Читать книгу Raiders of Spanish Peaks - Zane Grey - Страница 5

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The Lindsay family, late from Ohio, were assembled in the upstairs parlor of the Elk Hotel, Garden City, Kansas. They had arrived that morning, and now, intensely interested though bewildered, they gazed out upon this new country with many and varied feelings.

It was a raw day in early spring, with puffs of dust rising down the wide street and the windmills in the distance whirling industriously. Evidently Saturday morning was an important one to that community. Old wagons with hoops covered with canvas, and laden with all kinds of farm produce lumbered by the windows; light high-seated four-wheeled vehicles, drawn by fast trotting horses, rolled down the street toward the center of town, some few blocks westward; a string of cattle passed, driven by queer-garbed big-hatted riders; knots of men stood on every visible corner; women were conspicuous for their absence.

John Lindsay, head of the family, an iron-gray-haired man of fifty years, and of fine appearance except for an extreme pallor which indicated a tubercular condition, stood with his back to a window, surveying his children, and especially his wife, with rueful and almost disapproving eyes.

“It’s too late. I’m committed to the deal with this cattleman, Allen. And I couldn’t get out of it if I wanted to,” he said.

His wife’s red eyes were significant, without her expression of misery.

“Upper Sandusky was good enough for me,” interposed Neale, the eighteen-year-old son of the Lindsays, a rather foppish youth, whom the three sisters eyed in some disgust. Harriet, the oldest, was thinking of the embarrassing incidents they had had to suffer already through this spoiled only son.

“Neale, you were hardly good enough for Upper Sandusky,” retorted the father, curtly. “This raw West may improve you.”

“Improve Neale! It couldn’t be done,” declared Lenta, the youngest, who was sixteen. She was little, auburn-haired, with innocent baby-blue eyes that could conceal anything.

“Aw, shut up! You could stand a lot of improvement yourself,” replied Neale as he snatched his hat and arose.

“Dear, don’t go,” implored the mother, with words and looks that betrayed her weakness. “We were to hold a conference.”

“What I think or say doesn’t go far with this Lindsay bunch,” he growled, and strode out.

“The Lord be thanked!” cried Lenta, after him.

“Mother, you must give up coddling Neale,” said her husband, earnestly. “We’re out West now. Start in right. He must take his medicine.”

“But such rough-looking men!”

“Yes, the men we meet will be plain and rough, and the West will be hard,” went on Lindsay. “Once and for all, let me have my say. I begged you all to stay home at Upper Sandusky. But none of you, except Neale, would consider that. The doctors held out hope for my health, if I came to live in a high dry country. I wanted to come alone. That was not easy to face. You had plenty of time to decide. And come West you would. So I sold out—and here we are. Let’s make the best of it. Let’s not expect too much and fortify ourselves against jars. Naturally we feel lost. But other families have become pioneers before us. Honestly, I lean to it. I always had a secret longing to do this very thing. It certainly will be the saving of me if you all pitch in, take what comes, and work out our destinies and happiness here.”

“Father, it will all come out right,” rejoined Harriet. “Mother is tired out and blue. You go down and look around. Meet people. Inquire about this Lester Allen, to whom you have committed yourself. We’ll cheer mother up and tackle our problem.”

“Thanks, Hallie, you’re a comfort,” replied Lindsay, with feeling, and went out like a man burdened.

As soon as he had gone Mrs. Lindsay began to weep again.

“Mother——”

“Hal, let her cry,” interrupted Lenta. “You know ma.”

Florence, the second daughter, sat looking out of the window, at once dreamy and thoughtful. She was nineteen and the beauty of the family, a dazzlingly pretty blond with dark eyes. Harriet had her fears about Florence. Vain, coquettish, now amiable and again perverse, her possibilities in this new country were uncertain. Lenta crossed to the window. “Flo, I’ll bet you see a man,” she said.

“Lots of outlandish gawks going by, all hats and boots,” observed Florence.

“Girls, wouldn’t it be more sensible of you to help me with mother and our immediate problem?” asked Harriet. “Just think! In a few days we will be traveling in canvas-covered wagons across the plains to this new home. We have endless things to buy, to plan for, as well as screwing up our courage. And here you are curious about men!”

