The Lone Star Ranger and the Mysterious Rider

by Zane Grey

  “To repeat, then, Ben Wade is our friend, and to me something more that I’ve tried to explain. Maybe telling you this will make you think more of him and listen to his advice. I hope so. Did any boy and girl ever before so need a friend? I need that something he instils in me. If I lost it I’d be miserable. And, Wilson, I’m such a coward. I’m so weak. I have such sinkings and burnings and tossings. Oh, I’m only a woman! But I’ll die fighting. That is what Ben Wade instils into me. While there was life this strange little man would never give up hope. He makes me feel that he knows more than he tells. Through him I shall get the strength to live up to my convictions, to be true to myself, to be faithful to you.

  “WITH LOVE,

  “COLUMBINE.”

  “December 3d.

  “DEAREST COLLIE,—Your last was only a note, and I told Wade if he didn’t fetch more than a note next time there would be trouble round this bunk-house. And then he brought your letter!

  “I’m feeling exuberant (I think it’s that) to-day. First time I’ve been up. Collie, I’m able to get up! WHOOPEE! I walk with a crutch, and don’t dare put my foot down. Not that it hurts, but that my boss would have a fit! I’m glad you’ve stopped heaping praise upon our friend Ben. Because now I can get over my jealousy and be half decent. He’s the whitest man I ever knew.

  “Now listen, Collie. I’ve had ideas lately. I’ve begun to eat and get stronger and to feel good. The pain is gone. And to think I swore to Wade I’d forgive Jack Belllounds and never hate him—or kill him!… There, that’s letting the cat out of the bag, and it’s done now. But no matter. The truth is, though, that I never could stop hating Jack while the pain lasted. Now I could shake hands with him and smile at him.

  “Well, as I said, I’ve ideas. They’re great. Grab hold of the pommel now so you won’t get thrown! I’m going to pitch!… When I get well—able to ride and go about, which Ben says will be in the spring—I’ll send for my father to come to White Slides. He’ll come. Then I’ll tell him everything, and if Ben and I can’t win him to our side then you can. Father never could resist you. When he has fallen in love with you, which won’t take long, then we’ll go to old Bill Belllounds and lay the case before him. Are you still in the saddle, Collie?

  “Well, if you are, be sure to get a better hold, for I’m going to run some next. Ben Wade approved of my plan. He says Belllounds can be brought to reason. He says he can make him see the ruin for everybody were you forced to marry Jack. Strange, Collie, how Wade included himself with you, me, Jack, and the old man, in the foreshadowed ruin! Wade is as deep as the cañon there. Sometimes when he’s thoughtful he gives me a creepy feeling. At others, when he comes out with one of his easy, cool assurances that we are all right—that we will get each other—why, then something grim takes possession of me. I believe him, I’m happy, but there crosses my mind a fleeting realization—not of what our friend is now, but what he has been. And it disturbs me, chills me. I don’t understand it. For, Collie, though I understand your feeling of what he is, I don’t understand mine. You see, I’m a man. I’ve been a cowboy for ten years and more. I’ve seen some hard experiences and worked with a good many rough boys and men. Cowboys, Indians, Mexicans, miners, prospectors, ranchers, hunters—some of whom were bad medicine. So I’ve come to see men as you couldn’t see them. And Bent Wade has been everything a man could be. He seems all men in one. And despite all his kindness and goodness and hopefulness, there is the sense I have of something deadly and terrible and inevitable in him.

