The Shepherd of Guadaloupe

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The Shepherd of Guadaloupe Page 12

by Zane Grey


  “He couldn’t hang any jury if he was dead. An’ neither could Malpass,” returned Forrest, thoughtfully.

  “On the level now, dad, you’ve had it in your mind to do these two men?”

  “Why, son, I was brought up in the West!” replied his father, as if apologizing for Clifton.

  “You’ve been brooding over this wrong for years. That’s why you’ve quit. You could have begun life all over again. You’re only fifty-odd. But you putter around the garden. You idle and feed that hate in your heart. You’re breaking mother’s heart. She never minded the loss of Cottonwoods. That’s all you think of. You are making yourself old. Worse, you’re not helping me very much to take care of mother.”

  Forrest dropped his head a moment. “Wal, it does seem that way, son,” he replied, resignedly. “An’ that’s the hell of it. I know just as well as you if I keep on mullin’ over this trouble much longer I’m done for.”

  “Dad, if you do keep it up I’m done for, too.”

  “What you mean?”

  “I mean a lot. . . . I’ve had more of a fight here than I had in France. To fight the hate you’ve given in to! And to fight my tired, tortured body into carrying on! I’ve got an even break now. If I can keep it up I’ll get well. But I’d just as lief chuck the chance and beat you to Lundeen and Malpass.”

  “You’d forestall me! Kill that outfit!” burst out Forrest, dreadfully.

  “If you don’t give up that idea right now, for good and all, I’ll go after them,” declared Clifton, in cold ruthlessness. This was not a bluff, though he actually hoped he could intimidate his father. In his dark hours that ghastly desire had often abided with him.

  “But, my Gawd! son, think of your mother!” ejaculated Forrest, appealing with his huge outstretched hands. “It nearly killed her when you were over there. An’ now that she’s got you back. . . . Aw, Cliff, it’s not to be thought of for you!”

  “Sure it isn’t,” rejoined Clifton, eagerly seizing upon victory. “That’s why I say you can’t think of it, either. One or the other of us—it’s all the same to mother.”

  “All right, son, I crawl,” said Forrest, huskily, and covered his face with his hands.

  A step on the leaves and a clink of spurs arrested Clifton’s thankful response to his father’s surrender. It was a victorious, happy moment. Clifton turned to see the red-faced cowboy from Cottonwoods.

  “Howdy!” he said, genially, and handed Clifton a note. It was a square white envelope upon which was inscribed his name in a clear handwriting Clifton had never seen. But instantly he recognized the faint fragrance that came with the missive. Clifton felt the hot blood leap to his face. He did not want to open the letter, but as the cowboy stood expectantly he had to do so. And he read it.

  Clifton’s head seemed to swim. He tried to appear unconcerned, but if his confusion showed outwardly he must be making a sorry mess of it.

  “All right. No answer,” he said to the cowboy. “How are things up on the hill?”

  “Shure slow now with the hosses gone an’ no worrk.”

  “Gone?”

  “Shure. Malpass was afther sindin’ thim over to Wathrous.”

  Whereupon Clifton’s father evinced signs not wholly lost upon the cowboy.

  “I sympathize with you,” said Clifton, with an understanding laugh. “I’m looking for a job myself.”

  “Shure they’re scarce. Good day, sor,” replied the other, and strode away.

  “Cliff, who was that?” queried Forrest, a peculiar glint coming to his big eyes.

  “Con something or other. He used to come into the store for cigarettes.”

  “But he’s employed by Malpass!” exclaimed the father.

  “I think not, dad. It runs in my mind the young lady up there is his boss.”

  “Lundeen’s girl! Was that letter from her?” asked Forrest, in a tragic voice.

  “Yes, dad.”

  “Hand it over. Let me read it.”

  “See here, dad, it’s not polite to ask. And sure I wouldn’t let anyone read a private note. At that it doesn’t amount to much.”

  “Cliff, you’re carryin’ on with Lundeen’s girl.”

  “I am not.”

  “You’re a liar! I can see it in your face. You got red as a beet. You acted queer. Now you’re white. . . . By Gawd! If this ain’t the last straw!”

