The Lone Ranger Rides

by Fran Striker

  Chapter IV

  GRAY DAWN

  Penelope was thundered from sleep a little before daybreak. Shestretched lazily, yawned deeply, then blinked her eyes wide open asjagged lightning flooded her bedroom with white light. She leaped frombed as thunder cracked again, and hurried to the open window. Windwhipped her brown hair and dashed cool rain against her tanned face. Hernightgown of flimsy stuff was blown tightly about her slender form.

  Penny watched the storm and loved it. She hoped it would continue afterdaybreak, when she planned a ride--her first since returning from theEast--on her favorite horse. She was radiant, vital, filled with a zestfor living. She was happiest when alone in the saddle, wind and rain inher face and hair, matching her endurance against the fury of theelements.

  She had often mused that perhaps her reason for loving the thunder wasthat it was the one thing that her Uncle Bryant could not argue with, ordictate to.

  Thunder Mountain! She hadn't ridden there for years. If she could slipaway from relatives this morning, she was going to seek the trail she'dknown so long ago. The fact that this was forbidden territory merelyadded to the fun of riding there. It made her feel quite daring to defya mandate of her uncle.

  She lighted a lamp and glanced at a clock on the dresser. It was far tooearly for anyone to be stirring in the house, but at least she coulddress and be ready for a quick breakfast.

  She looked longingly at the trim riding habit she had brought back fromthe East. "Fancy doo-dads" Uncle Bryant had called the clothes. "No usestarting the day with a row," she mused, and she dressed to conform withher stern old uncle's tastes. Plain clothes, made for good, hard wear.Her hair was brushed back tight and would remain so until she was out ofUncle Bryant's view, when it would be loosed to blow, and breathe cool,wet air.

  It was still dark outside when she finished dressing and glanced atherself in the mirror. She was amused at the unattractive outfit. Itwould have been quite suitable, she reflected, for Mort's wife, Rebecca,to wear, if Rebecca ever rode a horse. She blew out the lamp, and sat bythe window to watch the storm and wait for the sounds of people movingin other parts of the house. The rain fell steadily, with a promise tocontinue for quite some time.

  The sound of water on the roof was pleasant to Penny, but the steadyrhythm was broken by a man's voice. The voice was a blending of bass anddiscord, the voice of her cousin, Vince.

  Vince Cavendish was the runt of the family. About one hundred pounds ofconcentrated ill will; a small package of frustrated manhood, who triedto make himself heard and observed by the mere power of his bellow. Hisjet-black, wiry hair was usually cropped short, so it bristled on hissmall head like stubble in a hayfield when the mowers have passed. Hisface when shaved was blue in cast, but it was more often unshaved andbristling. Vince was puny, with narrow shoulders and a narrower mind. Asusual, he was arguing. Penny guessed from the outline of the men that itwas Mort to whom Vince talked. Lightning, a moment later, proved herguess correct. The two were right beneath her window, sheltered from therain by overhanging eaves.

  Mort was the sort of man who would have liked to bear the weight of theworld on shoulders unsuited to support the burden of a household. Muchlarger than Vince, he listened to his brother in the detached sort ofway one waits for a kettle to boil. More accurately, in this case, Mortwas waiting for Vince to stop boiling.

  Penny was accustomed to arguments between the brothers, her cousins."I'd give my favorite eyetooth," she thought, "to see Mort knock therunt down, but that's too much to hope for." She didn't know what therow was all about, she didn't especially care. Vince could pick a fightover the most trivial of subjects. She did, however, wonder why thosetwo were out so early in the morning.

  "Yuh gotta keep her in hand, I tell yuh," bellowed Vince.

  "Might be a mare or a cow he's talking about," mused Penny, "or even asow."

  "They ain't none of us can handle her, if you can't, an' so it's up tuhyou. I said all I aim tuh say on the subject, an' I'll _act_ the nexttime that damn wife of yores breaks bounds, Mort!"

  "Gosh!" said Penny to herself. "I was wrong on all counts; it's Mort'swife he's talking about. I wonder why Mort doesn't spank the littleweasel."

  Penny could think of nothing more incongruous than poor, mouselike,negative Rebecca breaking bounds, especially with so many small hands onher apron strings. Equally incongruous was the idea of Mort's beingunable to handle Becky. Becky was a living example of a woman who hadfailed miserably to live up to the heroic name given her by romanticparents.

  Yet, Vince had made flat statements, and there was Mort agreeing withthem. "I'll see that she don't pull no more stunts like that last," hepromised. "I was pretty sore about that, an' I let her know it. I reckonafter what I said an' done she'll think a good many times before shetries tuh interfere with my affairs again."

  "And _mine!_" snarled Vince. "If it was only yore affairs I wouldn'tgive a damn, but when she starts mixin' intuh my affairs I won't standfer it."

