Following the Grass

by Harry Sinclair Drago

  Necia had heard him reviled many times, but in the four or five visits he had made to the Circle-Z she had found him courteous and patient. She had been raised, however, in a household where the Basque had been held no better than a Mexican—her mother, old Thad’s daughter, had shared this view—and Necia found it difficult to overcome the prejudice.

  Thad glanced at her apprehensively as he straightened up, for he had felt her scrutiny.

  “Well, well, Necia,” he exclaimed brusquely, as was his habit when trying to cover up, “I can tell you a secret now: we’re goin’ to have a real flour-mill.”

  Necia smiled. “Meaning that some one has lost his water rights, eh?” she queried provokingly.

  “Never you mind about that,” Thad grinned. “Business is business. I’m no organized charity. Go on and play those new records for us, will you?”

  Necia shook her head as she glanced at the wax rolls—in that day quite the last word in talking-machine records.

  “They are terrible, grandfather,” she said teasingly. “—‘The Bull Frog and the Coon’—‘Flanigan’s Wake’—” Necia made a wry face as she read the labels aloud.

  “Terrible?” Thad snorted. “ ‘Flanigan’s Wake?’ Why, when I was a young buck they wa’n’t no better tune a-goin’ than that! But that’s young-folks for you!” he went on vehemently, pretending an anger he was far from feeling. “Old-time things ain’t good enough for them no more.”

  “Maybe, that is best, eh señor?” Angel argued.

  This was unexpected. Thad whirled on him in fine dudgeon.

  “You a-goin’ to take sides ag’in me, too?” he gasped. “Necia don’t need no help. She bosses me to death now. I tell you, young-folks has got too much imagination. They’ve got things all figured out in advance. Makes me feel obsolete.”

  “Oh, poor grandfather,” Necia said mockingly as she perched herself upon the arm of his chair.

  “See?” Thad protested. “The tyranny of the female—it’s awful. You can’t make them take you seriously. If you don’t agree with them, they laugh at you. Why, for three weeks she’s been tryin’ to make believe there’s a ragged, half starved, no good—”

  “I did not say he was a no-good,” Necia objected.

  “No, you didn’t. But if there was such a person, what else could he be—hidin’ out on a mountain, goin’ around without shoes, hair down his back—playin’ around with a handful of crippled sheep that he’s picked up, God knows where! Bah ! Do you think I’m mad?”

  “Oh, so you’ve heard those tales, too, señor?” Angel inquired.

  “Hain’t heard nothin’ else!” Thad exclaimed. “My boys don’t talk about anythin’ else. They say he’s got a coyote herdin’ his flock! D’you ever hear anythin’ so downright foolish? Grown-up men ought to know better. If they’re out at night and a coyote shuts up all of a sudden or a bob-cat quits his squawlin’, they nudge each other and mutter, ‘Joseph!’ It makes me sick.”

  “And the crow, grandfather,” Necia said tauntingly; “don’t forget it.”

  “That’s beyond me, that crow stuff,” Thad declared helplessly. “I ain’t even goin’ to repeat that.”

  Necia smiled, but Angel’s eyes were mirthless.

  “My friend,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, “the tales you scoff at are true—even the crow.”

  “What?” Thad brought his chair down with a thud. Angel nodded.

  “They are true,” he repeated.

  There was a convincing quality in the old Basque’s voice. Thad knew he had heard the truth, and his mouth sagged as he stared speechlessly at the old Basque. Necia was less surprised, but her face grew sober as she and her grandfather waited for Angel to speak.

  “He has been living on the mountain for months,” their visitor went on after some deliberation.

  “Have you seen him?” Thad demanded.

  “I have seen his fires at night. One of my young men has seen him.”

  Thad whistled softly. ”So that is why your boys went around by way of the spring, eh?”

  “That is why, señor,” Angel answered, somewhat disconcerted. “You know Peter Organ—he has talked with this man.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  Angel scowled and got up and reached for his hat. Suddenly turning and confronting Necia and her grandfather, he exclaimed excitedly:

  “He threatens us with famine! He says our crops will fail, our herds die for want of water! Mal rayo la parta! (May an evil stroke of lightning smother him.) He says that the seven lean years are upon this valley as they were upon Egypt!”