  “It makes my heart almost stop beating to know I have this man on my side. Because I sense in him the man element, the physical—oh, I can’t put it in words, but I mean something great in him that can’t be beaten. What he says must come true!… And so I’ve already begun to dream and to think of you as my wife. If you ever are—no! when you are, then I will owe it to Bent Wade. No man ever owed another for so precious a gift. But, Collie, I can’t help a little vague dread—of what, I don’t know, unless it’s a sense of the possibilities of Hell-Bent Wade.… Dearest, I don’t want to worry you or frighten you, and I can’t follow out my own gloomy fancies. Don’t you mind too much what I think. Only you must realize that Wade is the greatest factor in our hopes of the future. My faith in him is so unshakable that it’s foolish. Next to you I love him best. He seems even dearer to me than my own people. He has made me look at life differently. Likewise he has inspired you. But you, dearest Columbine, are only a sensitive, delicate girl, a frail and tender thing like the columbine flowers of the hills. And for your own sake you must not be blind to what Wade is capable of. If you keep on loving him and idealizing him, blind to what has made him great, that is, blind to the tragic side of him, then if he did something terrible here for you and for me the shock would be bad for you. Lord knows I have no suspicions of Wade. I have no clear ideas at all. But I do know that for you he would not stop at anything. He loves you as much as I do, only differently. Such power a pale, sweet-faced girl has over the lives of men!

  “Good-by for this time.

  “FAITHFULLY,

  “WILSON.”

  “January 10th.

  “DEAR WILSON,—In every letter I tell you I’m better! Why, pretty soon there’ll be nothing left to say about my health. I’ve been up and around now for days, but only lately have I begun to gain. Since Jack has been away I’m getting fat. I eat, and that’s one reason I suppose. Then I move around more.

  “You ask me to tell you all I do. Goodness! I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. You are getting mighty bossy since you’re able to hobble around, as you call it. But you can’t boss me! However, I’ll be nice and tell you a little. I don’t work very much. I’ve helped dad with his accounts, all so hopelessly muddled since he let Jack keep the books. I read a good deal. Your letters are worn out! Then, when it snows, I sit by the window and watch. I love to see the snowflakes fall, so fleecy and white and soft! But I don’t like the snowy world after the storm has passed. I shiver and hug the fire. I must have Indian in me. On moonlit nights to look out at Old White Slides, so cold and icy and grand, and over the white hills and ranges, makes me shudder. I don’t know why. It’s all beautiful. But it seems to me like death.… Well, I sit idly a lot and think of you and how terribly big my love has grown, and … but that’s all about that!

  “As you know, Jack has been gone since before New Year’s Day. He said he was going to Kremmling. But dad heard he went to Elgeria. Well, I didn’t tell you that dad and Jack quarreled over money. Jack kept up his good behavior for so long that I actually believed he’d changed for the better. He kept at me, not so much on the marriage question, but to love him. Wilson, he nearly drove me frantic with his lovemaking. Finally I got mad and I pitched into him. Oh, I convinced him! Then he came back to his own self again. Like a flash he was Buster Jack once more. ‘You can go to hell!’ he yelled at me. And such a look!… Well, he went out, and that’s when he quarreled with dad. It was about money. I couldn’t help but hear some of it. I don’t know whether or not dad gave Jack money, but I think he didn’t. Anyway, Jack went.

  “Dad was all right for a few days. Really, he seemed nicer and kinder for Jack’s absence. Then all at once he sank into the glooms. I couldn’t cheer him up. When Ben Wade came in after supper dad always got him to tell some of those terrible stories. You know what perfectly terrible stories Ben can tell. Well, dad had to hear the worst ones. And poor me, I didn’t want to listen, but I couldn’t resist. Ben can tell stories. And oh, what he’s lived through!

  “I got the idea it wasn’t Jack’s absence so much that made dad sit by the hour before the fire, staring at the coals, sighing, and looking so God-forsaken. My heart just aches for dad. He broods and broods. He’ll break out some day, and then I don’t want to be here. There doesn’t seem to be any idea when Jack will come home. He might never come. But Ben says he will. He says Jack hates work and that he couldn’t be gambler enough or wicked enough to support himself without working. Can’t you hear Ben Wa
de say that? ‘I’ll tell you,’ he begins, and then comes a prophecy of trouble or evil. And, on the other hand, think how he used to say: ‘Wait! Don’t give up! Nothin’ is ever so bad as it seems at first! Be true to what your heart says is right! It’s never too late! Love is the only good in life! Love each other and wait and trust! It’ll all come right in the end!’… And Wilson, I’m bound to confess that both his sense of calamity and his hope of good seem infallible. Ben Wade is supernatural. Sometimes, just for a moment, I dare to let myself believe in what he says—that our dream will come true and I’ll be yours. Then oh! oh! oh! joy and stars and bells and heaven! I—I … But what am I writing? Wilson Moore, this is quite enough for to-day. Take care you don’t believe I’m so—so very much in love.

