Grey, Zane - Novel 27 Read online

  It fell fatefully to Sue’s lot to help Mrs. Melberne feed this newcomer, who was so weak he could not sit up without support. The practical motherly woman bade Sue hold him while she lifted spoon and cup to his lips. Thus Sue found herself kneeling beside Chess Weymer’s brother, with her arms round his shoulders. Pity and kindliness actuated her, the same as these feelings prompted Mrs. Melberne in her gentle motherly way, but there was something else. Chane Weymer’s shoulder touched Sue’s heaving breast as she knelt beside him. Of all the moments of Sue’s life, these endless few were the most astounding and inexplicable.

  Weymer might have been nearly starved, but the fact was he could not swallow much, though he tried hard. Soon he lay back on the folded pillow, with whispered thanks, and closed his eyes.

  “It’s sleep he needs now more than food,” declared Mrs. Melberne as she rose from her knees “Sue, stay beside him a little till he falls off. If he doesn’t sleep, then I’ll sit up with him. He might need medicine. But if he sleeps he’ll be better tomorrow an’ can eat.”

  Then for the third time Sue found herself alone with the man who called his brother Little Boy Blue. In a few moments indeed he was fast asleep. Then Sue’s stultified emotions seemed to be released.

  Dusk stole softly down through the rustling cottonwoods. She heard the clink of riders’ spurs and the thud of hoofs. A mournful coyote barked out in the valley. The sweet fragrance of burning wood blew over her. And the moon, topping the mountain, cast a pale glow down upon the encampment. It lightened the face of the sleeping man. Sue did not want to gaze at him, yet she was powerless to resist it. The dark disheveled head, the ragged black beard, gave something of wildness to this stranger’s presence. He was breathing deeply, as one in heavy slumber.

  Sue peered round about her. Darkness had set in; the camp fire blazed, casting a circle of light, through which the riders passed to and fro on their errands. Her position was in the shadow of the cottonwoods. Some one was singing a song. She heard her father’s deep voice. Sue edged noiselessly closer to her charge, so that she could see him better. She suffered a sense of something akin to shame, yet she bent to look at him closely.

  In the moon-balanced shadow his face lay upturned, and it seemed to have a sad cast, level noble brow burdened with pain, dark hollows where the eyelids shut, blank spaces, yet how compelling, and stem lines that faded in the ragged beard. Sue drew back, strangely relieved, though why she could not tell. But that face held something which did not mock her interest in the wild rider who called his brother Little Boy Blue.

  A sound of wagon wheels rolling down the hard slope back of camp disturbed Sue’s reverie. It did not occur to her, in her thoughtful state, what that sound signified, until she heard some one yell out that Jake and Chess were back.

  “Oh, I’m glad !” murmured Sue, with a quick glance at the still face of the sleeper. Chess’s return afforded her some unexplained relief, while at the same time it stirred in her as vague a reluctance to have him find her watching over his brother. Sue could not see that there was any more needful to do; and therefore she rose hastily and went to her tent, intending to go to bed. Once in the dark confines of her tent, however, she sat motionless, lost in thought.

  Some time later, how soon she had no idea, she heard quick footsteps rustling the dry leaves outside, and then an eager voice calling her name.

  “Hello, Chess! You back? I’m sure glad,” she replied.

  “Oh, Sue!—Chane has come!” he went on, his low voice betraying deep feeling.

  “Yes, I know,” replied Sue.

  “Are you in bed?” he queried.

  “No. But I was just going.”

  “Please come out. I want to tell you something,” he begged.

  Sue had no wish to resist that earnest appeal; indeed, her pulse was far from being calm. Rising, she slipped out between the flaps of her tent. Chess stood close, a tall dark figure, his face indistinguishable against the background of shadow. He made a dive to secure her hand, and, bending, he kissed her cheek.

  “Why—Chess!” exclaimed Sue. Amaze was succeeding to anger when she felt the shaking of his hands, and then, as she peered up, she made out his face. He was greatly excited. Evidently he had no consciousness of a bold action. He was not thinking about her.

  “Chane is asleep,” whispered Chess, hoarsely. “I went close—to look at him. Say, it was hard not to wake him. But I was glad, for it gives me time.”

