June came to the door of the cabin and called.
“What is it, honey?” Tolliver asked.
“He’s got my shoe. I want it.”
Pete looked at the brogan sticking out of Jake’s pocket. The big fellow forestalled a question.
“I’ll take it to her,” he said.
Houck strode to the house.
“So it’s yore shoe after all,” he grinned.
“Give it here,” June demanded.
“Say pretty please.”
She flashed to anger. “You’re the meanest man I ever did meet.”
“An’ you’re the prettiest barelegged dancer on the Creek,” he countered.
June stamped the one shoe she was wearing. “Are you going to give me that brogan or not?”
“If you’ll let me put it on for you.”
Furious, she flung round and went back into the house.
He laughed delightedly, then tossed the heavy shoe into the room after her. “Here’s yore shoe, girl. I was only foolin’,” he explained.
June snatched up the brogan, stooped, and fastened it.
* * *
CHAPTER V
JUNE ASKS QUESTIONS
Houck, an unwelcome guest, stayed at the cabin on Piceance nearly two weeks. His wooing was surely one of the strangest known. He fleered at June, taunted her, rode over the girl’s pride and sense of decorum, beat down the defenses she set up, and filled her bosom with apprehension. It was impossible to score an advantage over his stolid strength and pachydermous insensibility.
The trapper sweated blood. He neither liked nor trusted his guest, but he was bound hand and foot. He must sit and watch the fellow moving to his end, see the gains he made day by day, and offer no effective protest. For Houck at a word could send him back to the penitentiary and leave June alone in a world to which her life had been alien.
Pete knew that the cowman was winning the campaign. His assumption that he was an accepted suitor of June began to find its basis of fact. The truth could be read in the child’s hunted eyes. She was still fighting, but the battle was a losing one.
Perhaps this was the best way out of a bad situation, Tolliver found himself thinking. In his rough way Houck was fond of June. A blind man could see that. Even though he was a wolf, there were moments when his eyes were tender for her. He would provide well for a wife. If his little Cinderella could bring herself to like the man, there was always a chance that love would follow. Jake always had the knack of fascinating women. He could be very attractive when he wished.
On a happy morning not long since June had sung of her wings. She was a meadow-lark swooping over the hills to freedom, her throat throbbing with songs of joy. Sometimes Pete, too, thought of her as a bird, but through many hours of anguished brooding he had come to know she was a fledgling with broken wings. The penalty for the father’s sins had fallen upon the child. All her life she must be hampered by the environment his wrongdoing had built up around them.
Since the beginning of the world masterful men have drawn to them the eyes and thoughts of women. June was no exception. Among the hours when she hated Houck were increasing moments during which a naïve wonder and admiration filled her mind. She was primitive, elemental. A little tingle of delight thrilled her to know that this strong man wanted her and would fight to win what his heart craved. After all he was her first lover. A queer shame distressed the girl at the memory of his kisses, for through all the anger, chagrin, and wounded pride had come to her the first direct realization of what sex meant. Her alarmed innocence pushed this from her.
Without scruple Houck used all the weapons at hand. There came a day when he skirted the edges of the secret.
“What do you mean?” she demanded. “What is it you claim to know about Dad all so big?”
He could see that June’s eyes were not so bold as the words. They winced from his even as she put the question.
“Ask him.”
“What’ll I ask? I wouldn’t believe anything you told me about him. He’s not like you. He’s good.”
“You don’t have to believe me. Ask him if he ever knew any one called Pete Purdy. Ask him who Jasper Stuart was. An’ where he lived whilst you was stayin’ with yore aunt at Rawlins.”
“I ain’t afraid to,” she retorted. “I’ll do it right now.”
Houck was sprawled on a bench in front of the cabin. He grinned impudently. His manner was an exasperating challenge. Evidently he did not believe she would.
June turned and walked to the stable. The heavy brogans weighted down the lightness of her step. The shapeless clothes concealed the grace of the slim figure. But even so there was a vital energy in the way she moved.
