Zane Grey (13 page)

Old John Sprague launched into his narrative with evident zest.

"I hung round Greaves' store most of two days. An' I heerd a heap.
Some of it was jest plain ole men's gab, but I reckon I got the drift
of things concernin' Grass Valley. Yestiddy mornin' I was packin' my
burros in Greaves' back yard, takin' my time carryin' out supplies from
the store. An' as last when I went in I seen a strange fellar was
thar. Strappin' young man—not so young, either—an' he had on
buckskin. Hair black as my burros, dark face, sharp eyes—you'd took
him fer an Injun. He carried a rifle—one of them new forty-fours—an'
also somethin' wrapped in paper thet he seemed partickler careful
about. He wore a belt round his middle an' thar was a bowie-knife in
it, carried like I've seen scouts an' Injun fighters hev on the
frontier in the 'seventies. That looked queer to me, an' I reckon to
the rest of the crowd thar. No one overlooked the big six-shooter he
packed Texas fashion. Wal, I didn't hev no idee this fellar was an
Isbel until I heard Greaves call him thet.

"'Isbel,' said Greaves, 'reckon your money's counterfeit hyar. I cain't
sell you anythin'.'

"'Counterfeit? Not much,' spoke up the young fellar, an' he flipped
some gold twenties on the bar, where they rung like bells. 'Why not?
Ain't this a store? I want a cinch strap.'

"Greaves looked particular sour thet mornin'. I'd been watchin' him
fer two days. He hedn't hed much sleep, fer I hed my bed back of the
store, an' I heerd men come in the night an' hev long confabs with him.
Whatever was in the wind hedn't pleased him none. An' I calkilated
thet young Isbel wasn't a sight good fer Greaves' sore eyes, anyway.
But he paid no more attention to Isbel. Acted jest as if he hedn't
heerd Isbel say he wanted a cinch strap.

"I stayed inside the store then. Thar was a lot of fellars I'd seen,
an' some I knowed. Couple of card games goin', an' drinkin', of
course. I soon gathered thet the general atmosphere wasn't friendly to
Jean Isbel. He seen thet quick enough, but he didn't leave. Between
you an' me I sort of took a likin' to him. An' I sure watched him as
close as I could, not seemin' to, you know. Reckon they all did the
same, only you couldn't see it. It got jest about the same as if Isbel
hedn't been in thar, only you knowed it wasn't really the same. Thet
was how I got the hunch the crowd was all sheepmen or their friends.
The day before I'd heerd a lot of talk about this young Isbel, an' what
he'd come to Grass Valley fer, an' what a bad hombre he was. An' when
I seen him I was bound to admit he looked his reputation.

"Wal, pretty soon in come two more fellars, an' I knowed both of them.
You know them, too, I'm sorry to say. Fer I'm comin' to facts now thet
will shake you. The first fellar was your father's Mexican foreman,
Lorenzo, and the other was Simm Bruce. I reckon Bruce wasn't drunk,
but he'd sure been lookin' on red licker. When he seen Isbel darn me
if he didn't swell an' bustle all up like a mad ole turkey gobbler.

"'Greaves,' he said, 'if thet fellar's Jean Isbel I ain't hankerin' fer
the company y'u keep.' An' he made no bones of pointin' right at
Isbel. Greaves looked up dry an' sour an' he bit out spiteful-like:
'Wal, Simm, we ain't hed a hell of a lot of choice in this heah matter.
Thet's Jean Isbel shore enough. Mebbe you can persuade him thet his
company an' his custom ain't wanted round heah!'

"Jean Isbel set on the counter an took it all in, but he didn't say
nothin'. The way he looked at Bruce was sure enough fer me to see thet
thar might be a surprise any minnit. I've looked at a lot of men in my
day, an' can sure feel events comin'. Bruce got himself a stiff drink
an' then he straddles over the floor in front of Isbel.

"'Air you Jean Isbel, son of ole Gass Isbel?' asked Bruce, sort of
lolling back an' givin' a hitch to his belt.

"'Yes sir, you've identified me,' said Isbel, nice an' polite.

"'My name's Bruce. I'm rangin' sheep heahaboots, an' I hev interest in
Kurnel Lee Jorth's bizness.'

"'Hod do, Mister Bruce,' replied Isbel, very civil ant cool as you
please. Bruce hed an eye fer the crowd thet was now listenin' an'
watchin'. He swaggered closer to Isbel.

"'We heerd y'u come into the Tonto Basin to run us sheepmen off the
range. How aboot thet?'

"'Wal, you heerd wrong,' said Isbel, quietly. 'I came to work fer my
father. Thet work depends on what happens.'

