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

in March, Helen came out upon

the porch to revel a little in the warmth of sunshine and

the crisp, pine-scented wind that swept down from the

mountains. There was never a morning that she did not gaze

mountainward, trying to see, with a folly she realized, if

the snow had melted more perceptibly away on the bold white

ridge. For all she could see it had not melted an inch, and

she would not confess why she sighed. The desert had become

green and fresh, stretching away there far below her range,

growing dark and purple in the distance with vague buttes

rising. The air was full of sound — notes of blackbirds and

the baas of sheep, and blasts from the corrals, and the

clatter of light hoofs on the court below.

 

Bo was riding in from the stables. Helen loved to watch her

on one of those fiery little mustangs, but the sight was

likewise given to rousing apprehensions. This morning Bo

appeared particularly bent on frightening Helen. Down the

lane Carmichael appeared, waving his arms, and Helen at once

connected him with Bo’s manifest desire to fly away from

that particular place. Since that day, a month back, when Bo

had confessed her love for Carmichael, she and Helen had not

spoken of it or of the cowboy. The boy and girl were still

at odds. But this did not worry Helen. Bo had changed much

for the better, especially in that she devoted herself to

Helen and to her work. Helen knew that all would turn out

well in the end, and so she had been careful of her rather

precarious position between these two young firebrands.

 

Bo reined in the mustang at the porch steps. She wore a

buckskin riding-suit which she had made herself, and its

soft gray with the touches of red beads was mightily

becoming to her. Then she had grown considerably during the

winter and now looked too flashing and pretty to resemble a

boy, yet singularly healthy and strong and lithe. Red spots

shone in her cheeks and her eyes held that ever-dangerous

blaze.

 

“Nell, did you give me away to that cowboy?” she demanded.

 

“Give you away!” exclaimed Helen, blankly.

 

“Yes. You know I told you — awhile back — that I was

wildly in love with him. Did you give me away — tell on me?”

 

She might have been furious, but she certainly was not

confused.

 

“Why, Bo! How could you? No. I did not,” replied Helen.

 

“Never gave him a hint?”

 

“Not even a hint. You have my word for that. Why? What’s

happened?”

 

“He makes me sick.”

 

Bo would not say any more, owing to the near approach of the

cowboy.

 

“Mawnin’, Miss Nell,” he drawled. “I was just tellin’ this

here Miss Bo-Peep Rayner —”

 

“Don’t call me that!” broke in Bo, with fire in her voice.

 

“Wal, I was just tellin’ her thet she wasn’t goin’ off on

any more of them long rides. Honest now, Miss Nell, it ain’t

safe, an’ —”

 

“You’re not my boss,” retorted Bo.

 

“Indeed, sister, I agree with him. You won’t obey me.”

 

“Reckon some one’s got to be your boss,” drawled Carmichael.

“Shore I ain’t hankerin’ for the job. You could ride to

Kingdom Come or off among the Apaches — or over here a

ways” — at this he grinned knowingly — “or anywheres, for

all I cared. But I’m workin’ for Miss Nell, an’ she’s boss.

An’ if she says you’re not to take them rides — you won’t.

Savvy that, miss?”

 

It was a treat for Helen to see Bo look at the cowboy.

 

“Mis-ter Carmichael, may I ask how you are going to prevent

me from riding where I like?”

 

“Wal, if you’re goin’ worse locoed this way I’ll keep you

off’n a hoss if I have to rope you an’ tie you up. By golly,

I will!”

 

His dry humor was gone and manifestly he meant what he said.

 

“Wal,” she drawled it very softly and sweetly, but

venomously, “if — you — ever — touch — me again!”

 

At this he flushed, then made a quick, passionate gesture

with his hand, expressive of heat and shame.

 

“You an’ me will never get along,” he said, with a dignity

full of pathos. “I seen thet a month back when you changed

sudden-like to me. But nothin’ I say to you has any

reckonin’ of mine. I’m talkin’ for your sister. It’s for her

sake. An’ your own… . I never told her an’ I never told

you thet I’ve seen Riggs sneakin’ after you twice on them

desert rides. Wal, I tell you now.”

 

The intelligence apparently had not the slightest effect on

Bo. But Helen was astonished and alarmed.

 

“Riggs! Oh, Bo, I’ve seen him myself — riding around. He

does not mean well. You must be careful.”

 

“If I ketch him again,” went on Carmichael, with his mouth

lining hard, “I’m goin’ after him.”

 

He gave her a cool, intent, piercing look, then he dropped

his head and turned away, to stride back toward the corrals.

 

Helen could make little of the manner in which her sister

watched the cowboy pass out of sight.

 

“A month back — when I changed sudden-like,” mused Bo. “I

wonder what he meant by that… . Nell, did I change —

right after the talk you had with me — about him?”

 

“Indeed you did, Bo,” replied Helen. “But it was for the

better. Only he can’t see it. How proud and sensitive he is!

You wouldn’t guess it at first. Bo, your reserve has wounded

him more than your flirting. He thinks it’s indifference.”

 

“Maybe that ‘ll be good for him,” declared Bo. “Does he

expect me to fall on his neck? He’s that thick-headed! Why,

he’s the locoed one, not me.”

