Читать книгу Horse Heaven Hill - Zane Grey - Страница 6

That northern section of the state of Washington, as far as the ranch land was concerned, encroached upon wild country, the margin of civilization, the rolling sage plains, blue as the sky, which terminated in a mountain called Horse Heaven Hill.

Viewed from the Wade ranch house, from a knoll overlooking the thriving town, the open country spread like a fan to the north and west. The gray expanse merged in the blue, without any barren patches, and spread away, soon to heave into mounds and hills, timber-topped and shaggy, which waved onto the range of mountains. Out beyond somewhere rolled the great Oregon, mighty river of the Northwest. The scene had all the austere beauty characteristic of this north country when uncultivated. South of the little city the sage had given way to wheat. Here Wadestown was the most northerly outpost, located on the railroad that ran almost east and west, and which served as the border line of the wilderness.

Far out on the sunny reaches tiny black dots and clouds of dust furnished telltale signs of riders. They might have been driving cattle, but considering the absence of any cattle in the wide foreground this was doubtful to experienced eyes. Moreover, it was wild-horse country.

Horse Heaven Hill towered on the Clespelem Indian Reservation. The wild mustangs were wilder than deer and they were the property of the Indians. Thousands of these horses had roamed the sage country unmolested for years. Usually bands of a hundred or less, under the leadership of a stallion, ran together, working down out of the mountains in the fall, and returning the next summer when the springs dried up in the low country. Seldom did the Indians chase these wild horses, except occasionally to trap one of the beautiful stallions. They were as free as the waving sage. Their range extended over the mountains to the swift Oregon. They grazed and lolled and raced and fought, and foaled their colts in peace, and lived the lives of eagles.

But the time came when this tranquil existence was rudely disrupted. Abe Wade, rancher of that section, attracted by the strong demand for cattle, rounded up most of his stock and sold them. The unprecedented move left his cowboys with more leisure than was good for them. Hurd Blanding, lately from the ranges of Wyoming, originated a scheme with young Ellery Wade, ne’er-do-well son of the rancher, which set the whole community by the ears. With a selected outfit of hard-riding cowboys and a force of Clespelem Indians, they chased and trapped three thousand head of wild horses, and by a trick called tailing, which was simply tying the tail of one horse to the head of another, they drove the whole band to the railroad and shipped them to Montana to be slaughtered for chicken feed. Blanding paid the Clespelems one dollar a head for their assistance in making the drive; he gave young Wade one thousand and divided a like sum among the cowboys. As it soon leaked out that he had received three dollars a head it was clear he had made a large sum of money for a cowboy.

* * * *

The substance of this singular news came to Lark Burrell the very day she arrived at Wadestown, to make her home with the Wades.

Lark was a second cousin of Marigold Wade, who had prevailed upon her father to offer a home to their orphan relative. Lark was eighteen. Most of her life she had lived in Idaho, far south on the great ranges of a still unfenced desert country. Burrell, her father, had owned a big stretch of land there, wild land which no one but Lark considered worth anything. He left it to her along with a ramshackle cabin, a fine stream of water, a few head of stock, and a drove of wild mustangs. Lark had come honestly by her love of wild horses. She had been brought up among them. She herself was like an untamed colt. But much as she desired it, she could no longer live on the profitless ranch, with only an old herder. So when the Wades sent for her, she was grateful and accepted the home offered, feeling in her heart that someday she would return to Idaho.

Lark had been given a room that opened out upon the sage country, with the strangely named mountain dark on the horizon. At once this view struck her. It was not barren or big enough to resemble her country; still it charmed her. And the hour soon came when she sat in her window seat, consumed by the news she had heard downstairs. Three thousand head of wild horses sold for chicken feed!

The shock to Lark was something that could not have been understood by most people. Marigold’s rich laugh had pealed out. “Look at the kid’s face!” Lark had fled to her room, and there she had ventured to peep in her mirror. It was a stormy, revealing face. She flung herself away, and, curling in the window seat, she tried to realize an appalling thing. “Three thousand head of wild horses sold for chicken feed!” Lark repeated, until she got its meaning through her head.

