by Zane Grey
“Wal, Rock, all the Prestons are home, if you’re so set on knowin’,” returned Ash. “But there’s one of the thirteen who’s advisin’ you to dust down the road.”
“Reckon that must be you, Mister Ash?” inquired Rock, nonchalantly.
“An’ that’s shore me.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I don’t know you. And sure you don’t know me. I can’t ever have offended you. Why are you so uncivil?”
Preston’s glance, straying over Rock, and the flashy saddle and beautiful horse, betrayed something akin to disfavor, but he did not commit himself further than to make a slight gesture, indicating the road down the Pass.
“Plain as print,” went on Rock, bluntly. “But I’m not takin’ your hunch, Ash Preston. I’ll stay long enough, anyhow, to see if the rest of your family is as rude to a stranger as you are.”
In one sliding step Rock reached the ground. And at that instant heavy boots crunched the gravel.
“Hey, Ash, who’re you palaverin’ with?” called a deep, hearty voice.
Ash wheeled on his heel, as on an oiled pivot, and without answer strode back into the cabin, to slam the door. Then Rock turned to see who had intervened so timely. He saw a man of massive build, in the plain garb of an everyday cattleman. Rock perceived at once that he was father to Thiry and Range Preston, but there seemed no resemblance to Ash. He might have been fifty years old. Handsome in a bold way, he had a smooth hard face, bulging chin, well-formed large lips, just now stained by tobacco, and great deep gray eyes.
“Stranger, I reckon Ash wasn’t welcomin’ you with open arms,” he said.
“Not exactly. . . . You’re Gage Preston?”
“Shore am, young man. Did you want to see me?”
“Yes, I asked for you. He said you weren’t home.”
“Doggone Ash, anyhow,” replied the rancher, with impatient good-humor. “Whenever a cowpuncher rides in hyar, Ash tells him we’ve got smallpox or such like. He’s not sociable. But you mustn’t judge us other Prestons by him.”
“I was tryin’ to argue with him on that very chance,” said Rock, smilingly. It required only a glance to define Gage Preston as the type of Westerner Rock liked.
“Hope Ash didn’t take you for a hoss thief. Course he knowed Leslie’s white hoss. We seen him only yesterday.”
“Well, your son didn’t say. But I reckon he thought so. I bought this horse from Leslie.”
“Grand hoss he is, you lucky rider,” replied Preston, with a huge hand on the white flank. “Hyar, Tom,” he called, turning toward a lanky youth in the background, “take these hosses. Throw saddle an’ pack on the porch of the empty cabin. . . . Wal, stranger, you’re down, so come in.”
Rock had not noticed that the next cabin, some distance away under the pines, was a double one of the picturesque kind, long, with wide eaves, a porch all around, and ample space between the two log structures. Water ran down from the stream, in a chute hollowed from saplings. This house was one of the older ones, which had become weathered, with roof greened over with moss. The nearer cabin had two doors and a window that Rock could see. Evidently the second cabin was a kitchen. But both had large stone chimneys. Deer and elk antlers, saddles and skins, hung on the walls between the cabins. Table and benches there indicated where the Prestons dined.
“Reckon it’ll be pleasanter sittin’ outside,” said Preston, and invited Rock to a rustic seat under the trees. “What’d you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say—yet,” laughed Rock. He liked Preston, and could not help but compare the son most disparagingly with the father.
“Thiry didn’t tell me either,” went on the rancher. “But I know you’re the young fellar who was polite to her an’ did somethin’ or other for her thet made Ash huffy.”
“Yes, I am. It wasn’t much, certainly nothin’ to offend Miss Thiry’s brother.”
“Aw, Ash was drunk. An’ he shore ain’t no credit to us then. Range, the other boy who saw you, said you was pretty decent. Thet you only stuck out your foot fer Ash to tumble over. I reckon he didn’t need thet to take a dislike to you.”
“He didn’t recognize me, I’m glad to say.”
“Young man, I’ll say you didn’t lose any time trailin’ Thiry up,” went on Preston, quizzically, with a twinkle in his big gray eyes. “Shore you must be one of them sudden fellars.”
