Читать книгу Majesty's Rancho - Zane Grey - Страница 4

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Lance advanced slowly, hiding an intense curiosity. Somehow he wanted to find out all he could about this fellow.

“Hello, yourself,” he replied.

“You look sort of on the loose.”

“Well, I look just what I am,” Lance replied.

“No offense. We’re loafing here for a guy, and I just wanted to be friendly. Care for a drink?”

“Not till I have a feed.”

“Broke?”

“Flat as a pancake. And I can’t find a job in this slow burg.”

“Say, buddy, there’s plenty jobs for the right guys. Can you drive a truck?”

“Mister, I could drive two trucks,” retorted Lance, boastfully.

“Yeah? Well, how’d you like to grab a century?”

“Uhuh! Sounds good to me. I’d pull almost any kind of a job for that much dough. Only I’d want to be sure I was going to get it,” laughed Lance.

“Exactly. It’s okay. Now who are you and what have you been doing?”

“You never heard of me, mister,” said Lance, evasively. “But I’ll say I’ve been beating it from L.A.”

“Dicks after you?”

Lance laughed grimly and looked blankly silent, and averted his face somewhat from the piercing scrutiny bent upon him.

“Come clean with me, buddy, if you want your luck to change. What you been doing in L.A.?”

“Are you asking me, mister?”

“Yes, I am. It’s not for you to ask me questions,” replied Uhl, with impatient sharpness. “Take it or leave it.”

“Aw, what the hell? I’m hungry.... I beat it out of Portland ahead of Latzy Cork,” hazarded Lance, remembering the name of a shady underworld character who had recently been eluding the police on the coast.

“That racket, eh?” flashed Uhl, snapping his fingers. And with his eyes like gray fire he turned in the seat to his companions. Lance took advantage of this moment to make certain that he would recognize the driver of the car, and the three hard-faced individuals in the back seat, if he ever saw them again. At the side of the one farthest toward the road Lance espied the muzzle of a machine gun. “Cork may have been spotting me. What do you think, Dipper?”

“Not a chance, Bee. He’s been in Frisco and north for two months,” replied the one addressed.

“We don’t know that,” said Uhl, doubtfully, and turning again he pulled out a roll of bills, the wrapper of which bore the denomination one hundred. “Here’s your dough, buddy. ... You’re on the spot. But the only risk you run is if you double-cross me.”

“If I undertake the job, I’ll be straight,” interposed Lance.

“That’s how you strike me.... See the big canvas-covered truck across there, back of the service station? Well, she’s your bus. You’re to take her to Tucson. She’s empty, but you drive slow, as if she was loaded heavy. See? You’ll be held up sooner or later, probably after dark outside of Tucson. That’ll be okay. You’re dumb. You just drove the truck over and you don’t know me. See?”

“I don’t know whether I see or not,” rejoined Lance, dubiously. “Who’ll hold me up—and why?”

“Say, you won’t need to fake being dumb. All you got to do is stop when you’re held up. See? You don’t know nothing.”

“Does that truck belong to you?”

“Yes.”

“Rumrunner?”

“I told you it was empty,” snapped Uhl. “Is it a go?”

“You bet,” declared Lance, taking the proffered money. “What’ll I do when I get to Tucson?”

“You’ll be on the main highway. Stop at the first service station on the edge of town. Right-hand side.”

“Then what?”

“If I don’t meet you someone else will.”

“Suppose these holdup gents take the truck away from me?”

“That won’t be your loss.”

“Boss,” interposed the sallow-faced Dipper, “this husky bird is packin’ a rod.”

“Say, are you telling me? I hope he turns cowboy with it on those dopes.... Buddy, if you turn this trick there’ll be more.”

“This one doesn’t strike me so hot,” declared Lance, tersely. “But one at a time. I’m on my way.”

As Lance strode off, carefully pocketing the money he heard Uhl say: “Dip, if he comes through we’ll take him on.”

“No gamble, Boss. That fellow will do....”

Lance passed on out of earshot. At the station he said to the operator: “That truck ready?” Upon being informed that “she’s all set,” Lance climbed into the driver’s seat and took a look. The machine was a fine make. As he moved out of the station yard he observed that the big black car had gone. Lance did not look to see what had become of it. A block away he turned into the highway and got through Douglas without a stop. Once beyond the town he opened up to twenty-five miles an hour and faced the north with a grim realization that he was in for an adventure he never would have hazarded but for a blonde college girl named Madge who had intrigued him.

“Queer setup,” soliloquized Lance, now giving rein to his conjectures. “I hit the bull’s-eye with that crack about Latzy Cork.... Racket? Wonder which racket? Cork was suspected of most everything up north.... Anyhow I got away with it.... And this Bee Uhl. He’s a crook all right. From Chi. ... I get it. Chicago, of course. He doesn’t seem to care who knows it. And this big truck must have to do with bootlegging. Over the border, maybe. Or up from some harbor on the Gulf.... Nothing to me. It gets my goat, though, what this slick bozo had to do with that girl.”

