by Zane Grey
“How long would you expect this sort of thing to go on? We couldn’t keep it up forever, could we? And when it came to an end—and I worshiped you—what then?”
“I’d run the same risk as you.”
“What of?—being killed?”
“No! No! No! You’re tantalizing me. You know what I mean.”
“Indeed I don’t. Reckon some locoed cowboys would think you meant that you risked the danger of love.”
“I meant just that, Mr. Trueman Rock,” she blazed. “I’m human. Those nasty gossips in town, who call my love for Ash unnatural, can’t understand. . . . I’ve a heart, though everybody doubts it. And surely it is not beyond the bounds of possibility for me to—to love some one. Especially if he sacrificed for me—proved himself a man.”
“Thiry Preston, are you offerin’ such a hope to me?” he asked, huskily.
“It’s not a hope, but a chance—only a chance—and all I can offer.”
“But a chance—that means a lot,” he went on, without remorse. “I could be with you alone?”
“Yes, as long as you wished.”
“Could I make love to you?”
“How could I keep you—from it?” she rejoined, her nerve visibly weakening. “But if you were kind—as I first thought you’d be—you wouldn’t press—”
“Would you let me kiss you?”
If Trueman had expected her to gasp and droop, or flare up affronted at this bold query, he had reckoned without his host. Again some bolt had shot back within her, tapping a reserve spirit.
“Yes,” she replied, white-faced and calm.
“Would you kiss me—now—to seal the compact?” he went on, as mad in the ecstasy of the moment, as stern to convict her.
“You drive a hard bargain,” she murmured, bitterly. “I’ve never kissed any man save Ash and Dad . . . but I will kiss you.”
“Very well,” he replied, with a coolness that was the most magnificent deceit.
She stood up, took brave, but hesitating steps, until her knees pressed against his, and as she bent over, instinctively her hands went out. Rock saw them trembling. She was going through with it. A moon-beam caught her face. Rock, who had perpetrated this monstrous hoax, uttered a cry of poignant repentance. One second more would make it too late. Her face loomed close, strong in purpose, with veiled eyes, sadder than ever.
Rock seized her hands, and bending his head, he kissed one and then the other.
“Thiry,” he whispered, “I would give almost my very life to have you kiss me. But not for this. . . . I led you on. I wanted to see how far you would go. . . . You poor, loving, blinded girl! What would you not sacrifice for this damned Ash Preston?—I tell you—you shall not. . . . I will stay here! You have no idea what a horrible temptation you gave me. To meet you often—to have you alone—to be able to kiss you! My God! . . . Thiry! I could make you love me. . . . But so help me God, I wouldn’t have your love at such sacrifice. I’ll win it square and fair—or never. . . . Now, I’ll go, and I’ll not speak to you soon again. Trust me, Thiry. Good night.”
He kissed her hands again and rushed away into the moon-streaked shadows.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
FOUR days passed, days full of hard labor for Rock and pondering thought, and slow absorbing adaptation to the most difficult and strangest situation he had ever encountered.
He conquered his sense of hurry, of having no time. Here he required a long hop, step and jump. Early at breakfast and late at supper he saw Thiry and then only to exchange a greeting. He did not look to see if she looked at him, though curiosity and longing consumed him.
By doing most of the fence work he made himself more than solid with the three brothers, particularly Al, who had taken a strong liking to him. He let them ride off up into the timber to cut pine saplings and snake them down to the pasture, while he dug the post holes and built the fence.
Opportunity would some day come for him to ride down to the old well on Slagle’s ranch, and find out what was in it. He persuaded himself that he wanted to have plenty of time and be perfectly safe to pursue his investigations, but as a matter of fact he really was reluctant to find material proof of the Prestons’ guilt.
Rock dreamed as well as thought while at work, and every day seemed to make more certain the thing that had transformed him. The hours alone were satisfying to him, but when he had to play his part with the boys, and the harder one before the other Prestons at home, then he found it most trying. How much better to have been riding the range!