  Thad laughed loudly at this.

  “The seven lean years, eh?” he queried sarcastically. “I guess you and me know that there’s been lean years right along for those who look for them. Year in and year out we been here. We ain’t done so bad. I reckon we’ll git by. Lean years for lean heads! Quotin’ the Bible to Peter, eh? I might a-known he was a religion-struck fool.”

  “Well—do you condemn him for warning you?” Necia asked.

  “Condemn him?” Thad questioned. “Humph! What a fool?”

  Angel was standing at the window, staring out into the soft night.

  “But, señor,” he murmured without turning, “this is the last day of May. It has not rained this month.”

  “Just a dry spring,” Thad retorted. “You don’t mean to tell me you take any stock in this wild talk?”

  “It’s strange—strange,” Angel answered as much to himself as to Thad and Necia.

  “Well, it’s your land he’s on,” said Thad. “I wouldn’t stand no foolishness from him. I’d make him git. You—you ain’t afraid of him?”

  Angel shook his head slowly.

  “Joseph,” he muttered only half aloud. “—Joseph! It spells power. Jaincoa! I hate that name.”

  Thad nodded, and patted Necia’s hand.

  “So do I,” he said slowly. “I haven’t forgotten. Why, I—I—” and as he paused to find a word he heard something scratching at the door. And as all three of them stared, the door opened and Slippy-foot stalked into the room.

  Thad’s eyes bulged. The coyote stopped and looked from one to the other of them. Angel, at the window, had thrown up his hand as if to ward off something evil, and he stood seemingly petri· fied, fear written upon his face. Even Necia trembled and drew back. Though no one of them had ever seen Slippy-foot before, the manner of her entrance chilled their blood.

  CHAPTER XII.

  NECIA.

  A COYOTE Walking into a ranch-house! Only a rangeman can appreciate their surprise. Before they had recovered, the weird tap, tap, of something crossing the gravel outside the door reached their ears. The next instant, Grimm, black and sleek, strutted into the room with the mien of an archbishop.

  Necia heard Angel gasp as he caught his breath. Her grandfather was having an equally hard time of it. Their apparent helplessness steadied rather than alarmed Necia, and she threw back her head and bravely faced Grimm and Slippy-foot.

  Grimm blinked his great gold-rimmed eyes as he surveyed the room and its occupants, and the wisdom and shrewdness that shone in them seemed to mock the petty schemes and secrets of the men before him. Crossing to where Angel stood, he humped his wings and looking up at the Basque, he deliberately clacked his tongue, and the sound was not unlike a laugh. Angel winced, feeling that the great bird was peering into his very soul. Grimm continued to regard him solemnly for another three or four seconds. Turning, then, he hopped upon the table.

  A bread crust caught his wandering gaze, and tearing it into bits, he ate it with relish; but, even as he ate, his eyes roamed continually from Angel to Thad. He had been in the room fully a minute, and in that time no one had spoken. Necia could not but wonder why he never glanced at her, and she could not repress a start when, without warning, he raised his wings and hopped upon her shoulder. At that instant a voice called:

  “Grimm!”

  The crow cawed audaciously and sailed to the floor, an
d as he did so Joseph reached the doorway. For some minutes they had known he must come, and although Grimm and Slippy-foot had prepared them for his arrival, they could not take their eyes off him as he stood framed against the night, the wounded lamb in his arms. The lamp’s mellow light glinted against his tanned cheeks and accentuated the luster of his eyes.

  A majestic dignity rested upon him as he glanced at each of them in turn. Necia felt it. The serenity which cloaked him made light of his ragged clothes, and the girl, urged by an impulse she little understood, took a step toward him. She would have spoken had not her grandfather recovered his tongue and, brushing her aside, cried out angrily :

  “State your business!”

