Following the Grass (14 page)

Angel threw up his hands impotently and, although he was not a profane man, a curse escaped him. The sheep kept up their bleating, and in a growing rage, he rang a bell for his men to come and stop them.

The following hour found him resolved to erase Joseph at any cost. He had thought himself done with the curse the Gaults had put on him, but here it was again. All he had suffered; the lengths to which he had gone—had it been for nothing?

M
IDNIGHT
came, but Angel sat slouched down in his chair. His thoughts were chaotic. Wearily he cast about for some way to get rid of the boy, and out of the welter of his thoughts Necia Dorr appeared before him. She was young and lovely. He had seen her eyes melt at sight of Joseph. And the boy had not been blind to her charms. He had fallen back, humble before her.

Thus a plan matured in Angel's mind. Morning found him closeted with old Thad at the Circle-Z.

“He must go,” Angel insisted. “It does not rain. My people tremble before him. He is in league with the devil—that crow, that coyote—they make my flesh crawl! You saw how your girl greeted him. He is a romantic figure to her. You are not going to risk having him win her from you, eh,
señor?”

“Ain't no danger of that,” Thad declared, somewhat injured.

“But they are of an age,” Angel argued, ignoring Thad's indifference. “Do not forget that this boy has an education. He is no fool. In every way, he is her equal. She will turn to him—it is inevitable.

“Why—it took them the better part of an hour to wrap a rag around that lamb's leg the other night—what do you imagine kept them so long? It was like meeting like. I tell you education sets men and women apart. Those two feel a common bond between them already. Where did your granddaughter ride to yesterday?”

Angel was taking a chance on this, but it hit the mark.

“She went up the mountain,” Thad had to admit.

Angel threw up his hands, inviting Thad to draw his own conclusion.

“But she don't know who he is,” the old cattleman went on presently. “When I tell her that he is Joe Gault' s boy, she'll cut him dead.”

Angel shook his head, pitying Thad for his denseness.

“No,” he muttered. “You will drive her into his arms if you tell her that. She'll look on him as a persecuted man. Don't bring up the past. We can get rid of the boy.

“If she is interested in him, she will be anxious to warn him that he must leave—that people are threatening him already, blaming him for the drought. My friend—you do not want to see her married to such a man. No! Nor will you stand idle while she rushes headlong into an affair that can only break her heart. We must act.”

Horror at what Angel pictured grew on Thad.

“I thought I was through with everythin' of the name of Gault,” he ground out dully. “To think that I had to wait for some one to tell me what I ought to have seen myself. God!” He snapped erect in his chair suddenly. “What am I gain' to tell her?” he demanded.

“That the Basques are making threats; that men are talking of nothing but him; that they blame him for the plague that has come upon us—that they will destroy him if he stays.”

Thad got up and called Necia, but he shook his head as if doubting his ability to convince her. His excitement was immediately communicated to the girl, and she listened with growing apprehension to what her grandfather had to say.

When he had finished she sank into a chair and gazed from one to the other. Anger flashed in her eyes for a moment as she began to comprehend what they proposed. Disgust, and pity for their clumsy trickery, followed.

“So you fear him so much,” she murmured. “No, no; grandfather, I am not fooled. This boy is in no danger. Both of you trembled before him the other evening. For some reason, he is in your way. I will not be a party to your scheming.”

“You will obey me!” Thad thundered. “What is your interest in this man? You're not in love with him, be you ?”

“Love?”
Necia echoed, shaking her head at the word. “No—hardly love, grandfather. But when I listened to him, I knew that I heard—truth. Peace came to me. I—I wanted to lift up my head and sing.”

Thad and Angel stared at her as she stood before them with eyes half closed, her lips parted. Her grandfather needed no urging now, reading into her naïve confession the very thing which Angel had warned him of.

“Think what you will,” he roared, “you will ask him to go!”

“No—no, I will not, grandfather,” Necia declared without wavering.

“You defy me?” Thad snapped. “In all things you have had your way, but this once you will do my biddin' !—or you will leave.”

Horror transfixed Necia's face as she heard this ultimatum.

“Grandfather—you—you do not mean that.”

“I do!” Thad cried. “Will you obey me?”

Minutes passed before Necia moved. Slowly then, she nodded her head. In a voice so low that the two men had to bend forward to catch it, she said:

“I will go.”