It was now near the end of June and the summer rains were due. This season, next to autumn, was the most beautiful for a rider in the open. The range needed rain. The grass was bleached white, the water-holes were dry or stagnant pools, the streams, even in the Pass, were getting low. The boys who rode the range said it was burning up. The hottest weather, though, had passed. Each morning white clouds peeped up over the eastern gateway of the Pass, and then from all around they appeared to climb toward the zenith, gloriously white against the deep blue, swelling, darkening, mushrooming. But not yet had they brought the welcome rain. Each sunset added something of beauty and change to the one before. Rock gloated over them as a miser over his gold. Sunset Pass at sunset resembled his most poignant dreams; but it also gave him pause and forced him to watch and feel and realize. So that when he plodded in late to supper he was hard put to it to conceal his sadness.
On the fifth morning Al remarked, laconically, “We sure gotta hustle today, for Pa will be home.”
“Why the particular hustle today, Al?” queried Rock.
“Pa has a way of slippin’ up on us, an’ it’d sure never do to be ketched loafin’. He wouldn’t let us go to the rodeo and dance on the Fourth.”
“I’d forgotten about that,” rejoined Rock, with enthusiasm. “Are all the folks goin?”
“Pa and Ma ain’t goin’, but sure the rest of us Prestons are.”
“Includin’ Ash?” asked Rock, casually.
“He never missed one yet that Thiry went to—leastways a dance. Allie and the kids will stop at Leslie’s. Thiry said she was goin’ to Winter’s. Reckon you’ll ride in with us? We aim to start on the first, so’s to get in the day before the Fourth.”
“I’ll ask your dad,” returned Rock, thoughtfully. It would be very much better, perhaps, for him to remain on the ranch. Yet the urge laid hold of him, persuasively at first, and then, augmented by a very contrary spirit, it grew compelling. He could look on at the rodeo, and take just a peep in at the dance, to see Thiry in a party dress. But then he would be certain to see her in the arms of some moonstruck cowboy. That sent a hot twinge through Rock—an unfamiliar sensation. It was his introduction to jealousy.
“Reckon, on second thought, I will go,” he said to Al, and certain it was that this sudden, almost involuntary decision made him realize how far he was from knowing himself.
Late in the afternoon the brothers left off work and rode home. This time Rock went with them, listening to their cheerful talk about the prospect of the good time in town. The next day was Sunday, which Gage Preston made a day of rest when the riders were in off the range. And Tuesday was the 1st of July.
They reached the barns, to ascertain that Ash and the others had not yet come in. Rock, after caring for his horse, slowly sauntered up the slope to his cabin, finding himself subservient to an oppressive mood. Ash Preston would soon be back. What had he done with Egypt? And over against this cold speculation, with its incalculable possibilities, balanced the warmth of his assurances to Thiry. How could he fail her? Yet, equally impossible—how could he be otherwise than True Rock? While he was soberly debating the matter, and cleaning up for supper, he heard the clip-clop of trotting horses, then a rattle of wheels. With a start he went to the door. Scoot Preston was driving up on the seat of a big empty wagon. Two more wagons had topped the slope. Soon they halted before the cabins. Rock waited for riders to appear. And he was not disappointed. The burly form of the o
lder Preston hove in sight, riding a roan and leading two saddle-horses. A little afterward, sight of Ash on Egypt shot a quick stab through Rock. The next instant he relaxed. The white horse appeared tired, but none the worse for the absence.
“Aw!” exclaimed Trueman, aloud, and his relief told him just how much he had cared—how he had resolutely put thought of Egypt from him. “Reckon I might as well go out and get it over.”
But first he went inside. While pondering over how best to meet this situation and still be true to Thiry, he had buckled on his gun-belt. Suddenly the fact dawned on him, and he laid hard hands on the belt buckle. But he got no farther. There was more here to be true to than Thiry Preston; there was the code of the West. He had no right to face this vicious unknown problem, Ash Preston, without being armed.
Whereupon he strolled out leisurely. As he came in sight of the arriving Prestons, halfway between the cabins, Gage espied him, and with a start he wheeled about from the family, who were welcoming him, to dismount like any cowboy, and hurried to intercept Rock. As he drew near, his deep gray eyes betrayed considerable anxiety.
“Wal, Rock, how are you?” was his greeting, accompanied by extended hand. “The boys say you-all got on fine. I’m sure glad.”