Tolliver was mending the broken teeth of a hay-rake and making a poor job of it.
June made a direct frontal attack. “Dad, did you ever know a man named Pete Purdy?”
The rancher’s lank, unshaven jaw fell. The blow had fallen at last. In a way he had expected it. Yet his mind was too stunned to find any road of escape.
“Why, yes—yes, I—yes, honey,” he faltered.
“Who was he?”
“Well, he was a—a cowpuncher, I reckon.”
“Who was Jasper Stuart, then?”
An explanation could no longer be dodged or avoided. Houck had talked too much. Tolliver knew he must make a clean breast of it, and that his own daughter would sit in judgment on him. Yet he hung back. The years of furtive silence still held him.
“He was a fellow lived in Brown’s Park.”
“What had you to do with him? Why did Jake Houck tell me to ask you about him?”
“Oh, I reckon—”
“And about where you lived while I was with Aunt Molly at Rawlins?” she rushed on.
The poor fellow moistened his dry lips. “I—I’ll tell you the whole story, honey. Mebbe I’d ought to ’a’ told you long ago. But someways—” He stopped, trying for a fresh start. “You’ll despise yore old daddy. You sure will. Well, you got a right to. I been a mighty bad father to you, June. Tha’s a fact.”
She waited, dread-filled eyes on his.
“Prob’ly I’d better start at the beginnin’, don’t you reckon? I never did have any people to brag about. Father and mother died while I was a li’l’ grasshopper. I was kinda farmed around, as you might say. Then I come West an’ got to punchin’ cows. Seems like, I got into a bad crowd. They was wild, an’ they rustled more or less. In them days there was a good many sleepers an’ mavericks on the range. I expect we used a running-iron right smart when we wasn’t sure whose calf it was.”
He was trying to put the best face on the story. June could see that, and her heart hardened toward him. She ignored the hungry appeal for mercy in his eyes.
“You mean you stole cattle. Is that it?” She was willing to hurt herself if she could give him pain. Had he not ruined her life?
“Well, I—I—Yes, I reckon that’s it. Our crowd picked up calves that belonged to the big outfits like the Diamond Slash. We drove ’em up to Brown’s Park, an’ later acrost the line to Wyoming or Utah.”
“Was Jake Houck one of your crowd?”
Pete hesitated.
She cut in, with a flare of childish ferocity. “I’m gonna know the truth. He’s not protecting you any.”
“Yes. Jake was one of us. I met up with him right soon after I come to Colorado.”
“And Purdy?”
“Tha’s the name I was passin’ under. I’d worked back in Missouri for a fellow of that name. They got to callin’ me Pete Purdy, so I kinda let it go. My father’s name was Tolliver, though. I took it—after the trouble.”
“What trouble?”
“It come after I was married. I met yore maw at Rawlins. She was workin’ at the railroad restaurant waitin’ on table. For a coupla years we lived there, an’ I wish to God we’d never left. But Jake persuaded ’Lindy I’d ought to take up land, so we moved back to the Park an’ I preëmpted. Everything was all right at first. You was
born, an’ we was right happy. But Jake kep’ a-pesterin’ me to go in with him an’ do some cattle runnin’ on the quiet. There was money in it—pretty good money—an’ yore maw was sick an’ needed to go to Denver. Jake, he advanced the money, an’ o’ course I had to work in with him to pay it back. I was sorta driven to it, looks like.”
He stopped to mop a perspiring face with a bandanna. Tolliver was not enjoying himself.
“You haven’t told me yet what the trouble was,” June said.
“Well, this fellow Jas Stuart was a stock detective. He come down for the Cattlemen’s Association to find out who was doing the rustlin’ in Brown’s Park. You see, the Park was a kind of a place where we holed up. There was timbered gulches in there where we could drift cattle in an’ hide ’em. Then there was the Hole-in-the-Wall. I expect you’ve heard of that too.”
“Did this Stuart find out who was doing the rustlin’?”