Then her tears flowed so that she could not see the sage plains and the beckoning mountain.

But they were soon burned away. All at once she hated this handsome cousin, Ellery Wade, who had kissed her and made much of her upon her arrival. It was at dinner, after she had unpacked and donned the only nice dress she owned, that the disturbance had come. Ellery had burst in upon the family wildly elated, his pockets bulging with money, to which he called attention by vociferous word and violent action. Right there Lark had divined he was a spoiled child, the only son of the family. Marigold had shrieked at the sight of the money and flashed her greedy white hands for it. Mr. Wade, after his surprise, had showed interest and pleasure. The boy’s mother had seemed nonplused.

“Hurd sold the whole blooming bunch of wild horses,” Ellery had shouted. “My share was—well, never mind.”

“Where—how’d he sell them?” his father had asked curiously.

“Montana concern for chicken feed. Telegraphed the bank. Hurd got the cash before he shipped the horses. Foxy boy, Hurd. He made a deal with the Clespelems to help in future drives for him. Got the best of the other outfits.”

“Yes, Blanding is rather crafty,” his father had agreed dryly. “Ellery, you’d better let me invest your money, if it’s any considerable amount.”

“Dad, it’s not enough for that,” the young man had replied hastily. “Next drive I’ll insist on fifty-fifty with Hurd.”

Here Lark had been unable to contain herself longer. “You—you don’t mean you’ve actually sold wild horses for chicken feed?”

“We sure have, cousin,” he had replied, laughing. “And we’re going to make a business of it.”

“Monstrous!” Lark had burst out, and then had fled. But she did not get her door closed before she heard Ellery’s remark to the others:

“That’s odd. Do you suppose she cares?”

Lark had gone all over it in her mind, with the result that she wished she had kept silent. It was none of her business. They would never understand. But wild mustangs! Murdered for chicken feed! Was it not hideous? Chickens lived on corn and what they could scratch for. Whoever heard of feeding horseflesh to them? It was so utterly foreign to anything relating to horses or chickens as she knew them. The idea had been born in the fertile brain of some devilish cowboy. Hurd Blanding. Lark would remember that name.

Nothing could have been worse for Lark, upon the entrance to this new home, than to have heard of such brutality. She realized that her point of view was farfetched, and ridiculous to these town people. Most ranchers hated wild horses because they grazed on grass and drank up water which might have gone to sheep and cattle. Money was at the root of it.

In vain Lark tried to see the other side. But she did understand that her feelings should not warp her against these relatives who had given her a home. She must not have such feelings, if that were possible. She was grateful and she meant to prove it. Nothing had been said to Lark about work, but she certainly would not be idle. She would earn her keep, if they would only allow her. Perhaps she could study something and earn money. And always in the back of her mind was the hope and the belief that she would someday return to Idaho.

Then she was confronted by an unforeseen contingency. The idea of going to the home of relatives to live had not greatly appealed to her, but neither had she felt fear or anxiety. Lark had taken it for granted that she would like, even love, the Wades. She had lived mostly in the country and worn jeans more than dresses. She had not had much schooling outside of her mother’s teaching; still, there had not been any fear at the idea of mingling with more cultured people. She had not considered it much at all.

Here, however, confusing thoughts began to rise. Suppose she took a dislike to all the Wades, as she had to Ellery? What if she were taken for a country girl, a poor dependent cousin? She regarded these thoughts as selfish and unworthy of her. Nevertheless she realized, with a sinking of the heart, almost in dismay, that it was not going to be as she had dreamed it would be. She fortified herself against unknown things.

Lark’s meditations were interrupted by a knock on her door. “Come—in,” she faltered, wiping her eyes.

Marigold entered. She had changed her dress. Lark almost gasped. Marigold was a tall, perfect blonde, and the tight-fitting bodice of the full-skirted gown displayed her beautiful figure.

“May I come in and talk to you?” asked Marigold sweetly. She had light-blue languid eyes.

