Читать книгу The Hash Knife Outfit - Zane Grey - Страница 5

Table of Contents

Jim lay in bed longer than usual next morning, and when he finally rolled out, convinced that his problem was not so terribly serious after all, a white glistening world of snow greeted him from his window. The storm had gone and a clear blue sky and bright sun smiled coldly down upon the white-fringed pines and peaks. He did not take more than a glance, however, because his room seemed full of zero weather. He had to break the ice in his bucket to get water to wash, and he was far from lethargic about it. “I don’t know about this high dry altitude,” he soliloquized. “It’d freeze the nose off a polar bear.”

The halls of the big ranch-house were like a barn. Jim rushed to the living-room. A fine fire blazed in the wide fireplace. How good it felt to his numb fingers! Jim thought the West brought out so much more of a man’s appreciation. It was harsh, violent, crude, but it brought home to a man a full value of things.

“Mawnin’, Jim,” came in Molly’s drawling voice from somewhere.

“Hello! ... Oh, there you are!” exclaimed Jim, gladly, as he espied her at the corner window, gazing out upon the wintry scene. “I was sure you’d be snug in bed. Come here, darling.”

Molly had not yet grown used to the impelling power of that word and she seemed irresistibly drawn. She wore a red coat over her blouse, the color of which matched her cheeks. In the few weeks since her arrival at the ranch she had lost some of the brown tan of the backwoods, which only added to her attractiveness. The gold glints in her dark curly hair caught the sunshine as it streamed through the window. Her eyes had that dark, shy, glad light that always thrilled Jim. And her lips, like red ripe cherries, were infinitely provocative.

“Oh—Jim—” she gasped, “some one might come in.”

“Kiss me, Molly Dunn,” he replied, giving her a little shake. “I’ll have to get like Curly or Bud in my love-making.”

“If you do, Mister Missouri, you’ll never get nowhere with me,” she returned.

“Not ‘nowhere,’ Molly. Say, anywhere.”

“Very well. Anywhere,” she obeyed.

“I’ll take that back about Curly and Bud.”

“You don’t need to learn from them. You’re somethin’ of a bear yourself.”

“Don’t you love me this morning?”

“Why, Jim—of course!”

“Then?”

Molly’s kisses were rather few and far between, which made them so much more precious. Jim both deplored and respected her restraint. She had been raised in a hard school, and often she had regretted to Jim that her lips had not been kept wholly for him. She was strong and sweet, this little girl of the Cibeque, and she had earned Jim’s worship.

“There!” she whispered, shyly, and slipped out of his arms. “Gee, your hands are cold. An’ your nose like ice.”

“Molly, I’ve news for you,” he said, thinking it wise to broach the subject in mind.

“Yes?”

“My sister is coming out here.” He tried not to be sober, but failed. It seemed lost upon Molly, however, who smiled her surprise and gladness.

“Oh, how lovely!—Gloriana May! You told me aboot her—how pretty she is an’ what a little devil.... Jim, thet’ll be nice for you to have her heah. I’m glad.”

Jim hugged her quite out of all reason. “Lord! but you’re a sweet, fine, square kid! I just love you to death.”

“J-Jim—let me go.... I see no call for rastlin’ me.”

“No, I dare say you don’t. Please excuse my violence.... Molly, my sister is in poor health, so Mother writes. And she’s sending Glory out to get well.”

“I’m sorry. What ails her, Jim?”

“Weak lung, Mother said. It’s hard to believe. But Glory said in her letter for me not to let Mother’s letter upset me. Uncle Jim was tickled. Began figuring right away on marrying Glory to some Westerner. Isn’t he the old match-maker?”

“He’s the dearest, goodest man in Arizona,” returned Molly, warmly.

“Sure he is. But all the same he’s a son-of-a-gun for some things.”

“When is Gloriana to be heah?” asked Molly, becoming thoughtful.

“Monday, on the Western Special.”

“So soon? Oh! ... I—I wish I’d had time to study more.... Jim, suppose she doesn’t like me?”

“Molly! She can’t help but adore you.”

“Jim, I never noticed that any of these Flag girls went ravin’ crazy over your Molly Dunn of the Cibeque,” replied Molly, a little satirically.

That was perfectly true, thought Jim, and she might have mentioned how green with envy some of them were. But Molly Dunn was generous.

“Gloriana isn’t like these Flag girls. She has more breeding. She couldn’t be jealous or catty.”

“She’s a queer girl, then,” mused Molly. “After all, Jim, you’re only a big overgrown boy who knows nothin’ aboot females.... Reckon it’s thet breedin’ you speak of thet scares me.”