  “EVER,

  “COLUMBINE.”

  “February—.

  “DEAREST COLLIE,—I don’t know the date, but spring’s coming. To-day I kicked Bent Wade with my once sore foot. It didn’t hurt me, but hurt Wade’s feelings. He says there’ll be no holding me soon. I should say not. I’ll eat you up. I’m as hungry as the mountain-lion that’s been prowling round my cabin of nights. He’s sure starved. Wade tracked him to a hole in the cliff.

  “Collie, I can get around first rate. Don’t need my crutch any more. I can make a fire and cook a meal. Wade doesn’t think so, but I do. He says if I want to hold your affection, not to let you eat anything I cook. I can rustle around, too. Haven’t been far yet. My stock has wintered fairly well. This valley is sheltered, you know. Snow hasn’t been too deep. Then I bought hay from Andrews. I’m hoping for spring now, and the good old sunshine on the gray sage hills. And summer, with its columbines! Wade has gone back to his own cabin to sleep. I miss him. But I’m glad to have the nights alone once more. I’ve got a future to plan! Read that over, Collie.

  “To-day, when Wade came with your letter, he asked me, sort of queer, ‘Say, Wils, do you know how many letters I’ve fetched you from Collie?’ I said, ‘Lord, no, I don’t, but they’re a lot.’ Then he said there were just forty-seven letters. Forty-seven! I couldn’t believe it, and told him he was crazy. I never had such good fortune. Well, he made me count them, and, dog-gone it, he was right. Forty-seven wonderful love-letters from the sweetest girl on earth! But think of Wade remembering every one! It beats me. He’s beyond understanding.

  “So Jack Belllounds still stays away from White Slides. Collie, I’m sure sorry for his father. What it would be to have a son like Buster Jack! My God! But for your sake I go around yelling and singing like a locoed Indian. Pretty soon spring will come. Then, you wild-flower of the hills, you girl with the sweet mouth and the sad eyes—then I’m coming after you! And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can never take you away from me again!

  “YOUR FAITHFUL

  “WILSON.”

  “March 19th.

  “DEAREST WILSON,—Your last letters have been read and reread, and kept under my pillow, and have been both my help and my weakness during these trying days since Jack’s return.

  “It has not been that I was afraid to write—though, Heaven knows, if this letter should fall into the hands of dad it would mean trouble for me, and if Jack read it—I am afraid to think of that! I just have not had the heart to write you. But all the time I knew I must write and that I would. Only, now, what to say tortures me. I am certain that confiding in you relieves me. That’s why I’ve told you so much. But of late I find it harder to tell what I know about Jack Belllounds. I’m in a queer state of mind, Wilson dear. And you’ll wonder, and you’ll be sorry to know I haven’t seen much of Ben lately—that is, not to talk to. It seems I can’t bear his faith in me, his hope, his love—when lately matters have driven me into torturing doubt.

  “But lest you might misunderstand, I’m going to try to tell you something of what is on my mind, and I want you to read it to Ben. He has been hurt by my strange reluctance to be with him.

  “Jack came home on the night of March second. You’ll remember that day, so gloomy and dark and dreary. It snowed and sleeted and rained. I remember how the rain roared on the roof. It roared so loud we didn’t hear the horse. But we heard heavy boots on the porch outside the living-room, and the swish of a slicker thrown to the floor. There was a bright fire. Dad looked up with a wild joy. All of a sudden he changed. He blazed. He recognized the heavy tread of his son. If I ever pitied and loved him it was then. I thought of the return of the Prodigal Son!… There came a knock on the door. Then dad recovered. He threw it open wide. The streaming light fell upon Jack Belllounds, indeed, but not as I knew him. He entered. It was the first time I ever saw Jack look in the least like a man. He was pale, haggard, much older, sullen, and bold. He strode in with a ‘Howdy, folks,’ and threw his wet hat on the floor, and walked to the fire. His boots were soaked with water and mud. His clothes began to steam.