Lance reflected presently that he ought to have that circumstance mastered. Madge’s own words testified to that. She had flirted with Uhl, obviously for the thrill of it. She certainly knew he was a gangster. Perhaps that was the secret. A girl like her must be besieged by admirers, importuned and bored until she was tired of them. Still Uhl was handsome, and perhaps his hard and insolent way might have appealed to the girl. Assuredly that had been the inception of the affair. Lance felt glad to convince himself that she had realized her mistake, and in a thoroughbred but kindly way had made it clear to Uhl.

“But what in the hell did she want to fall for a guy like that?” bit out Lance, jealously. “Oh, be yourself, Lance!” Just because this Majesty, the student Rollie had called her, happened to be the loveliest and most fascinating girl Lance had ever met, was no reason for him to think her on the plane of the angels.

Lance did not need to bring back the vision of her. That was limned on his memory. No use faking it, he thought—he had fallen in love with her at first sight. That was all right. But he wished the thought and beauty and charm of her would not stick so tenaciously. He could not banish her and again came the regret that he had not stood right out like a man to meet her that day. He could at least have spared her the encounter with Uhl.

All at once Lance had a disturbing thought. Uhl, gangster, racketeer, bootlegger, might have another slant to his crookedness. He might be a kidnaper. That seemed reasonable enough, and the idea grew on Lance. The girl must belong to a rich California family. Her style, her patrician air, her talk of a ranch full of Arabian horses, surely these attested wealth. And that might explain Bee Uhl’s interest in her. With the near approach of repeal of prohibition these bootleggers must work up other rackets. Already there had been a nationwide activity in kidnaping.

“Goofy or not, I take it as a hunch,” muttered Lance, with finality. “Believe me, I’ll get a line on that slicker with his roll of centuries, if I can.” And in the stress of the moment Lance thought that if he did verify such suspicion of the gangster, it would not be beyond him to go back to Los Angeles to warn the girl. Then the realization of his sudden tumult of delight made him look aghast at himself. “Quit your romancing, kid,” he said. “This is hard pay. And I’m on a job I should have passed up.”

But nothing he thought or reasoned out changed the essential sentiment and presagement of the situation. The way accidents and circumstances fell across his path and what came of them had taught him to believe any strange and far-reaching adventure could befall him.

Cars and trucks going and coming passed Lance now and then, the southbound traffic being the heavier. Lance did not see the big black automobile belonging to Uhl. Once he looked back down a league-long stretch, half expecting to discover the car following. But he did not.

Driving a truck did not permit of close attention to the desert scenery, which had been his pleasure while riding Umpqua. However, that labor and his concentration on the peculiar circumstances leading to this ride, certainly made the time fly. Almost before he knew it, he was climbing the tortuous grade through Bisbee, keeping keen lookout for the holdup he had been told to expect. About midafternoon he went through picturesque Tombstone on the outskirts of which he halted for gasoline. This necessitated his breaking the hundred dollar bill Uhl had given him. The service station man, a westerner of middle age, glanced from the bill to Lance with keen blue eyes. “Seen bills like this before—an’ also that truck you’re drivin’. How aboot yore company?”

“Don’t savvy,” returned Lance, gruffly. “What you mean by company?”

“Wal, usually thar’s two or three trucks like this one strung along. Reckon you’re new to ...”

“To what, mister?” interrupted Lance.

“Wal, I ain’t sayin’,” responded the operator, in cool evasion.

“Yeah? Well, as a matter of fact, I’m damn new at this job.”

That little wordy byplay roused Lance anew to the possibilities that might be thickening ahead of him. Thereafter he kept keen as a whip, increasing his speed a little. It was almost dark when he passed Mescal, a desert hamlet, and he did not halt to appease thirst or hunger. He wanted to get this job over. The desert night was soft and balmy, cooling as the radiation of the day’s heat passed away. Jackrabbits and coyotes leaped across the road, gray in the flash of his lamps. The headlights of cars grew from pin points in the blackness to yellow orbs, rushing at him and passing by, to leave the distant road dark again. The dry odor of dust and desert growths clogged his nostrils. Under favorable circumstances Lance would have liked closer acquaintance with that desert. The spectral arms of cactus and the dense thickets of mesquite accentuated the lonesomeness.

Some miles beyond Vail there appeared to come a brightening to the north. Soon Lance made that out to be the lights of Tucson, miles away still, but clear in the rarefied atmosphere. Lance rolling along at forty miles or more an hour, began to feel an edge for the expected holdup. Every time he caught the gleam of headlights behind he prepared for the order to halt. But so many cars passed him the next hour and so bright grew the illuminated horizon that he began to believe he might reach the first service station on the right without being stopped.

Presently a car came up behind and held its place for a couple of miles. Lance anticipated that this was the one, and he forced himself to be ready. He slowed down to thirty, then to twenty. The car kept behind him, somewhat to the left. At length it slipped up alongside Lance. “Hey, you driver. Halt!” rang out a hoarse voice. Lance shut off, and applying the brakes, screeched to a stop.

“Stick ’em up!” came from the car. A flashlight blinded Lance.