Without another word she turned and left them. Thad and Angel sat without speaking for some time. Later, they heard Necia ride away. They stared doubtfully at each other.

“She is gone,” Angel finally said in a low tone.

“Yes—she is gone,” Thad answered dully.

Could he have seen the light which shone in Necia's eyes as she sent her horse up the mountain-side, he would have had good cause to regret his decision. The day before she had ridden this very trail, and now she let her horse have his head whenever the way opened before her.

A sublimity that comes to but few wreathed her face. In the last half hour, she had made the first great decision of her life.

Slippy-foot scented her before she reached the coulee, and in answer to the coyote's bark, Joseph arose and scanned the trail. He recognized her while she was still some distance away. The speed at which she rode filled him with a vague sense of fear, and he caught her hand as she brought her horse to a stop in front of him. Her excitement and the long ride had put color into her checks, and Joseph trembled as he gazed at her, so fair and so much a part of the pink and white morning. Necia's eyes betrayed her agitation.

“You are in trouble?” Joseph asked, his voice heavy with anxiety. “Tell me what has happened !”

“It is hard for me to put it into words,” Necia answered. “But it must be told. I have come here to warn you. Angel Irosabal is at the Circle-Z. My grandfather and he have determined to get rid of you. To hear them, your life is not safe. The Basques have united to drive you away. The drought continues and they curse you for it. . . . That my grandfather could stoop to this—”

“They can not hurt me,” Joseph assured her.

“But you do not understand!” Necia exclaimed as she swung down from her saddle. Leaning against her horse, she said :

“This story is a lie. The Basques have not organized against you, nor have the other ranchers. My grandfather and Angel Irosabal are the only ones who have joined hands to get rid of you. For some reason they fear you. This tale was manufactured for my benefit. They hoped to trade on my expressed liking for you to get me to come up here and plead with you to leave. I refused to come on those terms. My grandfather gave me my choice—either do as he said, or leave his roof.”

Joseph's eyes glittered as he listened to Thad's threat against Necia.

“But you ate here?” he queried.

“As your friend,” Necia replied bravely, her eyes meeting his without wavering.

“My friend,” Joseph echoed, “my friend. I hope you will never have cause to regret calling me friend. But Angel Irosabal and your grandfather—they do only what I had expected them to do. And this is but the beginning. Wait until another month has passed.

“It—it may be too late,” Necia murmured. “Your life
is
in danger.”

“I am not afraid,” Joseph declared. “I fear no man. Need I tell you that I shall stay?”

“No, it is not necessary. I knew this would not affect you. I am glad it is so. I—would not have you go.”

“But you must go back at once,” Joseph urged. “I will not forget your kindness. Tell your grandfather that I thank him for his interest in my behalf, but that his sympathy is wasted. My place is here, and I shall remain.”

“I—I am sorry,” Necia murmured, looking away that he might not see her emotion. “I can not carry that message.”

Joseph saw her body become stiffly erect as she paused.

“I am not going back to the Circle-Z,” she said then, her voice only a whisper.

Joseph was startled. As he grasped her meaning, he shook his head gravely. Necia raised her hand entreatingly as he hurriedly sought to urge her to change her mind.

“Please—” she murmured. “I have quite made up my mind to that. I am
not
going back. I will not be used as a pawn. That Basque, with his grinning death's-head, has bewitched my grandfather—I hate Angel Irosabal.”

“So, you hate him, eh?” Joseph asked, a grim smile fleeting across his face. “Yet hardly a week ago, you chided me for no more—I wonder what you would say now, if you knew what Irosabal owes me.”

Light came to Necia. No wonder the old Basque wanted Joseph run off!

“So, it is
he
who has wronged you!” she exclaimed. “I guessed as much the night you came with the lamb.” Unconsciously her voice became grave as she went on. “Don't think that his threat is an empty one. He will gather the Basques about him to get rid of you. My grandfather will help him. If the drought continues others will join them. They will stop at nothing.”

“I am not afraid,” Joseph declared again.

“Oh, I know you are not. I think that is why I have faith in you. You, above all others, could bring happiness to this valley. But they will not have it—

“Well, you will uot have to face them alone. My grandfather drove me here—and here I shall remain! I came to warn you and I shall stay to help you.”