  “Father! . . . I’m not a liar,” retorted Clifton, both hurt and angered. “There’s nothing between Virginia Lundeen and me. I can’t help it—if she asks me to do something for her. Believe me, that girl has her troubles.”

  Forrest lumbered to his feet, his face blotched, his eyes like burned holes in a blanket.

  “Wal, if all you came back home for was to get sweet on Lundeen’s girl—I wish you’d never come.”

  He stalked away under the cottonwoods. Clifton was so stricken with mortification and fury that he could not call his father back. Little good that would have done! What a bull-headed old fool he was, anyhow! The mere mention of the name Lundeen made him see red.

  Clifton reread the note and that was sufficient to relegate his father, and everybody else except Virginia, to oblivion. He guessed her trouble. But what could she want of him? Clifton felt suddenly weak. If she broached again the persecution to which Malpass and her father had subjected her, Clifton would ask her to marry him. Never could he resist that insidious, beautiful, terrible temptation again. To know that Virginia Lundeen was his wife! Even the conviction that she would only be using him as a checkmate against an unscrupulous wooer could not deprive the idea of its allurement.

  The afternoon passed with Clifton in a trance. Every now and then, when a practical flash illumined his dreamy mind, he was amused at the romantic trend of his thoughts. He built a little drama in which he was the central figure. But he soon discovered that Virginia Lundeen played no small part in his imagined destiny. What a foolish dreamer he was!

  When darkness came he went to his room, apparently to go to bed. He did not trust his father’s surly observance. Then he had to climb out of his window, no slight task for him, as the casement was narrow, and the distance to the ground considerable. But with the aid of a vine, and by careful labored work he accomplished it.

  The hum of a motor car down the road had ceased. It had not occurred to Clifton that Virginia would come any other way than on horseback. He had forgotten about her horses being taken away. Another of Malpass’ scurvy tricks! Clifton hurried noiselessly under the cottonwoods. It was some distance to the corner of the wall.

  Clifton did not want to be discovered by his father, for Virginia’s sake as well as his own. So he stopped to listen and look back. All was dark and still in the direction of the house. But he waited a moment longer to insure safety. What a wonderful summer night! The stars blazed, the breeze sighed, the insects hummed, the frogs sent high trills tremulously out into the drowsy air.

  Hurrying on again, Clifton soon began to draw close to the corner. His footsteps made no sound. Under the cottonwoods the shadow was impenetrable, but in the open a new moon and the starlight painted a pale silver against the black background. When he reached the spot he was out of breath, but his exertion was not responsible for the throbbing of his heart in his throat.

  “Virginia,” he called, very low, trying to pierce the strange shadows.

  “Oh—Cliff!” she cried, in almost a gasp. “I was afraid—you weren’t coming.”

  He could almost have touched her, and in two more steps his groping hand found her.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he whispered. “But I was afraid of dad. He was with me when the cowboy brought your note. . . . I had to climb out of my window like a girl sneaking to meet her lover.”

  “You did? How funny! Yet it’s great,” she replied, thrillingly, and she squeezed his hand. “Which room is yours? Oh, maybe I don’t remember that old house!”

  “I sleep in the little room you used to have.”

  “Oh, Cliff—how strange!” she murmured
, after a pause. “But how did you ever get out of that little window and down?”

  “I managed somehow, but it was a squeeze.”

  “You might have hurt yourself!”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  “How many, many times I stole out of that little room!”

  “Not to meet boys, I hope?”

  “No, never that. But just to get out—to be free and wild in the moonlight under the cottonwoods.”

  “Virginia, let’s get away from this trail,” he said. “I can’t imagine anything worse than to have my dad catch us.”

  “Except to have my dad do it,” she returned. Her laugh was rich and deep, with a note of defiance.

  Clifton led her away from the corner, under the giant hollow cottonwood to the wall, where he had to feel his way to a seat he well knew.

  “Here we’re safe, at least from our dads,” he said, responding to her mood. “Sit down, Virginia. It’s dry and soft. You can lean against the wall.”