“Okay!” he yelled, complying with the order.

Two men leaped out and a door clicked. The car moved on ahead to come to a standstill in front of the truck. Lance’s door was jerked open. Light flooded his cab. Over an extended gun he caught indistinct sight of two faces, the foremost of which was masked. Lance heard footsteps running back behind his truck and the clank of bolts.

“Bud, j’ever see this one before?” queried the bandit with the gun.

“Nope. Another new one,” came the laconic answer.

“Who are you?” followed the demand.

“Arizona cowpuncher,” replied Lance. “Broke. Agreed to drive this truck.”

“Who hired you?”

“I don’t know. Five men in a black car at Douglas.”

From behind clanked the hinge and there was a slap of canvas. “Empty, by God!” cried a hoarse voice, in anger. Footsteps preceded the appearance of two more men, one of whom Lance managed to distinguish despite the blinding flashlight. “Henny, we’re tricked. He’s made suckers out of us again. This truck is empty.”

“Ah, hell no!”

“Aw, hell yes! It’s a cattle car. As late as yesterday, when we picked them cars up, this one was full of steers. The other one had the ...”

“Shut up!” yapped the leader, pounding his gun on the door. “Hey, driver, how many trucks like this have you lamped lately?”

“Off and on I’ve seen a good many,” rejoined Lance, glibly. “Three in a row day before yesterday.”

“Goin’ which way?”

“North, out of Douglas.”

“Ah-ha! I told you, Henny,” yelled the enraged bandit. “An’ they’ll all come back full of steers. He’s took to buyin’ steers. What you think of that? In the cattle bizness. A blind. Ha! Ha! An’ it made a sucker out of you.”

“Driver, is there a short cut to El Paso without goin’ through Douglas?” queried the leader, sharply.

“Yes, at Benson,” replied Lance, readily. “Poor road, but passable.”

The leader snapped off his flashlight. “Beat it, cowboy, wherever you’re goin’. An’ tell your boss we’re onto his racket.”

“Henny, if there’s a short cut, no matter how bad, we might head off that car,” rasped the man Bud. He had a bitter raucous voice that Lance would remember. The four bandits ran to pile into their car. “Turn an’ step on it!” ordered the leader. In another moment their car was roaring east on the highway, and Lance had a clear road ahead. Relieved, and more interested than ever, he threw in his clutch and sped on toward Tucson. Lance saw that he had been used merely to throw this gang off the track. The cattle slant to the business seemed a trick that would take more than one carload of bandits to beat.

The run from that lonely stretch of road to the service station designated was accomplished in short order, Lance driving at a fast clip. The truck appeared to ooze along as smoothly as a limousine. Hardly had Lance come to a halt in the station yard when two men in dark garb, slouch hats pulled down, hurried out to meet him. Lance was ready for them, and opening the door he stepped out with a long whew of relief.

“Hello. Am I glad to see you? Take her away,” he said, vociferously.

“Dey stick you up?” queried one, tensely, while the other leaped into the seat.

“You bet. About five miles out. You should have heard Bud and Henny cuss to find her empty. I gave them a bum steer.”

“Yeah? An’ how bum?”

“They asked me if there was a short cut to El Paso and I told them yes, at Benson. I heard it was some road. They’ll get lost.”

“Thet’ll go hot with the boss. How much’d you dole out for gas? He forgot thet, an’ told me to square it.”

Lance named the sum, which was handed to him in a five dollar note and no change wanted.

“Blick, have we got all night?” demanded the man in the driver’s seat. “Cut it.”

“Keep your shirt on. Honey Bee gave me an order, didn’t he? ... Driver, yer come through clean. I’m to tell you thet if you’re hangin’ round Douglas next run, you can get another job.”

“Swell. I’ll hang around, if it’s not too long. When’s the next run?”

“I don’t know. Mebbe in a month—mebbe longer.”

When they had gone Lance went into the service station, aware that his arrival and the short conference had been observed.

“How far to a hash joint? I’m sure starved,” he began, genially.

“Stranger hereabouts?” the man returned, with a keen look. “Plenty grub places up the street.”

“Thanks. Yes, I’m a stranger. And I don’t mind telling you I drove that truck because I was broke. I was held up out here and scared stiff.”

“You don’t say. Well, that’s not strange considerin’ the company. You got off lucky.”

“Yeah? What was I up against?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“Did you ever see that truck before?”

“Yep, an’ some more like it. They been comin’ and goin’ every six weeks or so.”

“Cattle business must be good when steers get hauled in trucks,” commented Lance; then waiting a moment for an answer, which did not come, he strode up the street. In the middle of the second block he found a café, where he obtained his supper. At the next corner there was a hotel. Inquiry brought the information that he could take a bus early next morning for Douglas. Then he went to bed. Events of the day had been thought-provoking, but they did not keep him awake.

