The Man of the Forest - Zane Grey (white hot kiss txt) 📗

group. Carmichael

shifted from side to side.

 

“He — he looks as if he might ride a horse well,” ventured

Bo.

 

“Best hossman I ever seen,” agreed Al, heartily.

 

“And — and shoot?” added Bo, hopefully.

 

“Bo, he packs thet gun low, like Jim Wilson an’ all them

Texas gun-fighters. Reckon thet ain’t no good word.”

 

“Then — I’ll vouch for him,” said Bo, with finality.

 

“Thet settles it.” Auchincloss turned to the cowboy. “Las

Vegas, you’re a stranger to us. But you’re welcome to a

place in the outfit an’ I hope you won’t never disappoint

us.”

 

Auchincloss’s tone, passing from jest to earnest, betrayed

to Helen the old rancher’s need of new and true men, and

hinted of trying days to come.

 

Carmichael stood before Bo, sombrero in hand, rolling it

round and round, manifestly bursting with words he could not

speak. And the girl looked very young and sweet with her

flushed face and shining eyes. Helen saw in the moment more

than that little by-play of confusion.

 

“Miss — Miss Rayner — I shore — am obliged,” he

stammered, presently.

 

“You’re very welcome,” she replied, softly. “I — I got on

the next train,” he added.

 

When he said that Bo was looking straight at him, but she

seemed not to have heard.

 

“What’s your name?” suddenly she asked.

 

“Carmichael.”

 

“I heard that. But didn’t uncle call you Las Vegas?”

 

“Shore. But it wasn’t my fault. Thet cow-punchin’ outfit

saddled it on me, right off. They Don’t know no better.

Shore I jest won’t answer to thet handle… . Now — Miss

Bo — my real name is Tom.”

 

“I simply could not call you — any name but Las Vegas,”

replied Bo, very sweetly.

 

“But — beggin’ your pardon — I — I don’t like thet,”

blustered Carmichael.

 

“People often get called names — they don’t like,” she

said, with deep intent.

 

The cowboy blushed scarlet. Helen as well as he got Bo’s

inference to that last audacious epithet he had boldly

called out as the train was leaving Las Vegas. She also

sensed something of the disaster in store for Mr.

Carmichael. Just then the embarrassed young man was saved by

Dale’s call to the girls to come to breakfast.

 

That meal, the last for Helen in Paradise Park, gave rise to

a strange and inexplicable restraint. She had little to say.

Bo was in the highest spirits, teasing the pets, joking with

her uncle and Roy, and even poking fun at Dale. The hunter

seemed somewhat somber. Roy was his usual dry, genial self.

And Auchincloss, who sat near by, was an interested

spectator. When Tom put in an appearance, lounging with his

feline grace into the camp, as if he knew he was a

privileged pet, the rancher could scarcely contain himself.

 

“Dale, it’s thet damn cougar!” he ejaculated.

 

“Sure, that’s Tom.”

 

“He ought to be corralled or chained. I’ve no use for

cougars,” protested Al.

 

“Tom is as tame an’ safe as a kitten.”

 

“A-huh! Wal, you tell thet to the girls if you like. But not

me! I’m an old hoss, I am.”

 

“Uncle Al, Tom sleeps curled up at the foot of my bed,” said

Bo.

 

“Aw — what?”

 

“Honest Injun,” she responded. “Well, isn’t it so?”

 

Helen smilingly nodded her corroboration. Then Bo called Tom

to her and made him lie with his head on his stretched paws,

right beside her, and beg for bits to eat.

 

“Wal! I’d never have believed thet!” exclaimed Al, shaking

his big head. “Dale, it’s one on me. I’ve had them big cats

foller me on the trails, through the woods, moonlight an’

dark. An’ I’ve heard ‘em let out thet awful cry. They ain’t

any wild sound on earth thet can beat a cougar’s. Does this

Tom ever let out one of them wails?”

 

“Sometimes at night,” replied Dale.

 

“Wal, excuse me. Hope you don’t fetch the yaller rascal down

to Pine.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“What’ll you do with this menagerie?”

 

Dale regarded the rancher attentively. “Reckon, Al, I’ll

take care of them.”

 

“But you’re goin’ down to my ranch.”

 

“What for?”

 

Al scratched his head and gazed perplexedly at the hunter.

“Wal, ain’t it customary to visit friends?”

 

“Thanks, Al. Next time I ride down Pine way — in the

spring, perhaps — I’ll run over an’ see how you are.”

 

“Spring!” ejaculated Auchincloss. Then he shook his head

sadly and a far-away look filmed his eyes. “Reckon you’d

call some late.”

 

“Al, you’ll get well now. These, girls — now — they’ll

cure you. Reckon I never saw you look so good.”

 

Auchincloss did not press his point farther at that time,

but after the meal, when the other men came to see Dale’s

camp and pets, Helen’s quick ears caught the renewal of the

subject.

 

“I’m askin’ you — will you come?” Auchincloss said, low and

eagerly.

 

“No. I wouldn’t fit in down there,” replied Dale.

 

“Milt, talk sense. You can’t go on forever huntin’ bear an’

tamin’ cats,” protested the old rancher.

 

“Why not?” asked the hunter, thoughtfully.

 

Auchincloss stood up and, shaking himself as if to ward off

his testy temper, he put a hand on Dale’s arm.

 

“One reason is you’re needed in Pine.”

 

“How? Who needs me?”

 

“I do. I’m playin’ out fast. An’ Beasley’s my enemy. The

ranch an’ all I got will go to Nell. Thet ranch will have to

be run by a man an’ HELD by a man. Do you savvy? It’s a big

job. An’ I’m offerin’ to make you my foreman right now.”

