Nevada (1995) (26 page)

Now that's shore worth rememberin'. Last an' perhaps meanin' mos
t
to me--what that half-drunk sheepherder told me. Strange rider
s
often seen by herders passin' through the Mogollons. Wal, most o
f
all this sounds familiar, as I think back. But now it come
s
close."

Jim, by following in the footsteps of hurrying young people, soo
n
found where the dance was being held. It was out a side street
,
almost at the edge of town, in a low wide adobe building, ver
y
picturesque now with its hanging colored lanterns, its trailin
g
vines over archways. Outside there was a crowd of Mexicans
,
Indians, white men in rough garb, noisy boys, all looking i
n
through the archways at the couples walking down the long patio an
d
the dancers inside, swaying to and fro with the music. There wa
s
something of the spirit of a fiesta in the air.

Upon entering the place Jim was aware that he came under th
e
scrutiny of men who evidently were conducting the dance, or a
t
least overseeing those who entered. One of these individuals wa
s
Macklin, the sheriff of Winthrop, an officer who arrested cowboy
s
sometimes, and Indians and Mexicans, but who never had been know
n
to jail a gambler or one of the more dangerous characters. Jim
,
however, was not questioned. He strolled up the wide steps t
o
watch the dancers, and then moving from one vantage point t
o
another, amused and pleased with the scene, he at length found
a
place that suited him, where he sat down to watch and listen.

Jim Lacy, in the old Texas and Idaho, even the Nevada days, ha
d
enjoyed dancing, but since his advent in Arizona he had neve
r
attended a dance. This had been one of the peculiar things abou
t
Jim that had puzzled his cowboy associates of the Franklidge Ranch.

Failing to persuade him, they called him a woman-hater.

It did not take Jim long to appreciate that this dance wa
s
conducted on proper lines. He understood now why he had been s
o
closely scrutinized at the entrance. There was no drinkin
g
permitted on this occasion, nor any obstreperous behavior. Th
e
cowboys and other young men present did not show any evidence o
f
the bottle. Among the dancers, and promenaders in the patio, ther
e
were a number of dark-haired, flower-decorated Mexican girls, ver
y
bright and pretty in their festal array. It was indeed a gal
a
occasion, full of color and life, and soft laughter and Spanis
h
music. Jim had to admit that his calculations had fallen awry i
n
this case. Rose Hatt might be in attendance, but it was a saf
e
wager that Cedar Hatt would not be admitted, nor any of the men Ji
m
wanted to watch, unless it might be Dillon. He, surely, would no
t
only be welcome, but very probably the lion of the dance.

Presently Jim believed he had caught a glimpse of little Rose Hat
t
at the far end of the patio. So he arose to walk in tha
t
direction, and found it rather a running of the gauntlet, for a
s
the music started up couples began gayly to hasten to the dancin
g
floor. More than one pretty girl bumped into Jim's right sid
e
where his gun hung low. Finally another, dodging around a coupl
e
she evidently wanted to get ahead of, plumped into Jim's arms.

"Oh, goodness! Excuse me," she giggled, recovering her balance.

"See heah, lady, are you shore you didn't mean that?" drawled Jim
,
with a smile.

She could not very well have grown redder of face, so Jim could no
t
tell whether or not she blushed. There was, however, a hint o
f
coquetry in her merry eyes. Then a tall cowboy, very young i
n
years, loomed over her and glowered at Jim.

"Hey, you dressed-up quirt!" he said. "You say 'lady,' but yo
u
don't know one when you see her. I've a notion to slap your smart-
a
lec face."

"I'd hate to be slapped, so I beg pardon, sonny," replied Jim, an
d
walked away.

The momentary halt had caused him to lose track of the dark curl
y
head he had believed to be Rose Hatt's. At the end of the patio h
e
turned, to espy the girl just stepping out upon the floor. It wa
s
indeed Rose, and a transformed little girl, too. She had on
a
gaudy, cheap, flimsy dress, with shoes and stockings to match, bu
t
these did not detract from her prettiness. She was young an
d
radiant. Her partner was a cowboy not much older than herself.

They stood a moment, holding to each other, self-conscious an
d
awkward, before they began to dance. Rose did not know how t
o
waltz, but she made a valiant effort.

Jim watched the couple until they were lost in the whirl o
f
dancers. This end of the patio opened into a garden or yard wher
e
a walk wound between clumps of shrubbery. There were benches her
e
and there, and some of these were overshadowed by vines. Ji
m
watched the dancers, hoping to see Rose again, and perhaps catc
h
her eye. But he missed her in the whirling throng, and when th
e
dance ended he retreated to a seat on the adobe wall. Then agai
n
the dancers tripped to and fro, hurrying for refreshments an
d
seats, and the wide aisle was filled with murmuring voices.

