The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (read me like a book txt) 📗

journey. It certainly was a busy place—full of jabbering Mexicans, stalking, red-faced, wicked-looking cowboys, lolling Indians. In the confusion Helen would have been hard put to it to preserve calmness, with Bo to watch, and all that baggage to carry, and the other train to find; but the kindly brakeman who had been attentive to them now helped them off the train into the other—a service for which Helen was very grateful.

“Albuquerque's a hard place,” confided the trainman. “Better stay in the car—and don't hang out the windows.... Good luck to you!”

Only a few passengers were in the car and they were Mexicans at the forward end. This branch train consisted of one passenger-coach, with a baggage-car, attached to a string of freight-cars. Helen told herself, somewhat grimly, that soon she would know surely whether or not her suspicions of Harve Riggs had warrant. If he was going on to Magdalena on that day he must go in this coach. Presently Bo, who was not obeying admonitions, drew her head out of the window. Her eyes were wide in amaze, her mouth open.

“Nell! I saw that man Riggs!” she whispered. “He's going to get on this train.”

“Bo, I saw him yesterday,” replied Helen, soberly.

“He's followed you—the—the—”

“Now, Bo, don't get excited,” remonstrated Helen. “We've left home now. We've got to take things as they come. Never mind if Riggs has followed me. I'll settle him.”

“Oh! Then you won't speak—have anything to do with him?”

“I won't if I can help it.”

Other passengers boarded the train, dusty, uncouth, ragged men, and some hard-featured, poorly clad women, marked by toil, and several more Mexicans. With bustle and loud talk they found their several seats.

Then Helen saw Harve Riggs enter, burdened with much luggage. He was a man of about medium height, of dark, flashy appearance, cultivating long black mustache and hair. His apparel was striking, as it consisted of black frock-coat, black trousers stuffed in high, fancy-topped boots, an embroidered vest, and flowing tie, and a black sombrero. His belt and gun were prominent. It was significant that he excited comment among the other passengers.

When he had deposited his pieces of baggage he seemed to square himself, and, turning abruptly, approached the seat occupied by the girls. When he reached it he sat down upon the arm of the one opposite, took off his sombrero, and deliberately looked at Helen. His eyes were light, glinting, with hard, restless quiver, and his mouth was coarse and arrogant. Helen had never seen him detached from her home surroundings, and now the difference struck cold upon her heart.

“Hello, Nell!” he said. “Surprised to see me?”

“No,” she replied, coldly.

“I'll gamble you are.”

“Harve Riggs, I told you the day before I left home that nothing you could do or say mattered to me.”

“Reckon that ain't so, Nell. Any woman I keep track of has reason to think. An' you know it.”

“Then you followed me—out here?” demanded Helen, and her voice, despite her control, quivered with anger.

“I sure did,” he replied, and there was as much thought of himself in the act as there was of her.

“Why? Why? It's useless—hopeless.”

“I swore I'd have you, or nobody else would,” he replied, and here, in the passion of his voice there sounded egotism rather than hunger for a woman's love. “But I reckon I'd have struck West anyhow, sooner or later.”

“You're not going to—all the way—to Pine?” faltered Helen, momentarily weakening.

“Nell, I'll camp on your trail from now on,” he declared.

Then Bo sat bolt-upright, with pale face and flashing eyes.

“Harve Riggs, you leave Nell alone,” she burst out, in ringing, brave young voice. “I'll tell you what—I'll bet—if you follow her and nag her any more, my uncle Al or some cowboy will run you out of the country.”

“Hello, Pepper!” replied Riggs, coolly. “I see your manners haven't improved an' you're still wild about cowboys.”

“People don't have good manners with—with—”

“Bo, hush!” admonished Helen. It was difficult to reprove Bo just then, for that young lady had not the slightest fear of Riggs. Indeed, she looked as if she could slap his face. And Helen realized that however her intelligence had grasped the possibilities of leaving home for a wild country, and whatever her determination to be brave, the actual beginning of self-reliance had left her spirit weak. She would rise out of that. But just now this flashing-eyed little sister seemed a protector. Bo would readily adapt herself to the West, Helen thought, because she was so young, primitive, elemental.

Whereupon Bo turned her back to Riggs and looked out of the window. The man laughed. Then he stood up and leaned over Helen.

“Nell, I'm goin' wherever you go,” he said, steadily. “You can take that friendly or not, just as it pleases you. But if you've got any sense you'll not give these people out here a hunch against me. I might hurt somebody.... An' wouldn't it be better—to act friends? For I'm goin' to look after you, whether you like it or not.”

Helen had considered this man an annoyance, and later a menace, and now she must declare open enmity with him. However disgusting the idea that he considered himself a factor in her new life, it was the truth. He existed, he had control over his movements. She could not change that. She hated the need of thinking so much about him; and suddenly, with a hot, bursting anger, she hated the man.

“You'll not look after me. I'll take care of myself,” she said, and she turned her back upon him. She heard him mutter under his breath and slowly move away down the car. Then Bo slipped a hand in hers.

“Never mind, Nell,” she whispered. “You know what old Sheriff Haines said about Harve Riggs. 'A four-flush would-be gun-fighter! If he ever strikes a real Western town he'll get run out of it.' I just wish my red-faced cowboy had got on this train!”

Helen felt a rush of gladness that she had yielded to Bo's wild importunities to take her West. The spirit which had made Bo incorrigible at home probably would make her react happily to life out in this free country. Yet Helen, with all her warmth and gratefulness, had to laugh at her sister.

“Your red-faced cowboy! Why, Bo, you were scared stiff. And now you claim him!”

“I certainly could love that fellow,” replied Bo, dreamily.

“Child, you've been saying that about fellows for a long time. And you've never looked twice at any of them yet.”

“He was different.... Nell, I'll bet he comes to Pine.”

“I hope he does.