Читать книгу Complete Novels - Ernest Haycox - Страница 40

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"Hark to me, amigo: a woman may shorely be a weak vessel but she's got more ways o' fightin' than a man ever heard about. It ain't because o' chivalry a man don't want to hit a lady—it's because o' fear o' gettin' a fine lickin'. You bet."—Joe Breedlove.

Jill Breck had fallen asleep instantly in the hidden glade. But it was not a dreamless sleep; the long ride and all the discouraging, tragic incidents of the day had bruised her profoundly and left unforgettably vivid pictures in her mind. So she dreamed; terrifying dreams that at times brought helpless cries from her. It seemed she was being led away from the JIB, that the house and quarters were going up in flames. She was being roughly treated and each time she protested a vise-like fist closed around her throat. She was driven to a strange country—to the chasm of a river she could not recognize. Above the roar and rush of water she felt a heavy fist closed about her wrist and someone spoke ironically.

"What yuh shoutin' about, sister?"

She woke with a scream in her throat. Trono, his face beet-red and glistening with sweat, was bending over her, grinning in his- tight, triumphant manner. "If yuh aimed to hide yuh shouldn't be caterwaulin' in yore sleep. Come up girl, we got to be movin'. Where's that red-head went?"

"Take your hand off me!"

"Oh, don't talk sassy. Yuh'll live to regret it!"

When she pulled back, resisting the force of his massive arm, he grew suddenly enraged and yanked her forward at a motion. She struck at his leering face and left her mark; roaring, Trono slapped her with the palm of his hand, shoved her through the bushes and into the clearing. Half a dozen of the JIB crew were scattered around the cabin, guns out, moving warily. "Yuh goin' to tell me where the red-head went?" demanded Trono.

She felt the cruel pressure of his grip and gave up her attempt to get free. "You will be paid for this, Trono! Don't you know what the men of the county will do to you for treating me like you do?"

"If there's any pay comin' I guess we'll get it all right," muttered Trono, hoisting her into the saddle before him. "But I guess we'll ride that down. As fer the men o' this county they oughta know better'n to tackle me or my men. Stop that squirmin', yuh little spitfire! Ain't your own crew good enough fer yuh? Think yore awful smart, sidin' in with this waddy. Well, we'll learn yuh manners."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Wait an' see. Come on, boys. We've lost the redhead, I guess. It won't do fer us to let him take pot shots from the bush. Anyhow, we've got Jill, which is plenty. We're ridin'."

"If my father were alive he'd skin you."

Trono chuckled. "Yeah, he shore would. Or I'd skin him. The old man was afraid o' me. Never had the nerve to gimme my time. Didn't know that, did yuh? Well, I had the dope on him. I'm a- tellin' yuh. I ain't no church member, but yore dad wa'n't a Methodist elder by a long shot. Come on, boys."

She closed her lips, venturing no more. Trono was a desperate man, and the recent turn of events had unleashed the everpresent strain of lawlessness. Authority, he had never held in great esteem. More than once he had openly flouted it, though he perhaps did not quite understand that the county left him alone because he had the protection of Old Jim Breck. In his overweening pride he considered that it was his reputation they were afraid of; he believed he was the one who had made the JIB formidable. Stubbins would have told him otherwise, but on this morning Stubbins was not present to give his cautious advice. The girl wisely held her peace, uncomfortable in her precarious seat, thinking of Red and wondering what had become of him.

They reached the open country and instead of going toward the ranch, curved westward, dropping into an arroyo that put them below the horizon. Much later they reached the homesteader's shack and stopped for a rest while Trono sent out men to skirmish. Jill, half asleep in the house, heard one of them ride hurriedly back some time later and presently the word "sheriff'" revived her hopes. It was swiftly quenched. Trono hailed her, half hurled her up before another of the party. Then they were away, riding in great haste, leaving Trono behind.

She grew so weary that she lost trace of time. Once they stopped in a depression, the men whispering to one another and keeping watch over the surrounding land; later they left their shelter and struck rapidly toward the Pass, crossed it and dipped into the burning plain below. Jill closed her eyes and for long stretches of time was oblivious of her surroundings. She never knew how long she rode; but toward sunset she was roused by a man speaking and she looked up to see the 3Cross ranch-house directly in front of them. One of the party rode ahead. By-and-by the cavalcade reached the porch and stopped before Stubbins.

Stubbins smiled courteously, but Jill understood him well enough to know there was little hope of help here. Still, she protested as much as her flagging strength permitted.

"Mr. Stubbins, are you making war on a woman? For shame, but you will never live it down! I'll fight back—you'll never keep me long!"

"Ma'am," said he evenly, "don't put it that way. We're only rescuin' you from your enemies. Consider yourself my guest, nothing more. All right, boys, the lady rests here."