  “Time? For what, Chess? Why, boy, you’re all upset!” replied Sue.

  “Upset! Huh! You’d be upset, too—if you knew Chane,” went on Chess, hurriedly. “If he finds out Manerube knocked me down—and what for—my God! Sue, he’ll kill him!”

  Sue felt a cold tightening prickle of her skin, and her thoughts raced.

  “You must keep him from finding out,” she said.

  “Sure. I’m going to. When I found out Chane was here I asked your father if anyone had told about my fight with Manerube. He said he’d forgotten that. Then I begged him not to tell Chane. He said I had the right idea. He went with me to fix it with Jake and the other fellows who saw the fight. They were all darn nice about it.”

  Sue warmed to the boy as breathlessly he talked, leaning over her, holding her hands in a grip that proved his agitation.

  “Then, Sue—what do you think?” he went on, almost pantingly,

  “Go on, Chess. Tell me. How can I think, when I don’t know?” rejoined Sue, in haste.

  “We looked for Manerube,” whispered Chess, tensely. “No one had seen him since Chane rode into camp. Your dad said that ‘shore was damn strange.’ But I didn’t think so. . . . Maybe Manerube knows Chane. Anyway, we hunted all around camp, and at last we found him sitting back on a log away from the camp fire. He was thinking deep and our coming startled him. I pitched right in to tell him I—we didn’t want Chane to know about the fight. ... I reckon that surprised Manerube. He looked like it. And he got a little chesty, right off. You know how he is. Well, I made my part of it strong. I crawled. . . . Think of me begging that liar’s pardon, just to prevent a fight here!”

  “But, Chess, you hardly needed to humiliate yourself so,” responded Sue. “Manerube would not have told Chane you struck him, that’s certain.”

  “Darn my thick head!” ejaculated Chess, in exasperation. “Sure he wouldn’t. I could just feel how relieved he was. . . . Well, I did it, and I reckon I’m not sorry. It was for Chane’s sake.”

  “Chess, it was manly of you,” said Sue, earnestly.

  “Never mind what Manerube thinks. . . . But, Chess, in your excitement because of your brother’s return, haven’t you exaggerated any danger of his—of any ”

  “Sue,” interrupted Chess, “I’m not exaggerating anything. Chane might overlook insults-—such talk as that squaw-man stuff, or the vile hint about the little Piute girl. It’d be just like Chane to pass all that by, at least in a camp where there were womenfolks. But if he learned Manerube had struck me—beat me in the face for defending his honor—why, so help me Heaven —he’d kill him!”

  “Then, boy—you’ve done right,” faltered Sue, unnerved by Chess’s passion.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Sue,” went on Chess, as if suddenly he had been struck by an idea. “I haven’t any fears for Chane’s life. Did you think that? Say —wait till you know this brother of mine! But it’s that I’d hate to have him shed blood on my account. . . . He’s done it, Sue. He shot a rowdy who mistreated me—in a saloon where I was drinking. Thank God, he didn’t kill him. But that was only luck. . . . Sue, I ask you to help me be a better man, so Chane will never fight on my account again.”

  “Chess—you’re confessing now? You’ve been bad,” whispered Sue.

  He dropped his head and let go of her hands.

  “Don’t be afraid to tell me. I’m no fair-weather friend,” continued Sue.

  “Bad! I should smile,” he replied, with a lift of his head. Then he looked down squarely into her face.

 
; “Sue, I was only a wild youngster. You’ve helped me. And I’m getting older . . . seems to me. Chane coming at this time—just makes me think. I don’t want him to fight for his sake, more than for mine. And for yours, Sue!”

  “Mine !” murmured Sue, suddenly shocked out of her warm solicitude. “I—why—what concern is it of mine1?”

  “Didn’t I say if I couldn’t have you for a wife I’d sure have you for a sister?” he queried, forcefully.

  “Yes, you did, and it was very foolish talk,” responded Sue.

  “Just you wait! But never mind about that. All this talk of mine means only one thing. I’m scared stiff for fear Chane will fight again. He was terrible the last time. . . . Now, Sue, Chane will get a job riding for your father. He’ll be with us. I knew that was coming. I’m glad, if only he never finds out about Manerube. If only I can be half a man!”

