The Man of the Forest - Zane Grey (white hot kiss txt) 📗
- Author: Zane Grey
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cattle, horses, sheep — the desertion of herders to Beasley
— failure of freighters to arrive when most needed —
fights among the cowboys — and disagreements over
long-arranged deals.
“Your uncle Al makes a heap of this here Jeff Mulvey,”
asserted Carmichael.
“Yes, indeed. Uncle absolutely relies on Jeff,” replied
Helen.
“Wal, I hate to tell you, Miss Nell,” said the cowboy,
bitterly, “thet Mulvey ain’t the man he seems.”
“Oh, what do you mean?”
“When your uncle dies Mulvey is goin’ over to Beasley an’
he’s goin’ to take all the fellars who’ll stick to him.”
“Could Jeff be so faithless — after so many years my
uncle’s foreman? Oh, how do you know?”
“Reckon I guessed long ago. But wasn’t shore. Miss Nell,
there’s a lot in the wind lately, as poor old Al grows
weaker. Mulvey has been particular friendly to me an’ I’ve
nursed him along, ‘cept I wouldn’t drink. An’ his pards have
been particular friends with me, too, more an’ more as I
loosened up. You see, they was shy of me when I first got
here. To-day the whole deal showed clear to me like a hoof
track in soft ground. Bud Lewis, who’s bunked with me, come
out an’ tried to win me over to Beasley — soon as
Auchincloss dies. I palavered with Bud an’ I wanted to know.
But Bud would only say he was goin’ along with Jeff an’
others of the outfit. I told him I’d reckon over it an’ let
him know. He thinks I’ll come round.”
“Why — why will these men leave me when — when — Oh, poor
uncle! They bargain on his death. But why — tell me why?”
“Beasley has worked on them — won them over,” replied
Carmichael, grimly. “After Al dies the ranch will go to you.
Beasley means to have it. He an’ Al was pards once, an’ now
Beasley has most folks here believin’ he got the short end
of thet deal. He’ll have papers — shore — an’ he’ll have
most of the men. So he’ll just put you off an’ take
possession. Thet’s all, Miss Nell, an’ you can rely on its
bein’ true.”
“I — I believe you — but I can’t believe such — such
robbery possible,” gasped Helen.
“It’s simple as two an’ two. Possession is law out here.
Once Beasley gets on the ground it’s settled. What could you
do with no men to fight for your property?”
“But, surely, some of the men will stay with me?”
“I reckon. But not enough.”
“Then I can hire more. The Beeman boys. And Dale would come
to help me.”
“Dale would come. An’ he’d help a heap. I wish he was here,”
replied Carmichael, soberly. “But there’s no way to get him.
He’s snowed-up till May.”
“I dare not confide in uncle,” said Helen, with agitation.
“The shock might kill him. Then to tell him of the
unfaithfulness of his old men — that would be cruel… .
Oh, it can’t be so bad as you think.”
“I reckon it couldn’t be no worse. An’ — Miss Nell, there’s
only one way to get out of it — an’ thet’s the way of the
West.”
“How?” queried Helen, eagerly.
Carmichael lunged himself erect and stood gazing down at
her. He seemed completely detached now from that frank,
amiable cowboy of her first impressions. The redness was
totally gone from his face. Something strange and cold and
sure looked out of his eyes.
“I seen Beasley go in the saloon as I rode past. Suppose I
go down there, pick a quarrel with him — an’ kill him?”
Helen sat bolt-upright with a cold shock.
“Carmichael! you’re not serious?” she exclaimed.
“Serious? I shore am. Thet’s the only way, Miss Nell. An’ I
reckon it’s what Al would want. An’ between you an’ me — it
would be easier than ropin’ a calf. These fellars round Pine
don’t savvy guns. Now, I come from where guns mean
somethin’. An’ when I tell you I can throw a gun slick an’
fast, why I shore ain’t braggin’. You needn’t worry none
about me, Miss Nell.”
Helen grasped that he had taken the signs of her shocked
sensibility to mean she feared for his life. But what had
sickened her was the mere idea of bloodshed in her behalf.
“You’d — kill Beasley — just because there are rumors of
his — treachery?” gasped Helen.
“Shore. It’ll have to be done, anyhow,” replied the cowboy.
“No! No! It’s too dreadful to think of. Why, that would be
murder. I — I can’t understand how you speak of it — so —
so calmly.”
“Reckon I ain’t doin’ it calmly. I’m as mad as hell,” said
Carmichael, with a reckless smile.
“Oh, if you are serious then, I say no — no — no! I forbid
you. I don’t believe I’ll be robbed of my property.”
“Wal, supposin’ Beasley does put you off — an’ takes
possession. What ‘re you goin’ to say then?” demanded the
cowboy, in slow, cool deliberation.
“I’d say the same then as now,” she replied.
He bent his head thoughtfully while his red hands smoothed
his sombrero.
“Shore you girls haven’t been West very long,” he muttered,
as if apologizing for them. “An’ I reckon it takes time to
learn the ways of a country.”
