The Man of the Forest - Zane Grey (white hot kiss txt) 📗
- Author: Zane Grey
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Book online «The Man of the Forest - Zane Grey (white hot kiss txt) 📗». Author Zane Grey
As she entered the lane leading to the house she encountered
one of the new stable-boys driving a pack-mule.
“Jim, whose pack is that?” she asked.
“Ma’am, I dunno, but I heard him tell Roy he reckoned his
name was mud,” replied the boy, smiling.
Helen’s heart gave a quick throb. That sounded like Las
Vegas. She hurried on, and upon entering the courtyard she
espied Roy Beeman holding the halter of a beautiful,
wild-looking mustang. There was another horse with another
man, who was in the act of dismounting on the far side. When
he stepped into better view Helen recognized Las Vegas. And
he saw her at the same instant.
Helen did not look up again until she was near the porch.
She had dreaded this meeting, yet she was so glad that she
could have cried aloud.
“Miss Helen, I shore am glad to see you,” he said, standing
bareheaded before her, the same young, frank-faced cowboy
she had seen first from the train.
“Tom!” she exclaimed, and offered her hands.
He wrung them hard while he looked at her. The swift woman’s
glance Helen gave in return seemed to drive something dark
and doubtful out of her heart. This was the same boy she had
known — whom she had liked so well — who had won her
sister’s love. Helen imagined facing him thus was like
awakening from a vague nightmare of doubt. Carmichael’s face
was clean, fresh, young, with its healthy tan; it wore the
old glad smile, cool, easy, and natural; his eyes were like
Dale’s — penetrating, clear as crystal, without a shadow.
What had evil, drink, blood, to do with the real inherent
nobility of this splendid specimen of Western hardihood?
Wherever he had been, whatever he had done during that long
absence, he had returned long separated from that wild and
savage character she could now forget. Perhaps there would
never again be call for it.
“How’s my girl?” he asked, just as naturally as if he had
been gone a few days on some errand of his employer’s.
“Bo? Oh, she’s well — fine. I — I rather think she’ll be
glad to see you,” replied Helen, warmly.
“An’ how’s thet big Indian, Dale?” he drawled.
“Well, too — I’m sure.”
“Reckon I got back heah in time to see you-all married?”
“I — I assure you I — no one around here has been married
yet,” replied Helen, with a blush.
“Thet shore is fine. Was some worried,” he said, lazily.
“I’ve been chasin’ wild hosses over in New Mexico, an’ I got
after this heah blue roan. He kept me chasin’ him fer a
spell. I’ve fetched him back for Bo.”
Helen looked at the mustang Roy was holding, to be instantly
delighted. He was a roan almost blue in color, neither large
nor heavy, but powerfully built, clean-limbed, and racy,
with a long mane and tail, black as coal, and a beautiful
head that made Helen love him at once.
“Well, I’m jealous,” declared Helen, archly. “I never did
see such a pony.”
“I reckoned you’d never ride any hoss but Ranger,” said Las
Vegas.
“No, I never will. But I can be jealous, anyhow, can’t I?”
“Shore. An I reckon if you say you’re goin’ to have him —
wal, Bo ‘d be funny,” he drawled.
“I reckon she would be funny,” retorted Helen. She was so
happy that she imitated his speech. She wanted to hug him.
It was too good to be true — the return of this cowboy. He
understood her. He had come back with nothing that could
alienate her. He had apparently forgotten the terrible role
he had accepted and the doom he had meted out to her
enemies. That moment was wonderful for Helen in its
revelation of the strange significance of the West as
embodied in this cowboy. He was great. But he did not know
that.
Then the door of the living-room opened, and a sweet, high
voice pealed out:
“Roy! Oh, what a mustang! Whose is he?”
“Wal, Bo, if all I hear is so he belongs to you,” replied
Roy with a huge grin.
Bo appeared in the door. She stepped out upon the porch. She
saw the cowboy. The excited flash of her pretty face
vanished as she paled.
“Bo, I shore am glad to see you,” drawled Las Vegas, as he
stepped forward, sombrero in hand. Helen could not see any
sign of confusion in him. But, indeed, she saw gladness.
Then she expected to behold Bo run right into the cowboys’s
arms. It appeared, however, that she was doomed to
disappointment.
“Tom, I’m glad to see you,” she replied.
They shook hands as old friends.
“You’re lookin’ right fine,” he said.
“Oh, I’m well… . And how have you been these six
months?” she queried.
“Reckon I though it was longer,” he drawled. “Wal, I’m
pretty tip-top now, but I was laid up with heart trouble for
a spell.”
“Heart trouble?” she echoed, dubiously.
“Shore… . I ate too much over heah in New Mexico.”
“It’s no news to me — where your heart’s located,” laughed
Bo. Then she ran off the porch to see the blue mustang. She
walked round and round him, clasping her hands in sheer
delight.
“Bo, he’s a plumb dandy,” said Roy. “Never seen a prettier
hoss. He’ll run like a streak. An’ he’s got good eyes. He’ll
be a pet some day. But I reckon he’ll always be spunky.”
“Bo ventured to step closer, and at last got a hand on the
mustang, and then another. She smoothed his quivering neck
and called softly to him, until he submitted to her hold.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Blue somethin’ or other,” replied Roy.
“Tom, has my new mustang a name?” asked Bo, turning to the
cowboy.
“Shore.”
“What then?”
“Wal, I named him Blue-Bo,” answered Las Vegas, with a
smile.