  She complied, but she was significantly slow about letting go of his hand; and after that she was silent so long that he wondered. But he had no desire to break the silence.

  “Cliff, how would it be if our fathers did not hate each other?”

  “How would what be?”

  “You are surely unromantic, Cliff Forrest,” she retorted.

  “I dare say. I had it knocked out of me. But if you mean our—our queer friendship—I’d say it wouldn’t have any kick.”

  “Has this a kick for you?” she asked, challengingly.

  “It will have, darn pronto, if dad catches us,” he laughed.

  “No! Would that great hulking brute dare kick you?”

  “I should smile. . . . Virginia, would your nice, loving, angel dad dare—well, let us say, spank you?”

  “He would not,” she retorted, and there the levity ended.

  Clifton’s eyes had become used to the darkness and could see her clearly, though mystically softened and paled by the moonlight. She removed her hat.

  “Were you surprised to get my note?” she added, presently.

  “I’d have been surprised in any case, but with dad there watching me read it I was sure flabbergasted.”

  “First, Cliff, I want to tell you that I know Malpass burned your store, or had it done.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I accused him—sprung it on him by surprise. And he might just as well have confessed it.”

  “You don’t say! Virginia, you don’t lack nerve. . . . Well, I had a hunch myself that Malpass put some greaser at that job.”

  “Was your loss considerable?” asked Virginia, sympathetically.

  “For me, it surely was. Do you know, Virginia, I’d have made good in that store. Of course the big sale I made to your friends and Malpass would have been responsible. I invested all the money in new stock; filled the store, and had a lot of grub left over, which fortunately I stored here in the house. I’ll bet it’ll come handy this winter.”

  “Cliff, I’m broke, except for a few dollars, and at the end of my rope,” announced Virginia.

  “Good Lord! You broke? Why, I heard in town that you spent barrels of money.”

  “I did, and now I wish I’d hid some of it in a barrel. . . . Cliff, father and Malpass together have made away with my fortune. They’ve taken my horses back to Watrous. I learned only recently that the ranch over there belongs to Malpass. It wouldn’t surprise me to find I couldn’t recover my horses.”

  “Well, the dirty crooks!” replied Clifton, coolly. “I reckon they’re trying to break you to Malpass’ harness.”

  “Indeed they are. Father is desperate. Swears he’ll have to kill Malpass unless I give in. And Malpass—well, he has insulted me outrageously.”

  “How?” queried Clifton, feeling the hot blood rush to his head.

  “We were alone at breakfast. This was after his return with dad from town. Malpass must have put on the screws during this absence. Anyway, when I cut him short he showed the cloven hoof. He could throw dad in jail and would do it. I think among other things I called him a greaser. . . . It ended in his seizing me. Oh, he was a beast. I was paralyzed with disgust and surprise. He kissed me a number of times before I could break loose.”

  “My God! Virginia, that’s terrible! Somebody ought to kill him. Your father should——”

  “Father has lost every semblance to manhood.”

  “Virginia, what are you going to do?” queried Clifton, anxiously.

  “I don’t know. I told you I’d reached the end of my rope.”

  “Well, suppose you marry me?” broke out Cliff, almost involuntarily. “If he touches you again I’ll horsewhip him. And if that doesn’t stop his greaser tricks I’ll kill him.”

  After a penetrating quiet, Virginia asked, in changed tone, “Cliff, do you really mean it?”

  “Of course I do, Virginia. Reckon I’d have done it before if I’d known you were in such straits. . . . That’ll give me the right to protect you. . . . If you can keep it secret from your father the—the marriage need not be anything but a safeguard. Knowing it—that you can block their schemes any minute—will help you through it. At least you won’t be in such fear of being dragged into a hateful marriage. . . . Something will happen sooner or later. All you need is time. Malpass will hang himself sure. He’s not the kind of a man who can play a game long. . . . Then, you have only to get your freedom. As to that, Virginia, I may not last very long——”

  “Hush!” she whispered, putting a soft palm to his lips. Presently she sank back against the wall, and even in the deceiving light Clifton could see her suppressed emotion.