Grimm, the crow, stood nearby with the gravity of an ambassador. Then—his penetrating, black eyes fixed on Necia's face—he spread his wings, arose a. little way—and slowly, gently, settled at her feet.

EVENING came on. All afternoon long Joseph had momentarily expected Necia's grandfather to appear and demand that she return with him.

Joseph wondered what went on in the valley; for the fact that old Thad delayed his coming, only augured that he was organizing his strength. Surely the man could no longer believe that Necia had spent these many hours in trying to convince him that he must leave Buckskin.

Or was it Thad's plan to stay away until morning, thereby forging a weapon out of Necia's being there over night with him that could be used with telling effect in the valley? Armed with the tale that he had kept the girl a prisoner, Necia's grandfather might well hope to arouse his neighbors so that they would not hesitate at anything.

Prisoner she might have been throughout the day without arousing any neighbor's wrath, but over night?—No! Just why the friendly night should make such a difference in men's eyes it is hard to say. It was true, nevertheless.

Necia caught Joseph's thought.

“I—I understand,” she murmured. “Night is at hand. But—I am not afraid to be here with you.”

The desire to have her stay was born on the instant in Joseph. He gazed at her long and earnestly before he said:

“No—you have nothing to fear. If you will stay—you will stay. But there is one thing that I have left unsaid that must be told now.”

“It can make no difference to me,” Necia declared.

“It may,” Joseph paused. “I am Joseph Gault—the son of the man who is supposed to have killed your father.”

“Joseph Gault!” Necia's whisper was unsteady. He saw her draw herself up, her eyes closing. “Joseph Gault!” she whispered his name again, conjuring what pictures she alone knew.

“You see,” he said gently, “it—it does make a difference. As you have said to me—I understand. You are free to go.”

“No, Joseph,” Necia answered, and her eyes sought his beseechingly, “I was not thinking of going. I haven't forgotten what you told me that night you came to the ranch. I do not accuse your father. I—I was just thinking how strange it is that you and I should be here together.”

Her voice trailed away with her thoughts. Joseph grew silent, too. He could appreciate what she inferred. Their being there together was strange, indeed. Tabor Kincaid would not have believed that such a day would come. Joseph wondered what his mother would say if she could look down and see the two of them there, the night closing about them.

“Together . . . and friends,” Joseph murmured half aloud. Necia gazed at him tenderly.

“And friends,” she barely whispered. Her voice seemed to break, and Joseph looked up quickly—puzzled.

“We—
are
friends, Necia,” he said rather sharply, alarmed at what he believed was a note of indecision in her voice. Necia looked away, and Joseph caught her hand impulsively and gripped it as if hoping by the force of his fingers to make her face him again. He felt her tremble.

“I—I am
your
friend, Joseph,” she whispered, but she held her head turned away.

The vagrant night wind sent a strand of her hair against his lips. Joseph winced, but he did not release her hand. A mad desire to sweep her up into his arms and crush her to him almost overcame him as he gazed at her, so fair and so lovely.

2"You—you are hurting me, Joseph,” Necia murmured.

Hurting her? Could love hurt? Was this wild singing in his veins, this tumultuous pounding of his heart—was this love? A moment ago he had stood before her calm, poised, the master of himself; but that fleeting moment had been swept back into a dim past—lost—forgotten!

Had he been blind—dumb—that he had not felt the witchery of her beauty, the magnificence of her spiritual self, eating into his consciousness like fire? When he had fallen back before her, that night at the Circle-Z, had he asked himself why?

His spirit had bowed to hers then. He knew as much now. He had found her beautiful, her eyes lighted with a radiance truly sublime. This day had only further revealed the true nobility of her.

And she had come to him! Out of the welter of his thoughts he grasped that sustaining fact—she had come to him! What mattered it that it was night; that Thad Taylor and old Angel were doubtless rousing the valley against him?

Down through the ages, from the time when his ancestors had clothed themselves with the skins of savage beasts, the strain that was in him had been unafraid. They had taken their mates and held them—fought for them, fended off evil, died for them when circumstance demanded.

He knew that he was not the first of his strain who had stood at bay on the mountain-top, with the woman of his choosing at his side, defying the world. His own father had done no less.

