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

favored his offer of marriage to Helen; he

was neither attractive, nor good, nor industrious, nor

anything that interested her; he was the boastful, strutting

adventurer, not genuinely Western, and he affected long hair

and guns and notoriety. Helen had suspected the veracity of

the many fights he claimed had been his, and also she

suspected that he was not really big enough to be bad — as

Western men were bad. But on the train, in the station at La

Junta, one glimpse of him, manifestly spying upon her while

trying to keep out of her sight, warned Helen that she now

might have a problem on her hands.

 

The recognition sobered her. All was not to be a road of

roses to this new home in the West. Riggs would follow her,

if he could not accompany her, and to gain his own ends he

would stoop to anything. Helen felt the startling

realization of being cast upon her own resources, and then a

numbing discouragement and loneliness and helplessness. But

these feelings did not long persist in the quick pride and

flash of her temper. Opportunity knocked at her door and she

meant to be at home to it. She would not have been Al

Auchincloss’s niece if she had faltered. And, when temper

was succeeded by genuine anger, she could have laughed to

scorn this Harve Riggs and his schemes, whatever they were.

Once and for all she dismissed fear of him. When she left

St. Joseph she had faced the West with a beating heart and a

high resolve to be worthy of that West. Homes had to be made

out there in that far country, so Uncle Al had written, and

women were needed to make homes. She meant to be one of

these women and to make of her sister another. And with the

thought that she would know definitely what to say to Riggs

when he approached her, sooner or later, Helen dismissed him

from mind.

 

While the train was in motion, enabling Helen to watch the

ever-changing scenery, and resting her from the strenuous

task of keeping Bo well in hand at stations, she lapsed

again into dreamy gaze at the pine forests and the red,

rocky gullies and the dim, bold mountains. She saw the sun

set over distant ranges of New Mexico — a golden blaze of

glory, as new to her as the strange fancies born in her,

thrilling and fleeting by. Bo’s raptures were not silent,

and the instant the sun sank and the color faded she just as

rapturously importuned Helen to get out the huge basket of

food they had brought from home.

 

They had two seats, facing each other, at the end of the

coach, and piled there, with the basket on top, was luggage

that constituted all the girls owned in the world. Indeed,

it was very much more than they had ever owned before,

because their mother, in her care for them and desire to

have them look well in the eyes of this rich uncle, had

spent money and pains to give them pretty and serviceable

clothes.

 

The girls sat together, with the heavy basket on their

knees, and ate while they gazed out at the cool, dark

ridges. The train clattered slowly on, apparently over a

road that was all curves. And it was supper-time for

everybody in that crowded coach. If Helen had not been so

absorbed by the great, wild mountain-land she would have had

more interest in the passengers. As it was she saw them, and

was amused and thoughtful at the men and women and a few

children in the car, all middle-class people, poor and

hopeful, traveling out there to the New West to find homes.

It was splendid and beautiful, this fact, yet it inspired a

brief and inexplicable sadness. From the train window, that

world of forest and crag, with its long bare reaches

between, seemed so lonely, so wild, so unlivable. How

endless the distance! For hours and miles upon miles no

house, no hut, no Indian tepee! It was amazing, the length

and breadth of this beautiful land. And Helen, who loved

brooks and running streams, saw no water at all.

 

Then darkness settled down over the slow-moving panorama; a

cool night wind blew in at the window; white stars began to

blink out of the blue. The sisters, with hands clasped and

heads nestled together, went to sleep under a heavy cloak.

 

Early the next morning, while the girls were again delving

into their apparently bottomless basket, the train stopped

at Las Vegas.

 

“Look! Look!” cried Bo, in thrilling voice. “Cowboys! Oh,

Nell, look!”

 

Helen, laughing, looked first at her sister, and thought how

most of all she was good to look at. Bo was little, instinct

with pulsating life, and she had chestnut hair and dark-blue

eyes. These eyes were flashing, roguish, and they drew like

magnets.

 

Outside on the rude station platform were railroad men,

Mexicans, and a group of lounging cowboys. Long, lean,

bow-legged fellows they were, with young, frank faces and

intent eyes. One of them seemed particularly attractive with

his superb build, his red-bronze face and bright-red scarf,

his swinging gun, and the huge, long, curved spurs.

Evidently he caught Bo’s admiring gaze, for, with a word to

his companions, he sauntered toward the window where the

girls sat. His gait was singular, almost awkward, as if he

was not accustomed to walking. The long spurs jingled

musically. He removed his sombrero and stood at ease, frank,

cool, smiling. Helen liked him on sight, and, looking to see

what effect he had upon Bo, she found that young lady

staring, frightened stiff.

 

“Good mawnin’,” drawled the cowboy, with slow, good-humored

smile. “Now where might you-all be travelin’?”

 

The sound of his voice, the clean-cut and droll geniality;

seemed new and delightful to Helen.

 

“We go to Magdalena — then take stage for the White

Mountains,” replied Helen.

 

The cowboy’s still, intent eyes showed surprise.

 

“Apache country, miss,” he said. “I reckon I’m sorry. Thet’s

shore no place for you-all … Beggin’ your pawdin — you

ain’t Mormons?”