She slid gingerly to the ground. "Rescue! Fine words. But, then, you never were a hand to speak the truth. You were afraid of my father, Mr. Stubbins. You never had the courage to face him. So you waited until he died—and then began to fight me!"

Stubbins reddened. His thin lips folded beneath the bear-like nose and he motioned her inside with a gesture abrupt and impatient. "You take advantage of a man, knowin' he can't strike back."

"Fine reasoning," she retorted. "What excuse have you for taking advantage of a woman?"

He half pushed her down a hall, into a bedroom. Without a word, bowed himself out. She heard the key turn and when she crossed to pull down the shade at the window she saw a puncher negligently stroll across from the bunkhouse and take up his station. A prisoner of the 3Cross! She dropped on the bed to cry but instead, fell asleep.

Though transplanted from his native land—or, more properly, driven from it by an outraged family—Stubbins had never foregone its leisurely, formal customs. It was quite dark when he knocked on the door and announced supper. "I am waiting for you, of course. We must not let the meal get cold. Come, now."

Awakened, Jill debated on self-imposed confinement. But that passed, for she was not the kind to sulk. Hers was the temperament that took the fight to the enemy; in this case she considered it the better part of valor to break bread with the Englishman and talk him out of his ideas. So she rose, washed some of the dust from her face and stepped forth to meet him. He had recovered his perfect urbanity and led her into the dining- room, seating her with a studious politeness. Jill looked about her with considerable interest.

The man lived high and took pains to bring as much of England into the desert as he could. He had fashioned the dining-room, which was the living-room as well, after the fashion of a manorial hall, its ceiling extending a story and a half up. Trophies studded the four walls and bear rugs quite entirely covered the floor. There was a great fireplace, surmounted by a mantel filled with pipes, tobacco and a litter of purely masculine bric-a-brac. A long gun rack stood to one side, the row of oiled weapons glistening dully in the lamp light And somewhere he had picked up some magnificent oil paintings of the West—a Remington's scene of a bighorn on the high ledges; a thorough-brace stage coach tilting perilously down a mountain road done as Russell alone knew how to do.

He enjoyed her unspoken compliment and said so. "You see, I surround myself with as many comforts as I can. Really, the old Westerners are grand fighters, but they don't understand the gentle art of living. It takes a gentleman of the old country to show them."

Jill shrugged her shoulders in dissent. A Chinaman came silently in and they ate through four sedate courses, conversing in desultory phrases. The Englishman proceeded quite as if he were entertaining an honored guest and Jill, for all her distrust of the man, conceded that he was a far more polished specimen than she had ever before known. He made a ritual of supper and, when they had finished, drew her to the glowing blaze. The Chinaman came in with coffee; over the cups Stubbins smiled expansively and touched on dangerous territory.

"Jill, it has been unfortunate that your father and I never struck it off. A fine gentleman. One I was sincerely sorry to see go."

The girl stared at him somberly. It was a direct lie—she saw as much in his eyes. Stubbins spread his hands outward in a symbol of frankness. "All this warfare has been exaggerated. True, we fought sometimes, but usually it was our crews that collided and caused the rumpus. What I'm getting around to, is that you must not harbor ill will toward me on account of a fancied feud. I—most assuredly do I say so—am your friend."

"What are you getting to?" demanded Jill, using her father's bluntness.

Stubbins shut his mouth suddenly and breathed through his nose. "Ah, you disbelieve. My dear girl, you must understand that this world is a dreadful place. Men fight each other over nothing at all, bear tales that are untrue and so go on weaving a web of animosity. It's this I wish to break down, betwixt you and me. We must stick together."

"By all means," said Jill. "Even if you must lock me in my bedroom."

"Only because I was afraid you would run away before I had a chance of putting the situation before you in its proper light. Now, look; here you are entirely alone and very much in trouble. What are you going to do about it?"

"I am going to scratch your eyes out, Mr. Stubbins," said she, quite earnestly. "Once I get the chance."

He pondered over this, not quite knowing whether she meant it literally or figuratively. The girl made herself clear.

"Don't take me for a baby. Trono is quite crooked—and you are behind him. You mean to make life so miserable for me that I'll be glad to give you the JIB."

"Who told you that?" he asked, drawing the question through his nose.

"It's to be seen."

He put his cup down, growing slightly red around the gills. "That newcomer filled you with that yarn. You sh'd have known better than to've trusted him."

"How is it you know so much about him in so short a time?" she countered. "Evidently someone has been keeping you informed."

The Englishman studied her at some length and at last came to a decision. "Well, if you want the cards on the table, I'll not deny I've been interested. But I'm a little better than you give me credit for being. Truth is, I have long cherished a notion."

"Yes?"