“Who’s curious?” queried Lenta.

“Both of you. Weren’t you all eyes at the station? You never looked out across the prairie. But that prairie is important for us to get used to. It’s no matter what kind of men there are here, at least not yet.”

“But—there is,” burst out Mrs. Lindsay, in a fresh outburst. “That terrible little greasy, hairy man who called me sweetheart. Me! . . . He had the most devilish eyes. He carried my bags to the bus and when I offered to pay he grinned and said, ‘Lady, your money’s counterfeit.’ I protested it was not and insisted he accept pay. Then he called me sweetheart. I believe if you hadn’t come he would have chucked me under the chin. . . . Oh! Outrageous!”

“Mother, I’d take that as a compliment,” said Harriet. “He took you for our sister instead of mother.”

“Ma, you should be tickled to death,” added Lenta, teasingly. “That proves you still have some of the beauty grandma raves about.”

“Oh, be serious!” cried the mother, distracted. “What in heaven’s name—will my daughters do—for husbands!”

Lenta shrieked with delight. “Flo, can you beat that?”

Harriet was for once so taken aback that she had no ready reply. Florence took their mother’s wail in a grave, superior, smiling sort of way which intimated a confidence in the future. Harriet got her mother’s point of view. Their father’s health and the making of a new home were matters of importance, but in the long run nothing could equal the need of husbands.

“Mother, there seem to be plenty of men to pick from,” finally replied Harriet, her sense of humor dominant.

“Such men!”

“But, mother, you are unreasonable. They may be fine, big-hearted, honest, splendid fellows.”

“Listen to our man-hater!” exclaimed Lenta, impishly.

By that Harriet realized that in her earnestness she had broken her usual reserve. Lenta was an adorable girl, but she could say things that stung. Years before, it seemed long ago, Harriet had formed an attachment for a handsome clerk in her father’s store. It had been Harriet’s only romance, and an unhappy one. Her father’s estimate of Tom Emery was justified and Harriet, heart-broken, withdrew in secret sorrow and felt that she was done with men.

“Hallie, do you really believe so?” queried Mrs. Lindsay, hopefully.

“Certainly I do. Appearances are nothing. Out here men must work hard. They have no time to think of clothes and looks. Then what have we seen? Only a few dozen horsemen, farmers, and whatever they were. Let’s give the Western men a chance.”

“Flo, what’s got into Hal?” inquired Lenta.

“Lord only knows, Lent, unless we may expect a rival in her,” replied Florence, complacently.

These younger sisters had infinite capacity for rousing Harriet’s tried spirit and the present was no exception. Only Harriet reacted differently this time.

“My darling sisters, you put it rather vulgarly, but you may expect just that,” replied Harriet, with a cool audacity somewhat discounted by a furious blush.

“Hal Lindsay!” ejaculated Florence, confronted by an incredible and disturbing idea.

“Look at her! Handsome, shameless thing! She ought to blush,” cried Lenta, trillingly.

“What’s that your sisters may expect?” interposed the mother, quite mystified.

“Mother dear, for some years past Flo has appropriated every young man who happened around. And lately Lent has more than followed in Flo’s footsteps. I was just warning them that now we have arrived out in this wild West I shall contest the field with them.”

Harriet had spoken on the spur of the moment, out of need to hide her hurt, and she had gone farther than she had intended.

“Thank God you’ve come to your senses,” declared Mrs. Lindsay bluntly.

“Hal, you know darn well we wouldn’t look at one of these louts,” asserted Florence, spiritedly.

“Humph! I’d like to see the masculine gender you wouldn’t look at—twice, and then some,” returned Harriet, dryly.

“This is great. Gosh! but we love each other! I’m going to have the time of my life,” said Lenta, with immense satisfaction. “I hated school, and the idea of spending all my life in that hole Upper Sandusky was sickening. Out here something will happen. We can do things.”

“Yes, you can work,” rejoined the mother, with equal satisfaction. “I declare. Harriet has bucked me up. If she can talk that way, coming West is the best move we ever made in our lives. . . . I can think again. Here we are. And some miles out on that gray flat is our new home. There’s a ranch-house, an old Spanish affair, almost a fort. So this Mr. Allen wrote father. I suppose it’s a barn. I hope it’s empty. What we need to know most is what’s in it. Thank goodness we’re not poor. We can buy things for our comfort.”