“Howdy, boss!” returned Rock, cordially. “We got the fence job ’most done.”
“Ha! You don’t say? Wal, I’ll be dog-goned. How’d you ever get thet out of them?”
Preston fell in step with Rock, though it was significant that he kept a couple of yards distant. Rock replied with good humor, somewhat eulogizing the young Prestons. In this manner they approached the double cabin, where on the wide porch were collected the women and children. Ash was the only one of the returning brothers who got down on the ground. His movement was almost stealthy. Perhaps more significant than his father’s action was his slow step forward and to one side.
“Cowboy, I shore hope you won’t rile Ash—leastways hyar before the women,” said Preston, hurriedly.
“Don’t worry, boss,” returned Rock, with a genial laugh. He had caught a glimpse of Thiry, who kept somewhat in the background.
Egypt was standing, bridle down, halfway between Ash and the porch. One glance told Rock that he was gaunt, dirty, and rough, but apparently as sound as ever. He whinnied at sight of Rock.
“Howdy, boys!” said Rock, nodding to the drivers on the wagons. Then halting beside Egypt, he turned to face Ash Preston. Despite his iron control a slight quiver strung his frame. How cool, intent, potential of evil menace this man! He stood at ease, hands on his hips, his black sombrero slouched back, his blue-flame eyes piercing Rock, as if to read his mind. Rock had met penetrating glances before, and this one shot little cold sparks along his marrow.
“Howdy, Ash! Did you like my horse?” he said, with perfect composure and entire absence of rancor.
Not improbably that was the last query Ash Preston would ever have anticipated.
“Best hoss I ever forked,” he replied, without feeling of any kind.
“Thanks. Hope you were good to him.”
“Wal, Rock, the fact is I begun bad,” drawled Ash. “But he piled me in the brush. An’ runnin’ him over rough ground didn’t phase him none. An’ I reckon I ended treatin’ him good.”
“Did he pitch with you?” queried Rock, in genuine surprise.
“He’s got any outlaw beat I ever rode.”
“Dog-gone!—Leslie swore this horse never pitched in his life.”
“Reckon thet was no lie, Rock. But I nagged him. He threw me, an’ I couldn’t get near him again thet day.”
“Served you right,” responded Rock, naturally. “It doesn’t pay to be mean to horses. And see here, Ash, don’t go borrowin’ a horse from a rider without askin him.”
The tension relaxed, the charged atmosphere lost its fullness and suspense. Gage Preston laughed loud, as if explosion was relief. The women began to murmur. And Ash, though he betrayed little of what might have been his true state, eyed Rock with slow, cool smile, and slouched with clinking steps to the porch.
Thiry met him, reached for him in glad excitement: “Oh, Ash, I’m glad you’re back—and you—and everything all right.”
Ash wrapped his long arms around her, and hugging her closely, he bent his head over her. The action seemed eloquent, beautiful, and yet it carried a hint of bold raw nature. It pierced Rock like fire. Bending down to feel the legs of his horse, he kept that studious posture until he had recovered. Without a glance backward, then, he led Egypt down toward the barns. And he brooded in mind, muttering his thoughts.
“Cold, shiny rattlesnake ready to strike!—Sol Winter sure had him figured. . . . I just wonder. Reckon he thought I’d rave and curse. Sure he’d have come back at me. . . . And then a fist fight or gun-play!—Damn him, he wanted it. . . . Now what in h——can you do with a fellow like that?”
But Rock’s heat and rancor lost itself in something worse—jealousy. It had seared him to see Thiry run to Ash, almost with arms outstretched, her face flushed, her eyes alight, her voice broken, to receive that strange caress. Yet was it a caress? What violence of emotion attacked Rock! He could not trust himself on the moment. He only knew he had fallen into sudden misery and must extricate himself.
Rock spent so much time caring for Egypt, cleaning and brushing him, and making him a comfortable bed of grass in a stall, that it was dark when he got back to his cabin. The supper bell rang. He had no appetite, and at this moment he strongly resented the need to keep on with the rôle he had assumed for Thiry Preston’s sake. What use! He could not carry it on forever. Tomorrow, or next week, or month Ash Preston would go beyond the pale—beyond any man’s endurance.