“Mr. Preston, you—I—I—” began Rock, somewhat disconcerted, more from the rancher’s genial acceptance of a fact than from being discovered.
“You needn’t lie about it. Lord knows this hyar has happened a hundred times.”
“I wasn’t goin’ to lie, Mr. Preston,” went on Rock.
“Don’t call me mister. Make it plain Preston, an’ Gage when you feel acquainted enough. You’re not tryin’ to tell me you didn’t foller Thiry out hyar.”
“No—not exactly. Now you make me think—I’m afraid it must be—somethin’ like that. But I came to ask you for a job.”
“Good. What’ll you work fer?”
“Reckon the same as you pay any other rider. I’m an old hand with ropes, horses, cattle—anythin’ about the range.”
“Wal, you’re hired. I’m shore in need of a man who can handle the boys.”
“Say, Preston, you don’t mean you’ll put me to handlin’ Ash! He said he was foreman.”
“I run two outfits. Ash bosses the older riders. If you fit in with the youngsters it’ll shore be a load off my mind.”
“That suits me fine. I reckon I can hold up the job.”
“Wal, you strike me all right. But I gotta tell you thet no young man I ever hired struck Ash right. An’ none of them ever lasted.”
“Why not?” inquired Rock.
“Say, you seen Ash an’ you ask me thet?” exclaimed Preston, spreading his big hands.
“Preston, if I turn out to be of value to you, will you want me to last?” queried Rock, and this was the straight language of one Westerner to another. Preston appeared to be confronted with a most pertinent question.
“Have you any money?” parried Preston.
“Well, I’m not quite broke.”
“Jest a poor cowpuncher with your fortune tied up in hoss an’ saddle?”
“Reckon that’s about the size of it.”
“How aboot red eye?”
“Preston, I used to drink a little, now and then. But I’ve quit.”
“Fer good?”
“I believe so. I never quit before. But I’m not a man to go back on my word. And I promise you I’ll never drink while ridin’ for you.”
“Wal, I like your talk an’ I like your looks. An’ I’ll say if you can handle my boys an’ stick it out in the face of Ash, I’ll be some in your debt.”
“I don’t know Ash, of course. But I can take a hunch, if you’ll give it.”
“Wal, Ash sees red whenever any puncher looks at Thiry. He cares fer nothin’ on earth but thet girl. An’ she’s awful fond of him. She’s never had a beau. An’ Thiry’s near twenty-two.”
“Good Heavens! Is her brother so jealous he won’t let any man look at her?”
“Wal, he wouldn’t if he could prevent it—thet’s daid shore. An’ far as the ranch hyar is concerned he does prevent. But when Thiry goes to town accidents happen, like you meetin’ up with her. Thet riles Ash.”
“In that case, Preston, I’m afraid Ash will get riled out here. For I reckon the same kind of accident may happen.”
“Hum! Hum! You’re a cool hand to draw to,” exploded the rancher, boisterously. “What’d you say your name was?”
“I haven’t told you yet. It’s Trueman Rock, late of Texas. But I used to ride here.”
The rancher apparently met with instant check to his mood. “What? . . . Trueman Rock!—Are you thet there True Rock who figgered in gun-play hyar years ago?”
“Sorry I can’t deny it, Preston,” replied Rock, his steady glance on the gray thought-clouding eyes of the rancher.
“You rode fer
Slagle—when he had his ranch down hyar below in the Pass?”
“Two years I was with Slagle.”
“Also the Cross Bar outfit, the Circle X? An’ once you was with John Dabb?”
“Sure you have me pat, Preston.”
“It was you who run down thet Hartwell rustlin’ outfit?”
“I can’t take all the credit. But I was there when it happened.”
“Say, man, I’ve heerd aboot you all these years. Damn funny I didn’t savvy who you were.”
“It’s been six years since I left here—and perhaps you heard some things not quite fair to me.”
“Never heerd a word thet I’d hold against you.”
“Then my job stands, in spite of my bein’ True Rock?” asked Rock, eagerly. What a vast importance seemed to hang on this!
“Say, why’n hell didn’t you yell who you was fust off?” retorted Preston.
“You didn’t ask me—and I guess I’ve always been a little backward about my name, at least.”
