The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (read me like a book txt) 📗

up the whole gang with thet gun,” he protested.

“I reckon she 'ain't nothin' ag'in' us,” replied Wilson.

“A-huh! You know a lot about wimmen now, don't you? But thet did my heart good. Jim, what 'n earth would you have did if thet 'd been you instead of Riggs?”

The query seemed important and amazing. Wilson pondered.

“Shore I'd stood there—stock-still—an' never moved an eye-winker.”

“An' let her shoot!” ejaculated Anson, nodding his long head. “Me, too!”

So these rough outlaws, inured to all the violence and baseness of their dishonest calling, rose to the challenging courage of a slip of a girl. She had the one thing they respected—nerve.

Just then a halloo, from the promontory brought Anson up with a start. Muttering to himself, he strode out toward the jagged rocks that hid the outlook. Moze shuffled his burly form after Anson.

“Miss, it shore was grand—thet performance of Mister Gunman Riggs,” remarked Jim Wilson, attentively studying the girl.

“Much obliged to you for lending me your gun,” she replied. “I—I hope I hit him—a little.”

“Wal, if you didn't sting him, then Jim Wilson knows nothin' about lead.”

“Jim Wilson? Are you the man—the outlaw my uncle Al knew?”

“Reckon I am, miss. Fer I knowed Al shore enough. What 'd he say aboot me?”

“I remember once he was telling me about Snake Anson's gang. He mentioned you. Said you were a real gun-fighter. And what a shame it was you had to be an outlaw.”

“Wal! An' so old Al spoke thet nice of me.... It's tolerable likely I'll remember. An' now, miss, can I do anythin' for you?”

Swift as a flash she looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Wal, shore I don't mean much, I'm sorry to say. Nothin' to make you look like thet.... I hev to be an outlaw, shore as you're born. But—mebbe there's a difference in outlaws.”

She understood him and paid him the compliment not to voice her sudden upflashing hope that he might be one to betray his leader.

“Please take this rope off my feet. Let me walk a little. Let me have a—a little privacy. That fool watched every move I made. I promise not to run away. And, oh! I'm thirsty.”

“Shore you've got sense.” He freed her feet and helped her get up. “There'll be some fresh water any minit now, if you'll wait.”

Then he turned his back and walked over to where Riggs sat nursing a bullet-burn on his leg.

“Say, Riggs, I'm takin' the responsibility of loosin' the girl for a little spell. She can't get away. An' there ain't any sense in bein' mean.”

Riggs made no reply, and went on rolling down his trousers leg, lapped a fold over at the bottom and pulled on his boot. Then he strode out toward the promontory. Half-way there he encountered Anson tramping back.

“Beasley's comin' one way an' Shady's comin' another. We'll be off this hot point of rock by noon,” said the outlaw leader.

Riggs went on to the promontory to look for himself.

“Where's the girl?” demanded Anson, in surprise, when he got back to the camp.

“Wal, she's walkin' 'round between heah an' Pine,” drawled Wilson.

“Jim, you let her loose?”

“Shore I did. She's been hawg-tied all the time. An' she said she'd not run off. I'd take thet girl's word even to a sheep-thief.”

“A-huh. So would I, for all of thet. But, Jim, somethin's workin' in you. Ain't you sort of rememberin' a time when you was young—an' mebbe knowed pretty kids like this one?”

“Wal, if I am it 'll shore turn out bad fer somebody.”

Anson gave him a surprised stare and suddenly lost the bantering tone.

“A-huh! So thet's how it's workin',” he replied, and flung himself down in the shade.

Young Burt made his appearance then, wiping his sallow face. His deep-set, hungry eyes, upon which his comrades set such store, roved around the camp.

“Whar's the gurl?” he queried.

“Jim let her go out fer a stroll,” replied Anson.

“I seen Jim was gittin' softy over her. Haw! Haw! Haw!”

But Snake Anson did not crack a smile. The atmosphere appeared not to be congenial for jokes, a fact Burt rather suddenly divined. Riggs and Moze returned from the promontory, the latter reporting that Shady Jones was riding up close. Then the girl walked slowly into sight and approached to find a seat within ten yards of the group. They waited in silence until the expected horseman rode up with water-bottles slung on both sides of his saddle. His advent was welcome. All the men were thirsty. Wilson took water to the girl before drinking himself.

“Thet's an all-fired hot ride fer water,” declared the outlaw Shady, who somehow fitted his name in color and impression. “An', boss, if it's the same to you I won't take it ag'in.”

“Cheer up, Shady. We'll be rustlin' back in the mountains before sundown,” said Anson.

“Hang me if that ain't the cheerfulest news I've hed in some days. Hey, Moze?”

The black-faced Moze nodded his shaggy head.

“I'm sick an' sore of this deal,” broke out Burt, evidently encouraged by his elders. “Ever since last fall we've been hangin' 'round—till jest lately freezin' in camps—no money—no drink—no grub wuth havin'. All on promises!”

Not improbably this young and reckless member of the gang had struck the note of discord. Wilson seemed most detached from any sentiment prevailing there. Some strong thoughts were revolving in his brain.

“Burt, you ain't insinuatin' thet I made promises?” inquired Anson, ominously.

“No, boss, I ain't. You allus said we might hit it rich. But them promises was made to you. An' it 'd be jest like thet greaser to go back on his word now we got the gurl.”

“Son, it happens we got the wrong one. Our long-haired pard hyar—Mister Riggs—him with the big gun—he waltzes up with this sassy kid instead of the woman Beasley wanted.”

Burt snorted his disgust while Shady Jones, roundly swearing, pelted the smoldering camp-fire with stones. Then they all lapsed into surly silence. The object of their growing scorn, Riggs, sat a little way apart, facing none of them, but maintaining as bold a front as apparently he could muster.