  “Chess, I think you’re pretty much of a man right now,” declared Sue.

  “You mean it, Sue, honest?” he asked, eagerly.

  “Yes, judging from all you’ve said here. If you stick to that I’ll be proud to help you.”

  “You could do anything with a fellow.”

  “Very well, flatterer,” returned Sue, trying to be light and gay, but failing. “I’ll put my remarkable powers to a test. Make me one promise?”

  “Yes. What is it?” demanded Chess.

  “Don’t drink any more. I know these men have liquor in camp.”

  “Have you heard anything of my drinking? I haven’t lately,” he said, simply. “But you’ve hit my weakness.”

  “Well, then, good night, Little Boy Blue,” she said, with a laugh.

  The pitchy blackness of Sue’s tent, the heavy protecting feel of her blankets, had never before been so welcome as on this night. She was too thoughtful to sleep, at least for long. A kind of shame assailed her, that she could have appeared calm, even patronizing to Chess, where the truth was that she verged on tumult. The cause of such possible agitation forced itself upon her consciousness. She made denials to her accusing self. They were of no avail. The brother Chess had eulogized, the man who had been forced into her inmost thoughts, the wild rider of many adventures and whose name bore a stigma, lay out under the cottonwoods, his stern sad face blanched in the moonlight. He was there. She could not forget his face. These facts had an importance before which all her arguments failed. A restless impatient wonder at herself led at length to rebellion. She called herself a sentimental fool. This desert adventure, throwing her in contact with men of the open, with the primitive life of wild-horse wranglers and the loneliness of that vast land, had warped her for the time out of her sensible and practical habits of mind and action.

  “But—how do I know this strong new self is not more truly me than the other?” she whispered to herself. “I always used to hold myself in. Maybe I wasn’t natural/’

  So she pondered until she seemed lost in a sea of Imaginings. What good did it do to think, considering that her feelings were not dependent upon her thought or governed by it? And as far as understanding what she regarded as queer reactions to a situation in which a strange rider seemed paramount, she arrived nowhere.

  But when she remembered Chess and Manerube, then she was not in the least bewildered. Chess loved his brother Chane with a great boyish worship. Manifestly he had been a trouble to that brother. No doubt he was guilty of some act through which the loyal Chane had suffered. At any rate, Chess showed the pangs of remorse; likewise the noble longings to redeem himself. In the few moments of his eloquent talk with Sue he had risen immeasurably in her regard.

  As for Manerube—that man had been frightened by the arrival of Chane Weymer. Sue’s observation and intuition met perfectly on this plane. She had clearly seen his pale face, his somber, amazed, sullen look, his preoccupation, his hurry. He had rubbed against her in passing, yet had never seen her. Only one reason for this occurred to Sue—he was afraid to meet Weymer.

  “Why, I wonder,” she pondered. “Did he truly whip Chane Weymer, as he bragged he did? He feared Chess would tell Chane about the fight. That he had beaten Chess—been the cause of those dark-blue splotches which still showed on Chess’s face.”

  Whatever else there might be behind Manerube’s behavior, the main cause was that he was a coward, Sue had not liked the man, though she admitted his compelling personality, but this development damned him forever. Sue experienced a lifting sense of vague freedom; she had not been certain about Benton Mane- rube. She realized now where she stood in regard to him. Then, with the inconsistency of sex, which she admitted, Sue’s mind lingered on another phase of the situation; and it was a speculation as to what would actually happen if Chane Weymer were told the truth.

  “Chess never asked me not to tell,” she whispered. “Of course I never will—yet, I didn’t promise not to. . . . What am I thinking? I believe I’d like to see Manerube beaten as he would have beaten Chess!”

  Sue could scarcely have believed that, had she not heard her own voice, in low thrilling whisper. It absolutely destroyed what poise she had attained. Rolling over to bury her face in her pillow, Sue gave up to the climax of nervous excitement and cried herself to sleep.

  Sue awoke early enough, but she did not answer Mrs. Melberne’s call, or Chess’s; and not until her father slapped on the tent and in hearty stentorian voice ordered her out, did she make any effort to get up. A lassitude seemed to hang on her, and a reluctance to face the clear open day.