  Joseph’s face retained its placidity. A moment before he had recognized Angel, and though his surprise had been great at finding him here, he had not betrayed it. He properly supposed that the man who addressed him was Thad Taylor and knowing him to be, by reputation, an irascible old man, it pleased Joseph to answer him at his own pleasure.

  “I have come to you for help,” he said.

  “Help?” Thad shouted. “Git that truck out of my house!” he raged, pointing to Slippy-foot and Grimm.

  Joseph looked at Angel as if asking him if he concurred in this, and the expression on the old Basque’s face well repaid the boy. Necia thought she saw his eyes smile as he motioned to the coyote.

  “Go,” he murmured.

  Slippy-foot hesitated for a moment and bared her fangs as she glared at Angel. Joseph lifted his hand then, and she slunk out.

  “And you, Grimm,” he said to the crow.

  Grimm clacked his tongue sarcastically and, swaying from side to side, pattered across the floor and was gone.

  Thad’s sigh was one of relief.

  “What’s the meanin’ of this?” he cried, and his voice sounded natural once more. “What do you want me to do for you?”

  "“For me—nothing. This lamb is suffering. I took it out of a trap a short while ago. Its leg is torn—it needs attention.”

  “Don’t bring no sheep to me,” Thad answered wrathfully, oblivious to Angel’s presence. “I reckon that ain’t the first lamb that’s stepped into a trap.”

  “No, unfortunately; but we know about this one. This poor, stricken thing—the most helpless of all God’s creatures—can not ask you for aid. I do that. And you—will not—refuse me.”

  “You ain’t got nuthin’ else to do but run around gathering up crippled sheep, eh?” Thad asked insolently. “I hear you got most of your flock that-a-way. why don’t you take this one?”

  “Because I believe it belongs to this man,” and Joseph pointed to Angel. “I found it in the long arroyo below your fence.”

  Angel muttered something in Basque, but he did not offer to take the lamb. Joseph gazed at him and saw that he trembled as if palsied.

  “What—what is your business?’ Angel asked with some hesitation.

  “I am a shepherd,” Joseph answered.

  “Shepherd, eh?—a herder,” growled Thad.

  “And your range?” Angel insisted.

  “Wherever I find it.”

  The Basque nodded to himself.

  “Do you want work?” he asked.

  Joseph shook his head. “I have my work,” he said slowly. “It is far from finished.”

  “Seven years of it yet, eh?” Thad questioned scornfully. “Seven lean years!—Huh!”

  “They will come to pass!” Joseph declared with some heat.

  “You can’t preach religion to me,” Thad shot back.

  “I have no religion to preach,” Joseph asserted, “and if I seem to have, it is more than I intend. I ask only that men do unto me as I do unto them. And meanwhile, this lamb suffers.”

  “I guess if you go around to the bunk-house some of the boys will fix you up,” Thad said by way of compromise. The coyote—the crow—the boy’s quiet confidence—his unwavering eyes—had combined to put a bit of fear into Thad’s heart.

  Necia had taken no part in the conversation, and as her grandfather had stormed at Joseph she had retreated to the other side of the table. But her eyes had not left Joseph’s face, and she came forward now on hearing him dismissed.

  “Why, grandfather,” she said disapprovingly, and Thad raised his eyebrows inquiringly; “we cannot send this man out, looking for help from our men. I don’t know of any one who would have troubled about the lamb. I—I think it was noble of him to bother with it. I want him to come in.”

  For a moment Thad looked at her as if not comprehending what she had said. He was anxious to see Joseph gone.

  “You orderin’ me to do that?” he asked, his voice harsh.

  “I ask it, grandfather,” Necia said simply. “This is your home, and we cannot serve it better than by proving that a stranger can find justice and gratefulness here.”

  Thad nodded a grudging consent as Necia paused. Then facing Joseph, she said:

  “Will you come in? I will take care of the lamb. I am Necia Dorr.”

  It was Joseph’s turn to fall back. His eyes widened as he gazed at her—so militant—so un-afraid. But his was not a feeling of fear. It was more a sense of reverential awe which swept over him and robbed him of the power to take his eyes away from her. So a humble peasant might have stood before Jeanne d’Arc.