On the bus the following morning, however, he had nothing to do but think. It took Lance practically all that long ride to reason out the futility of any further interest in Uhl. Lance did not want to drive any more questionable trucks. Aside from an interesting experience, this meeting with Uhl had no warrant to absorb him. It was the singular connection with the college girl that kept him wondering and conjecturing, and thinking that he should warn her somehow. But he did not even know her last name. And to go back to Los Angeles on such a fanciful assumption seemed absurd. Nevertheless his conscience bothered him. That passed, however, leaving Lance with only the increasing pang of regret. When at Douglas he went out to see Umpqua, and quite provokingly he conceived a picture of Madge on his beautiful horse, he almost gave way to rage at his sentimentality. All the same, thought of the girl persisted, and Lance finally reconciled himself to being haunted.

Riding northeast from Douglas the Arizona desert land magnified its proportions of color and wildness and rugged grandeur to such a degree that Lance was loath to travel on and turn his back to ranges that dwarfed those he had ridden in Oregon. What a grand country he was entering! Ahead of him were mountains, peaked and lofty, purple in the distance, growing black and gray as league after league he neared them. Lance took his time stopping to ask questions, but the several little hamlets along the way failed to yield much information. He spent one night at Chiricahua, which town appeared to be in the center of a vast green and gray range surrounded by mountains. He had begun to see cattle in considerable numbers, though not one hundredth as many as the country might have supported. He rode on and on over a rolling and lovely valley.

Darkness overtook Lance. He had inquired at Apache about towns farther north. He had been told they were few and far between. It looked as though his preoccupation with the solitude and beauty of this upland valley was going to make him spend a night in the open. He did not mind that. The day had been hot and the night still remained warm. However, three hours after sunset he sighted lights ahead and soon entered a place called Bolton. Unlike most of the other towns, this one appeared to be comparatively new and located on both highway and railroad. There was a wide main street with bright lights and many parked cars, stores and cafés, a hotel and an inn, a bank and motion-picture theater. Lance rode on through to the outer zone of garages and autocamps. Umpqua, staunch as he was, had begun to tire. Lance was pleased to see several horses tethered beyond a garage off the main street, and next a livery stable. The garage, evidently, also provided the facilities of a service station and was quite modest compared to showy places Lance had passed.

“Howdy, cowboy,” drawled a pleasant voice. “Git down an’ come in.”

“Hello, yourself,” replied Lance, greeting a sturdy bow-legged young man who had appeared from somewhere. There was enough light to make out a lean tanned face from which shone narrow slits of eyes, keen and friendly.

“My Gawd!—Where’d you steal thet hawse?” queried this individual.

“Are you kidding me or is that the way horsemen are greeted here?” asked Lance.

“Shore kiddin’, cowboy. We got some grand hawses in this country an’ thet’s why I got fresh. But on the level where did you find him?”

“Oregon bred. He was given us when he was a colt. And I raised him.”

“You from Oregon?” went on the other, walking around the horse in a way that betrayed a love of horseflesh. It was an open sesame to Lance’s friendliness.

“Yes, rode him all the way.”

“Don’t tell. I’ll be dog-goned.... Wal, lookin’ him over I ain’t so surprised. All hawse, cowboy, an’ I’d trade you my garage for him.”

“Sounds cowboy,” laughed Lance.

“Shore I was—I am a cowboy. Been ridin’ Arizona ranges all my life. But these hard times I had to make a livin’ for my mother an’ me.”

“Gee, that’s bad news. I came to Arizona to find a job with some cattle outfit.”

“Wal, you’re jest outa luck. Cowboys air scarce these days. As scarce as jobs. Plenty of cattle all through heah. An’ the outfits thinned down to two or three riders. My job for three years before this bust-up hit us was with Gene Stewart. Finest rancher in these parts. Used to run eighty thousand haid. But of late years Gene has lost out. An’ as I couldn’t ride no more for nothin’ I had to take this place. Pays fair, but I just hate it.”

“Don’t blame you.... How about me bedding down Umpqua in this livery stable?”

“Umpqua? What a name! Where’n hell did you git thet?”

“It’s Indian. Name of a river in Oregon. Means swift.”

“Swell handle at thet. Shore, this stable is okay. I’ll go in with you.... What’d you say your name was? Mine’s Ren Starr.”

“I didn’t say yet. It’s Lance Sidway.”

“Air you gonna hang about heah a spell?”

“Yes, if I can find work.”

The livery stable man turned out to be an old fellow with an unmistakable cattle range air about him. He was almost as enthusiastic over Umpqua as Starr had been. For the first time in a long while Lance began to feel at home with his kind.

“Ump, old boy, this barn smells good, doesn’t it?” said Lance, and giving his pet a parting smack he went out with Starr. “Where can I eat and sleep?”

“Several places, but outside the hotel, you’ll like Mrs. Goodman’s café. Nice woman, dotes on cowboys, an’ runs a swell little chuck house.”

“Won’t you come with me? I’d like to talk.”

“Wal, shore. I’ve had my supper. But I can always eat. An’ it’s closin’ time for my place anyway.”

Presently Lance was ushered into a clean fragrant little shop, with more of a homey than a café look, and introduced to a portly woman of kind and genial aspect. Evidently she had a warm spot in her heart for cowboys.