Preston had undergone further subtle change that to Rock’s quick intelligence indicated he was finding favor with the rancher. Something of Preston’s pondering speculation might have had to do with the future.
“Rock, shore you couldn’t know thet when you killed Pickins——”
“I’d rather you didn’t dig up my past,” interrupted Rock, sharply.
“Hell, man! You’re listenin’ to Gage Preston. An’ he’s tryin’ to tell you how you once did him a good turn.”
“I’m glad, even if I don’t understand.”
“Wal, I’ll tell you some other time,” rejoined Preston, evidently relieved to be checked in his impulsive speech. “Come now, an’ meet these hyar eleven other Prestons.”
Rock faced the ordeal with mingled emotions, chiefly concerning Thiry, but with nothing of the inhibition he had labored under while encountering Ash. Thiry, however, to his keen disappointment, was not one of the half dozen Prestons who answered the rancher’s cheery call.
Mrs. Preston appeared a worthy mate for this virile cattleman. She was buxom and comely, fair like all of them, and some years younger than Preston.
“Ma, this is Trueman Rock, who’s come to ride fer me,” announced Preston. Then he presented Rock to Alice, a girl of sixteen, not by any means lacking the good looks that appeared to run in the family. She was shy, but curious and friendly. Rock took instantly to the ragged, barefooted, big-eyed children, Lucy and Burr; and signs were not wholly wanting that they were going to like him.
“Where’s Thiry?” asked the rancher.
“She’s ironin’, Dad,” replied Alice.
“Wal, didn’t she hyar me call?”
“Reckon she did, Pa, for you’d ’most woke the daid,” replied his wife, and going to the door of the second cabin she called, “Thiry, we’ve company, an’ Pa wants you.”
Rock caught a low protesting voice that came from inside.
“Nonsense, daughter,” replied the mother. “You don’t look so awful. Anyway, you can’t get out of it.”
Whereupon Thiry appeared in the door in a long blue apron that scarcely hid her graceful symmetry. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow of shapely arms. She came out reluctantly, with troubled eyes and a little frown. She showed no surprise. She had seen him through the window.
“Good afternoon, Miss Preston,” greeted Trueman, evincing but little of the pleasure that consumed him.
“Oh, it’s Mr. Rock, our new grocery clerk,” she responded, with manner and tone that was a little beyond Trueman. “How do you do! And aren’t you lost way out here?”
“Reckon I was, but there’s hope of me gettin’ back in the trail.”
“Hey, Rock, what’s thet aboot you bein’ a grocery clerk? I reckoned I was hirin’ a cowboy.”
Whereupon Rock had to explain that he had been keeping store for Sol Winter when Thiry happened in. Thiry did not share in the laughter. Rock thought he saw the gray eyes quicken and darken as she glanced swiftly from him to her father.
“Thiry, he’s goin’ to handle the boys,” replied Preston, as if in answer to a mute query.
“You are a—a cowboy, then,” she said to Rock, struggling to hide confusion or concern. “You don’t know the job you’ve undertaken. . . . What did my brother Ash say?—I saw you talking with him.”
“He was tellin’ me your dad would sure give me a job. . . . And that you’d be glad,” replied Trueman, with the most smiling and disarming assurance.
“Yes, he was,” retorted Thiry, blushing at the general laugh.
“You’re right, Miss Preston,” returned Rock, ruefully. “Your brother was not—well, quite taken with my visit.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me you didn’t see every rider who came along. And that your father was not home. And that——”
“We apologize for Ash’s rudeness,” interposed Thiry, hurriedly. She had not been able to meet Rock’s gaze.
“Never mind, Rock. It’s nothin’ to be hurt aboot,” added Preston. “Ash is a queer, unsociable feller. But you’re shore welcome to the rest of us. . . . Thiry, if you never heerd of True Rock, I want to tell you he’s been one of the greatest riders of this range. An’ I need him bad, in more ways than one. An’ I can tell you somethin’ thet’d make you glad he happened along.”
“Oh, Dad, I—I didn’t mean—I—of course I’m glad if you are,” she returned, hurriedly. “Please excuse me now. I’ve so much work.”
