrs. Dabb,” he concluded, rather coldly, and replacing his sombrero he turned away, not, however, without catching a last angry blaze of her eyes. Could he ever have been in love with that catty woman? But he tried to feel kindly, in spite of vague pain she had aroused. Sober thought acquitted him of any blame for her evident disappointment with life. She had trifled with love; she had never known her own mind; and now she was reaping the tares. She would be his enemy, of that he was full sure, unless he allowed himself once more to be attached to her train. The idea was preposterous. In a few short hours—no, they were hours incalculably long in their power—he had grown past flirting with any woman. Life had suddenly become sweet, strange, full of fears and hopes, something real and poignant, such as he had never experienced before.

  Rock, instead of entering the hotel, returned to Winter, whom he found unoccupied, and proceeded to unburden himself. He told the last thing first.

  “So you run into Amy,” meditated Sol, with a thoughtful twinkle. “Reckon you might have expected that. An’ she knocked the wind out of you?”

  “She sure did. You see, I’d really forgotten Amy.”

  “Wal, son, take my advice and keep shy of Amy. She’s got old Dabb so jealous he can’t attend to his business. She always has some buckaroo runnin’ after her. That won’t do for you. Dabb had reason to hate you long ago.”

  “Huh. I reckon I haven’t forgotten. But no fear, old pard. I wouldn’t run after Amy even if Dabb wanted me to.”

  “It’d be like her to hate you, same as he did. An’ that’d not be so good. The Dabbs about own Wagontongue, not to say a lot of the range outfits. Sure John’s brothers are ruled by him. I told you he bought beef from Gage Preston. Then I always see Thiry with Amy, when she comes to town. If you aim to snub your old girl for this new one—wal, son, you’ll have a rough row to hoe.”

  “Sol, I’ll not snub Amy, but I can’t go playin’ round with her.”

  “Wal, that’s what she’ll expect.”

  “Sol, what did Amy mean by sayin’ Thiry had an unnatural love for her brother.”

  “I don’t know. Sure I never seen anythin’ unnatural about Thiry. An’, Rock, I’ve heard that very same remark before. It’s just low-down talk by nasty people. All the same, it bothered me.”

  “It sort of jarred me. Funny how gossip can sting you, even when you know where it comes from.”

  “Son, I seen you’d been jarred some, when you first come in. You went out ridin’ the air. Anythin’ else happen beside buttin’ into Mrs. Dabb?”

  “Yes, a lot. But it all happened in-side me. . . . Sol, how much money do you owe?”

  “Couple of thousand, an’ when that’s paid off I’ll be on the road to prosperity again.”

  “Old-timer, you’re on it right now. I’ll take that much stock in your business,” went on Rock, crisp and business-like, as he took out his pocketbook.

  “Son, I don’t want you to do that,” protested Winter.

  “But I want to. I think it’s a good investment. Now here’s your two thousand. And here’s five more, which I want you to put in your bank, on interest, but fixed so you can draw it out quick.”

  “You want it to your name, of course?”

  “No. Put it in yours. Reckon we’d better add another thousand to that five. I only need enough money to buy a spankin’ outfit.”

  “Son, suppose somethin’ happened to you,” said Winter, gravely, as he fingered the money. “It might. You know this is a sudden country. An’, Rock, you’ve got fire in your eye.”

  “Sol, my parents are livin’, an’ though old, they’re in go
od health. They live in Illinois. I was brought up in western Illinois, town of Carthage. Went to school there till I was fourteen. Then we moved to Nebraska. Dad went in for ranchin’ and lost all he invested. Then my folks went back home, but I stayed on, and drifted all over till I landed here.”

  “Son, I always was curious about you—where you come from, if you had any folks. I’m sure glad they’re livin’. How old are you, Trueman, if I may ask?”

  “Reckon I’ll never see thirty-two again,” returned Rock, ruefully.

  “Wal, you don’t say, really. Thirty-two! Cowboy, you sure hide your age. Fact is, you always was a mysterious cuss.”

  “To go on about the money. If anythin’ should happen to me—which I’m gamblin’ it won’t—you send this six thousand to my folks. I’ll leave the address with you. Also some papers and things for safe-keepin’.”

  “An’ how about the two thousand you’re investin’ with me?” queried Sol, with a smile.

  “You can just forget about that, pardner.”

  Winter shook his lean old head sagaciously, almost sadly. “Son, you were always open-handed. How did you ever save all this money?”

  “Never did save it, Sol,” returned Rock, with a laugh. “Went in with a pretty big rancher in Texas. He had enemies—one of them a sure-enough crooked hombre. I just naturally gravitated toward removin’ that hombre from disfigurin’ the general landscape down there. My pardner did well after that. Then a railroad came our way. We sold out, and I found myself with ten thousand.”

  “Ahuh!” exclaimed Winter, his eyes narrowing to slits. “An’ you found yourself needin’ to get out of Texas?”

  “Well, Sol, there sure wasn’t any need of my gettin’ out at all,” replied Rock, dryly. “I hung round for Weeks to give my pardner’s enemies the chance they circulated round they were lookin’ for. But they didn’t seem to be lookin’ very bad for it. So I got homesick and hit out for Wagontongue.”

  “I’m sure glad, yet I know you’ll keep me scared stiff all the time. . . . Wal, son, out with it. What’s under that big hat?”

  “I’m goin’ to be a plain cowpuncher and start in where I left off here six years ago.”