“Wal, Oregon, I’d shore like to see you stop heah,” said Starr, eagerly. Manifestly he had taken to Lance as Lance had to him.

“All the way up from Apache I’ve liked the range more and more.”

“Hell, this ain’t nothin’. You ought to see thet range down along the west slope of the Peloncillo Mountains. Swell deer an’ antelope huntin’. Bear an’ cougar up high. Trout fishin’, oh boy! Grass an’ sage ranges.”

“Sounds more than swell. Is that where your Gene Stewart runs cattle?”

“Used to, when he had ten outfits. But now he’s only got about a thousand haid left, not countin’ yearlin’s an’ calves. He jest lets them graze around his ranch, with a couple of Mexican kids ridin’ for him.”

“How far away is his ranch?”

“I reckon about thirty by trail. The road runs round an’ up an’ down. Cars register forty-two miles. No road work this spring makes tough goin’, an’ I don’t mean mebbe.”

“Wonder what chance I’d have getting on with him? Wages no object for a while. I want to ride open country, and have a square meal often, with pasture for Umpqua. You see he was raised to fare for himself. Alfalfa and grain would spoil him.”

“My idee of trainin’ a hawse right.... I’ll tell you, Sidway, there’s a pretty shore chance for you out with Gene. He needs riders most damn bad. I’ll give you a note to him in the mawnin’. Thet’ll cinch it, if you really want a job for nothin’ ’cept board. He’ll be glad. Only you gotta approach him sorta careful.... Sensitive fellow, Gene is, but the salt of this range. For two bits I’ll sell out an’ go with you.”

“That’d be swell. Why don’t you?”

“It’d be all right with Mom. She wants to get out of this hot country for a while. But I’m makin’ money an’ I reckon I ought to save plenty before hittin’ the trail again.”

“All right, Ren. Thanks for the hunch. I’ll go. Maybe we can see each other sometimes. I’d like that.”

“Me too. Shore we can. Gene would give you a Sunday off now an’ then. I’d run out after you.”

“What kind of ranch does Stewart own?”

“Gee whiz! I reckoned every puncher in the West had heahed of it. Close to the border. Used to belong to a Mexican named Don Carlos. He was shot long before I come to this part of Arizona. I was hardly borned then. But I’ve heahed the story. Durin’ the Mexican Revolution around twenty-five years ago Don Carlos had thet ranch. It was a Spanish grant. An’ he was sellin’ contraband along the border. Gene Stewart was a tough cowboy them days. Great with the rope an’ hawse—a daid shot—an’ nerve, say! they didn’t come no cooler than thet hombre. Wal, he joined up with the revolutionists. They called him El Capitan. After Madero was assassinated Gene come back heah. About thet time a rich girl from Noo Yoork come along. She bought Don Carlos’ Ranch. Stillwell, the foreman then, corralled the hardest bunch of cowboys thet ever rode a range. But nobody could boss them until he put Gene on the job. They run Don Carlos an’ his band off the range. An’ they made thet ranch the finest in the West. It’s as beautiful as ever, but turrible run down these last two years ... Wal, Gene married his boss, the rich girl from the East, an’ was thet a romance!”

“Darned interesting, Ren. I’m going to like Stewart.”

“You shore will, an’ if you turn out as good as you look—excuse me bein’ personal—Gene is goin’ to cotton to you. He was grand to me. An’ I just love him as if he was my dad. He always stops in to see me, hopin’ I’ll come back. But he never says so. He was in town today, worried plain about somethin’! He said it was only cause he was losin’ a few cattle.”

“Cattle thieves?” exclaimed Lance, quickly.

“Rustlers over heah, Sid.”

“No!”

“Shore. There’s still some rustlin’ all over. Nothin’ heah like it used to be. But you see a dozen haid to Gene now means more’n a thousand, years ago. He was sore because he couldn’t find out how the cattle was stole. An’ old Nels, the last of thet great outfit of cowboys, couldn’t find out either.”

“Too old-fashioned, maybe.”

“Dog-gone, Sid. I had thet very idee.”

“Say, Starr,” spoke up Lance, as if with an inspiration. “Not so many days ago I drove a big truck from Douglas to Tucson. It was empty but it had been full of steers.”

Lance related briefly the circumstances that made it necessary for him to earn some money, but he did not go into detail about the men he had met on that adventure.

“Wal, I’m a son-of-a-gun! ... What kind of a truck?”

“A big one, fine make, and canvas-covered. I took the license number and the name of the owner. Which I suspect is not the name of the right owner.”

“Sidway, you’re sayin’ things,” rejoined Starr, growing cool after his excitement. “I’ve seen three or four trucks like thet one pass heah every month or so. One went through north four days ago.”

“Did you pay any particular attention to it?”

“No. Only saw it an’ was sore as usual ’cause the driver got gas from one of the other stations. You see them fellers never have bought a gallon of gas from me. Thet’s okay, shore. My place is as you saw it.”

“Starr, they passed you up because you were a cowboy.”

“You don’t say! Thet’s an idee. A hot one.”