“There! All mother needs to buck her up is a chance to spend money on a house,” said Harriet, pleased with her diplomacy.

“We’ll have to buy a thousand things we know are not in that ranch-house. Suppose we go out to look in the stores?” suggested Mrs. Lindsay.

“I’ll go,” declared Florence, with vivacity.

“Ma, I must write to Bill and Jack and—” said Lenta, tragically.

“We’ll come later, mother, or go with you after lunch,” interrupted Harriet.

“Good. It would never do to leave Lenta alone,” replied the mother, practically, and followed Florence out.

Lenta’s baby-blue eyes held an expression no precocious infant’s ever held.

“Hal, I’ll bust out some day,” she said, as if overburdened.

“What for?”

“Just because mother expects me to.”

“Nonsense! You know mother is the best ever. She has been distressed over father and us. If we can only get her started right!”

Lenta left the window and came to sit on the arm of Harriet’s chair. Long and earnestly she gazed at this elder sister. When Lenta was sweet and serious like this no one could resist her, not even Harriet.

“You did start her right. Hal, you’re the kindest, most thoughtful, helpful person. I do love you. I do appreciate you; and I want you to start me right,” said Lenta, with emotion.

“Why, child!” returned Harriet, deeply touched. Praise and affection from this younger sister had never been too abundant. But back in Ohio Lenta had been absorbed in her school, friends, affairs. Here in the West it would be different, and Lenta recognized it. Harriet hugged and kissed her warmly, as she had not for long. “And I adore you, Lenta. Nothing could have made me any happier. I will help you. I’ll be more of a sister to you. Something tells me we have a tremendous experience ahead of us. It thrills while it frightens me.”

“I’m thrilled to death. . . . Hal, I hope you weren’t deceiving us—just to help buck mother up.”

“Oh, that—about contesting the masculine field with you and Flo?” queried Harriet, embarrassed. But she did not need to fear the light in Lenta’s eyes now.

“Yes. It’d be great, if you meant what you said.”

“Well, honey, it was sort of forced out of me. Self-preservation. I didn’t know I had it.”

“Hallie dear, are you all over that—that old love-affair?” asked Lenta, softly.

“No, not quite all. . . . But I shall get entirely over it out here.”

“Oh, I’m glad! . . . I remember Tom Emery, though I was only ten. You couldn’t help but like him. . . . Bosh! We’ve got to say good-by to old friends and find new ones. No wonder Ma went under!”

“The idea grows on me, Lent. I feel sort of giddy—like I used to feel. Young again!”

“Why, you dear old goose!” ejaculated Lenta, fondly. “You’re not old. Only twenty-five and you don’t look that. And you’re darned handsome, Hallie. Your brown hair and white skin and gray eyes are just the most fetching combination. And what a figure you have, Hallie! I’m a slip of a thing and Flo is a slim willow stem. But you’d take the eyes of real men. If you weren’t so aloof—so reserved!”

“You flatter me, dear,” murmured Harriet. “But, oh, how good it sounds! I think you have helped me to face this thing.”

“Well, I’ll need a lot of help by and by,” said the girl, returning to her roguishness. “Sufficient unto the day! . . . I’ll write my letters, Hal. Then we’ll paint the town.”

“And I’ll unpack a bag or two.”

“Do. That gray one of mine. We’ll dress up and knock their eyes out.”

To Harriet’s amazement they found stores far more pretentious and better equipped with important supplies and necessities of life than they had left in their home town. And as far as wearing apparel was concerned, Harriet thought they had brought enough to last forever, judging from the backwardness in styles of this Western metropolis of Kansas.

They found the clerks polite but cold, the other customers too busy with their own purchases to concern themselves with strangers. Lenta put the situation precisely when she giggled and said: “Hal, when we raved how we’d turn this burg inside out with curiosity we were barking up the wrong tree. Nobody but a few bold red-faced freebooters, or whatever they were, ever saw us at all. And I heard one of them say, ‘Tenderfeet!’”