  When she presented herself for breakfast she found she was the last one. Mrs. Melberne’s eyes twinkled as she observed Sue’s carefully brushed hair, and clean white blouse with bright tie, and a soft woolen skirt, and beaded moccasins.

  “Daughter, I thought yesterday’s ride must have been too much for you, seein’ you didn’t bounce out as usual,” she said, drily. “But I reckon you’re well enough. You sure look pretty. Ora tidied up a bit,, too, but you needn’t let it worry you.”

  “Mother!” exclaimed Sue, with a hot blush. Seldom indeed did die call Mrs. Melberne mother. “Do you mean to insinuate I—you ----------------------------- ”

  “My dear, don’t mind me,” interposed Mrs. Mel' beme, suddenly warmed and won out of her teasing by that word mother.

  Then her father came striding up, and he too was quick to notice Sue did not have on her usual rough and comfortable garb.

  “Wal, girls will be girls,” he said, mischievously, “Sue, I reckon you don’t ride with me today.”

  “Why, sure, dad! Where are you going?” rejoined Sue, with a tremendous effort not to appear to have caught his inference.

  “Ha! Ha! You shore fooled me, lass,” he replied. “Fact is we’re restin’ today an’ drawin’ plans for the great barbed-wire trap to catch wild horses.”

  “Dad, are you really going to use barbed wire?”

  “Wal, I reckon so. Shore I’m not keen aboot it. But we use wire or nothin’. The trap will take miles of fence. We cain’t use wood. We’ll have hard enough work cuttin’ an’ draggin’ enough wood for posts.”

  “Dad, I’m surprised, that’s all,” returned Sue, coldly, and bent to her breakfast.

  Melberne showed that his daughter’s disapproval cut him to the quick. He argued and explained, but as Sue did not look up again or speak, he finally dropped his head and strode off, grumbling to himself. From this Sue divined that she had more influence with her father than she had supposed; and it convinced her that if the barbed-wire trap turned out to be actually brutal she might persuade him to abandon such means.

  Before finishing her breakfast Sue discovered with a little shock of dismay that she was vastly curious about Ora this particular morning. Mrs. Melberne’s hint had helped along a feminine interest which had until today fallen to low ebb. She looked everywhere round camp to locate the girl, and the last place was the cottonwood tree where she and her father had made the bed for Chane. It annoyed her, too, to note that she had begun to call him Chane in her thoughts. The bed had been removed an
d Ora was not in sight. Thereupon Sue insisted upon helping Mrs. Melbeme wash and wipe the breakfast utensils, an act which, under the particular circumstances, evidently mystified the good woman.

  Jake happened along, his arms full of bundles brought from the wagon; and at sight of Sue his brown seamed face wrinkled into a shiny mass.

  “Now, Miss Sue, if you don’t just look good for sore eyes!” he ejaculated. “Is there anything going on today?”

  “Not that I know of,” replied Sue, with a smile.

  “We’re a lucky lot of bushwhackers, to have two such lasses as you and Ora to remind us of home. . . . Now I intended to fetch you a box of candy, but the old fellow in the store near dropped dead when I asked him for it.”

  “Thanks all the same, Jake.”

  Jake stepped closer to Sue and spoke in lower tone: “You know about Chess’s brother being here?”

  “Yes, I saw him last night.”

  “Say, but that boy Chess is happy,” went on Jake, manifestly having shared Chess’s joy. “He was worried some last night. I talked with him and encouraged him to keep secret that little trouble—you know—when Manerube first came. I like Chess. He’s got a good heart. I’d sure like to meet his mother.”

  “Jake, what do you think of Chess’s brother?” queried Sue, deliberately, yet the blood tingled in her cheeks. This kindly, just man was the only one in the camp of whom she could have asked that.

  “I’ll tell you when I make up my mind,” replied Jake, seriously. “He’s the finest-looking rider I ever saw. Too bad he’s come to us with Manerube’s----------- ”

  Captain Bunk, staggering under a load of firewood, jostled against Jake, interrupting what he meant to say.

  “Heave to, Jake. You’re always on the port side,” said the sailor, pleasantly. “How are you, mate?”

  “Couldn’t be better, Cap,” responded Jake, extending his broad hand. “Say, you’re all scratched up. Why, man, have you been fighting wild-cats?”