Jim reflected that, as usual, he had made a tactless remark.

“Molly, don’t distress yourself. I’m sure you will love Glory and—and she’ll adore you. Naturally, since you’re going to marry me, you’ll have to meet all my family sooner or later.”

“Yes, Jim, but I—I wanted a little time to study—to improve myself—so they wouldn’t be ashamed of me,” replied Molly, plaintively.

Jim could only assure her by tender word and argument that she was making a mountain out of a molehill, with the result that Molly’s heart seemed satisfied, if her mind was not. They went out to breakfast, and Jim hugged her disgracefully in the dark cold corridor. When Molly escaped into the dining-room a less keen eye than that of the old rancher, who stood back to the blazing fire, could have made amusing deductions.

“Mawnin’, Uncle Jim. I—I been chased by a bear,” laughed Molly.

“Good mornin’, lass. Shore I seen thet.... Howdy, son! What do you think of Arizona weather?”

“Terrible. And you’re sending me to camp out after Thanksgiving!” protested Jim. It seemed to him there was going to be good reason for him to stay in Flagerstown.

“Wal, Yellow Jacket is five or six thousand feet lower, an’ if it snows it melts right off. Molly can vouch for thet. An’ the valley of the Cibeque is higher than Yellow Jacket.”

“I’ve seen snow every winter I can remember, most up on the Diamond. Down at my home it never lasted a day,” replied Molly.

“That’s some consolation.”

“Jim, I think it’s grand. I shore hope you won’t go back on your promise,” said Molly.

“What promise?”

“Aboot takin’ me to town in a sleigh, with bells ringin’. An’ snowballin’ me. Oh, I’m shore I’ll love this winter.”

“Yes, I’ll keep my promise, and I bet you beg for mercy.”

“Me!”

Uncle Jim laughed heartily. His interest in their talk and plans, in all that concerned them, hinted of the loneliness of his life and what he felt he had missed.

“I like a little winter, too. Shore makes this here beef steak taste good.... Son, have you told the little lady your news?”

“Yes. And there’s further proof she’s an angel.”

“Oh, Jim, such nonsense!” she protested. “Bein’ glad with you don’t—doesn’t make me no angel. I keep tellin’ you thet I’m shore not related to no angel yet.”

“Haw! Haw! I’ll bet he finds thet out, Molly,” put in the rancher, heartily. “Reckon if I’d ever been keen on girls I’d have wanted one thet would scratch an’ bite.”

Molly blushed. “Uncle, I hope I’ve not got thet much cat in me,” she said, anxiously.

Jim made good his promise, and when he had Molly bundled in the sleigh beside him, her cheeks like roses and her dark curls flying, he was as proud as she was delighted. Much to his satisfaction, all the young people of Flagerstown appeared to be out sleigh-riding also; and many a girl who had made Jim uncomfortable when he was a tenderfoot saw him now with Molly.

They had lunch at the hotel and drove home in the brilliant sunshine, with the white world so glaring that they could hardly face it. All too soon they arrived at the ranch.

“That was glorious,” said Molly, breathing deeply. “Jim, I’m shore a lucky girl. I’m so—so happy it hurts. I’m afraid it won’t last.”

“Sure it’ll last,” replied Jim, laughing. “Unless you’re a fickle little jade.”

“Jim Traft, I’m as—as true as steel,” she retorted, vehemently. “It’s only you may tire of me—or—or your family won’t accept me.”

“Say, you’re not marrying my family.”

The word marriage or any allusion to it always silenced Molly. She betrayed that she saw the days fleeting by toward the inevitable, and her joy submerged any doubts.

Jim drove around to the barn, having in mind the latter half of his promise to Molly, which surely she had forgotten. As they went by the big bunk-house Bud Chalfack poked his ruddy cherub face out of the door and yelled, “Hey, Boss, thet ain’t fair.”

Jim yelled back, “Get yourself a girl, you cowboy.”

At the barn he handed the reins to a Mexican stable boy, and helped Molly out. Then he led her into the lane toward the ranch-house. She was paddling along beside him through the deep snow and babbling merrily. When fully out of sight of the hawk-eyed cowboys Jim snatched up a big handful of snow, and seizing Molly he washed her rosy face with it.

“Jim Traft—you—you—” she sputtered, as he let her go. Then before she could recover her sight and breath he snatched up a double handful of snow and pitched that at her. His aim was true. It burst all over her in a white shower. She screamed, and bending quickly she squeezed a tight little snowball and threw it at Jim. He managed to save his eye, but it struck him on the head. Molly, it appeared, was no mean antagonist. Then fast and furious came the little snowballs. Never a one missed!