  Thad and Angel caught the look in the boy’s eyes, and they glanced at each other furtively. As they stared at him, they saw Joseph’s eyes cloud.

  “Necia Dorr?” he muttered to himself.

  Dorr—I Kit Dorr—Necia Dorr—the Circle-Z! Could he doubt but what this beautiful girl, with her tumbled blonde hair, was Kit Dorr’s daughter? Why it should matter so much he did not know, but his throat went dry at the thought and with his senses fogged, he heard Necia say:

  “If you will carry the lamb into the kitchen, I will dress its leg.”

  Thad and Angel got up and watched him as he followed Necia out of the room. A curse escaped Thad’s lips as he sank back into his chair. Angel still stood staring at the door through which Joseph had disappeared. He muttered something to himself and going to the table, he bent over and whispered in Thad’s ear:

  “Do you know who he is?”

  Angel’s voice was as cold as death and it and the look in his eyes made Thad pop erect as if he were a jack-in-the-box.

  “Who?” he demanded.

  Angel straightened up, his eyes holding Thad’s.

  “That,” he said at last, nodding toward the kitchen, “is Joe Gault’s boy.”

  CHAPTER XIII.

  “VENGEANCE IS MINE.”

  JOSEPH stood by silently as Necia cut away the wool from the lamb’s torn leg; and save for holding the lamb while she washed the wound with a disinfectant, he found nothing he could do to help her. In a few minutes she had the injured leg bandaged. Joseph’s desire for speech had never been greater, but a strange reticence gripped him, and now as Necia looked up at him, he could only ask her to allow him to put the lamb in Angel’s rig which stood hitched outside.

  “I think you have done enough already,” Necia declared. “It was a fine thing to do. No wonder wild animals follow you around. I think I know why. But—have you had anything to eat?”

  Joseph nodded and answered briefly:

  “Before I left the mountain.”

  “It is a long way for one afoot. If you are going up the mountain yet to-night, I will loan you a horse.”

  “No—I will walk,” Joseph replied uneasily, at a loss for words with which to express his gratitude for her thoughtfulness. “It is late—I will put the lamb in the rig—it is little enough to do—and go.”

  He was ill at ease, and he wondered if she suspected as much. He had no desire to end this moment with her, but he realized he had done no less, for N ecia raised her eyebrows inquiringly, and picking up the lamb, handed it to him.

  “It is getting late,” she said softly.

  There was nothing further to keep Joseph now, and he started to turn away, his eye
s solemn. He paused as Necia said:

  “If you—should ever come to the Circle-Z again, grandfather will treat you differently. He —is not heartless.” A roguish twinkle came into her eyes as she hesitated momentarily. “I—I hope you will not find it too far to come again,” she finished.

  The fragrance of her hair swept into Joseph’s nostrils as she opened the door for him. It was clean, invigorating, not unlike the perfume of young balsams in early spring. It shook him, and harking back to the speech of his boyhood, he said simply:

  “I reckon I could find my way.”

  His sincerity and his use of the homely expression made Necia smile tenderly.

  “You reckon you could, eh?” she trilled.

  Both were young and keenly alive, and they laughed softly together.

  “You are—a stranger,” Necia said prettily. You—might give me your name—”

  Joseph found her very alluring as her eyes dared him to answer while he hesitated, torn between the desire to tell her and the fear of cutting himself off from her forever if he did. To tell her that his father had not killed hers would be only to invite questions—to prove his statement—and the time for that was not yet. And then, wisdom whispered to him that this girl must find out the truth for herself. So he said only:

  “Joseph.”

  “Just—Joseph?” Necia whispered.

  He did not reply, nor did he catch the wistful light that crept into her eyes. He knew she was waiting for him to answer, and he nodded his head unhappily.

  “Just—Joseph,” he said, repeating her words, and his voice was strange to his own ears.

  “That sounds very mysterious,” she went on after a moment; “almost as if—as if it explained your presence in Nevada.”