  "She won't no more. She's had a lesson she won't fergit."

  Penny couldn't suppress a shudder at the thought of the punishmentprobably inflicted upon Mort's wife. A bully who dared not defy anotherman, Mort was almost sadistic in the way he treated Rebecca.

  "Now that that's settled," said Mort, "how soon is Rangoon due here?"

  "Any time now," Vince replied.

  Rangoon was one of several cowhands who had come to the Basin duringPenny's absence to replace the men she had known. All the newcomersseemed to have a common surliness of manner, an unwholesome look aboutthem, a furtiveness that Penny didn't like. She could think of no reasonwhy her cousins should be out in the rain before daybreak to meet one ofthe hired hands.

  She drew a chair to the window and sat down to eavesdrop without theslightest feeling of compunction. She rested her arms on the windowsilland her head on her forearms. Her stockinged feet were boyishly wideapart.

  Mort and Vince grumbled in low tones about the weather while they waitedfor Rangoon. Presently the dark-faced cowhand appeared in the gatheringdawn.

  "Have any trouble?" asked Mort.

  "Naw," replied Rangoon, "we didn't have no trouble, but it took time tuhgit back here in the dark an' the rain."

  "You might've come back last night," said Vince.

  "Better this way," said Rangoon. "Everything's fixed. Six men come an'we got all six. That's that. We'll have tuh keep a close check an' seethat there ain't others comin' tuh learn what's happened when them sixdon't return."

  "If any others come," Mort stated softly, "we'll know about it an' takecare of them."

  Rangoon gazed steadily at Mort. "You," he said, after a pause, "bettergive that wife of yores a lesson."

  "He's goin' tuh!" promised Vince. Then the three men moved away, andPenny saw them disappear beyond the corner of a building.

  For some time she sat at the window with her thoughts. Ever since herreturn, she had been bothered by an unexplainable apprehension. TheBasin, which had been her home for many years, had always been a happyplace despite her surly uncle and her cousins. Now the air of the placewas changed. Bryant's surliness had trebled. On several occasions he hadspoken sharply, even to Penny--a thing he'd never done before. At timesthe girl felt quite unwelcome in the only home she knew.

  She pulled on her boots, still wondering what the three men were talkingabout. Her thoughts were punctuated by a period in the form of a softrap on her bedroom door. Soft as it was, the rap was so unexpected thatit startled Penny.

  Whoever had rapped had tried to do so as silently, as secretly perhaps,as possible, and Penny opened the door in the same cautious manner.Rebecca Cavendish, the wife of Mort and mother of too many children,made her appearance, stepping into the room nervously, quickly, withbirdlike motions, and closing the door behind her.

  Penny had always felt sorry for Rebecca. She understood the woman betterthan did any of the men. Becky always reminded Penny of a scarecrow infaded calico. What curves and grace Rebecca might have had wer
e mental.Penny felt sure that her mind, in spite of years of hard treatment, hadretained a womanly softness and a wistful desire for gracious living.She was a woman who, in the midst of plenty, lived like a slave; a womanwhose mate turned to her only in passion, whose children looked to heronly in hunger. Her eyes were jet, but dulled. They reminded Penny ofthe sharp eyes of an eagle, grown discouraged by long years of beatingstrong wings against the stronger bars of a cage. Rebecca's hair wasblack, without a trace of gray to complement the many wrinkles on herthin, high-cheekboned face.

  Rebecca opened the door again, glanced quickly into the hall, thenstepped back.

  "Wasn't seen, I guess," she said.

  "Is something wrong, Becky?" asked Penny.

  It was the first time Becky had been in her room, and one of the fewtimes she'd been in Uncle Bryant's big house.

  "I've got tuh be special careful," whispered the woman in a husky voice."Bryant never did get over me marryin' Mort, an' Mort'd beat me tuhwithin a inch of my life if he was tuh catch me here."

  At a loss, Penny said, "Sit down, won't you, Becky?"

  Rebecca shuffled across the floor, sat on one edge of the bed, andmotioned with a clawlike hand for Penny to sit beside her.

  "What I got tuh tell," she began when Penny was seated, "won't take melong. You must've seen that things around here's changed aplenty sinceyou left fer school."

  "Things have changed a lot," said Penny, "but the people have changed alot more. There used to be a dandy lot of cowhands around here, butthey're all gone. I don't like the looks of the new men."

  Becky nodded quickly. "Just so," she said. "That's why I'm here. I'vecome to tell you to clear out."

  "Clear out!" echoed Penny. "You mean leave the Basin?"

  "That's just what I mean. It don't matter how you get out, just get. An'the sooner the better. There's things goin' on around here that ain'thealthy. Things you'll be happier an' better fer not knowin' about. Nowdon't ask no questions, just _git_!"