For so stolid a temper, he displayed unusual signs of nervousness. Rising, he kicked back the log of the fire, aligned the pipes on the mantle, and jammed one hand in his coat pocket. "Jill, you can't go on alone. Who ever heard of a woman running a cattle ranch? Now, look; I'm a substantial man. I own a great deal of land and stock and I can command a fair size of money. I'm not so old and, bless me, I do know how to enjoy life. But it is plagued lonesome batching in this house. Here—I'm getting into deep water! Will you throw in with me, Jill?"

"Marry you?"

"Well, it's a pleasant idea."

He was not expecting the torrent of laughter that followed. Indignant refusal he could understand, but laughter! Ridicule! The rosy color stained his long, horsey jaws from temple to cleft and he stood very quiet, waiting for her to stop. "What would you be marrying me for?" she asked, catching her breath.

"Why, devil! What does a man marry for? Companionship."

"And land and cattle." she added ironically.

"You are refusing me?"

"Of course. Do you think you are so profound that you can't be seen through? Now, let's talk sense. When are you going to stop this piracy and let me go? You will find you're keeping a white elephant. Sooner or later there will be trouble for you."

"I had thought you owned a little solid wisdom," he muttered. "I see you are but a giddy thing. I'll teach you better. Ay, I will."

She rose. "I give you warning you will learn more than you teach, Mr. Stubbins."

Stubbins watched her vanish toward her bedroom, his hands locked behind his broad back. He was scowling heavily in the heavy outraged manner of a man who had found his charitable intentions trampled under. Like many another of his kind he lacked humor; not the small incidental humor that causes a man to laugh at incongruous things, but the deep, rich vein of amusement rising out of self-knowledge. He was, in truth, a grave ass who thought he was doing Jill Breck a great turn. Naturally, he expected to profit from it. The fact of the matter was he did care somewhat for the girl, but this curious affection had been nourished almost wholly on the assumption that in marrying her he would be master of Pilgrim Valley.

Deprived of this manner of acquiring territory he became distinctly dangerous. Cautious, disposed to use a soft word where it would do the work of a hard one, he nevertheless always pushed toward the main object, never allowing himself to be shunted aside. He had feared Breck as he had feared no other living man; that alone kept him humble. But Breck was gone and, like Trono, he felt a weight removed. From now on he would be less cautious.

So he stood before the fireplace, pipe clenched in his teeth, studying his problem. Possession of Jill was no simple matter; he knew he had most of the county officials beneath his thumb and he likewise knew that with the 3Cross crew and the JIB crew—the latter chosen by him through Trono—he could stand off a good sized posse. Even so, it was a dangerous situation. Once a sentiment thoroughly took hold of the country it swept men along at a tremendous rate. If Jill's captivity should become general knowledge it would do nothing but harm to him.

"Trono," he muttered, "was a cursed fool for making this move. He should have taken the girl back to the JIB and held her there. Then nobody could say she was being kidnapped—on her own ranch."

Trono, as it had often turned out before, was the stumbling block. The man was forever doing the wrong thing, the bull-headed thing. Always butting into trouble. Trono didn't know that you could only push a community about so far; after that they rose and wrought destruction.

"Well," he said to himself, "she made a bad bargain when she turned me down. I may look soft but I'll not let her turn me. Gad, I will not! She chooses to take pot luck. All right. I'll use a man's weapons on her. That I will."

Jill, meanwhile, had gone storming to her room with mixed emotions. In the darkness—there seemed to be no lamp—she stood quite still, listening for the lock to turn; but Stubbins had not followed her and she felt more relieved than she could express. Stubbins had made his bid and in doing so had disclosed his mind. Here was another of those men who would stop at no point short of his destination. He used a little bluster, he was quite the suave gentleman when it pleased him; that made him the more formidable. Jill, on tiptoes, went to the window and peeped through the blind. A cigarette tip glowed in the darkness, warning her that she was still guarded.

It heightened her feeling of desperate resistance. Catching hold of the door knob she turned it until the lock clicked ever so slightly. Inch at a time she slipped it open; down the hall the boards glowed from the reflection of the fire in the big room. That way she could not go without crossing Stubbins' vision. The other way, then. Slipping through, she closed the door with equal care and slid into darkness, not knowing where this black alley led. Dishes rattled from the kitchen, a patch of light fell athwart her path, then a draught of air. Luck! She was on the sill of an open door that led into the back yard of the house.

The glowing cigarette tip was just out of range around an elbow of the house. The barn loomed against the sky, a landmark on which she unconsciously set her course. Somewhere she'd find a horse and get clear of this Englishman and his plans. But Red, where was he? Jill, setting her foot into an unexpected hollow, bit her tongue and wistfully wished for the comfort of his presence. Her father had judged right at first sight—Red was a man!