 

“No. We’re nieces of Al Auchincloss,” rejoined Helen.

 

“Wal, you don’t say! I’ve been down Magdalena way an’ heerd

of Al… . Reckon you’re goin’ a-visitin’?”

 

“It’s to be home for us.”

 

“Shore thet’s fine. The West needs girls… . Yes, I’ve

heerd of Al. An old Arizona cattle-man in a sheep country!

Thet’s bad… . Now I’m wonderin’ — if I’d drift down

there an’ ask him for a job ridin’ for him — would I get

it?”

 

His lazy smile was infectious and his meaning was as clear

as crystal water. The gaze he bent upon Bo somehow pleased

Helen. The last year or two, since Bo had grown prettier all

the time, she had been a magnet for admiring glances. This

one of the cowboy’s inspired respect and liking, as well as

amusement. It certainly was not lost upon Bo.

 

“My uncle once said in a letter that he never had enough men

to run his ranch,” replied Helen, smiling.

 

“Shore I’ll go. I reckon I’d jest naturally drift that way

— now.”

 

He seemed so laconic, so easy, so nice, that he could not

have been taken seriously, yet Helen’s quick perceptions

registered a daring, a something that was both sudden and

inevitable in him. His last word was as clear as the soft

look he fixed upon Bo.

 

Helen had a mischievous trait, which, subdue it as she

would, occasionally cropped out; and Bo, who once in her

wilful life had been rendered speechless, offered such a

temptation.

 

“Maybe my little sister will put in a good word for you —

to Uncle Al,” said Helen. Just then the train jerked, and

started slowly. The cowboy took two long strides beside the

car, his heated boyish face almost on a level with the

window, his eyes, now shy and a little wistful, yet bold,

too, fixed upon Bo.

 

“Good-by — Sweetheart!” he called.

 

He halted — was lost to view.

 

“Well!” ejaculated Helen, contritely, half sorry, half

amused. “What a sudden young gentleman!”

 

Bo had blushed beautifully.

 

“Nell, wasn’t he glorious!” she burst out, with eyes

shining.

 

“I’d hardly call him that, but he was—nice,” replied Helen,

much relieved that Bo had apparently not taken offense at

her.

 

It appeared plain that Bo resisted a frantic desire to look

out of the window and to wave her hand. But she only peeped

out, manifestly to her disappointment.

 

“Do you think he — he’ll come to Uncle Al’s?” asked Bo.

 

“Child, he was only in fun.”

 

“Nell, I’ll bet you he comes. Oh, it’d be great! I’m going

to love cowboys. They don’t look like that Harve Riggs who

ran after you so.”

 

Helen sighed, partly because of the reminder of her odious

suitor, and partly because Bo’s future already called

mysteriously to the child. Helen had to be at once a mother

and a protector to a girl of intense and wilful spirit.

 

One of the trainmen directed the girls’ attention to a

green, sloping mountain rising to a bold, blunt bluff of

bare rock; and, calling it Starvation Peak, he told a story

of how Indians had once driven Spaniards up there and

starved them. Bo was intensely interested, and thereafter

she watched more keenly than ever, and always had a question

for a passing trainman. The adobe houses of the Mexicans

pleased her, and, then the train got out into Indian

country, where pueblos appeared near the track and Indians

with their bright colors and shaggy wild mustangs — then

she was enraptured.

 

“But these Indians are peaceful!” she exclaimed once,

regretfully.

 

“Gracious, child! You don’t want to see hostile Indians, do

you?” queried Helen.

 

“I do, you bet,” was the frank rejoinder.

 

“Well, I’LL bet that I’ll be sorry I didn’t leave you with

mother.”

 

“Nell — you never will!”

 

They reached Albuquerque about noon, and this important

station, where they had to change trains, had been the first

dreaded anticipation of the journey. It certainly was a busy

place — full of jabbering Mexicans, stalking, red-faced,

wicked-looking cowboys, lolling Indians. In the confusion

Helen would have been hard put to it to preserve calmness,

with Bo to watch, and all that baggage to carry, and the

other train to find; but the kindly brakeman who had been

attentive to them now helped them off the train into the

other — a service for which Helen was very grateful.

 

“Albuquerque’s a hard place,” confided the trainman. “Better

stay in the car — and don’t hang out the windows… .

Good luck to you!”

 

Only a few passengers were in the car and they were Mexicans

at the forward end. This branch train consisted of one

passenger-coach, with a baggage-car, attached to a string of

freight-cars. Helen told herself, somewhat grimly, that soon

she would know surely whether or not her suspicions of Harve

Riggs had warrant. If he was going on to Magdalena on that

day he must go in this coach. Presently Bo, who was not

obeying admonitions, drew her head out of the window. Her

eyes were wide in amaze, her mouth open.

 

“Nell! I saw that man Riggs!” she whispered. “He’s going to

get on this train.”

 

“Bo, I saw him yesterday,” replied Helen, soberly.

 

“He’s followed you — the — the —”

 

“Now, Bo, don’t get excited,” remonstrated Helen. “We’ve

left home now. We’ve got to take things as they come. Never

mind if Riggs has followed me. I’ll settle him.”

 

“Oh! Then you won’t speak —