“You’re right, Lent. I feel taken down a peg or two. Wonder what Flo will report. But then she’s so pretty she’d stop a parade.”

They were to learn presently that Florence’s beauty had not set the town into a furor.

“Had some peace once in my life,” declared that little lady, calmly. “Funny lot, these Western men. The women, though—you should have seen them stare at me—particularly my shoes and bonnet.”

It was Mrs. Lindsay, however, who had been most susceptible to the peculiar aloofness of Western folk. “Never saw such a town. Most uncivil people. You can’t spend your money in these stores unless you raise a fuss with the proprietor. I declare we might be a family of hicks.”

“You hit it, Ma! That’s just what we are. Ohio hicks!” shouted Lenta, in glee. “I’ve had the darndest good time ever. This West is going to win me. Who cares who we are? I’ll bet it’s what you do that goes out here.”

They changed dresses for dinner, and it was Harriet’s opinion that Florence overdid the privilege, which was not usually one of her faults. Still she looked too stunning for the other Lindsays to be anything but proud.

Mr. Lindsay had not been seen by a member of the family since early morning, nor had Neale put in an appearance. This latter circumstance caused Mrs. Lindsay much concern, and she was finally silenced by a caustic remark from Lenta to the effect that Neale did not have nerve enough to get into real trouble. Finally Mr. Lindsay returned, tired out and pale, but quite excited. He bade them go into dinner and he would follow promptly.

This they did, and to Harriet’s satisfaction they did not go unnoticed, especially Florence. Then the father joined them to announce that “he had been and gone and done it.”

A contrast to Harriet’s consternation was Mrs. Lindsay’s inquiry about Neale.

“Last I saw of that nincompoop he was playing pool,” replied Lindsay, shortly.

“John, you should have looked after him,” said the mother, reprovingly.

“Neale will look after himself and I hope he gets his eye-teeth cut.” He was impatient with his wife and turned to Harriet and her sisters. “Eat your dinners. I’m too excited to eat. Besides, I had three or four stiff drinks. I’ll talk.”

And he did, with the effect of shocking his wife and taking Harriet’s breath. He had met Allen and his foreman, as agreed, and had gone over maps and papers and figures, to consummate and settle the Spanish Peaks Ranch deal then and there. Before giving them time to ask questions he explained that he had really committed himself to the deal by correspondence, and as long as he was satisfied with representation, had decided to close the thing at once.

“John, you should have seen what you bargained for before paying,” reproved Mrs. Lindsay, severely.

“Well, after I heard the ranch described I knew you womenfolk wouldn’t let me buy it if we saw it, so I took the bull by the horns. Allen is a bluff Westerner. Selling ranches and cattle is common with him. He introduced me to Garden City business men who evidently regarded the deal one of mutual advantage. The location is extremely healthful and beautiful, which I made clear was the main issue. Allen sold approximately ten thousand head of stock, including horses, mules, steers, cows. His foreman Arlidge—Luke Arlidge, who by the way, will catch the eye of you girls—could not give an exact estimate of the number, but it was around ten thousand. Finally I told Allen the price was a little high. He said he did not care to sell to anyone who was not perfectly satisfied, and asked me what I’d pay. I told him. He accepted. We went to a bank where the transfer was made. . . . We now have a ranch, a home to build up. So don’t look so sober. It’s done, and I won’t squeal if I do get a little the worst of it in a business way. I can afford it. The big thing is I feel a new man already. Instead of being cooped up over a desk all day I’ll be out in the open—in the sun.”

“Father, you have trusted men before to your sorrow,” was all Harriet ventured to say. What more could be said? He had been set on the Western ranch idea from the very beginning, and now he had had his way. No doubt his feeling of gain and hope should be taken into consideration.

“Both Allen and Arlidge will drop in at the hotel later,” went on Lindsay. “I asked them to dinner, but they begged off on that, having come in their ranch togs. They are driving out tomorrow, so it is just as well you meet them when the chance offers. I couldn’t remember the things you wanted to know about.”

Mrs. Lindsay joined in the discussion then, relative to the property and its prospective needs. The dinner ended without Neale having joined them, but the girls encountered him on the stairs. He was in no mood to be questioned and rushed on to his room.

