Nevada (1995) Page 24

  "Weren't you pretty smart-alec?" asked Ben.

  "I wasn't until he got mean."

  "An' when was that? Are you sure you don't imagine things? Dillon is the kindest of foremen."

  Marvie looked up deliberately and fastened unfathomable eyes upon this friend of his boyhood.

  "Dillon used to like me. But he changed after the cowboys told him how I'd made up to little Rose Hatt at the dance in Winthrop."

  "Rose Hatt! That child of Elam Hatt's? I saw her once. What on earth could it be to Dillon if you did flirt with Rose? As a matter of fact, he was merely worried about you. Rose was no girl for you to get friendly with."

  "Say, did Dillon tell you that?" queried Marvie, flushing.

  "Yes. An' he advised me to put a stop to it. Said you might get in trouble."

  Marvie jumped up as if he had been stung by a hornet.

  "Ha! Ha!" he burst out, striding away with his head back. "Ha!

  Ha! . . . Ha! Ha! Ha!"

  He kept it up until he went out of sight around the house.

  "Well, I'll be doggoned," ejaculated Ben, gazing at Hettie for confirmation of his fears. "Was that boy givin' me the horse- laugh?"

  "He was surely giving you some kind of a laugh," replied Hettie, striving to hide her own amusement.

  "Hettie, am I growin' old, thick-headed, absent-minded?" inquired Ben, wistfully.

  "No, Ben," returned his sister, dropping her head. "You've only the worry of the ranch on your mind."

  "By George it is a worry," he sighed. "But, old girl, you've not been so bright and happy as you were here at first. Neither is Ina. I'm afraid I've done bad by both of you."

  "Ben, it will all come right," spoke up Hettie, forcing a smile.

  "We must take our medicine. It's Arizona medicine, which your friend, Tom Day, says is powerful strong."

  "Hettie, do you still think of--of--HIM?" asked Ben, in lower tone.

  "Always," she replied, quaking inwardly. If only she had the courage and the wit to keep her secret hidden!

  "I'm afraid I've given up hope," went on Ben, somberly. "An' it's taken the sap out of me. Don't tell Ina. But I'm fallin' into the same rut as I was in last spring, over home on Tule Lake."

  "Given up hope of what?" murmured Hettie.

  "Of ever findin' Nevada," he replied, simply, as if the name was not one he never mentioned. "That's why I came to Arizona. Once at Forlorn River, when I asked Nevada what he'd do if anythin' separated us, he said he'd go to Arizona an' take to hard ridin'.

  I never forgot. . . . Well, I reckon every cowboy on these ranges has hit me for a job. But sure not one of them was Nevada, nor had they ever heard of him. I reckon he's dead. Don't you ever think that, Hettie?"

  "Yes. . . . Dead to us, surely," she returned, with dry lips.

  "How could Nevada be dead to us if he were alive?" queried Ben, sharply. Then he lifted his head to some interruption of his thought. "I hear a horse . . . comin' lickety cut! Hello! it's Dillon! . . . Damn the luck! There's somethin' up!"

  Hettie sustained a sharp quickening of her pulse. A horse and rider bobbed up over the bench. At the moment Ina came out of the house, to begin some speech to Ben, which did not materialize. Ben strode off the porch to meet Dillon, who rode up like a whirlwind, scattering gravel all over the porch; and he leaped out of the saddle with the lithe grace of one to whom such action was a habit.

  "Mornin', boss," he said and tipped his sombrero to Hettie and Ina.

  "You're late. So I rode up."

  "Bad news?" asked Ben.

  "No, it ain't bad, but it's disturbin'. Cowboy just in from Tom Day's range. Name's Laskin. He rode a hoss to death gettin' here.

  I gave him another hoss, an' soon as he'd swallowed some drink an' grub he rode off for Franklidge's ranch."

  "Yes. Well, what was he ridin' so hard for?" queried Ben, as if prepared.

  "Yesterday he was in camp near Silver Meadows," went on Dillon.

  "Another rider with him--whose name I didn't get. Some men rode down on them. Laskin said they wasn't drunk. Just keyed up over a big deal. They made no bones about the deal--at least their leader didn't. An' he was no other than Jim Lacy."

  "Jim Lacy bobbed up again!" ejaculated Ben, with irritation. "Go on, Dillon."

  "Lacy said he was goin' to rustle the stock at Silver Meadows an' sent you his compliments."

  "Well, I'm a--!" broke out Ben, choking down the last of his utterance.