“I’d be glad to have you,” replied Lark.

Whereupon her cousin sat down beside her. “I like this seat,” she said. “It used to be mine—this room—before Dad fixed up the house. . . . Well let’s get acquainted.”

“I’ll do my best,” replied Lark, smiling. Marigold seemed friendly and kind. “First off, cousin, I’d like to know what’s expected of me.”

“Heavens! Nothing, except to make yourself at home.”

“But I’ll want some work.”

“You might help Mother. And take care of your room. Lark, can you sew?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“How’re you fixed for clothes?”

“I’ve none to speak of, except this dress,” returned Lark simply.

“You poor kid. Well, that’s not much, old and faded. I’ve a lot of dresses I’ll give you to make over, if you’ll have them. And you’ll need something new, too.”

“You’re very good, Marigold.”

“We’ll drive to town soon,” said Marigold brightly. “You can buy some goods. Lark, what’ve you been used to down there in Idaho?”

“Ranch life. Work. Horses. Cattle.”

“Any cowboys?”

“No. I have an old man who has been with us for years taking care of the place.”

“Far from any town?”

“Yes. All-day ride for a horse.”

“Any social life?”

“Not much. No neighbors. I’ve been to a few dances and weddings, christenings and such.”

“Of course your town has a meeting house for dancing?”

“No. We used the schoolhouse. I have books too, but no late ones. We’ve been poor since my father died.”

“Have you had fellows—beaux, I mean?”

“Sometimes, on Sundays. And not of my choice,” rejoined Lark demurely.

“You’ve been really isolated. Lark, do you know you’re not bad looking?”

“I hope I’m not.”

“I’ll bet when you’re dressed you’ll be a knockout. You’ll need to change your hair—put it up.”

“Cousin, my hair’s unruly—and it’s not very long anyhow.”

“I see. It isn’t so long at that. You can make it do. You’ve lovely hair, Lark. I adore that ripple. And such a soft silky brown with red glints . . . El said you were good looking.”

“Who’s El?”

“My brother, Ellery. He’s no good on earth. Only son, you know. Spoiled. Don’t let him bother you, Lark. He imagines he’s a devil with the women. But he’s no good. We don’t get along. Look out for El. He’ll be after you, and I feel responsible for you, Lark. When Dad told us about you, and your situation down there, I persuaded him to send for you. You’ll be a fleecy little lamb among wolves, I fear. But I don’t want my brother to frighten you.”

“Thank you, Marigold. But I can take care of myself,” replied Lark with spirit, now that she thought she understood.

“Let me give you a hint about the rest of our family,” went on Marigold. “Dad and Mom are blind about El. They think the sun rises and sets on him. They just can’t see him as he is. So if he does get infatuated with you, it’s not going to be easy. No girl is good enough for El, according to Mom. And Dad wants him settled. Dad has a big merchandise store in town. El hangs out there, where he’s supposed to work. But outside of him, Dad and Mom are regular human beings, almost. Mom is easygoing, but Dad lets out a yell occasionally about money. That is when he’s short of it. He sold a trainload of cattle lately and he’s flush. So it’ll be a good time for me to talk to him about going to town to shop. Let’s go down and ask him right now.”

Lark, thrilled and excited, though somewhat surprised at her cousin’s point of view, tripped after Marigold downstairs. Mr. Wade was smoking in a chair, before a fire smoldering in the open grate. He was a well-preserved man, not much over fifty, with keen blue eyes and a tawny beard sprinkled with gray. It was plain where Marigold got her handsome features.

“Looks like a drive to me,” he remarked quizzically, laying aside his paper. “Evidently you girls have got acquainted already.”

“Give us time, Dad,” replied Marigold. “Lark is not so easy to get acquainted with. She’s lived pretty much alone down there on that ranch. I’d like to take her to town. She hasn’t any clothes, naturally. May we go?”

“Reckon it’s half a dozen for Lark an’ six for you, eh?” he asked, laughing. “Sure you can go. Come here, Lark.”