“Aw, I’m sore,” growled Rock, and swore at himself. He had planned to overlook and overcome Ash’s appropriating his horse so affrontingly. But that was nothing compared to seeing Thiry in her brother’s arms. He had not calculated upon such a contingency. Still, Ash was only her brother; it was only a blood tie. Nevertheless, it rankled. He could not explain his reaction to this perfectly normal attachment between brother and sister. So he put it down to the account of his own defects.
It occurred to Rock, presently, that to live up to his apparently amenable attitude he must present himself at the supper table. To this end he hurried out, and fought himself all the way over, to present an agreeable front. Fortunately he did not arrive late, as the Prestons were just seating themselves at table, all of them more or less gay.
For the first time in five days Rock looked deliberately into Thiry’s face. She gave him a grateful smile, wistful and wondering, as if she would make amends for doubt. It softened Rock, and though he did not glance at her again, he managed to get through the meal cheerfully. Afterward, to his relief, Preston called him into his cabin. It had two rooms, connected by a curtained alcove. The hands of women surely had given this interior its color and comfort.
“Have a drink with me, Rock,” invited Preston. He was in high spirits.
“Sorry boss, but I’ve quit.”
“Thet’s so. I forget. Lord save me from influencin’ any man to break his word. Have a cigar, then. I shore recommend these.”
“Thanks,” replied Rock, accepting one. “Did you have a successful trip?”
“Best ever, but thet won’t interest you,” returned Preston, briefly. “I’ll say, though, thet when the trip ended hyar I was some worried. An’ when I seen you packin’ a gun, I was scared stiff.”
“Sorry, boss, but that oughtn’t have bothered you. It’s just habit.”
“Ahuh!” returned Preston, giving Rock a dubious look. “But it was hard to figger you. Ash shore wasn’t able to. An’ you clean knocked the pins from under him. He didn’t, an’ neither did any of us, expect you to take thet dirty deal so nice an’ friendly.”
“What else could I do?” demanded Rock, spreading wide his hands. “I came out here to make friends, not enemies.”
“Wal, I’m shore thankin’ you. When we rode off las
t week I was shore mad at Ash. But I got over it, an’ now I’m hopin’ it won’t be as bad as I feared. You’ve got Ash stumped. I heard him ask Lucy if you’d been runnin’ after Thiry.”
“Humph! What did Lucy say?”
“Lucy said you hadn’t—thet you were seldom hyar, an’ then never paid no attention to Thiry. Is thet so, Rock?”
“Reckon it is, since you left.”
“You an’ Thiry quarreled, I take it,” went on Preston. “She didn’t say so, but she has a way of makin’ the boys leave her alone. I didn’t think you’d be so easy, an’ I’ll gamble it won’t last. Just before supper Thiry told me you’d acted wonderful with Ash—thet she’d misjudged you. Don’t remember when I’ve seen the lass so strange. The truth is, Rock, I think she likes you an’ hates the falseness of the situation. You’ve shore begun right, if you’re in earnest about her.”
Rock could scarcely believe his ears. Yet there was no mistaking Preston. He implied even more than he said.
“In earnest? Good Lord! I wish I knew how to tell you how earnest I am.”
“Wal, I reckon now I savvy why you met Ash that way. Guess I had the hunch. Rock, you’re an upstandin’ fine chap an’ I like you. Thet bad habit you used to have don’t hurt you in my estimation. So don’t be backward tellin’ me just how you feel about Thiry.”
“Preston, the minute I laid eyes on Thiry I fell in love with her,” replied Rock, with sincere depth and frankness. “It’s changed my whole life. I used to be a free, careless hombre, runnin’ after girls, ridin’ here and there, drinkin’, gamblin’, fightin’.—But that’s past.”
“Thanks fer talkin’ out,” rejoined Preston, puffing at his cigar and bending deep inscrutable eyes upon Rock. “Course you mean marriage, cowboy?”
Rock jerked in his chair; his face reddened. “Preston—I never let myself have—such hope,” he burst out, almost choking over his cigar.
“Faint heart never won fair lady,” quoted the rancher. Then he frowned and added, tersely, “Declare yourself, like a man, if you want my interest.”