  "Pretty nervy, wasn't it?" asked Dillon. He appeared excited, which was a striking exception to his usual genial and imperturbable mood. Hettie gazed spell-bound at him.

  "Nervy? Yes, if it's true," retorted Ben. "But I don't believe it."

  "It's as straight as shootin', boss," rejoined Dillon. "I happen to know the rider who tipped us off."

  "But Jim Lacy or anybody else would be a fool to tell such a plan, before pullin' it off," said Ben, incredulously.

  "Reckon that seems so," replied the foreman, smoothly. "But sometimes these desperadoes like Lacy do queer things. It's not braggin'. Such men don't brag. It's just sort of a cool defiance of law--an' honest ranchin'. . . . Well, Lacy has twenty-four hours' start. There was a big bunch of cattle at Silver, so Laskin said. The last of your stock, an' some of Day's an' Franklidge's.

  We were figgerin' on a big roundup pronto. But we're too late, boss."

  "Too late! Why, man, if it IS true, we can stop that drive before it gets down to the road," declared Ben.

  "Stop nothin'. Lacy's outfit won't drive this way. They'll drive up over the Rim, an' I'll gamble there's a bunch of five thousand head on the way now."

  Ben sat down as if suddenly weighted.

  "Boss, I'm sure kickin' myself for not figgerin' that very deal," went on Dillon, and his smile was something to conjure with.

  Hettie caught it, but Ben saw nothing. "You see, the cattle were workin' high up. An' grass an' water's so good at Silver that they bunched thick. Laskin swears it's only a half day's drive up the canyon which opens into Silver. . . . An' there you are."

  A hoarse intolerant resentment rang in Dillon's voice. To Ben Ide he must have seemed a masterful and experienced foreman, angry at this coup of the latest recruit to Arizona rustlers.

  "If it's true I'll--I'll run down this Jim Lacy an' jail him. I don't care what it costs," declared Ben. "But I reckon we're gettin' all r'iled up over cowboy guessin'."

  "Give me a couple of days off, boss?" asked Dillon, in strange eagerness. "I'll find out."

  "You want to ride off alone?" queried Ben.

  "Sure. That's the best way."

  "No. Some of the rustlers will plug you, an' then I WOULD be out of luck," replied Ben, decisively.

  "But I want to go," declared Dillon, with the blood rising under the tan of his handsome face.

  "I appreciate the risk you'd take for me, Dillon. But, no, I'm gjvin' you orders to take Raidy with six cowboys an' go to Silver Meadows. Hurry back to report. Then we'll see."

  Dillon had difficulty in repressing some kind of agitation that did not owe its source to respect and regard for Ben Ide. What an intent, almost derisive glance he gave Ben! Then without another word he mounted and rode furiously down toward the corrals.

  "Girls, did you hear all he had to say?" asked Ben, appealing for sympathy.

  "We couldn't very well help it," replied Ina, putting a hand on Ben's shoulder. "Dear, I--I haven't confidence in this man Dillon."

  "Huh! Nor in me, either," retorted Ben, shaking her hand off.

  That action hurt Ina's sensitive feelings and she drew away haughtily.

  "Very well, Ben Ide," she declared. "But when the crash comes, don't you look to ME for sympathy."

  With that she went back into the house. Ben gazed helplessly up at his sister.

  "There! Can you beat that? My own wife gone against me!"

  Hettie subdued her own impatience, not without effort, and then set herself the task of meeting her brother's morbid irritation, and by agreeing wi
th him and bidding him hope on and fight on forever, if need be, she made some little impression upon his mood.

  Then Marvie appeared again, this time black in the face. Alas for Hettie! Her heart sank.

  "Ben Ide, I've a bone to pick with you," he burst out.

  "Pick away, you young rooster," returned Ben, wearily; but he was interested. Marvie had never before bearded the lion in his den.

  "Did Dillon tell you a cowboy named Laskin rode in with news about a cattle drive?"

  "Sure he did."

  "Ha! That's what he told Raidy. He's a damn liar!"

  "Marvie, take care! You're no longer a kid. Would you say that to Dillon's face?"

  "Would I? Huh! I did an' I cussed him good," rejoined Marvie, hotly.

  "Why did you? Marv, I'm losin' patience."

  "An, I'm losin' patience with you, Ben Ide. Listen. I saw that cowboy. He wasn't no rider named Laskin. He was Cedar Hatt!"

  "What?"

  "Cedar Hatt, I tell you. I KNOW him."

  "Marvie, you're not only loco, but you're ravin' sore at Dillon.