“Blue-Boy?”
“Nope. He’s named after you. An’ I chased him, roped him,
broke him all myself.”
“Very well. Blue-Bo he is, then… . And he’s a wonderful
darling horse. Oh, Nell, just look at him… . Tom, I
can’t thank you enough.”
“Reckon I don’t want any thanks,” drawled the cowboy. “But
see heah, Bo, you shore got to live up to conditions before
you ride him.”
“What!” exclaimed Bo, who was startled by his slow, cool,
meaning tone, of voice.
Helen delighted in looking at Las Vegas then. He had never
appeared to better advantage. So cool, careless, and
assured! He seemed master of a situation in which his terms
must be accepted. Yet he might have been actuated by a
cowboy motive beyond the power of Helen to divine.
“Bo Rayner,” drawled Las Vegas, “thet blue mustang will be
yours, an’ you can ride him — when you’re MRS. TOM
CARMICHAEL!”
Never had he spoken a softer, more drawling speech, nor
gazed at Bo more mildly. Roy seemed thunderstruck. Helen
endeavored heroically to restrain her delicious, bursting
glee. Bo’s wide eyes stared at her lover — darkened —
dilated. Suddenly she left the mustang to confront the
cowboy where he lounged on the porch steps.
“Do you mean that?” she cried.
“Shore do.”
“Bah! It’s only a magnificent bluff,” she retorted. “You’re
only in fun. It’s your — your darned nerve!”
“Why, Bo,” began Las Vegas, reproachfully. “You shore know
I’m not the four-flusher kind. Never got away with a bluff
in my life! An’ I’m jest in daid earnest aboot this heah.”
All the same, signs were not wanting in his mobile face that
he was almost unable to restrain his mirth.
Helen realized then that Bo saw through the cowboy — that
the ultimatum was only one of his tricks.
“It IS a bluff and I CALL you!” declared Bo, ringingly.
Las Vegas suddenly awoke to consequences. He essayed to
speak, but she was so wonderful then, so white and
blazing-eyed, that he was stricken mute.
“I’ll ride Blue-Bo this afternoon,” deliberately stated the
girl.
Las Vegas had wit enough to grasp her meaning, and he seemed
about to collapse.
“Very well, you can make me Mrs. Tom Carmichael to-day —
this morning — just before dinner… . Go get a preacher
to marry us — and make yourself look a more presentable
bridegroom — UNLESS IT WAS ONLY A BLUFF!”
Her imperiousness changed as the tremendous portent of her
words seemed to make Las Vegas a blank, stone image of a
man. With a wild-rose color suffusing her face, she swiftly
bent over him, kissed him, and flashed away into the house.
Her laugh pealed back, and it thrilled Helen, so deep and
strange was it for the wilful sister, so wild and merry and
full of joy.
It was then that Roy Beeman recovered from his paralysis, to
let out such a roar of mirth as to frighten the horses.
Helen was laughing, and crying, too, but laughing mostly.
Las Vegas Carmichael was a sight for the gods to behold.
Bo’s kiss had unclamped what had bound him. The sudden
truth, undeniable, insupportable, glorious, made him a
madman.
“Bluff — she called me — ride Blue-Bo saf’ternoon!” he
raved, reaching wildly for Helen. “Mrs. — Tom — Carmichael
— before dinner — preacher — presentable bridegroom! …
Aw! I’m drunk again! I — who swore off forever!”
“No, Tom, you’re just happy,” said Helen.
Between her and Roy the cowboy was at length persuaded to
accept the situation and to see his wonderful opportunity.
“Now — now, Miss Helen — what’d Bo mean by pre —
presentable bridegroom? … Presents? Lord, I’m clean
busted flat!”
“She meant you must dress up in your best, of course,”
replied Helen.
“Where ‘n earth will I get a preacher? … Show Down’s
forty miles… . Can’t ride there in time… . Roy, I’ve
gotta have a preacher… . Life or death deal fer me.”
“Wal, old man, if you’ll brace up I’ll marry you to Bo,”
said Roy, with his glad grin.
“Aw!” gasped Las Vegas, as if at the coming of a sudden
beautiful hope.
“Tom, I’m a preacher,” replied Roy, now earnestly. “You
didn’t know thet, but I am. An’ I can marry you an’ Bo as
good as any one, an’ tighter ‘n most.”
Las Vegas reached for his friend as a drowning man might
have reached for solid rock.
“Roy, can you really marry them — with my Bible — and the
service of my church?” asked Helen, a happy hope flushing
her face.
“Wal, indeed I can. I’ve married more ‘n one couple whose
religion wasn’t mine.”
“B-b-before — d-d-din-ner!” burst out Las Vegas, like a
stuttering idiot.
“I reckon. Come on, now, an’ make yourself pre-senttible,”
said Roy. “Miss Helen, you tell Bo thet it’s all settled.”
He picked up the halter on the blue mustang and turned away
toward the corrals. Las Vegas put the bridle of his horse
over his arm, and seemed to be following in a trance, with
his dazed, rapt face held high.
“Bring Dale,” called Helen, softly after them.
So it came about as naturally as it was wonderful that Bo
rode the blue mustang before the afternoon ended.
Las Vegas disobeyed his first orders from Mrs. Tom
Carmichael and rode out after her toward the green-rising
range. Helen seemed impelled to follow. She did not need to
ask Dale the second time. They rode swiftly, but never
caught up
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