"Bruce began to git redder of face, an' he shook a husky hand in front
of Isbel. 'I'll tell y'u this heah, my Nez Perce Isbel—' an' when he
sort of choked fer more wind Greaves spoke up, 'Simm, I shore reckon
thet Nez Perce handle will stick.' An' the crowd haw-hawed. Then Bruce
got goin' ag'in. 'I'll tell y'u this heah, Nez Perce. Thar's been
enough happen already to run y'u out of Arizona.'

"'Wal, you don't say! What, fer instance?, asked Isbel, quick an'
sarcastic.

"Thet made Bruce bust out puffin' an' spittin': 'Wha-tt, fer instance?
Huh! Why, y'u darn half-breed, y'u'll git run out fer makin' up to
Ellen Jorth. Thet won't go in this heah country. Not fer any Isbel.'

"'You're a liar,' called Isbel, an' like a big cat he dropped off the
counter. I heerd his moccasins pat soft on the floor. An' I bet to
myself thet he was as dangerous as he was quick. But his voice an' his
looks didn't change even a leetle.

"'I'm not a liar,' yelled Bruce. 'I'll make y'u eat thet. I can prove
what I say.... Y'u was seen with Ellen Jorth—up on the Rim—day before
yestiddy. Y'u was watched. Y'u was with her. Y'u made up to her.
Y'u grabbed her an' kissed her! ... An' I'm heah to say, Nez Perce,
thet y'u're a marked man on this range.'

"'Who saw me?' asked Isbel, quiet an' cold. I seen then thet he'd
turned white in the face.

"'Yu cain't lie out of it,' hollered Bruce, wavin' his hands. 'We got
y'u daid to rights. Lorenzo saw y'u—follered y'u—watched y'u.'
Bruce pointed at the grinnin' greaser. 'Lorenzo is Kurnel Jorth's
foreman. He seen y'u maulin' of Ellen Jorth. An' when he tells the
Kurnel an' Tad Jorth an' Jackson Jorth! ... Haw! Haw! Haw! Why, hell
'd be a cooler place fer yu then this heah Tonto.'

"Greaves an' his gang hed come round, sure tickled clean to thar
gizzards at this mess. I noticed, howsomever, thet they was Texans
enough to keep back to one side in case this Isbel started any
action.... Wal, Isbel took a look at Lorenzo. Then with one swift grab
he jerked the little greaser off his feet an' pulled him close.
Lorenzo stopped grinnin'. He began to look a leetle sick. But it was
plain he hed right on his side.

"'You say you saw me?' demanded Isbel.

"'Si, senor,' replied Lorenzo.

"What did you see?'

"'I see senor an' senorita. I hide by manzanita. I see senorita like
grande senor ver mooch. She like senor keese. She—'

"Then Isbel hit the little greaser a back-handed crack in the mouth.
Sure it was a crack! Lorenzo went over the counter backward an' landed
like a pack load of wood. An' he didn't git up.

"'Mister Bruce,' said Isbel, 'an' you fellars who heerd thet lyin'
greaser, I did meet Ellen Jorth. An' I lost my head. I 'I kissed
her.... But it was an accident. I meant no insult. I apologized—I
tried to explain my crazy action.... Thet was all. The greaser lied.
Ellen Jorth was kind enough to show me the trail. We talked a little.
Then—I suppose—because she was young an' pretty an' sweet—I lost my
head. She was absolutely innocent. Thet damned greaser told a
bare-faced lie when he said she liked me. The fact was she despised
me. She said so. An' when she learned I was Jean Isbel she turned her
back on me an' walked away."'

At this point of his narrative the old man halted as if to impress
Ellen not only with what just had been told, but particularly with what
was to follow. The reciting of this tale had evidently given Sprague
an unconscious pleasure. He glowed. He seemed to carry the burden of
a secret that he yearned to divulge. As for Ellen, she was deadlocked
in breathless suspense. All her emotions waited for the end. She
begged Sprague to hurry.

"Wal, I wish I could skip the next chapter an' hev only the last to
tell," rejoined the old man, and he put a heavy, but solicitous, hand
upon hers.... Simm Bruce haw-hawed loud an' loud.... 'Say, Nez Perce,'
he calls out, most insolent-like, 'we air too good sheepmen heah to hev
the wool pulled over our eyes. We shore know what y'u meant by Ellen
Jorth. But y'u wasn't smart when y'u told her y'u was Jean Isbel! ...
Haw-haw!'

"Isbel flashed a strange, surprised look from the red-faced Bruce to
Greaves and to the other men. I take it he was wonderin' if he'd heerd
right or if they'd got the same hunch thet 'd come to him. An' I reckon
he determined to make sure.

"'Why wasn't I smart?' he asked.

"'Shore y'u wasn't smart if y'u was aimin' to be one of Ellen Jorth's
lovers,' said Bruce, with a leer. 'Fer if y'u hedn't give y'urself
away y'u could hev been easy enough.'

