The Man of the Forest - Zane Grey (white hot kiss txt) 📗
- Author: Zane Grey
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gang so it ‘d be easy to sneak the girl off. Can you make
thet big brute do tricks? Rush the camp at night an’ squall
an’ chase off the horses?”
“I’ll guarantee to scare Anson out of ten years’ growth,”
replied Dale.
“Shore it’s a go, then,” resumed Wilson, as if glad. “I’ll
post the girl — give her a hunch to do her part. You sneak
up to-night jest before dark. I’ll hev the gang worked up.
An’ then you put the cougar to his tricks, whatever you
want. When the gang gits wild I’ll grab the girl an’ pack
her off down heah or somewheres aboot an’ whistle fer you… .
But mebbe thet ain’t so good. If thet cougar comes
pilin’ into camp he might jump me instead of one of the
gang. An’ another hunch. He might slope up on me in the
dark when I was tryin’ to find you. Shore thet ain’t
appealin’ to me.”
“Wilson, this cougar is a pet,” replied Dale. “You think
he’s dangerous, but he’s not. No more than a kitten. He only
looks fierce. He has never been hurt by a person an’ he’s
never fought anythin’ himself but deer an’ bear. I can make
him trail any scent. But the truth is I couldn’t make him
hurt you or anybody. All the same, he can be made to scare
the hair off any one who doesn’t know him.”
“Shore thet settles me. I’ll be havin’ a grand joke while
them fellars is scared to death… . Dale, you can depend
on me. An’ I’m beholdin’ to you fer what ‘ll square me some
with myself… . To-night, an’ if it won’t work then,
tomorrer night shore!”
Dale lowered the rifle. The big cougar spat again. Wilson
dropped his hands and, stepping forward, split the green
wall of intersecting spruce branches. Then he turned up the
ravine toward the glen. Once there, in sight of his
comrades, his action and expression changed.
“Hosses all thar, Jim?” asked Anson, as he picked up, his
cards.
“Shore. They act awful queer, them hosses,” replied. Wilson.
“They’re afraid of somethin’.”
“A-huh! Silvertip mebbe,” muttered Anson. “Jim, You jest
keep watch of them hosses. We’d be done if some tarnal
varmint stampeded them.”
“Reckon I’m elected to do all the work now,” complained
Wilson, “while you card-sharps cheat each other. Rustle the
hosses — an’ water an’ fire-wood. Cook an’ wash. Hey?”
“No one I ever seen can do them camp tricks any better ‘n
Jim Wilson,” replied Anson.
“Jim, you’re a lady’s man an’ thar’s our pretty hoodoo over
thar to feed an’ amoose,” remarked Shady Jones, with a smile
that disarmed his speech.
The outlaws guffawed.
“Git out, Jim, you’re breakin’ up the game,” said Moze, who
appeared loser.
“Wal, thet gurl would starve if it wasn’t fer me,” replied
Wilson, genially, and he walked over toward her, beginning
to address her, quite loudly, as he approached. “Wal, miss,
I’m elected cook an’ I’d shore like to heah what you fancy
fer dinner.”
The outlaws heard, for they guffawed again. “Haw! Haw! if
Jim ain’t funny!” exclaimed Anson.
The girl looked up amazed. Wilson was winking at her, and
when he got near he began to speak rapidly and low.
“I jest met Dale down in the woods with his pet cougar. He’s
after you. I’m goin’ to help him git you safe away. Now you
do your part. I want you to pretend you’ve gone crazy.
Savvy? Act out of your head! Shore I don’t care what you do
or say, only act crazy. An’ don’t be scared. We’re goin’ to
scare the gang so I’ll hev a chance to sneak you away.
To-night or tomorrow — shore.”
Before he began to speak she was pale, sad, dull of eye.
Swiftly, with his words, she was transformed, and when he
had ended she did not appear the same girl. She gave him one
blazing flash of comprehension and nodded her head rapidly.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll do it!” she whispered.
The outlaw turned slowly away with the most abstract air,
confounded amid his shrewd acting, and he did not collect
himself until half-way back to his comrades. Then, beginning
to hum an old darky tune, he stirred up and replenished the
fire, and set about preparation for the midday meal. But he
did not miss anything going on around him. He saw the girl
go into her shelter and come out with her hair all down over
her face. Wilson, back to his comrades, grinned his glee,
and he wagged his head as if he thought the situation was
developing.
The gambling outlaws, however, did not at once see the girl
preening herself and smoothing her long hair in a way
calculated to startle.
“Busted!” ejaculated Anson, with a curse, as he slammed down
his cards. “If I ain’t hoodooed I’m a two-bit of a gambler!”
“Sartin you’re hoodooed,” said Shady Jones, in scorn. “Is
thet jest dawnin’ on you?”
“Boss, you play like a cow stuck in the mud,” remarked Moze,
laconically.
“Fellars, it ain’t funny,” declared Anson, with pathetic
gravity. “I’m jest gittin’ on to myself. Somethin’s wrong.
Since ‘way last fall no luck — nothin’ but the wust end of
everythin’. I ain’t blamin’ anybody. I’m the boss. It’s me
thet’s off.”
“Snake, shore it was the gurl deal you made,” rejoined
Wilson, who had listened. “I told you. Our troubles hev only
begun. An’ I can see the wind-up. Look!”
Wilson pointed to where the girl stood, her hair flying
wildly all over her face and shoulders. She was making most
elaborate bows to an old stump, sweeping the ground with her
tresses in her obeisance.