“He had a black eye,” asserted Florence, certainly more speculative than sympathetic. “Did you see that, Lent?”

“I should smile,” retorted Lenta, highly diverted. “Some Westerner has punched our darling.”

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” cried Mrs. Lindsay, who had seen and heard. At the head of the stairs she left them, presumably to console her afflicted favorite. The girls went into the parlor while Mr. Lindsay waited downstairs for his callers.

“Flo, old girl, we’re stuck. Pa’s done it,” remarked Lenta. Florence’s silent acceptance was not conducive to hopefulness. Nevertheless, Harriet did her best to bring up pictures of prospective work, fun and home-making, and of the undoubted fact that they were committed to the wild and lonely West for good.

Presently their father entered the parlor accompanied by two tall men, of striking enough appearance to have interested any Easterner. They were introduced to Harriet and her sisters. The rancher, Lester Allen, was no longer young and had a face like a hawk. He wore a dark suit, the trousers of which were tucked in high top boots. He carried a huge tan sombrero and a whip. It did not take a moment to prove him shy and awkward in the presence of women.

The other man, Luke Arlidge, did not suffer from his marked contrast. He manifested a bold and admiring ease. He made a superb figure of a man, still young, scarcely thirty, though his bronzed hard, lean face, his eagle eyes, indicated long years of experience. His garb was what Harriet took for that of the plains rider. He was spurred, booted, belted over rough dusty apparel, and most conspicuous was the ivory-handled gun that swung from his hip, and the absence of any coat.

Mrs. Lindsay came in, and presently all were seated in a half-circle.

“Now, Allen, you must allow yourself to be questioned,” said Lindsay, happily. “This is my family, except my only boy, and they want to know things.”

“Fire away,” replied Allen.

Lenta was not in the least embarrassed in the presence of these impressive Westerners.

“Is it lonesome?” she asked.

“Wal, I’d say shore, if you mean the ranch-house. The coyotes and wolves howl at night an’ the wind moans. Only three ranches inside of fifty miles. Two days by hossback to La Junta an’ six by buckboard to Denver.”

“Heavens!” was Lenta’s reply, but undaunted she ventured one more query.

“Any young people?”

“Wal, if you call my cow-punchers people, there’s shore a heap of them. Ten all told, isn’t it, Luke?”

“No. Only nine. I let Happy go,” replied the foreman.

“Only nine!” murmured Lenta.

“Thet’s all now. But your father will need three or four more.”

“No girls?” queried Florence, thoughtfully.

“Let’s see. There’s one—two—at the nearest ranches. No more closer than La Junta.”

That seemed to exhaust the interest of the two younger members of the Lindsay family, whereupon their mother had her opportunity. The upshot of her swift and numerous queries brought out that Spanish Peaks Ranch consisted of weather, landscape, a stone-and-clay house with two wings, porches, doors, and patio on the inside, facing east.

“It used to be an old fort. Built by trappers who traded with the Utes an’ Kiowas. There’s a fine spring comes right up inside the patio an’ some big cottonwoods. It’s shore pleasant summer or winter.”

“And the house itself is practically empty?” concluded Mrs. Lindsay.

“Wal, it will be. I’m movin’ some wagons of furniture, beddin’, an’ sich, which you wouldn’t want. My other ranch is about two days’ ride north. I’ve a cabin there an’ some stock. How many haid of cattle there now, Luke?”

“I don’t know, boss. Mebbe two thousand, mebbe four,” replied Arlidge.

“We must figure on hauling in everything to make a home?” asked Lindsay, rubbing his hands as if the prospect was alluring.

“Wal, I reckon so, if you want comfort,” drawled the rancher.

“How far to drive loaded wagons?”

“Four days, with good luck.”

“And La Junta is only two?”

“No. It’d be more fer wagons. We figured Garden City was your best startin’-point, because of the good stores where you can buy, an’ then mostly level road out to the ranch.”

“How about wagons and horses? Did you fetch some in for me?”

“No. We’ve been bad off for wagons an’ teams. I’m leavin’ you the chuck-wagon. You’ll have to buy wagons an’ teams here. Luke has made a deal for you. Man named Hazelit will call on you here. Wagons, though, you’ll get at the Harvester Company store. There’s saddle hosses aplenty.”