“He was right smart an’ overbearin’. Too much so for his own good. Some of the boys served notice on him he was liable to get dry-gulched if he didn’t take the trail back where he come from. But Jas was right obstinate an’ he had sand in his craw. I’ll say that for him. Well, one day he got word of a drive we was makin’. Him an’ his deputies laid in wait for us. There was shooting an’ my horse got killed. The others escaped, but they nailed me. In the rookus Stuart had got killed. They laid it on me. Mebbe I did it. I was shooting like the rest. Anyhow, I was convicted an’ got twenty years in the pen.”
“Twenty years,” June echoed.
“Three—four years later there was a jail break. I got into the hills an’ made my getaway. Travelin’ by night, I reached Rawlins. From there I came down here with a freight outfit, an’ I been here ever since.”
He stopped. His story was ended. June looked at the slouchy little man with the weak mouth and the skim-milk, lost-dog eyes. He was so palpably wretched, so plainly the victim rather than the builder of his own misfortunes, that her generous heart went out warmly to him.
With a little rush she had him in her arms. They wept together, his head held tight against her immature bosom. It was the first time she had ever known him to break down, and she mothered him as women have from the beginning of time.
“You poor Daddy. Don’t I know how it was? That Jake Houck was to blame. He led you into it an’ left you to bear the blame,” she crooned.
“It ain’t me. It’s you I’m thinkin’ of, honey. I done ruined yore life, looks like. I shut you off from meeting decent folks like other girls do. You ain’t had no show.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Dad. I’ll be all right. What we’ve got to think about is not to let it get out who you are. If it wasn’t for that big bully up at the house—”
She stopped, hopelessly unable to cope with the situation. Whenever she thought of Houck her mind came to an impasse. Every road of escape it traveled was blocked by his jeering face, with the jutting jaw set in implacable resolution.
“It don’t look like Jake would throw me down thataway,” he bewailed. “I never done him a meanness. I kep’ my mouth shut when they got me an’ wouldn’t tell who was in with me. Tha’s one reason they soaked me with so long a sentence. They was after Jake. They kep’ at me to turn state’s evidence an’ get a short term. But o’ course I couldn’t do that.”
“’Course not. An’ now he turns on you like a coyote—after you stood by him.” A surge of indignation boiled up in her. “He’s the very worst man ever I knew—an’ if he tries to do you any harm I’ll—I’ll settle with him.”
Her father shook his unkempt head. “No, honey. I been learnin’ for twelve years that a man can’t do wrong for to get out of a hole he’s in. If Jake’s mean enough to give me up, why, I reckon I’ll have to stand the gaff.”
“No,” denied June, a spark of flaming resolution in her shining eyes.
* * *
CHAPTER VI
“DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM!”
Inside the big chuck tent of the construction camp the cook was busy forking steak to tin plates and ladling potatoes into deep dishes.
“Git a move on you, Red Haid,” he ordered.
Bob Dillon distributed the food at intervals along the table which ran nearly the whole length of the canvas top. From an immense coffee pot he poured the clear brown liquid into tin cups set beside each plate. This done, he passed out into the sunshine and beat the triangle.
From every tent men poured like seeds squirted from a squeezed lemon. They were all in a hurry and they jostled each other in their eagerness to get through the open flap. Straw boss, wood walkers, and ground men, they were all hungry. They ate swiftly and largely. The cook and his flunkey were kept busy.
“More spuds!” called one.
“Coming up!” Dillon flung back cheerfully.
“Shoot along more biscuits!” a second ordered.
“On the way!” Bob announced.
The boss of the outfit came in leisurely after the rush. He brought a guest with him and they sat down at the end of the table.
“Beans!” demanded a line man, his mouth full.
“Headed for you!” promised the flunkey.
The guest of the boss was a big rangy fellow in the early forties. Bob heard the boss call him “Jake,” and later “Houck.” As soon as the boy had a moment to spare he took a good look at the man. He did not like what he saw. Was it the cold, close-set eyes, the crook of the large nose, or the tight-lipped mouth gave the fellow that semblance to a rapacious wolf?