Anson started. He grew utterly astounded. His amaze was
ludicrous. And the other two men looked to stare, to equal
their leader’s bewilderment.
“What ‘n hell’s come over her?” asked Anson, dubiously.
“Must hev perked up… . But she ain’t feelin’ thet gay!”
Wilson tapped his forehead with a significant finger.
“Shore I was scared of her this mawnin’,” he whispered.
“Naw!” exclaimed Anson, incredulously.
“If she hain’t queer I never seen no queer wimmin,”
vouchsafed Shady Jones, and it would have been judged, by
the way he wagged his head, that he had been all his days
familiar with women.
Moze looked beyond words, and quite alarmed.
“I seen it comin’,” declared Wilson, very much excited. “But
I was scared to say so. You-all made fun of me aboot her.
Now I shore wish I had spoken up.”
Anson nodded solemnly. He did not believe the evidence of
his sight, but the facts seemed stunning. As if the girl
were a dangerous and incomprehensible thing, he approached
her step by step. Wilson followed, and the others appeared
drawn irresistibly.
“Hey thar — kid!” called Anson, hoarsely.
The girl drew her slight form up haughtily. Through her
spreading tresses her eyes gleamed unnaturally upon the
outlaw leader. But she deigned not to reply.
“Hey thar — you Rayner girl!” added Anson, lamely. “What’s
ailin’ you?”
“My lord! did you address me?” she asked, loftily.
Shady Jones got over his consternation and evidently
extracted some humor from the situation, as his dark face
began to break its strain.
“Aww!” breathed Anson, heavily.
“Ophelia awaits your command, my lord. I’ve been gathering
flowers,” she said, sweetly, holding up her empty hands as
if they contained a bouquet.
Shady Jones exploded in convulsed laughter. But his
merriment was not shared. And suddenly it brought disaster
upon him. The girl flew at him.
“Why do you croak, you toad? I will have you whipped and put
in irons, you scullion!” she cried, passionately.
Shady underwent a remarkable change, and stumbled in his
backward retreat. Then she snapped her fingers in Moze’s
face.
“You black devil! Get hence! Avaunt!”
Anson plucked up courage enough to touch her.
“Aww! Now, Ophelyar —”
Probably he meant to try to humor her, but she screamed, and
he jumped back as if she might burn him. She screamed
shrilly, in wild, staccato notes.
“You! You!” she pointed her finger at the outlaw leader.
“You brute to women! You ran off from your wife!”
Anson turned plum-color and then slowly white. The girl must
have sent a random shot home.
“And now the devil’s turned you into a snake. A long, scaly
snake with green eyes! Uugh! You’ll crawl on your belly soon
— when my cowboy finds you. And he’ll tramp you in the
dust.”
She floated away from them and began to whirl gracefully,
arms spread and hair flying; and then, apparently oblivious
of the staring men, she broke into a low, sweet song. Next
she danced around a pine, then danced into her little green
inclosure. From which presently she sent out the most
doleful moans.
“Aww! What a shame!” burst out Anson. “Thet fine, healthy,
nervy kid! Clean gone! Daffy! Crazy ‘n a bedbug!”
“Shore it’s a shame,” protested Wilson. “But it’s wuss for
us. Lord! if we was hoodooed before, what will we be now?
Didn’t I tell you, Snake Anson? You was warned. Ask Shady
an’ Moze — they see what’s up.”
“No luck ‘ll ever come our way ag’in,” predicted Shady,
mournfully.
“It beats me, boss, it beats me,” muttered Moze.
“A crazy woman on my hands! If thet ain’t the last straw!”
broke out Anson, tragically, as he turned away. Ignorant,
superstitious, worked upon by things as they seemed, the
outlaw imagined himself at last beset by malign forces. When
he flung himself down upon one of the packs his big
red-haired hands shook. Shady and Moze resembled two other
men at the end of their ropes.
Wilson’s tense face twitched, and he averted it, as
apparently he fought off a paroxysm of some nature. Just
then Anson swore a thundering oath.
“Crazy or not, I’ll git gold out of thet kid!” he roared.
“But, man, talk sense. Are you gittin’ daffy, too? I declare
this outfit’s been eatin’ loco. You can’t git gold fer her!”
said Wilson, deliberately.
“Why can’t I?”
“‘Cause we’re tracked. We can’t make no dickers. Why, in
another day or so we’ll be dodgin’ lead.”
“Tracked! Whar ‘d you git thet idee? As soon as this?”
queried Anson, lifting his head like a striking snake. His
men, likewise, betrayed sudden interest.
“Shore it’s no idee. I ‘ain’t seen any one. But I feel it in
my senses. I hear somebody comin’ — a step on our trail —
all the time — night in particular. Reckon there’s a big
posse after us.”
“Wal, if I see or hear anythin’ I’ll knock the girl on the
head an’ we’ll dig out of hyar,” replied Anson, sullenly.
Wilson executed a swift forward motion, violent and
passionate, so utterly unlike what might have been looked
for from him, that the three outlaws gaped.
“Then you’ll shore hev to knock Jim Wilson on the haid
first,” he said, in voice as strange as his action.
“Jim! You wouldn’t go back on me!” implored Anson, with
uplifted hands, in a dignity of pathos.
“I’m losin’ my haid, too, an’ you shore might as well knock
it in, an’ you’ll hev to before I’ll stand you murderin’
thet pore little gurl you’ve drove crazy.”
“Jim, I was only mad,” replied Anson. “Fer thet matter, I’m
growin’ daffy myself. Aw! we all need a good stiff drink of
whisky.”
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