“Hey, you said—you’d never had a snowball fight,” he panted.

“Shore never had. But I can lick you, Missouri,” she replied, her high gay laugh pealing out.

Jim realized that she would make good her word unless he carried the battle to close range. Wherefore he rushed her, getting a snowball square on the nose for his pains. She dodged.

“Aw, Jim—stand up—an’ fight square,” she squealed.

But he caught her, tumbled her into the snow, rolled her over and over, and finally swept a great armful upon her. Then he ran for dear life, tinglingly aware of the snowy cyclone at his heels.

Later Jim emerged from concealment and walked down to the bunk-house. He had not seen the boys for several days. He stamped on the porch.

“Hey, don’t pack no snow in hyar,” yelled a voice. “I gotta do the sweepin’ fer this outfit.”

Jim opened the door and went in. The big room was cheerful with its crackling fire, and amazingly clean, considering it harbored the hardest cowboy outfit in Arizona.

“Howdy, boys!” he sang out.

“You needn’t come an’ crow over us,” answered Bud. “Sleighridin’ with Molly Dunn!”

Jackson Way looked askance at Jim’s snowy boots, his lean young face puckered and resentful. “Boss, I reckon you had this snow come on purpose.”

Hump Stevens spoke from his bunk, where he lay propped up, cheerful and smiling.

“How are you, Hump?”

“Rarin’ to go, Boss. I been walkin’ around this mornin’. An’ I won all the money the boys had.”

“Good work,” said Jim, and turning to Uphill Frost, who sat before the fire in a rocking-chair, with a crutch significantly at hand. “And you, Up?”

“Boss, I ain’t so damn good, far as disposition goes. But I could fork a horse if I had to.”

“Great! Where’re Cherry and Lonestar?” went on Jim.

“They hoofed it in town to see Slinger,” replied Frost.

“I haven’t been to the hospital for three days,” said Jim. “How’s Slinger coming around?”

“He was up, walkin’ around, cussin’ Doc fer not lettin’ him smoke all he wants. Reckon time hangs heavy on Slinger. He can’t read much, an’ he says he wants to get back in the woods. Asked why you didn’t come to see him. Didn’t he, Bud?”

“Sure. Slinger complained like hell of your neglect, Boss. I seen him yestiddy. An’ I told him thet no one never seen you no more. Then he cussed Molly fer not fetchin’ you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll see him tomorrow,” replied Jim, contritely.

Curly Prentiss, the handsome blond young giant of the Diamond outfit, sat at a table, writing with absorbed violence. He alone had not appeared to note Jim’s entrance.

“Curly, I’ve news for you.”

But Curly gave no sign that he heard, whereupon Jim addressed Bud. “What ails Curly?”

“Same old sickness, Boss. I’ve seen Curly doubled up with that fer five years, about every few months. Mebbe it’s a little wuss than usual, fer his girl chucked him an’ married Wess Stebbins.”

“No!”

“Sure’s a fack. They run off to Winslow. You see, Curly come the high an’ mighty once too often. Caroline bucked. An’ they had it hot an’ heavy. Curly told her to go where it was hot—so she says—an’ he marched off with his haid up.... Wal, Carrie took him at his word. Thet is—he’d unhooked her bridle. Wess always was loony over her, an’ she married him, which we all reckon was a darned good thing. Now Curly is writin’ his funeral letter, after which he aims to get turrible drunk.”

“Curly,” spoke up Jim, kindly.

“Cain’t you leave me alone heah?” appealed the cowboy.

“Yes, in a minute. Sorry to disturb you, old man. But I’ve news about Yellow Jacket, Jed Stone and his Hash Knife outfit.”

“To hell with them! I’m a ruined cowboy. Soon as I get this document written I’m goin’ to town an’ look at red licker.”

“Nope,” said Jim, laconically.

“Wall, I jest am. Who says I cain’t?”

“I do, Curly.”

“But you’re not my boss. I’ve quit the Diamond. I’ll never fork a hoss again.”

“Curly, you wouldn’t let us tackle that Hash Knife gang without you?”

“Jim, I cain’t care aboot nothin’. My heart’s broke. I could see you all shot. I could see Bud Chalfack hung on a tree an’ laugh.”

“Curly, didn’t you and I get to be good friends?”

“Shore. An’ I was durn proud of it. But friendship’s nuthin’ to love. Aw, Boss, I’m ashamed to face you with it.... Caroline has turned out to be false. Chucked me fer thet bowlegged Stebbins puncher! Who’d ever thought I’d come to sech disgrace?”

“Curly, it’s no disgrace. Wess is a good chap. He’ll make Caroline happy. You didn’t really love her.”