 

“I’d like to ask you, Bo, if you’ve seen how he has

changed?” queried Helen, earnestly. “He’s older. He’s

worried. Either his heart is breaking for you or else he

fears trouble for us. I fear it’s both. How he watches you!

Bo, he knows all you do — where you go. That about Riggs

sickens me.”

 

“If Riggs follows me and tries any of his four-flush

desperado games he’ll have his hands full,” said Bo, grimly.

“And that without my cowboy protector! But I just wish Riggs

would do something. Then we’ll see what Las Vegas Tom

Carmichael cares. Then we’ll see!”

 

Bo bit out the last words passionately and jealously, then

she lifted her bridle to the spirited mustang.

 

“Nell, don’t you fear for me,” she said. “I can take care of

myself.”

 

Helen watched her ride away, all but willing to confess that

there might be truth in what Bo said. Then Helen went about

her work, which consisted of routine duties as well as an

earnest study to familiarize herself with continually new

and complex conditions of ranch life. Every day brought new

problems. She made notes of all that she observed, and all

that was told her, which habit she had found, after a few

weeks of trial, was going to be exceedingly valuable to her.

She did not intend always to be dependent upon the knowledge

of hired men, however faithful some of them might be.

 

This morning on her rounds she had expected developments of

some kind, owing to the presence of Roy Beeman and two of

his brothers, who had arrived yesterday. And she was to

discover that Jeff Mulvey, accompanied by six of his

co-workers and associates, had deserted her without a word

or even sending for their pay. Carmichael had predicted

this. Helen had half doubted. It was a relief now to be

confronted with facts, however disturbing. She had fortified

herself to withstand a great deal more trouble than had

happened. At the gateway of the main corral, a huge

inclosure fenced high with peeled logs, she met Roy Beeman,

lasso in hand, the same tall, lean, limping figure she

remembered so well. Sight of him gave her an inexplicable

thrill — a flashing memory of an unforgettable night ride.

Roy was to have charge of the horses on the ranch, of which

there were several hundred, not counting many lost on range

and mountain, or the unbranded colts.

 

Roy took off his sombrero and greeted her. This Mormon had a

courtesy for women that spoke well for him. Helen wished she

had more employees like him.

 

“It’s jest as Las Vegas told us it ‘d be,” he said,

regretfully. “Mulvey an’ his pards lit out this mornin’. I’m

sorry, Miss Helen. Reckon thet’s all because I come over.”

 

“I heard the news,” replied Helen. “You needn’t be sorry,

Roy, for I’m not. I’m glad. I want to know whom I can

trust.”

 

“Las Vegas says we’re shore in for it now.”

 

“Roy, what do you think?”

 

“I reckon so. Still, Las Vegas is powerful cross these days

an’ always lookin’ on the dark side. With us boys, now, it’s

sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. But, Miss

Helen, if Beasley forces the deal there will be serious

trouble. I’ve seen thet happen. Four or five years ago

Beasley rode some greasers off their farms an’ no one ever

knowed if he had a just claim.”

 

“Beasley has no claim on my property. My uncle solemnly

swore that on his death-bed. And I find nothing in his books

or papers of those years when he employed Beasley. In fact,

Beasley was never uncle’s partner. The truth is that my

uncle took Beasley up when he was a poor, homeless boy.”

 

“So my old dad says,” replied Roy. “But what’s right don’t

always prevail in these parts.”

 

“Roy, you’re the keenest man I’ve met since I came West.

Tell me what you think will happen.”

 

Beeman appeared flattered, but he hesitated to reply. Helen

had long been aware of the reticence of these outdoor men.

 

“I reckon you mean cause an’ effect, as Milt Dale would

say,” responded Roy, thoughtfully.

 

“Yes. If Beasley attempts to force me off my ranch what will

happen?”

 

Roy looked up and met her gaze. Helen remembered that

singular stillness, intentness of his face.

 

“Wal, if Dale an’ John get here in time I reckon we can

bluff thet Beasley outfit.”

 

“You mean my friends — my men would confront Beasley —

refuse his demands — and if necessary fight him off?”

 

“I shore do,” replied Roy.

 

“But suppose you’re not all here? Beasley would be smart

enough to choose an opportune time. Suppose he did put me

off and take possession? What then?”

 

“Then it ‘d only be a matter of how soon Dale or Carmichael

— or I — got to Beasley.”

 

“Roy! I feared just that. It haunts me. Carmichael asked me

to let him go pick a fight with Beasley. Asked me, just as

he would ask me about his work! I was shocked. And now you

say Dale — and you —”

 

Helen choked in her agitation.

 

“Miss Helen, what else could you look for? Las Vegas is in

love with Miss Bo. Shore he told me so. An’ Dale’s in love

with you! … Why, you couldn’t stop them any more ‘n you

could stop the wind from blowin’ down a pine, when it got

ready… . Now, it’s some different with me. I’m a Mormon

an’ I’m married. But I’m Dale’s pard, these many years. An’

I care a powerful sight for you an’ Miss Bo. So I reckon I’d

draw on Beasley the first chance