This scene roused in Jim Lacy a strange regret. The pleasure an
d
life manifested here were things he had missed. "I can't see tha
t
it was my fault, either," he muttered. Young couples passed near
,
excited and gay, thoughtless, enchanted with the moment. Ther
e
were older people, some with gray hair, and they did not see
m
beyond the magic of the hour. Jim's envy was short-lived.

Happiness had eluded him. But it was not given to many men t
o
serve as he could now.

Presently a couple approached out of the shadow. As they reached
a
point beyond, yet near where Jim sat, half concealed, the gir
l
halted.

"Please--let's go outside," begged the man.

His voice prompted Jim to turn so that he could see better. Th
e
fellow had the build of a rider, lithe, tall, wide in th
e
shoulders. He wore a dark suit and had a flower in the lapel o
f
his coat. His face had a compelling attraction. But Jim, in hi
s
quick glance, could not decide whether it drew him because it was
a
handsome, unusual face, or for some other reason difficult to gras
p
at the moment.

"No, Mr. Dillon, I don't care to go farther," said the girl.

Jim started so violently that he almost fell off the low adob
e
wall. That voice! He would have known it among a thousand voices.

His cool curiosity vanished in a rushing tide of emotion. Hi
s
glance leaped from the man to his companion. She stood full in th
e
soft rose light of one of the colored lanterns. Hettie Ide! Hi
s
heart bounded, then seemed to become locked with a terrible pang.

It was Hettie, grown into a woman. The face that had haunted Jim'
s
camp fires in the lonely watches of the nights! The same ripplin
g
fair hair, the deep earnest eyes, the rich clear complexion tha
t
spoke of contact with the open, the strong full lips, mor
e
hauntingly sweet than ever for the sadness which had come!

So rapt, so agonizing was Jim's attention that he lost something o
f
the words which passed between the two. It was the name Dillo
n
that roused Jim from his trance.

"Mr. Dillon," she was saying, "the reason I can't marry you is tha
t
I don't love you."

"But, Hettie, you will--you must love me in time," he returned
,
passionately, seizing her hand and trying to pull her into th
e
shadow. She resisted, broke away from him.

"I never will," she said, with eyes and cheeks flaming. "What kin
d
of a man are you--that you persist so rudely? I liked you--eve
n
admired you until you forced such attentions as these on me. I'v
e
overlooked them because my brother Ben thinks so much of you. Bu
t
no more, Mr. Dillon."

Her dignified yet spirited reply might as well not have bee
n
spoken, for all the effect it had to restrain Dillon. He burs
t
into low impassioned appeal, and he backed her under th
e
overhanging vines against the wall. Dillon was no young cowboy
,
mad with love. He appeared to be a man, masterful, adept at makin
g
love, absolutely indifferent to anything but his own desires. Th
e
way he confronted her in her several attemps to pass him, an
d
without laying a hand on her crowded her back to the wall, prove
d
how he was thinking about what he was doing.

"I--I thought you were a gentleman," she burst out.

"No man thinks of bein' over-gentle when he's in love," retorte
d
Dillon. "I tried that with you. And to tell you the truth, I
w
asn't so natural then as I am now. I've plumb lost my head. I
t
ell you I love you an' I'm goin' to have you. What do you say t
o
that?"

"I say this, Mr. Dillon, we've all got you figured wrong," sh
e
retorted.

"Sure you have," he rejoined, with an exultant laugh. "An' here'
s
how!" With that he attempted to seize her in his arms. But he ha
d
evidently cornered the wrong girl. Supple and strong, she wrestle
d
free in an instant and wheeled away from the wall.

"What do you--think--Ben will do--when I tell him--you've insulte
d
me?" she panted, backing into the aisle.

"If you've got any sense you won't tell him," replied Dillon, in
a
flash changing from an ardent lover to something almost menacing.

"Ben Ide's in bad here. Arizona isn't California. There ar
e
rustlers here an' you can bet some of them are the ranchers h
e
thinks his friends. I know this cattle game. I know these men.

He's lost most of his stock. If he buys in more he'll lose tha
t
too. Hettie, I'm the only cowman in Arizona who can save him fro
m
ruin."

"Indeed! Are you aware that I have a share in the Ide ranch?"
r
etorted Hettie, sarcastically.

"I've heard so, but I didn't believe."

"Well, it's true."

"Ahuh! What do you mean by share?" he queried, curiously.

"I own one third of the land and the stock. Besides, I have my ow
n
house apart from Ben."

"That's news to me," said Dillon. "But it sure makes my cas
e
stronger. What ruins Ben Ide will ruin you."

"The loss of a few thousand cattle won't hurt either my brother o
r
me," she returned, almost flippantly, studying his face wit
h
steady, penetrating eyes. She was seeing the man as if he ha
d
suddenly unmasked.