  Penny at first thought that torment and torture had addled the poorbrain of her visitor. There was a burning sincerity in Becky's eyes.

  "Now take it easy, Becky," she said softly. "I'm sure things aren't thatbad." Penny felt she wasn't convincing, but her main purpose was to calmand reassure the nervous woman. "Uncle Bryant wouldn't tolerate anythingthat wasn't right. You know that as well as I do."

  "Bryant don't know the goin's-on around here these days. He don't evenknow who's workin' here no more."

  Penny laughed softly despite a feeling of misgiving.

  "That's silly," she said. "There isn't a thing that goes on in the Basinthat Uncle Bryant doesn't know about." She recalled the talk of a fewminutes ago, when the men were beneath her window, and wondered if herstatement was accurate. "Tell me some more, Becky."

  Anger rose in Becky's eyes. "Don't believe me, eh?" She rose to herfeet. "Yuh don't believe me because the shack where I live is awayt'other side of the corral, an' yuh can't hear the sounds when Morttakes me in hand. Yuh didn't hear it t'other night. Oh, I ain't sayin'it's somethin' new fer him tuh raise a hand tuh me; he's done it tillit's commonplace, but never like t'other night!"

  Unexpectedly, Rebecca clawed at the shoulder of her flimsy dress andripped it away from her bare, bony arm.

  "Look!" she cried.

  Livid lines glowed angrily across the arm, the shoulder, and as much ofthe woman's back as Penny could see. The skin in several places had beenbroken and was beginning to heal.

  "Mort, the damn skunk, done that with a lash," Rebecca said. "You knowwhy?"

  Penny, speechless at the exhibition, shook her head. Rebecca brushed avagrant lock of hair off her damp forehead.

  "I'll tell yuh why," she went on. "It's because I didn't stay in thehouse one evenin' after dark. The night was hot an' stuffy an' I wanteda breath o' fresh air. I sat by the cottonwoods, south of our house. Ididn't mean tuh follow Mort there an' listen tuh what him an' Vince wassayin'. I didn't even know them two was there. I couldn't help hearin'some of what--" Becky broke off sharply as if she had already said morethan she intended to. Quickly she continued, "I--I mean, I didn't hearnothin' much." Penny knew the woman lied. Such intensity could neverhave risen from hearing "nothin' much."

  "Mort an' Vince catched me there," the woman said. "Mort sent me tuh thehouse while he talked some more with Vince. Then Vince rid away an' wasgone fer a couple of days. When Mort come in he beat me worse'n I everbeen beat before. He told me if I let on that I knowed what was talkedabout, he'd kill me! He would, too!"

  "Sit down again, Becky," said Penny as quietly as she could.

  "Ain't goin' tuh," replied the woman as she pulled her torn dress backin place with fumbling fingers. "You allus been kind tuh me an' that'swhy I snuck in here tuh warn yuh. Yuh c'n take my warnin' an' clear outwhile they's the chance, or yuh c'n say I'm an addle-headed fool an'stay here!" She moved toward the door. "I'm tellin' yuh though, if yuhstay till Bryant's dead you'll be willin' tuh swap places with any soulfrom hell!"

  "Wait, Becky."

  "I cain't. It's too risky. If Mort knowed I was here he'd kill me, an' Iain't usin' the word 'kill' as a figger o' speech."

  "But Mort is your husband," said Penelope. She hoped to continue theconversation and learn more of what was said in the cottonwoods. "Ithought you loved Mort."

  "Love him?" spat the woman. "I hate the dirty cur more'n a hoss hatessnakes. That's why I go on livin' here. It'd make him happy to see meclear out, but I ain't goin' tuh do it. I'll outlive Bryant, an' I'lloutlive Mort, an' then my young 'uns will come intuh their share of thisranch. I'll make him pay fer the way he's treated me an' his own young'uns."

  "Tell me," said Penny softly, "what were Vince and Mort talking about,the other night in the cottonwoods?"

  "About Bryant's eyes an' how easy it was tuh--" Becky broke off sharply.She gazed at Penny for a moment. Her voice grew harder, more firm. "Ididn't hear," she said.

  A sudden draft blew through the room. Penny saw the billowing windowshades, then saw Rebecca with mortal terror in her face. Penny followedher stare. Mort Cavendish stood in the doorway. Thunder boomed outsidethe window.

  Mort's face was expressionless. For fully a minute no one spoke to breakthe tableau. Becky assumed a look of defiance and waited for Mort to bethe first to speak. When he did so, his voice was toneless, and quitesoft.

  "It's about time for you to be gettin' breakfast for the kids," he toldRebecca. To Penny he said, "Uncle Bryant is at the table; are youcoming?"

  Penny nodded.

  Mort stood aside so his wife could pass. She moved down the hall withouta backward glance.

  Mort said, "I'll see you later, Becky," and Penny caught the threat thatthe words implied.