So the practical questioning went on, with Harriet listening silently and her two younger sisters losing interest. Harriet’s deductions during that half-hour were not reassuring. Allen did not inspire her with great confidence, though he seemed frank enough. She had dealt with thousands of men while bookkeeper in her father’s ship-chandler and general merchandise business, and her intuition never went wrong if her perspicuity sometimes was amiss. As for Arlidge, he was quickly gauged as a strong, subtle personality, bold and crafty under a pleasing exterior. It was not only a blush that mantled Harriet’s neck, which her gown had left modestly bare: she felt burned by a lightning glance from Arlidge’s piercing eyes. But it had been so swift that she could not be sure some of her reaction was not due to her habitual reserve. Later, however, this glance leaped upon Florence, as she sat there in her young fair beauty. Only then did Harriet yield to distrust of her father’s venture. Toward the end of that interview Harriet chose to break silence.

“Mr. Arlidge, I understand a foreman’s duty is to manage the ranch. Am I correct?” queried Harriet, looking him in the eyes.

“Yes. An’ managin’ a ranch is most handlin’ the riders an’ stock,” replied Arlidge, pleased to be questioned by her.

“What’s the number of horses and cattle my father has purchased?”

“She’ll pin you down, Arlidge,” laughed Lindsay. “She was my foreman for years.”

This manifestly was not so pleasant. Arlidge kept his smile, but he shifted a little uneasily.

“I don’t know, Miss Lindsay. We sold in a lump. Somewhere around ten thousand haid.”

“Don’t you count the heads when you sell?”

“Sometimes, in small bunches.”

“Oh, I see. You mean then in this case a number a little more or less than ten thousand?”

“Not more. An’ mebbe a good deal less. Your father was satisfied with a rough estimate. But I’ll have a count when you come out, if thet will please you.”

“Yes, do. But it’s a matter of business. I shall continue to keep my father’s books, and will take immediate steps to learn the ropes—or lassoes, I suppose I should say,” returned Harriet, with a laugh.

“A bookkeeper on a big ranch is somethin’ new, especially when it’s a handsome young woman,” said Arlidge, sincere in his dubiousness.

“Thank you. I dare say it’s a much-needed innovation in your slipshod method of cattle-selling,” returned Harriet, lightly. “Mr. Arlidge, are you going to remain at Spanish Peaks Ranch as my father’s foreman?”

“He shore is, Miss. I sold him along with the stock. Nobody but Luke could ever handle thet fire-eatin’ outfit of riders,” interposed Allen as he rose, sombrero in hand.

Arlidge likewise got up, lithe and graceful, a forceful, doubtful character. He fastened eyes of admiration upon Harriet.

“No, Miss Lindsay, I wasn’t shore I’d stay on at Spanish Peaks until I met you—an’ all,” he replied, gallantly.

Then the Westerners bade the company good-night and left, with Lindsay accompanying them to the door, where he was heard planning to see them early next day, before they left. He hurried back to confront his family. It thrilled Harriet to see him so keen and enthusiastic.

“Tell me, one by one, what do you think,” he beamed.

“Well, John, there is one good thing about this deal. It’ll take plenty of work and money to make your old fort livable,” replied his wife, complacently, and that from her was assuredly favorable.

“Well, Lent?”

“Pa, I’ll shore upset thet outfit of cow-punchers,” returned the youngest of the Lindsays. Already she was imitating the drawl and words of the Westerners.

“You Flo?”

“Like it fine. Why didn’t you tell us the place was Spanish? That porch all around the patio—the big cottonwoods and the spring! I must have a Spanish hammock, embroidered shawl, lace mantilla, castanets—and the rest of the duds. If they can’t be bought here, I surely will find them in that La Junta town.”

This was a long speech for the beauty of the family and it had telling effect.

Lindsay turned to Harriet: “My bookkeeper lass, what is your say?”

She smiled tenderly upon him, and suddenly kissed his cheek. When had she seen a little color in them?

“Father darling, you have been tricked—robbed so far as the cattle deal is concerned. But if you are happy and are sure you’ll get well and strong—I am heart and soul for our Spanish Peaks Ranch.”