  “When I looked at dad I was surprised. He seemed cool and bright, with the self-contained force usual for him when something critical is about to happen.

  “‘Ahuh! So you come back,’ he said.

  “‘Yes, I’m home,’ replied Jack.

  “‘Wal, it took you quite a spell to get hyar.’

  “‘Do you want me to stay?’

  “This question from Jack seemed to stump dad. He stared. Jack had appeared suddenly, and his manner was different from that with which he used to face dad. He had something up his sleeve, as the cowboys say. He wore an air of defiance and indifference.

  “‘I reckon I do,’ replied dad, deliberately. ‘What do you mean by askin’ me thet?’

  “‘I’m of age, long ago. You can’t make me stay home. I can do as I like.’

  “‘Ahuh! I reckon you think you can. But not hyar at White Slides. If you ever expect to get this property you’ll not do as you like.’

  “‘To hell with that. I don’t care whether I ever get it or not.’

  “Dad’s face went as white as a sheet. He seemed shocked. After a moment he told me I’d better go to my room. I was about to go when Jack said: ‘No, let her stay. She’d best hear now what I’ve got to say. It concerns her.’

  “‘So ho! Then you’ve got a heap to say?’ exclaimed dad, queerly. ‘All right, you have your say first.’

  “Jack then began to talk in a level and monotonous voice, so unlike him that I sat there amazed. He told how early in the winter, before he left the ranch, he had found out that he was honestly in love with me. That it had changed him—made him see he had never been any good—and inflamed him with the resolve to be better. He had tried. He had succeeded. For six weeks he had been all that could have been asked of any young man. I am bound to confess that he was!… Well, he went on to say how he had fought it out with himself until he absolutely knew he could control himself. The courage and inspiration had come from his love for me. That was the only good thing he’d ever felt. He wanted dad and he wanted me to understand absolutely, without any doubt, that he had found a way to hold on to his good intentions and good feelings. And that was for me!… I was struck all a-tremble at the truth. It was true! Well, then he forced me to a decision. Forced me, without ever hinting of this change, this possibility in him. I had told him I couldn’t love him. Never! Then he said I could go to hell and he gave up. Failing to get money from dad he stole it, without compunction and without regret! He had gone to Kremmling, then to Elgeria.

  “‘I let myself go,’ he said, without shame, ‘and I drank and gambled. When I was drunk I didn’t remember Collie. But when I was sober I did. And she haunted me. That grew worse all the time. So I drank to forget her.… The money lasted a great deal longer than I expected. But that was because I won as much as I lost, until lately. Then I borrowed a good deal from those men I gambled with, but mostly from ranchers who knew my father would be responsible.… I had a shooting-scrape with a man named Elbert, in Smith’s place at Elgeria. We quarreled over cards. He cheated. And when I hit him he drew on me. But he missed. Then I shot him.… He lived three days—and
died. That sobered me. And once more there came to me truth of what I might have been. I went back to Kremmling. And I tried myself out again. I worked awhile for Judson, who was the rancher I had borrowed most from. At night I went into town and to the saloons, where I met my gambling cronies. I put myself in the atmosphere of drink and cards. And I resisted both. I could make myself indifferent to both. As soon as I was sure of myself I decided to come home. And here I am.’

  “This long speech of Jack’s had a terrible effect upon me. I was stunned and sick. But if it did that to me what did it do to dad? Heaven knows, I can’t tell you. Dad gave a lurch, and a great heave, as if at the removal of a rope that had all but strangled him.

  “‘Ahuh-huh!’ he groaned. ‘An’ now you’re hyar—what’s thet mean?’

  “‘It means that it’s not yet too late,’ replied Jack. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not repenting with that side of me which is bad. But I’ve sobered up. I’ve had a shock. I see my ruin. I still love you, dad, despite—the cruel thing you did to me. I’m your son and I’d like to make up to you for all my shortcomings. And so help me Heaven! I can do that, and will do it, if Collie will marry me. Not only marry me—that’d not be enough—but love me—I’m crazy for her love. It’s terrible.’