  “Virginia, I dare say there are weak spots in my argument. But I make the offer.”

  “You are my dearest—my only friend,” she said. “I accept—Clifton.”

  “You will marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  Clifton tried to fill aching lungs that appeared empty. “Very well. How can we arrange it?”

  She seemed buried in deep thought that he could feel.

  “I have it,” she cried, suddenly, with an exultant note in her excited voice. “I’ll drive to town tomorrow. I’ll get the marriage license from the county clerk. I know I can persuade him to keep our secret. Then I’ll go to the new minister. I can persuade him, too. You meet me here tomorrow night at about this time. Perhaps a little earlier. And perhaps you’d better walk down the road from the corner. I’ll drive back to town with you. . . . We’ll be married. And I’ll get you home without anyone being the wiser. . . . What do you think of that plan?”

  “Fine, if you can pull it off,” he replied, trying in vain to speak lightly.

  “Then it’s—settled.” She rose rather hurriedly. “I’d better go now. . . . Tomorrow night it won’t matter if I am late.—Nothing will matter.”

  “Virginia,” he replied, gravely, as he stood up, “I’m bound to advise you that if we’re caught it will matter.”

  “We won’t be caught—and if we were I’d laugh.”

  “I wouldn’t. . . . How far is your car?”

  “Just a step. I’ll go alone.”

  “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  He followed her out through the break in the wall and up the dark trail until she halted in the gloom of a thicket along the road. Then he saw the car. She looked up and down the road, listened a moment, then stepped into the automobile.

  “Good night, Cliff. Tomorrow!” she said, turning on the lights.

  “Yes, tomorrow,” he replied, thickly. How abruptly she had ended the interview! It seemed to him she avoided his outstretched hand. Then the engine whizzed, the car lurched, and he stood alone, watching a swiftly vanishing red light. He faced about to enter the trail and plod homeward, now aware of the dark melancholy Western night.

  Chapter Ten

  CLIFTON secured work at Watrous, in the Landis General Merchandise store, which, during the heydey of the cattle industry, had done a large business, but n
ow had fallen into the hands of a creditor who was hard put to it to make ends meet.

  His job as accountant was a trying one for Clifton. He did not shine at figures and to be chained to a desk indoors seemed no less than purgatory. But he had to work and was grateful for anything.

  Watrous lay out on the range at some distance from San Luis. Clifton, however, preferred to go and come each day. To this purpose he had bargained with a Mexican for a rickety Ford, which he had genius and persistence enough to make reach its destination twice daily.

  The very first day at Watrous, at the noon hour of which Clifton took advantage to get out into the open air, he saw Virginia and her cowboys driving a bunch of beautiful horses through town on the way to Cottonwoods. Virginia certainly did her share of the driving. She looked the part of a cowgirl and rode it. Clifton watched her out of sight, and deep within him his secret glowed like the heart of an opal. She was his wife and he wanted to cry it out to the range.

  No doubt that secret was the spring of the resistance with which he kept at his task. In his store at San Luis he could rest and sleep and dream the hours away, and thereby he had very gradually gained strength. But this was a different kind of a job. The books were behind and in a state that engaged his energy to the limit. At the end of a week he was on the down grade, and knew it. He was not, however, in the least discouraged. He would stick it out as long as he could.

  August passed. He did not see Virginia again nor hear from her, both of which circumstances apparently indicated a favorable condition. At first Clifton had feared that the fact of their marriage would leak out; and he both dreaded it and gloried in it. But no hint of its being suspected ever came to him. The condition of his father and mother had gradually improved; and though happiness held aloof, it did not seem that this would be so forever. Clay Forrest brooded less and harvested the garden he had planted. And he stayed away from Las Vegas. This was a most welcome fact to Clifton. In town Forrest drank and harangued with other old cattlemen who had seen better days, and when he came home he was dark, moody.

  Clifton feared he would not be able to carry on much longer. In the mornings he would feel fresh and equal to several hours’ work, but by noon he was working on his will-power, and by night he was “shot to pieces,” as he called it. Still he refused to give up, and began his second month at Watrous.

 

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