  You'll go too far. Take care."

  "Care, hell!" shouted Marvie, beside himself with rage. "It's you who's loco."

  "Marvie Blaine, you're fired," replied Ben, curtly. "You can't ride for me any more."

  Marvie underwent a sudden disastrous change of mood.

  "Fired?" he said, poignantly.

  "Yes, fired. Now get out of my house an' go over to Hettie's till I can decide what to do with you."

  "Aw--Ben!" gasped Marvie.

  "Don't aw--Ben me," said Ben, furiously. "Get out of here now--you round-eyed, freckle-faced four-flush of a cowboy!"

  Marvie started as if he had been lashed.

  "Ben Ide, you'll be sorry for that," he declared, solemnly, and stamped away.

  Ben stared at the erect retreating figure of the lad.

  "Marvie, too!" he said, huskily.

  Hettie felt something of a sneak herself as she stole away, back to her own cabin and the seclusion of her room. Was she not betraying Ben by withholding facts she alone knew? Yet how impossible to crush him utterly! Jim Lacy was Nevada! She would never have the courage to tell him.

  As for herself, the last hope had fled, the last doubt, the last shred of stubborn faith. Nevada was a rustler. He had fallen so low that he could steal from the friend who had once succored him.

  The thing was so base that Hettie writhed under the shame of her seemingly indestructible love for this impostor Nevada--this fugitive horseman who had won her under another guise--this Jim Lacy, killer and thief. But though everything else seemed dead, hope, faith, interest in life, will to go on fighting, she knew her love survived. It was the very pulse of her heart.

  A long hour she lay there on her bed, until collapse and tears came to her relief. And when she again rose to face herself in the mirror she shrank aghast. But there was her mother to live for, and poor blind Ben, who had loved this traitor Nevada, even as she.

  Two days went by, with the Ide households under considerable strain of uncertainty.

  Raidy and Dillon, with their riders, returned about noon of the third day. The news reached Hettie while she was in the kitchen, with her sleeves rolled up and flour to her elbows, but she did not lose time on account of that.

  Ben was somber, nervous, silent, and he paced the living-room, oblivious to the importunities of little Blaine, who toddled here and there, as if he were playing a game.

  Presently Raidy entered the open door, sombrero in hand, dusty and unshaven.

  "Howdy, boss!" he said in greeting, and bowed quaintly to Hettie and Ina.

  "Took you long enough. Where's Dillon?" replied Ben, gruffly.

  "Wal, you know Dillon always leaves the bad reports for me to make."

  "Did he return with you?"

  "Not exactly. He left us at daybreak this mornin' an' beat us in."

  "Is he here now?"

  "Sure. I told him he'd better come along with me. But he said he'd see you later. . . . Boss, Dillon is in purty bad humor. I never seen him like this. He's another fellar."

  "Drinkin'?" queried Ben, sharply.

  "No. He's just black as thunder an' sore as a kicked pup."

  "That'd be natural for anyone who had my interests at heart, as Dillon has. But it's odd he didn't come to report. . . . Well, out with your bad news."

  Ben squared himself as if for a blow and frowned upon his old foreman.

  "I'm sorry, Ben. It couldn't be no wuss."

  "Oh, Ben!" cried Ina, who had evidently worried more about her husband than the impending loss.

  "Reckin you an' Hettie better leave us alone," returned Ben.

  Neither of the women moved a step, though Ina subsided into a chair. Raidy appeared to have lost his usual taciturnity.

  "Boss, you're rustled off the range. The last of your stock, except some stragglin' steers an' yearlin's, is gone--along with a thousand head of Tom Day's."

  Ben Ide made a flashing violent gesture, as if to strike. He paled. His eyes shot fire.

  "They've cleaned me?" he demanded, fiercely, as if still doubting.

  "Yes, boss. I made sure, because I wasn't trustin' Dillon to give a full report."

  Hettie, standing back of Ina's chair, felt both hot and cold; and she stared at her brother fearfully, expecting him to break into an ungovernable rage. For Ben had not been himself in weeks, and lately he had been hard to live with. She had reckoned without her host, however, for although Ben turned white to the lips he suddenly became calm and cool. With uncertainty gone he changed radically.

  "Ahuh. So your hunch has come true," he said, almost with sarcasm.

  "Wal, I reckon you'll get a lot of satisfaction crowin' over me an'

  Dillon."

  "No, boss, I won't even say I told you so," returned Raidy.

  "Give me the facts, short an' sweet," said Ben.