“West or no West, I won’t have fights deliberately picked,
and men shot, even if they do threaten me,” declared Helen,
positively.
“All right, Miss Nell, shore I respect your wishes,” he
returned. “But I’ll tell you this. If Beasley turns you an’
Bo out of your home — wal, I’ll look him up on my own
account.”
Helen could only gaze at him as he backed to the door, and
she thrilled and shuddered at what seemed his loyalty to
her, his love for Bo, and that which was inevitable in
himself.
“Reckon you might save us all some trouble — now if you’d
— just get mad — an’ let me go after thet greaser.”
“Greaser! Do you mean Beasley?”
“Shore. He’s a half-breed. He was born in Magdalena, where I
heard folks say nary one of his parents was no good.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m thinking of humanity of law and
order. Of what is right.”
“Wal, Miss Nell, I’ll wait till you get real mad — or till
Beasley —”
“But, my friend, I’ll not get mad,” interrupted Helen. “I’ll
keep my temper.”
“I’ll bet you don’t,” he retorted. “Mebbe you think you’ve
none of Bo in you. But I’ll bet you could get so mad — once
you started — thet you’d be turrible. What ‘ve you got them
eyes for, Miss Nell, if you ain’t an Auchincloss?”
He was smiling, yet he meant every word. Helen felt the
truth as something she feared.
“Las Vegas, I won’t bet. But you — you will always come to
me — first — if there’s trouble.”
“I promise,” he replied, soberly, and then went out.
Helen found that she was trembling, and that there was a
commotion in her breast. Carmichael had frightened her. No
longer did she hold doubt of the gravity of the situation.
She had seen Beasley often, several times close at hand, and
once she had been forced to meet him. That time had
convinced her that he had evinced personal interest in her.
And on this account, coupled with the fact that Riggs
appeared to have nothing else to do but shadow her, she had
been slow in developing her intention of organizing and
teaching a school for the children of Pine. Riggs had become
rather a doubtful celebrity in the settlements. Yet his
bold, apparent badness had made its impression. From all
reports he spent his time gambling, drinking, and bragging.
It was no longer news in Pine what his intentions were
toward Helen Rayner. Twice he had ridden up to the
ranch-house, upon one occasion securing an interview with
Helen. In spite of her contempt and indifference, he was
actually influencing her life there in Pine. And it began to
appear that the other man, Beasley, might soon direct
stronger significance upon the liberty of her actions.
The responsibility of the ranch had turned out to be a heavy
burden. It could not be managed, at least by her, in the way
Auchincloss wanted it done. He was old, irritable,
irrational, and hard. Almost all the neighbors were set
against him, and naturally did not take kindly to Helen.
She had not found the slightest evidence of unfair dealing
on the part of her uncle, but he had been a hard driver.
Then his shrewd, farseeing judgment had made all his deals
fortunate for him, which fact had not brought a profit of
friendship.
Of late, since Auchincloss had grown weaker and less
dominating, Helen had taken many decisions upon herself,
with gratifying and hopeful results. But the wonderful
happiness that she had expected to find in the West still
held aloof. The memory of Paradise Park seemed only a dream,
sweeter and more intangible as time passed, and fuller of
vague regrets. Bo was a comfort, but also a very
considerable source of anxiety. She might have been a help
to Helen if she had not assimilated Western ways so swiftly.
Helen wished to decide things in her own way, which was as
yet quite far from Western. So Helen had been thrown more
and more upon her own resources, with the cowboy Carmichael
the only one who had come forward voluntarily to her aid.
For an hour Helen sat alone in the room, looking out of the
window, and facing stern reality with a colder, graver,
keener sense of intimacy than ever before. To hold her
property and to live her life in this community according to
her ideas of honesty, justice, and law might well be beyond
her powers. To-day she had been convinced that she could not
do so without fighting for them, and to fight she must have
friends. That conviction warmed her toward Carmichael, and a
thoughtful consideration of all he had done for her proved
that she had not fully appreciated him. She would make up
for her oversight.
There were no Mormons in her employ, for the good reason
that Auchincloss would not hire them. But in one of his
kindlier hours, growing rare now, he had admitted that the
Mormons were the best and the most sober, faithful workers
on the ranges, and that his sole objection to them was just
this fact of their superiority. Helen decided to hire the
four Beemans and any of their relatives or friends who would
come; and to do this, if possible, without letting her uncle
know. His temper now, as well as his judgment, was a
hindrance to efficiency. This decision regarding the
Beemans; brought Helen back to Carmichael’s fervent wish for
Dale, and then to her own.
Soon spring would be at hand, with its multiplicity of range
tasks. Dale had promised to come to Pine then, and Helen
knew that promise would be kept. Her heart beat a little
faster, in spite of her business-centered thoughts. Dale was
there, over the black-sloped, snowy-tipped mountain, shut
away from the world. Helen almost envied him. No wonder he
loved loneliness, solitude, the sweet, wild silence and
beauty of Paradise Park! But he was selfish, and Helen meant
to show him that. She needed his help. When she recalled his
physical prowess with animals, and imagined what it must be
in relation
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