The barn's shadow engulfed her and Jill, fearful that Stubbins might now be discovering her absence, moved faster. She brushed a post, lost her balance in the sharp turn and unexpectedly kicked over a bucket, waking what seemed to her every echo on the ranch. To the right, the bunkhouse door suddenly opened and a figure stood silhouetted in a gush of yellow light. Someone drawled, "That you, Bill?" Hard on this, she heard Stubbins' mealy accent bark across the yard. "Ashbey, where the devil have you been? She's given me the slip! Roust out!"

At that she ran faster, circling the barn, seeing the man spring from the bunkhouse in hot pursuit. She collided against the sharp bars of a corral and said "darn!" in an aggravated, rising tone. She could not turn back, so she started to climb over; but that, too, was fatal. Boots thudded near by and an ungentle hand hauled her down from her perch. "Honey," said a soft, southern voice, "you got spunk, but yore buckin' the wrong brand."

She marched meekly back to the house and into the light of the big room. Stubbins stared at her with a hard, glowering gaze. "Get to your room! Don't try that again, hear! I have men on guard around this house and they're ordered to shoot."

Jill said, malice in her voice, "I told you, Mr. Stubbins, you'd have trouble keeping me. I'll scratch your eyes out yet." She went quickly to her room, this time hearing the key turn. There was another sound, too. Hoofs drummed on the hard ground outside and a man challenged, evoking a rumbling, familiar reply. "Oh, put up yore damn gun. Yuh'd think this was an army. It's me—Trono."

The interview between Trono and Stubbins was very brief, as usual. The two men seemed to find little comfort in each other's company; for all their common crookedness. Trono strode across the room in long, aggressive steps, stopping directly in front of Stubbins.

"Well, you got the girl. Now what you goin' to do with her?"

"That's something you should have considered before you brought her to me," answered Stubbins. "It was a foolish thing to do. Supposing this gets out? Why, I'll have a fight on my hands. You should have left her at the JIB and seen to it she stayed right in the house until she was ready to pack up and leave the country."

"Yeh? Yuh always got a better idea, ain't yuh?" grumbled Trono. "I brought her here because the sher'ff was roamin' around the Valley. Then that damn Red was causin' trouble. We pinned his ears back an' led him to the calaboose fin'lly. But yore the boss, so you tell me what yore goin' to do."

"Mean to say the fellow is in jail? Oh, the devil! Now he'll spread the story and stir the county. My Godfrey, why didn't you put him out of the way?"

Trono took the rebuke with ill grace. "Say, do yuh think I'm Jesse James? I been havin' plenty o' trouble the last thirty-six hours. Now I'm sharin' some o' it with you. It's yore job, anyhow. You jes' mix in an' do a few licks yoreself. As fer the red-head, the sher'ff got him booked fer kidnappin'. I think he'll have a hard time."

"Kidnappin'? Hm. That sounds interestin'" Stubbins studied his ally. "He ought to be put out of the way, my lad. He's a dangerous critter."

"How about this?" said Trono, leaning forward. "We'll jes' hide the girl some place an' then take a bunch o' the boys down to Powder an' lynch him fer doin' the deed. Then he won't give us no bother."

Stubbins nodded. "Now you're thinking what you should have thought some time ago. But I can't have her here. Somebody's liable to drop in and see her. Got to put her in some other cache."

"Thought you had a way with wimmen." Trono grinned.

Stubbins pressed his lips together and looked angry. "You take her, Trono. Now. Over the mountains to the last line rider's cabin. Grub there. Then in a couple days I'll see to it a lynchin' party starts for Powder."

"So I'm to pull the coals outa the fire again?" Trono was sullenly intractable. "Why don't you do it yoreself? Supposin' I get caught?"

"Afraid?"

"Hell! I'll go. But what you goin' to do with her after that?"

Stubbins hadn't decided that. Truly, Jill was becoming a burden to him. But he didn't say as much to Trono; the burly foreman was given to spells of ridicule that Stubbins disliked. So he dropped his head significantly and said, "That will take care of itself. This newcomer must be fixed first. I'll get the lady."

He roused Jill and escorted her into the hall. Trono grinned sourly at her and winked portentously at Stubbins. "Jill, we got to go fer a little ride. Don't you be afeerd, though. It's all right."

The girl lifted her shoulders. She knew, in a half certain way, what they were about, though she didn't understand that it implicated Tom Lilly. Resistance was utterly useless. Mustering her courage she lifted her clear, oval face to Stubbins. "I'm already becoming a burden to you, am I not? All right, Mr. Stubbins. You'll find that a woman has a thousand ways of fighting back you never heard of. And, remember, I'll scratch your eyes out before you are finished with me."

Trono led her into the yard. In a few minutes a Cross man led around a second horse and presently the girl was traveling again. This time southward. She had managed to smile somewhat at Stubbins and assumed an air of triumph. Here in the utter darkness, bound for an unknown destination, this triumph deserted her.

"Oh, Red, where are you! I wish you'd come!"