He appeared kindly and sympathetic, and as she stepped to his chair he took her hand and looked up with thoughtful, penetrating eyes. “Your father an’ I were in the cattle business once, years ago, before you were born. He liked the unfenced ranges an’ I leaned toward the settlements. I saw your mother once, just after her marriage. She was a dusky-eyed beauty. Indian blood, wasn’t it?”

“My grandma was part Nez Percé, so Father used to say,” replied Lark shyly.

“You favor your mother. Well, someday you must tell me all about yourself an’ that ranch down in Idaho. You must try to fit in here an’ make it home. I reckon it won’t be easy at first.”

“I’d like to work, Mr. Wade. Couldn’t you give me work in your store?”

“Well!” Mr. Wade looked surprised. “It’s not a bad idea—if Mother an’ Mari—”

“Mom wouldn’t hear of it,” interrupted Marigold.

“Daughter, there’s nothin’ like work an’ independence,” returned her father mildly. “Perhaps your cousin has been used to work. How about it, Lark?”

“I’m afraid I have,” said Lark frankly, and she held out her hands. They were shapely, brown hands, but on the inside they were callused.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Marigold.

“I see. Those hands haven’t been idle,” rejoined Mr. Wade, and Lark imagined his tone had added respect to its kindliness. “But, my dear, we can hardly let you do ranch work here.”

“Can I have a horse?” asked Lark eagerly.

“I reckoned you liked horses, especially wild ones. Yes, you can take your pick.”

“I love wild horses, Mr. Wade. I have caught them myself and broken them, too.”

“All by yourself?” ejaculated Marigold incredulously.

“Yes. It’s nothing to trap a wild pony. But it’s a good deal to break him right.”

“How old are you, Lark?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I’m going on nineteen.”

“Nineteen and never had a beau?” asked Marigold flippantly. It might have been that she did not altogether like her father’s sympathetic attitude.

“I’m sure about that last, cousin,” returned Lark with just a note of aloofness.

“Lass, you an’ I will get along,” interposed the rancher. “Now you just settle yourself here an’ make the best of it. Find some work, so you won’t be too idle, as Mari is. Help around the house, read, an’ ride all you want. I will talk with Mother about arrangin’ an allowance for you.”

“It’s so wonderful—so good—of you,” murmured Lark, feeling a birth of something warm and sweet in her. She liked the rancher’s eyes. She sensed that all was not as he might have wanted it in that home.

“Dad, you are good,” put in Marigold, kissing him. “We’ll go to town tomorrow.”

“All right, daughter. Get an early start, so you can be back early. It was past midnight last time.”

“Remember, Dad, the buckboard broke a wheel,” interrupted Marigold gaily. “I promise you not to be late. Come on, Lark. We’ll run up to your room and make out a list.”

“Say, Dad likes you,” went on Marigold, when they were upstairs again. “He hasn’t much use for flighty girls.”

“I sure like him too,” replied Lark fervently. “You don’t know what it is to be without a father. Once I thought I’d never, never get over it.”

“Say, child, what a shame. Haven’t you had anybody to be fond of you?”

“No one, except my old farm hand, Jake.”

“Lark, haven’t you had a sweetheart? Honestly now?”

“I haven’t, Marigold,” protested Lark, with a blush. “I haven’t. Cross my heart.”

“Aren’t there any cowboys in Idaho?”

“Yes, more than in Washington, I’d say. But none near my ranch. I met cowboys at the dances. I don’t think much of cowboys. Last time there was a fight over me. So they said. I didn’t see how it could be. But I avoided them after that.”

“So you don’t think much of cowboys,” replied Marigold thoughtfully, with a speculative eye upon her cousin. “Neither do I. They’re a conceited bunch. Stan doesn’t like it when I look at one.”

“Who’s Stan?”

“Oh, he’s my fiancé,” said Marigold indifferently. “We’ve been engaged ever since I was sixteen. Before he went to college . . . Family affair. Well, Lark, my dear, let’s make that list of what you need.”