  "Wal, Tom Day an' his riders were at Silver Meadows when we arrived. A sheepherder had tipped them off to the drive. We split up an' rode all around the Meadows. Only a few cattle left. Them rustlers made a slick job of it. Day an' Franklidge lost over a thousand head, an' you lost all you had left. A matter of three thousand head. We took the trail up the canyon. An' say, it was a bowlavarde clear to the Rim. . . . I was for trailin' the rustlers to finish a fight. But Day wouldn't let any of us go down in that hole. We'd have been ambushed an' some of us killed. Besides, he said we could never have recovered the cattle. Once turned loose in that jungle of scrub oak, manzanita, an' cactus, them cattle would have vamoosed like ticks shook off a leaf. So we turned back."

  "You told Tom Day, of course, that Jim Lacy made this drive?" queried Ben.

  "Tom knowed all about it from the sheepherder. Seems thet Lacy sent Tom word he was goin' to make this big steal. Sent his respects to Tom an' Judge Franklidge an' said he'd drop in to Winthrop some day."

  "By Heaven! this Lacy is a cool one!" exclaimed Ben, as if admiration was wrenched from him.

  "Cool? Wal, boss, you might call Lacy thet, but I reckon he's a mixture of hell's fire an' chain lightnin'!"

  "I'll hang him," said Ben, with deadly calm.

  "No, Ben, if you'll excuse me, I'll say you'll never put a rope around Jim Lacy's neck. He couldn't never be jailed, either.

  He'll die in his boots, with a gun spoutin', an' Gawd help the men frontin' him!"

  "Bah! You talk like Marvie Blaine," retorted Ben, curtly. "An' you Raidy--a grown man!"

  "Boss, it grieves me thet I've lived to disagree with you," returned Raidy, with dignity.

  "This Jim Lacy is the leader of the Pine Tree outfit," asserted Ben, positively.

  "Wal, me an' Tom Day reckoned so. An' for once Dillon agreed with us," replied Raidy. "Tom said Lacy jest got tired of layin' low an' bein' mysterious. So he comes out in the open. I'll bet you he'll ride right into Winthrop."

  "Raidy, I'm glad Lacy cleaned me out. I'm through waitin' around to see what's goin' to happen next. I've sent f
or Sheriff Macklin an' a posse. This mornin' I got word from Struthers, the Phoenix sheriff who's made it so hot for rustlers in southern Arizona.

  Struthers is in Winthrop at my request. They'll arrive here not later than to-morrow. I'll have Dillon get twenty-five of the hardest men he can gather. I'll offer ten thousand dollars reward for Jim Lacy, dead or alive. I'll spend every dollar I have to run down Lacy an' his Pine Tree gang."

  "Wal, boss, you're talkin' high, wide, an' handsome," replied Raidy. "But it's not for me to offer opinions. This ranch--an' for that matter, this whole range--ain't big enough for me an' your man Dillon. I jest have to quit."

  "Very well, Raidy. I'm sorry you see it that way," returned Ben, coldly, and with a wave of his hand terminated the interview.

  Hettie fled. As she ran out she heard Ina deliver a stinging rebuke to her husband. Then a door slammed. Hettie hurried home in a state of mind bordering on a breakdown. She finished her work in a mechanical way, while slow torment consumed her.

  "What's all the row over at Ben's?" her mother inquired, placidly, from her comfortable chair.

  "Rustlers, cattle, foremen, sheriffs, and Heaven only knows what," replied Hettie, distractedly.

  "Well, daughter, don't be upset. You know Ben."

  "I thought I did, mother. But I'm doubtful about it now. He fired Raidy."

  "No! Why, that's dreadful! Raidy taught Ben how to ride a horse.

  Oh, this dreadful Arizona! . . . But I don't mean that, Hettie. I love this quiet, sweet wild country. The men, though--they're-- they're loco, as Marvie says. And Ben has got it, too?"

  "Mother, have you seen Marvie to-day?" asked Hettie, suddenly remembering that she had not.

  "Marvie went away yesterday and hasn't come back. At least he didn't sleep in his bed."

  "Oh dear! That wild boy! Here's more to--to worry over. . . .

  Mother, I didn't tell you that the reason Marvie came to us is because Ben discharged him--drove him out of the house."

  "Reckon we'll have Ina next," said her mother.

  "I--I wouldn't be surprised at anything," returned Hettie, tearfully.

  Hettie went to her room, with the motive of indulging her grief.

  But sight of her riding-boots acted powerfully upon her and she decided to take a ride. Not for days had she been on her horse.