 

“Al, you sort of take my breath,” replied Dale. “An’ I’m

sure grateful. But the fact is, even if I could handle the

job, I — I don’t believe I’d want to.”

 

“Make yourself want to, then. Thet ‘d soon come. You’d get

interested. This country will develop. I seen thet years

ago. The government is goin’ to chase the Apaches out of

here. Soon homesteaders will be flockin’ in. Big future,

Dale. You want to get in now. An’ —”

 

Here Auchincloss hesitated, then spoke lower:

 

“An’ take your chance with the girl! … I’ll be on your

side.”

 

A slight vibrating start ran over Dale’s stalwart form.

 

“Al — you’re plumb dotty!” he exclaimed.

 

“Dotty! Me? Dotty!” ejaculated Auchincloss. Then he swore.

“In a minit I’ll tell you what you are.”

 

“But, Al, that talk’s so — so — like an old fool’s.”

 

“Huh! An’ why so?”

 

“Because that — wonderful girl would never look at me,”

Dale replied, simply.

 

“I seen her lookin’ already,” declared Al, bluntly.

 

Dale shook his head as if arguing with the old rancher was

hopeless.

 

“Never mind thet,” went on Al. “Mebbe I am a dotty old fool

— ‘specially for takin’ a shine to you. But I say again —

will you come down to Pine and be my foreman?”

 

“No,” replied Dale.

 

“Milt, I’ve no son — an’ I’m — afraid of Beasley.” This

was uttered in an agitated whisper.

 

“Al, you make me ashamed,” said Dale, hoarsely. “I can’t

come. I’ve no nerve.”

 

“You’ve no what?”

 

“Al, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I’m afraid I’d

find out if I came down there.”

 

“A-huh! It’s the girl!”

 

“I don’t know, but I’m afraid so. An’ I won’t come.”

 

“Aw yes, you will —”

 

Helen rose with beating heart and tingling ears, and moved

away out of hearing. She had listened too long to what had

not been intended for her ears, yet she could not be sorry.

She walked a few rods along the brook, out from under the

pines, and, standing in the open edge of the park, she felt

the beautiful scene still her agitation. The following

moments, then, were the happiest she had spent in Paradise

Park, and the profoundest of her whole life.

 

Presently her uncle called her.

 

“Nell, this here hunter wants to give you thet black hoss.

An’ I say you take him.”

 

“Ranger deserves better care than I can give him,” said

Dale. “He runs free in the woods most of the time. I’d be

obliged if she’d have him. An’ the hound, Pedro, too.”

 

Bo swept a saucy glance from Dale to her sister.

 

“Sure she’ll have Ranger. Just offer him to ME!”

 

Dale stood there expectantly, holding a blanket in his hand,

ready to saddle the horse. Carmichael walked around Ranger

with that appraising eye so keen in cowboys.

 

“Las Vegas, do you know anything about horses?” asked Bo.

 

“Me! Wal, if you ever buy or trade a hoss you shore have me

there,” replied Carmichael.

 

“What do you think of Ranger?” went on Bo.

 

“Shore I’d buy him sudden, if I could.”

 

“Mr. Las Vegas, you’re too late,” asserted Helen, as she

advanced to lay a hand on the horse.

 

“Ranger is mine.”

 

Dale smoothed out the blanket and, folding it, he threw it

over the horse; and then with one powerful swing he set the

saddle in place.

 

“Thank you very much for him,” said Helen, softly.

 

“You’re welcome, an’ I’m sure glad,” responded Dale, and

then, after a few deft, strong pulls at the straps, he

continued. “There, he’s ready for you.”

 

With that he laid an arm over the saddle, and faced Helen as

she stood patting and smoothing Ranger. Helen, strong and

calm now, in feminine possession of her secret and his, as

well as her composure, looked frankly and steadily at Dale.

He seemed composed, too, yet the bronze of his fine face was

a trifle pale.

 

“But I can’t thank you — I’ll never be able to repay you —

for your service to me and my sister,” said Helen.

 

“I reckon you needn’t try,” Dale returned. “An’ my service,

as you call it, has been good for me.”

 

“Are you going down to Pine with us?”

 

“No.”

 

“But you will come soon?”

 

“Not very soon, I reckon,” he replied, and averted his gaze.

 

“When?”

 

“Hardly before spring.”

 

“Spring? … That is a long time. Won’t you come to see me

sooner than that?”

 

“If I can get down to Pine.”

 

“You’re the first friend I’ve made in the West,” said Helen,

earnestly.

 

“You’ll make many more — an’ I reckon soon forget him you

called the man of the forest.”

 

“I never forget any of my friends. And you’ve been the —

the biggest friend I ever had.”

 

“I’ll be proud to remember.”

 

“But will you remember — will you promise to come to Pine?”

 

“I reckon.”

 

“Thank you. All’s well, then… . My friend, goodby.”

 

“Good-by,” he said, clasping her hand. His glance was clear,

warm, beautiful, yet it was sad.

 

Auchincloss’s hearty voice broke the spell. Then Helen saw

that the others were mounted. Bo had ridden up close; her

face was earnest and happy and grieved all at once, as she

bade good-by to Dale. The pack-burros were hobbling along

toward the green slope. Helen was the last to mount, but Roy

was the last to leave the hunter. Pedro came reluctantly.

 

It was a merry, singing train which climbed that brown

odorous trail, under the dark spruces. Helen assuredly was

happy, yet a pang abided in her breast.

 

She remembered that half-way up the slope there was a turn

in the trail where