The Light of the Western Stars by Zane Grey (read along books .TXT) 📗

and a slow, dull crimson blotted over the healthy red-brown of his neck and cheeks.

“What you do or think, Stewart, is no concern of mine.”

“Miss—Miss Hammond! You don't believe—” faltered Stewart.

The crimson receded from his face, leaving it pale. His eyes were appealing. They had a kind of timid look that struck Madeline even in her anger. There was something boyish about him then. He took a step forward and reached out with his hand open-palmed in a gesture that was humble, yet held a certain dignity.

“But listen. Never mind now what you—you think about me. There's a good reason—”

“I have no wish to hear your reason.”

“But you ought to,” he persisted.

“Sir!”

Stewart underwent another swift change. He started violently. A dark tide shaded his face and a glitter leaped to his eyes. He took two long strides—loomed over her.

“I'm not thinking about myself,” he thundered. “Will you listen?”

“No,” she replied; and there was freezing hauteur in her voice. With a slight gesture of dismissal, unmistakable in its finality, she turned her back upon him. Then she joined her guests.

Stewart stood perfectly motionless. Then slowly he began to lift his right hand in which he held his sombrero. He swept it up and up high over his head. His tall form towered. With fierce suddenness he flung his sombrero down. He leaped at his black horse and dragged him to where his saddle lay. With one pitch he tossed the saddle upon the horse's back. His strong hands flashed at girths and straps. Every action was swift, decisive, fierce. Bounding for his bridle, which hung over a bush, he ran against a cowboy who awkwardly tried to avoid the onslaught.

“Get out of my way!” he yelled.

Then with the same savage haste he adjusted the bridle on his horse.

“Mebbe you better hold on a minnit, Gene, ole feller,” said Monty Price.

“Monty, do you want me to brain you?” said Stewart, with the short, hard ring in his voice.

“Now, considerin' the high class of my brains, I oughter be real careful to keep 'em,” replied Monty. “You can betcher life, Gene, I ain't goin' to git in front of you. But I jest says—Listen!”

Stewart raised his dark face. Everybody listened. And everybody heard the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs. The sun had set, but the park was light. Nels appeared down the trail, and his horse was running. In another moment he was in the circle, pulling his bay back to a sliding halt. He leaped off abreast of Stewart.

Madeline saw and felt a difference in Nels's presence.

“What's up, Gene?” he queried, sharply.

“I'm leaving camp,” replied Stewart, thickly. His black horse began to stamp as Stewart grasped bridle and mane and kicked the stirrup round.

Nels's long arm shot out, and his hand fell upon Stewart, holding him down.

“Shore I'm sorry,” said Nels, slowly. “Then you was goin' to hit the trail?”

“I am going to. Let go, Nels.”

“Shore you ain't goin', Gene?”

“Let go, damn you!” cried Stewart, as he wrestled free.

“What's wrong?” asked Nels, lifting his hand again.

“Man! Don't touch me!”

Nels stepped back instantly. He seemed to become aware of Stewart's white, wild passion. Again Stewart moved to mount.

“Nels, don't make me forget we've been friends,” he said.

“Shore I ain't fergettin',” replied Nels. “An' I resign my job right here an' now!”

His strange speech checked the mounting cowboy. Stewart stepped down from the stirrup. Then their hard faces were still and cold while their eyes locked glances.

Madeline was as much startled by Nels's speech as Stewart. Quick to note a change in these men, she now sensed one that was unfathomable.

“Resign?” questioned Stewart.

“Shore. What 'd you think I'd do under circumstances sich as has come up?”

“But see here, Nels, I won't stand for it.”

“You're not my boss no more, an' I ain't beholdin' to Miss Hammond, neither. I'm my own boss, an' I'll do as I please. Sabe, senor?”

Nels's words were at variance with the meaning in his face.

“Gene, you sent me on a little scout down in the mountains, didn't you?” he continued.

“Yes, I did,” replied Stewart, with a new sharpness in his voice.

“Wal, shore you was so good an' right in your figgerin', as opposed to mine, that I'm sick with admirin' of you. If you hedn't sent me—wal, I'm reckonin' somethin' might hev happened. As it is we're shore up against a hell of a proposition!”

How significant was the effect of his words upon all the cowboys! Stewart made a fierce and violent motion, terrible where his other motions had been but passionate. Monty leaped straight up into the air in a singular action as suggestive of surprise as it was of wild acceptance of menace. Like a stalking giant Nick Steele strode over to Nels and Stewart. The other cowboys rose silently, without a word.

Madeline and her guests, in a little group, watched and listened, unable to divine what all this strange talk and action meant.

“Hold on, Nels, they don't need to hear it,” said Stewart, hoarsely, as he waved a hand toward Madeline's silent group.

“Wal, I'm sorry, but I reckon they'd as well know fust as last. Mebbe thet yearnin' wish of Miss Helen's fer somethin' to happen will come true. Shore I—”

“Cut out the joshin',” rang out Monty's strident voice.

It had as decided an effect as any preceding words or action. Perhaps it was the last thing needed to transform these men, doing unaccustomed duty as escorts of beautiful women, to their natural state as men of the wild.

“Tell us what's what,” said Stewart, cool and grim.

“Don Carlos an' his guerrillas are campin' on the trails thet lead up here. They've got them trails blocked. By to-morrer they'd hed us corralled. Mebbe they meant to surprise us. He's got a lot of Greasers an' outlaws. They're well armed. Now what do they mean? You-all can figger it out to suit yourselves. Mebbe the Don wants to pay a sociable call on our ladies. Mebbe his gang is some hungry, as usual. Mebbe they want to steal a few hosses, or anythin' they can lay hands on. Mebbe they mean wuss, too. Now my idee is this, an' mebbe it's wrong. I long since separated from love with Greasers.