As soon as Bob had cleaned up the dishes he set off up the creek to meet June. The boy was an orphan and had been brought up in a home with two hundred others. His life had been a friendless one, which may have been the reason that he felt a strong bond of sympathy for the lonely girl on Piceance. He would have liked to be an Aladdin with a wonder lamp by means of which he could magically transform her affairs to good fortune. Since this could not be, he gave her what he had—a warm fellow-feeling because of the troubles that worried her.
He found June waiting at their usual place of meeting. Pete Tolliver’s forty-four hung in a scabbard along the girl’s thigh. Bob remembered that she had spoken of seeing a rattlesnake on the trail yesterday.
“’Lo, boy,” she called.
“’Lo, June. I met yore friend.”
“What friend?”
“Jake Houck. He was down at the camp for dinner to-day—came in with the boss.”
“He’s no friend of mine,” she said sulkily.
“Don’t blame you a bit. Mr. Houck looks like one hard citizen. I’d hate to cross him.”
“He’s as tough as an old range bull. No matter what you say or do you can’t faze him,” she replied wearily.
“You still hate him?”
“More ’n ever. Most o’ the time. He just laughs. He’s bound an’ determined to marry me whether or not. He will, too.”
Bob looked at her, surprised. It was the first time she had ever admitted as much. June’s slim body was packed with a pantherish resilience. Her spirit bristled with courage. What had come over her?
“He won’t if you don’t want him to.”
“Won’t he?” June was lying on a warm flat rock. She had been digging up dirt at the edge of it with a bit of broken stick. Now she looked up at him with the scorn of an experience she felt to be infinitely more extensive than his. “A lot you know about it.”
“How can he? If you an’ Mr. Tolliver don’t want him to.”
“He just will.”
“But, June, that don’t listen reasonable to me. He’s got you buffaloed. If you make up yore mind not to have him—”
“I didn’t say I’d made up my mind not to have him. I said I hated him,” she corrected.
“Well, you wouldn’t marry a fellow you hated,” he argued.
“How do you know so much about it, Bob Dillon?” she flared.
“I use what brains I’ve got. Women don’t do things like that. There wouldn’t be any sense in it.�
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“Well, I’ll prob’ly do it. Then you’ll know I haven’t got a lick o’ sense,” she retorted sullenly.
“You ce’tainly beat my time,” he said, puzzled. “I’ve heard you say more mean things about him than everybody else put together, an’ now you’re talkin’ about marryin’ him. Why? What’s yore reason?”
She looked up. For a moment the morose eyes met his. They told nothing except a dogged intention not to tell anything.
But the boy was no fool. He had thought a good deal about the lonely life she and her father led. Many men came into this country three jumps ahead of the law. It was not good form to ask where any one came from unless he volunteered information about antecedent conditions. Was it possible that Jake Houck had something on Tolliver, that he was using his knowledge to force June into a marriage with him? Otherwise there would be no necessity for her to marry him. As he had told her, it was a free land. But if Houck was coercing her because of her fears for Tolliver, it was possible this might be a factor in determining June to marry him.
“Don’t you do it, June. Don’t you marry him. He didn’t look good to me, Houck didn’t,” Dillon went on. He was a little excited, and his voice had lifted.
A man who came at this moment round the bend of the creek was grinning unpleasantly. His eyes focused on Dillon.
“So I don’t look good to you. Tha’s too bad. If you’ll tell me what you don’t like about me I’ll make myself over,” jeered Houck.
Bob was struck dumb. The crooked smile and the stab of the eyes that went with it were menacing. He felt goose quills running up and down his spine. This man was one out of a thousand for physical prowess.
“I didn’t know you was near,” the boy murmured.
“I’ll bet you didn’t, but you’ll know it now.” Houck moved toward Dillon slowly.
“Don’t you, Jake Houck! Don’t you touch him!” June shrilled.
“I got to beat him up, June. It’s comin’ to him. D’you reckon I’ll let the flunkey of a telephone camp interfere in my business? Why, he ain’t half man-size.”
The Fighting Edge Page 3