“Something I heard on my drive gives me a hunch now that these truckmen bought cattle as a blind. Perhaps of late they steal cattle. All kinds of business pretty punk these days.”

“Pard, you are a whiz,” ejaculated Starr, intensely. “Rackin’ my haid I figger thet I haven’t seen them trucks go through heah southbound since last fall. They do go through, shore. I been told thet. But late in the night.”

“We got something to work on.”

“I should smile. I’ll grow curious as hell. Sid, this heah is goin’ to be most damn interestin’ to Gene. You tell him pronto. All about them trucks.”

“You bet. And, Starr, if I get in with Stewart I’ll send you the receipt and money to send for my baggage in Los Angeles.”

“Glad to fetch it out.... Wal, I reckon you ought to hit the hay. Your eyes look tired. Come on an’ I’ll take you to the hotel. Most as reasonable as autocamps, an’ good.”

On the way across the street Starr said: “There’s shore a lot to tell you about Stewart, his ranch an’ all. But I cain’t think of everythin’ all to oncet.... You’ll find Mrs. Stewart jest swell. Still handsome an’ the nicest woman! I most forgot their daughter. No wonder, ’cause I haven’t seen her for nearly four years. She was only a kid then. But could she cock her eye at a man? Had all the cowboys dotty. Me! I reckoned I had the inside track ’cause she let me kiss her oncet. But I was wrong, Sid. Thet girl was a hells-rattler, but straight as a string. Jest full of fem.... Wal, Gene told me today thet she was comin’ home. He was plumb excited over thet. Worships the girl! An’ mebbe he was worryin’ about her too.... Sid, if I remember thet girl she will keep you awake nights.”

“Not much,” declared Lance with a laugh. “Boy, I’ve been in Hollywood for a spell, hobnobbing with the prettiest and slickest girls in the world.”

“Hollywood? My Gawd, what’ll you spring on me next? Sid, you are goin’ to relieve the tedium of my days.... Did you fall for any of them stars?”

“Ren, I fell with a dull thud for three. And not stars, either. Just extras prettier than the stars. Harder every fall! And I can’t imagine me falling for a ranch girl. No offense, boy. My sister is a ranch girl and she’s my pride. But you can get what I mean, if you go to the flickers.”

“You mean movies? I go every show an’ sometimes twice.”

“Then you know how safe I’ll be on an Arizona ranch.”

“Safe out heah, if she doesn’t come home, which I don’t believe she will? Pard, I wouldn’t gamble on thet.... Wal, heah’s your hotel. I’ll be sayin’ adios till mawnin’. I’m shore glad we met, Lance.”

“So am I, Ren. It’s just swell. See you early tomorrow. Don’t forget to write that note to Stewart. Good night.”

Lance went to bed glowingly excited and satisfied with the day’s happenings, and its promise. Particularly was he pleased at finding the ex-cowboy, Starr. Lance thought he would be a fellow to tie to. Luck had attended this adventuring into a new and far country.

After an early breakfast next morning Lance made his first Arizona purchases, which consisted of a new riding outfit, and a much needed shaving kit and several other articles. His discarded things he tied in his old coat, so that he could carry the bundle conveniently on his saddle. When he presented himself at Starr’s garage, that worthy stared in comical surprise.

“Mawnin’ Sid,” he drawled. “What you been about? All dolled up. My Gawd! I hadn’t no idee you was such a handsome galoot. On thet hawse you’ll knock ’em cold. Say! I’ve a hunch you’ve either seen or heahed about Gene Stewart’s daughter.”

“Nope, I haven’t. But I needed some clean duds and a shave,” explained Lance. “Couldn’t ask for a job looking like a tramp.”

“I ain’t so shore, Sid,” returned Starr, doubtfully. “Gene likes ’em tough. Why, with thet red scarf an’ all you look like Buck Jones.”

“Ren, I bought the least gaudy outfit that storekeeper had,” protested Lance. “If you think I should change back to ...”

“Aw, I was half kiddin’. You look okay. In fact you look grand. But no cowpuncher can fool Gene Stewart. He’ll see right through you, Sid. An’ I’ll bet my shop he’ll take to you same as I did.”

“Well, then, what the hell ...”

“Thet’s it. What the hell will come off if you run plumb into Gene’s daughter? She’s on her way home. Gene told my mother so yesterday.”

“Ren, you certainly harp on that subject. Is the heart of Miss Stewart all you’re concerned with?” queried Lance, facetiously.

“Hell no! I’m jest concerned about what’ll happen to you, if she sees you. An’ in this new outfit you shore stand out from the landscape.”

“Like all the Arizona cowboys, aren’t you?” went on Lance. “Oh, I knew a lot of them in Hollywood. Swell fellows, but simply nuts on jokes and tricks and girls! ... Next to that they liked to gamble. I’ll bet you five bucks I don’t even see your Arizona cowgirl queen.... Man, I’ve lived in Hollywood for over a year.”

“So you told me before,” replied Starr, dryly. “Thet bet’s on. Heah’s your note to Gene Stewart. I shore hope you turn out half as good as my recommendation.”