Somehow Trueman divined that she was not glad; or if she were, it was owing to her father’s need, and then it was not whole-hearted. The knowledge fell upon him with unaccountable dismay, so much so that he could scarcely conceal it. But the youngsters saved him this time. They sidled over to him and began to ply him with questions about the white horse, which had captivated their eyes.
“What you call him?” asked Burr.
“Well, the fact is I haven’t named him yet,” replied Rock, surprised at the omission. “Can you think of a good one?”
“Sure. Call him Whiteface or Longmane.”
“Not so bad. What do you say, Lucy?”
“I like what Thiry calls him,” she said, shyly. “Oh, we’ve seen him often. I was once on his back.”
“Your sister has a name for him? Well, that’s nice. Tell me. Maybe I’ll like it,” said Trueman, with a feeling of duplicity.
“Egypt,” announced Lucy, impressively. “Isn’t that just grand?”
“Egypt?—Oh, I see. Because he’s like one of the white stallions of the Arabians. I think it’s pretty good. . . . We’ll call him Egypt.”
“That’ll tickle Thiry. I’ll tell her,” cried the child, joyously, running into the kitchen.
Rock contrived, while letting Burr drag him round to look at the antlers of deer and elk, to catch a glimpse of Thiry at her work. She was alone in there, for Lucy had come running out. Rock thought she looked very sweet and domestic and capable. On the way back round the porch he stopped a moment to have another glimpse. This time she glanced up and caught him. Rock essayed to smile and pass on, to make his action seem casual. But her gaze held him stock-still, and it was certain he could not find a ready smile. She ceased her ironing and transfixed him with great eyes of wonder and reproach, almost resentment. She accused him, she blamed him for coming. He had brought her more trouble. Rock was so roused that he forgot himself and returned her look with all the amaze and entreaty he felt. Then the paleness of her face seemed suddenly blotted out; hastily she bent again to her work.
“Come, Rock, let me show you the ranch,” called Preston. “We’re shore some proud of it.”
“You ought to be. I’ve seen a sight of ranches, but this one is the finest,” returned Rock, as he left the porch. “Slagle once told me he didn’t build here because he thought it’d be cold and windy.”
“Ha! I had the same idee. But I found out thet the wind blows only in summer, when you want it. Fall an’ winter this high saddle is protected. Prevail
in’ winds from the north.”
“Pa, soon as Thiry’s done we’ll have supper, so don’t go far,” spoke up Mrs. Preston.
“All right, Ma. I reckon Rock couldn’t be driv very far,” replied the rancher, drawing Rock away. “When we first come hyar, aboot five years ago, Slagle, as you know, lived down below. He wouldn’t sell, an’ he swore this divide was on his land. But it wasn’t, because he’d homesteaded a hundred an’ sixty acres, an’ his land didn’t come halfway up. Wal, we throwed up a big cabin, an’ we all lived in it fer a while. The kids were pretty small then. Next I tore thet cabin down an’ built the double one, an’ this one hyar, which Ash has to himself. He won’t sleep with nobody. Lately we throwed up four more, an’ now we’re shore comfortable.”
The little cabin over by the creek under the largest of the pines was occupied by Alice and Thiry, and they, according to Preston, had just about put that cabin up themselves. But Rock’s quick eye gathered at once that Preston or some one of his sons was something of an architect and a most efficient carpenter. Except the two large cabins, nearest the road, the others were some distance apart. The small empty cabin, where Rock’s packs had been left, was off among the trees fully a hundred yards; the next, where Preston’s sons, Tom, Albert and Harry, lived, appeared an equal distance farther, and the last, occupied by Range Preston, and some of the other boys, stood close under the north slope of the Pass.
The grassy divide sloped gradually to the west, and down below the level, where cedars grew thicker and the pines thinned out, were the corrals and barns and open sheds, substantial and well built. Another log chute brought running water from the hill. Rock found his white horse in one of the corrals, surrounded by three lanky youths from sixteen to twenty years old. Preston introduced them as the inseparable three, Tom, Albert, and Harry. They had the Preston fairness, and Tom and Harry were twins.
“Rock, if you can tell which is Tom an’ which is Harry, you’ll do more’n anyone outside the family.”