The Man of the Forest - Zane Grey (white hot kiss txt) 📗
- Author: Zane Grey
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line of the mountain rims. Bo was on her knees, braiding her
hair with shaking hands, and at the same time trying to peep
out.
And the echoes of a ringing cry were cracking back from the
cliffs. That had been Dale’s voice.
“Nell! Nell! Wake up!” called Bo, wildly. “Oh, some one’s
come! Horses and men!”
Helen got to her knees and peered out over Bo’s shoulder.
Dale, standing tall and striking beside the campfire, was
waving his sombrero. Away down the open edge of the park
came a string of pack-burros with mounted men behind. In the
foremost rider Helen recognized Roy Beeman.
“That first one’s Roy!” she exclaimed. “I’d never forget him
on a horse… . Bo, it must mean Uncle Al’s come!”
“Sure! We’re born lucky. Here we are safe and sound — and
all this grand camp trip… . Look at the cowboys… .
LOOK! Oh, maybe this isn’t great!” babbled Bo.
Dale wheeled to see the girls peeping out.
“It’s time you’re up!” he called. “Your uncle Al is here.”
For an instant after Helen sank back out of Dale’s sight she
sat there perfectly motionless, so struck was she by the
singular tone of Dale’s voice. She imagined that he
regretted what this visiting cavalcade of horsemen meant —
they had come to take her to her ranch in Pine. Helen’s
heart suddenly began to beat fast, but thickly, as if
muffled within her breast.
“Hurry now, girls,” called Dale.
Bo was already out, kneeling on the flat stone at the little
brook, splashing water in a great hurry. Helen’s hands
trembled so that she could scarcely lace her boots or brush
her hair, and she was long behind Bo in making herself
presentable. When Helen stepped out, a short, powerfully
built man in coarse garb and heavy boots stood holding Bo’s
hands.
“Wal, wal! You favor the Rayners,” he was saying, “I remember
your dad, an’ a fine feller he was.”
Beside them stood Dale and Roy, and beyond was a group of
horses and riders.
“Uncle, here comes Nell,” said Bo, softly.
“Aw!” The old cattle-man breathed hard as he turned.
Helen hurried. She had not expected to remember this uncle,
but one look into the brown, beaming face, with the blue
eyes flashing, yet sad, and she recognized him, at the same
instant recalling her mother.
He held out his arms to receive her.
“Nell Auchincloss all over again!” he exclaimed, in deep
voice, as he kissed her. “I’d have knowed you anywhere!”
“Uncle Al!” murmured Helen. “I remember you — though I was
only four.”
“Wal, wal, — that’s fine,” he replied. “I remember you
straddled my knee once, an’ your hair was brighter — an’
curly. It ain’t neither now… . Sixteen years! An’ you’re
twenty now? What a fine, broad-shouldered girl you are! An’,
Nell, you’re the handsomest Auchincloss I ever seen!”
Helen found herself blushing, and withdrew her hands from
his as Roy stepped forward to pay his respects. He stood
bareheaded, lean and tall, with neither his clear eyes nor
his still face, nor the proffered hand expressing anything
of the proven quality of fidelity, of achievement, that
Helen sensed in him.
“Howdy, Miss Helen? Howdy, Bo?” he said. “You all both look
fine an’ brown… . I reckon I was shore slow rustlin’
your uncle Al up here. But I was figgerin’ you’d like Milt’s
camp for a while.”
“We sure did,” replied Bo, archly.
“Aw!” breathed Auchincloss, heavily. “Lemme set down.”
He drew the girls to the rustic seat Dale had built for them
under the big pine.
“Oh, you must be tired! How — how are you?” asked Helen,
anxiously.
“Tired! Wal, if I am it’s jest this here minit. When Joe
Beeman rode in on me with thet news of you — wal, I jest
fergot I was a worn-out old hoss. Haven’t felt so good in
years. Mebbe two such young an’ pretty nieces will make a
new man of me.”
“Uncle Al, you look strong and well to me,” said Bo. “And
young, too, and —”
“Haw! Haw! Thet ‘ll do,” interrupted Al. “I see through you.
What you’ll do to Uncle Al will be aplenty… . Yes,
girls, I’m feelin’ fine. But strange — strange! Mebbe
thet’s my joy at seein’ you safe — safe when I feared so
thet damned greaser Beasley —”
In Helen’s grave gaze his face changed swiftly — and all
the serried years of toil and battle and privation showed,
with something that was not age, nor resignation, yet as
tragic as both.
“Wal, never mind him — now,” he added, slowly, and the
warmer light returned to his face. “Dale — come here.”
The hunter stepped closer.
“I reckon I owe you more ‘n I can ever pay,” said
Auchincloss, with an arm around each niece.
“No, Al, you don’t owe me anythin’,” returned Dale,
thoughtfully, as he looked away.
“A-huh!” grunted Al. “You hear him, girls… . Now listen,
you wild hunter. An’ you girls listen… . Milt, I never
thought you much good, ‘cept for the wilds. But I reckon
I’ll have to swallow thet. I do. Comin’ to me as you did —
an’ after bein’ druv off — keepin’ your council an’ savin’
my girls from thet hold-up, wal, it’s the biggest deal any
man ever did for me… . An’ I’m ashamed of my hard
feelin’s, an’ here’s my hand.”
“Thanks, Al,” replied Dale, with his fleeting smile, and he
met the proffered hand. “Now, will you be makin’ camp here?”