“Thanks, Ren. I hope I make good. Now tell me how to find this wonderful ranch.”

“Go out the highway, south, of course. Take the first road—it’s a dirt road—turnin’ left. Stick on thet for about five miles, till you come to a bridge over a crick. Lots of green willows. Anyway, it’s the first bridge you come to, so you cain’t miss it. There’s a trail thet follers the crick, on the right-hand side. Hit thet trail, pard, an’ good luck to you.”

“How’ll I know the ranch when I come to it?”

“Hell! it’s the only ranch out there. The house, old Spanish style, sets on a knoll among trees. Walls used to be white. But you can see it from the divide, ten miles away.”

In very short order Lance was out of Bolton on a road that seemed to climb and lose itself in gray obscurity. Umpqua, scenting something out there, the sage and the open, perhaps, settled down to his fast ground-gaining trot. Lance saw on his right where the highway, a shining ribbon, followed the railroad and line of telegraph poles off to the southwest across the desert. On his left, beyond the green willows bordering the brook, an occasional humble ranch, or adobe Mexican house, gave life to a range gradually growing wilder as he proceeded. Ahead of him on the horizon mountain ranges stood up, some bold, others dim. Lance’s quick eye caught sight of romping jack rabbits and sneaking coyotes, and the white rumps of deer-like animals he concluded were antelope.

Eventually the trail left the brook. Dwarf cedar trees and a line of pale purple marked the zone of sage. Lance was familiar with Oregon and California sage, but neither had the luxuriance and fragrance of this Arizona brand. Umpqua manifestly liked the smell of it. There seemed to be a tang and a zest in this clear air. The sun became hot on Lance’s back; heat veils arose like smoke from the ground; the peaks that had been sharp against the blue appeared to dim in haze. Down to the right, toward the road Lance could still see, herds of cattle dotted the gray. The trail, however, headed more to the left, toward rising land, and rugged bits of outcropping rocks red in color, and back clumps of cedars.

By noonday Lance calculated that he had covered at least twenty miles, two thirds of the distance to Stewart’s ranch; and soon he had surmounted the divide Starr had mentioned. The scene was so splendid that Lance halted to gaze and gaze spellbound. He saw a moving dust line from a car creeping across this vast gray-purple bowl under him which must be the southern end of Bernardino Valley. Rocky areas and clumps of cedars and darker patches of trees relieved the monotony of that range, sweeping away and upward to the mountains that must be the Peloncillos. Then Lance’s keen eyes sighted the forested knoll and the old Spanish mansion built by Don Carlos. Ten miles away still, it appeared to stand out with a magnificence that Starr had hinted of. A lake, blue as a gem, shone in the sun, and its circle of green let out a branch that wound down across the gray, to make a wide bend around the rocky ridge Lance had surmounted. This, of course, was the stream he had encountered below. It was a big country. How vast this country must be when here lay only a mountain-walled valley! Heading down the trail Lance thought gravely, yet somehow with exaltation, that he was won forever. He would find or make a home there, and felt that he owed Ren Starr infinite gratitude.

By midafternoon Lance rode into a pretty little Mexican village at the foot of the knoll. Columns of blue smoke arose slowly. The half-naked children, the burros and dogs, the natives in colored raiment watching idly from the low porches, all appeared to have a leisurely air. Lance ventured a question to one group. An exceedingly pretty Mexican girl, whose big dark eyes shone bright and roguishly upon Lance replied to him: “Buenos dias, señor.”

“No savvy. Can’t you talk United States?” asked Lance, mildly, smiling at the girl.

“Yes, cowboy, Mr. Stewart is home.”

“Thank you, señorita. I think I’m going to like it here.”

Her dusky eyes snapped with mischief, and quick as their flash she retorted: “It didn’t take you long, señor.”

Riding away up the gentle slope Lance cogitated that remark of the Mexican lass’s. “Say! what did she mean? Can’t make out, but sure she was kidding me. Some little peach! Okay by me, señorita. I’ll be seeing you.”

Lance had not proceeded beyond where the road turned up the wooded knoll when a boy overtook him to inform him that Señor Stewart was at the corrals, toward which he pointed. Lance threw him a quarter, and kept to the right along the base of the knoll, to come at length into view of log barns and sheds and corrals, a long mossy-roofed bunkhouse, old and weathered, picturesquely falling to decay. A piercing whistle from an unseen horse brought a snort from Umpqua. Lance rode down a lane of tumble-down poles, to turn into a kind of court, at the immediate right of which stood a blacksmith shop; in front of this were several Mexican riders, and a thoroughbred black horse so glossy and well-groomed that he did not appear to belong there. Then a tall white man stepped out from behind the horse. He had a superb build, a dark intent face, deeply lined, piercing dark eyes, and there was white hair over his temples. Lance did not need to be told that this was Gene Stewart. As Lance rode up he caught first a relaxing of this stern face into a smile that warmed it attractively, and then a keen interest in both rider and horse.

“Howdy, cowboy,” the rancher greeted Lance, in pleasant deep voice. “You got the jump on them.”