"Thar was no mistakin' Bruce's meanin' an' when he got it out some of
the men thar laughed. Isbel kept lookin' from one to another of them.
Then facin' Greaves, he said, deliberately: 'Greaves, this drunken
Bruce is excuse enough fer a show-down. I take it that you are
sheepmen, an' you're goin' on Jorth's side of the fence in the matter
of this sheep rangin'.'

"'Wal, Nez Perce, I reckon you hit plumb center,' said Greaves, dryly.
He spread wide his big hands to the other men, as if to say they'd
might as well own the jig was up.

"'All right. You're Jorth's backers. Have any of you a word to say in
Ellen Jorth's defense? I tell you the Mexican lied. Believin' me or
not doesn't matter. But this vile-mouthed Bruce hinted against thet
girl's honor.'

"Ag'in some of the men laughed, but not so noisy, an' there was a
nervous shufflin' of feet. Isbel looked sort of queer. His neck had a
bulge round his collar. An' his eyes was like black coals of fire.
Greaves spread his big hands again, as if to wash them of this part of
the dirty argument.

"'When it comes to any wimmen I pass—much less play a hand fer a
wildcat like Jorth's gurl,' said Greaves, sort of cold an' thick.
'Bruce shore ought to know her. Accordin' to talk heahaboots an' what
HE says, Ellen Jorth has been his gurl fer two years.'

"Then Isbel turned his attention to Bruce an' I fer one begun to shake
in my boots.

"'Say thet to me!' he called.

"'Shore she's my gurl, an' thet's why Im a-goin' to hev y'u run off
this range.'

"Isbel jumped at Bruce. 'You damned drunken cur! You vile-mouthed
liar! ... I may be an Isbel, but by God you cain't slander thet girl to
my face! ... Then he moved so quick I couldn't see what he did. But I
heerd his fist hit Bruce. It sounded like an ax ag'in' a beef. Bruce
fell clear across the room. An' by Jinny when he landed Isbel was
thar. As Bruce staggered up, all bloody-faced, bellowin' an' spittin'
out teeth Isbel eyed Greaves's crowd an' said: 'If any of y'u make a
move it 'll mean gun-play.' Nobody moved, thet's sure. In fact, none
of Greaves's outfit was packin' guns, at least in sight. When Bruce got
all the way up—he's a tall fellar—why Isbel took a full swing at him
an' knocked him back across the room ag'in' the counter. Y'u know when
a fellar's hurt by the way he yells. Bruce got thet second smash right
on his big red nose.... I never seen any one so quick as Isbel. He
vaulted over thet counter jest the second Bruce fell back on it, an'
then, with Greaves's gang in front so he could catch any moves of
theirs, he jest slugged Bruce right an' left, an' banged his head on
the counter. Then as Bruce sunk limp an' slipped down, lookin' like a
bloody sack, Isbel let him fall to the floor. Then he vaulted back
over the counter. Wipin' the blood off his hands, he throwed his
kerchief down in Bruce's face. Bruce wasn't dead or bad hurt. He'd
jest been beaten bad. He was moanin' an' slobberin'. Isbel kicked him,
not hard, but jest sort of disgustful. Then he faced thet crowd.
'Greaves, thet's what I think of your Simm Bruce. Tell him next time
he sees me to run or pull a gun.' An' then Isbel grabbed his rifle an'
package off the counter an' went out. He didn't even look back. I
seen him nount his horse an' ride away.... Now, girl, what hev you to
say?"

Ellen could only say good-by and the word was so low as to be almost
inaudible. She ran to her burro. She could not see very clearly
through tear-blurred eyes, and her shaking fingers were all thumbs. It
seemed she had to rush away—somewhere, anywhere—not to get away from
old John Sprague, but from herself—this palpitating, bursting self
whose feet stumbled down the trail. All—all seemed ended for her.
That interminable story! It had taken so long. And every minute of it
she had been helplessly torn asunder by feelings she had never known
she possessed. This Ellen Jorth was an unknown creature. She sobbed
now as she dragged the burro down the canyon trail. She sat down only
to rise. She hurried only to stop. Driven, pursued, barred, she had
no way to escape the flaying thoughts, no time or will to repudiate
them. The death of her girlhood, the rending aside of a veil of maiden
mystery only vaguely instinctively guessed, the barren, sordid truth of
her life as seen by her enlightened eyes, the bitter realization of the
vileness of men of her clan in contrast to the manliness and chivalry
of an enemy, the hard facts of unalterable repute as created by slander
and fostered by low minds, all these were forces in a cataclysm that
had suddenly caught her heart and whirled her through changes immense
and agonizing, to bring her face to face with reality, to force upon
her suspicion and doubt of all she had trusted, to warn her of the
dark, impending horror of a tragic bloody feud, and lastly to teach her
the supreme truth at once so glorious and so terrible—that she could
not escape the doom of womanhood.