He bent over and gazed into Necia's eyes. Mists swam in them. A cry escaped his lips. He released her hand only to reach out and draw her close to him.

“Look at me, Necia,” he pleaded. “Tell me—are you afraid?”

Necia lifted her head, her eyes closed, her lips moving tremulously.

“No—I am not afraid with you, my Joseph,” she said softly, her head shaking ever so slightly.

“You know that your place is here?”

Again she nodded.

“I—know,” she whispered.

Transformed, exalted, he held her. The seconds passed, but neither moved. In one mighty rush of wings Joseph had been lifted to a seat with the gods.

He felt himself unworthy and he could but wonder what he had done to deserve such implicit faith as Necia had in him. He searched his soul for an answer, and whatever of dross there was in him was burnt up, fluxed, lost, through love of her.

Necia's head was thrown back and her lips were close to his; a divine temptation. From the very depths of his being the urge to press his lips against hers, to drink in their loveliness—a holy communion of her soul and his—welled up in him. He trembled in his ecstasy.

He drew her closer still—so close that her breath fanned his lips. If he held back now, it was not because he hoped to whip his thirst for her to a still whiter heat. This moment could never come again. It was to be saved, treasured. From it life must date. And now to stab him came a fear for her.

It was not of the past or of the present, but of the future—of the Unknown. Like lightning there flashed across his mind the memory of what his mother had sacrificed for love. He had seen her lonely, unhappy, cut off from her people. She had loved his father none the less, but she had suffered and died for love of him.

Could he ask this girl to do as much? She had left the roof that sheltered her, had turned her back on her own, to come to him, to share his poverty, to stand with him against his enemies. All that a girl of her years might be expected to hold dear she was willing to sacrifice for him.

Could he ask it of her?—dared he accept it? And yet here she was in his arms and ready to seal the bargain with her lips! A groan of utter misery broke from him.

“Necia! Necia!” he exclaimed. “Open your eyes. Tell me—why are you here—why have you done this?”

“Oh, Joseph, do not put me away from you!” she cried. “Would you drag the truth from me. You—you know why I am here!”

“I do,I do! But you see me in rags, in poverty; your grandfather is against me. What have I to offer you?—what but the misery my father offered my mother?”

“No, no, Joseph. I am not afraid of that,” Necia answered, her voice full and clear in the deepening twilight. “My faith in you lifts me beyond the need of material things. I have no need of wealth, so long as I have you. There can be no unhappiness where love is—no unhappiness that can last.

“I make no sacrifice. My place is with you. Where you lead—I follow. There is no life for me without you.

“I have longed—waited for your coming. My heart recognized you before you had spoken. My grandfather knew it—Angel Irosabal guessed as much. Only you have been blind, my Joseph.”

“Necia—” The pent-up longing of his heart and soul cried out as he held her off, marveling at her innocence, her honesty.

“Does it matter that our fathers were enemies?—or our grandfathers? They had no just quarrel. Nothing has mattered here but money and greed and hate. No one has cared for this land. You—are going to change all that, mv loved one.”

“I?”

“Yes—you, Joseph.”

He could only look at her, amazed at the heights to which love of him had carried her.

“From the first,” he heard her whisper, “I knew you had come for a great purpose—”

“My mother—” he started to say.

“No, Joseph. Your purpose is greater—far greater than that. You are here to show all men the way to something better than what they have known. Maybe it is my task to show you how, Joseph.”

How sweetly she said that! How patient! Her lips were parted—poised as if lingering upon his name. A whippoorwill flashed by them. Its plaintive call floated back. From afar came the lowing of cattle.

He drew her close. Something of the infinite transfigured her face. He felt her arms stealing about his neck. Life was brief—fleeting; happiness a will-o'-the-wisp.

To attain it—to live—he must achieve her. The friendly stars bent down. In tones far too faint to be called a whisper, he heard her say:

“Joseph—kiss me. I am yours. Tell me—tell me, my love,that you—”

His lips stopped her words. Again and again he kissed her. Exalted—on high with her he left the little world of men.

Grimm, the crow, circled about them unseen, unnoticed. The rustling of the young cedars in the rising wind went unheard.

Soft as the night was the velvet of her cheeks. She stirred in his arms, her breast rising and falling. He poured love words into her ear—strange phrases of his own making.

Necia smiled up at him. Life was good!