“Wha-at!” roared Curly. And when his hearers all greeted this with a laugh he sank back crestfallen.

“Curly, there’re some good reasons why you can’t throw down the Diamond at this stage,” said Jim, seriously, and placed a kindly hand on the cowboy’s shoulder.

“Jest you give me one, Jim Traft,” blustered Curly, and he lay down his pencil.

Jim knew perfectly well that this wonderful young Westerner could not be untrue to anyone. “First, then, Curly. You’ve already got a few head of stock on the range. In a few years you’ll be a rancher on your own account.”

“No reason atall. I don’t want thet stock. I’d have given it to Bud if he hadn’t been so nasty aboot Caroline. Swore she’d finally come to her senses. Then I gave the cattle to Hump, heah.”

“Well, Hump can give them back.... Another reason is Uncle Jim is throwing us plumb against the Hash Knife outfit. Now what would the Diamond amount to without Curly Prentiss?”

“I don’t give a—a damn,” rejoined Curly. But it was a weak assertion.

“See there, Boss,” yelled Bud, red in the face. “He hates us all jest because thet red-headed Carrie Bambridge chucked him.”

“Curly, it’s just as well,” went on Jim. “Listen, and all of you. This is a secret and not to be spoken of except among ourselves. Uncle Jim is sure Bambridge is crooked. Making deals with the Hash Knife.”

All the cowboys except Curly expressed themselves in different degrees of exclamation.

At length Curly spoke. “Even if Bambridge was crooked—that’d make no difference to me.”

“Did you ask Caroline to marry you?” queried Jim, kindly.

“Dog-gone-it, no,” replied Curly, and here his fine, frank face flamed. “Boss, I never was sure I cared that much, till I lost her.”

“Curly, it wasn’t the real thing—your case on Caroline.”

“Ahuh.—Jim, you haven’t given me any argument why I shouldn’t go out an’ drown my grief in the bottle—an’ shoot up the town—an’ kill somebody or get put in jail.”

“No? All right. Here’s another reason,” replied Jim, and he drew a photograph out of his pocket and laid it on the table in front of Curly.

The cowboy started, bent over, and became absorbed in the picture.

Bud Chalfack started, too, but Jim waved him back.

“My Gawd! Boss, who is this?” asked Curly.

“My sister, Gloriana May Traft.”

“Your sister?—Jim, I shore ought to have seen the resemblance, though she’s ten million times better-lookin’ than you.... But how is she a reason for my not goin’ to the bad?”

“Curly it’s as simple as pie,” said Jim. “Gloriana is a sick girl. She’s coming West for her health. She’ll arrive on Monday, on the Western Special. Now, I ask you, have you the heart to bust up the Diamond—to get drunk and worry me to death—when I’ve this new trouble on my hands?”

Curly took another long look at the photograph, and then he turned to Jim with all the clouds vanished from eyes and face. To see Curly thus was to love him.

“Boss, I haven’t got the heart to throw you down,” he replied. “It’s my great weakness—this heah heart of mine.... I reckon I wasn’t goin’ to—anyhow.... An’ I’ll go down to meet the Western Special with you.”

Jim, if he had dared, could have yelled his mirth. How well he had known Curly.

“Lemme see thet pictoore?” demanded Bud, advancing.

Curly handed the photograph back to Jim, and said, blandly, “Bud, gurls of high degree shouldn’t interest you.”

“Boys, I want you all to see Glory’s picture,” said Jim calmly, though he reveled in the moment. “Come, take a look.”

Bud and Jackson Way leaped forward; Uphill Frost forgot his crutch; Hump Stevens hopped out of his bunk; and they all, with Curly irresistibly drawn, crowded around Jim.

The long silence that ensued attested to the beauty of Gloriana Traft.

Finally Bud exploded: “Lord! ain’t she a looker?”

“Prettier even than Molly Dunn,” added Way, as if that was the consummation of all beauty.

“I never seen no angel till this minnit,” was Uphill Frost’s encomium.

“Ef I jest wasn’t a crippled cowpuncher an’ had a million dollars!” exclaimed Hump Stevens, with a sigh. “Boss, her name fits her.”

Curly Prentiss reacted peculiarly to all this. It seemed he resented the looks and sighs and fervid comments of his comrades, as if they had profaned a sacred face already enshrined in his impressionable heart.

“Wal, I’m informin’ you gentlemen of the range thet I saw her first,” he said, loftily.

Bud took that as an insult. Frost swore his surprise. Hump Stevens stared in silence. Jackson Way laughed at the superb and conceited cowboy. Then Curly addressed Jim. “Boss, it’s shore plain the Diamond will be busted now.”