“Wal, no. I’ll rest a little, an’ you can pack the girls’
outfit — then we’ll go. Sure you’re goin’ with us?”
“I’ll call the girls to breakfast,” replied Dale, and he
moved away without answering Auchincloss’s query.
Helen divined that Dale did not mean to go down to Pine with
them, and the knowledge gave her a blank feeling of
surprise. Had she expected him to go?
“Come here, Jeff,” called Al, to one of his men.
A short, bow-legged horseman with dusty garb and
sun-bleached face hobbled forth from the group. He was not
young, but he had a boyish grin and bright little eyes.
Awkwardly he doffed his slouch sombrero.
“Jeff, shake hands with my nieces,” said Al. “This ‘s Helen,
an’ your boss from now on. An’ this ‘s Bo, fer short. Her
name was Nancy, but when she lay a baby in her cradle I
called her Bo-Peep, an’ the name’s stuck… . Girls, this
here’s my foreman, Jeff Mulvey, who’s been with me twenty
years.”
The introduction caused embarrassment to all three
principals, particularly to Jeff.
“Jeff, throw the packs an’ saddles fer a rest,” was Al’s
order to his foreman.
“Nell, reckon you’ll have fun bossin’ thet outfit,” chuckled
Al. “None of ‘em’s got a wife. Lot of scalawags they are; no
women would have them!”
“Uncle, I hope I’ll never have to be their boss,” replied
Helen.
“Wal, you’re goin’ to be, right off,” declared Al. “They
ain’t a bad lot, after all. An’ I got a likely new man.”
With that he turned to Bo, and, after studying her pretty
face, he asked, in apparently severe tone, “Did you send a
cowboy named Carmichael to ask me for a job?”
Bo looked quite startled.
“Carmichael! Why, Uncle, I never heard that name before,”
replied Bo, bewilderedly.
“A-huh! Reckoned the young rascal was lyin’,” said
Auchincloss. “But I liked the fellar’s looks an’ so let him
stay.”
Then the rancher turned to the group of lounging riders.
“Las Vegas, come here,” he ordered, in a loud voice.
Helen thrilled at sight of a tall, superbly built cowboy
reluctantly detaching himself from the group. He had a
red-bronze face, young like a boy’s. Helen recognized it,
and the flowing red scarf, and the swinging gun, and the
slow, spur-clinking gait. No other than Bo’s Las Vegas
cowboy admirer!
Then Helen flashed a look at Bo, which look gave her a
delicious, almost irresistible desire to laugh. That young
lady also recognized the reluctant individual approaching
with flushed and downcast face. Helen recorded her first
experience of Bo’s utter discomfiture. Bo turned white then
red as a rose.
“Say, my niece said she never heard of the name Carmichael,”
declared Al, severely, as the cowboy halted before him.
Helen knew her uncle had the repute of dealing hard with his
men, but here she was reassured and pleased at the twinkle
in his eye.
“Shore, boss, I can’t help thet,” drawled the cowboy. “It’s
good old Texas stock.”
He did not appear shamefaced now, but just as cool, easy,
clear-eyed, and lazy as the day Helen had liked his warm
young face and intent gaze.
“Texas! You fellars from the Pan Handle are always hollerin’
Texas. I never seen thet Texans had any one else beat — say
from Missouri,” returned Al, testily.
Carmichael maintained a discreet silence, and carefully
avoided looking at the girls.
“Wal, reckon we’ll all call you Las Vegas, anyway,”
continued the rancher. “Didn’t you say my niece sent you to
me for a job?”
Whereupon Carmichael’s easy manner vanished.
“Now, boss, shore my memory’s pore,” he said. “I only says
—”
“Don’t tell me thet. My memory’s not p-o-r-e,” replied Al,
mimicking the drawl. “What you said was thet my niece would
speak a good word for you.”
Here Carmichael stole a timid glance at Bo, the result of
which was to render him utterly crestfallen. Not improbably
he had taken Bo’s expression to mean something it did not,
for Helen read it as a mingling of consternation and fright.
Her eyes were big and blazing; a red spot was growing in
each cheek as she gathered strength from his confusion.
“Well, didn’t you?” demanded Al.
From the glance the old rancher shot from the cowboy to the
others of his employ it seemed to Helen that they were
having fun at Carmichael’s expense.
“Yes, sir, I did,” suddenly replied the cowboy.
“A-huh! All right, here’s my niece. Now see thet she speaks
the good word.”
Carmichael looked at Bo and Bo looked at him. Their glances
were strange, wondering, and they grew shy. Bo dropped hers.
The cowboy apparently forgot what had been demanded of him.
Helen put a hand on the old rancher’s arm.
“Uncle, what happened was my fault,” she said. “The train
stopped at Las Vegas. This young man saw us at the open
window. He must have guessed we were lonely, homesick girls,
getting lost in the West. For he spoke to us — nice and
friendly. He knew of you. And he asked, in what I took for
fun, if we thought you would give him a job. And I replied,
just to tease Bo, that she would surely speak a good word
for him.”
“Haw! Haw! So thet’s it,” replied Al, and he turned to Bo
with merry eyes. “Wal, I kept this here Las Vegas Carmichael
on his say-so. Come on with your good word, unless you want
to see him lose his job.”
Bo did not grasp her uncle’s bantering, because she was
seriously gazing at the cowboy. But she had grasped
something.
“He — he was the first person — out West — to speak
kindly to us,” she said, facing her uncle.
“Wal, thet’s a pretty good word, but it ain’t enough,”
responded Al.
Subdued laughter came from the listening
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