“Who ... what?” stammered Lance. “Are you Gene Stewart?”

“Yes, I’m Stewart. And who’re you?”

“Lance Sidway. I want a job.”

“Fine.... May I ask if you have been recommended by my daughter?”

“No—indeed, sir,” replied Lance, recalling Starr’s talk, and suddenly filled with dismay. “I don’t know your daughter.”

“That’s quite possible. But might not her return home today have something to do with your asking for a job?” asked Stewart, with a twinkle in his piercing eyes.

“It might, judging from the Arizona cowboys I’ve met,” rejoined Lance, recovering coolness at the fun evidently enjoyed at his expense. “But in my case it hasn’t.”

“Indeed? Well, in your case then I’ll listen.”

“Here’s my letter of introduction,” went on Lance, producing it.

Stewart opened and read it, suddenly to beam upon Lance. “Pard of Starr’s, eh? You sure can’t be all Ren says. But if you’re anyways near as good ...”

“Excuse me, Stewart,” interposed Lance, hurriedly. “I’m not sailing under false colors. Starr doesn’t know me any better than you do. Met him only last night! We liked each other right off. He told me you might take me on. Offered a letter of introduction.”

“I see. That’s like Ren. Get down and come in.”

Lance stepped out of the saddle to drop the bridle. Stewart spoke to one of the admiring native lads: “Pedro, water him and rub the dust off him.... Cowboy, you’ve a grand horse. I can’t see a fault in him. Any rancher in the West would give you a job to get a chance to buy him or steal him.”

“Umpqua is swell,” replied Lance, as the rancher led him to a seat on the porch of what appeared to be a store.

“Nels, come out,” called Stewart, into the wide-open door of the old building. Receiving no answer he said plaintively: “Nels must be out back with my daughter, looking at her horses. Cowboy, you’ll have hell keeping that horse.”

“Oh, I see,” laughed Lance, thrilled at the intimation that the rancher might take him on. “Any girl who loves horses would want Umpqua, naturally. But she’ll have to take me with him.”

“Old-time cowboy spirit! I was that way, once.... Where you from?”

Lance briefly told of his home in Oregon, his experience on the ranges there, modestly enumerating his abilities and skipping the Hollywood experience.

“Did you ever hear of this range and my ranch?”

“Only from Starr. It’d be a great place to work. Please give me a trial, Stewart.”

“I’d sure like to,” returned the rancher, kindly but gravely. “Once I had the best and wildest outfit on the border. But times have changed.... Starr says in his note that wages are no object.”

“I’ll be glad to work for my board.”

“Are you rich?”

“Lord, no! I have a few dollars in my pocket. And Umpqua. Yes, I should have said I am rich.”

“Sidway, I couldn’t let you work for nothing.”

“But sir, if it’s money don’t let that keep you from hiring me,” importuned Lance.

“Tell me straight. I’ll like you the better if you confess you want this job on account of Madge.”

“Madge!—Who’s she? Oh, of course, your daughter.... Mr. Stewart, on my honor I swear I never heard of her until Starr raved about her last night.”

“But that might have been enough. You’re cowboy brand, all over.”

“It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anything. Women are not in my troubles.”

“Don’t perjure yourself. Girls are always cowboys’ troubles. ... I’ll take you on, Sidway, and pay you a few dollars a month till the cattle business looks up.”

“Thank you. I’ll sure do my best for you.”

“Did Ren mention he might come back to me?”

“Yes, he did. He wants to. I’ll bet he’ll come, soon as he saves a little more money.”

“I hate to ask him. But with you hard-riding youngsters to help me and Danny, and my vaqueros we might save the herd. You see, Sidway, there’s been some queer rustling....”

Stewart was interrupted by a sweet high-pitched voice that came from round the corner of the porch, down the lane.

“Nels! ... For Pete’s sake look at this black horse! ... Oh, what a beauty!—Oh! Oh!”

Clinking spurs attested to the slow steps of a rider.

“Well, lass, I never set eyes on thet hawse before,” drawled a quaint voice. “You’ll shore hate me when I say he’s got yore nags beat to a frazzle.”

“Nonsense!—But he is.... Nels, I want him. I’ll have him if it costs ten thousand.... Dad! Dad!”

Stewart whispered: “Step around and tell her here’s one horse she can’t buy. It’ll be fun.”

“Certainly, sir,” replied Lance, dubiously. It was his first order from his boss. Besides he seemed curiously struck by the situation or that sweet voice. As he moved to the corner he heard pattering footsteps. Then a vision flashed into sight to plump squarely into his arms.

“Oh!” she screamed, and staggering, would have fallen had she not caught Lance with swift hand. A girl—bareheaded—golden hair flying—lovely flushed face, strangely familiar—violet eyes widening, darkening! “Who on earth? ... You! ... Of all the miracles! If it isn’t my hero!”

Lance recognized her. His girl of the campus adventure and the mad ride through the streets of Los Angeles. As she enveloped him, with gay trill, and her red lips came up nearer to meet his in a cool sweet kiss, his breast seemed to cave in.