Following the Grass (17 page)

N
ECIA
had come to the door of the dug-out. Slippy-foot was standing with her nose thrown up to the wind, but she made no sound. Joseph had marked as much, and he was not surprised that Grimm, the crow, did not call again, for he had never found them divided in their opinions.

In four or five minutes Joseph caught the glow of the torch which Andres held above his head as he advanced. The light, held above him, kept the man's face in shadow and it was not until he was within fifty yards of Joseph's fire that the boy recognized him.

“Why are you here?” Joseph called. Andres had not yet made him out, for the boy had stepped back so far that the fire-light did not reach him.

Necia knew Andres by sight, and she stifled a cry on recognizing him.

Andres, in turn, recognized her, and to give him credit, he was not surprised to find her a free agent. The girl had the dug-out; Joseph's blanket was spread beside the watch fire.

“I—I come as a friend,” Andres stated. He saw Joseph now and walked toward him. Grimm, the crow, had escorted Andres as he approached the fire. Joseph glanced at the bird before speaking.

“I have no reason to doubt you,” he said then. “Grimm and the coyote do not protest your coming. What is your mission?”

“I come to offer you my hand again,” Andres answered haltingly. “I—I was wrong yesterday.”

The man's voice rang true, but the boy could not believe his ears. However, he cried, “Advance!” wondering if a miracle had come to pass. Was this man the coward—the bully—of yesterday? Andres came up to him, his great head thrown back. Joseph stood and gazed at him.

“You
have
changed,” he exclaimed. “You are not the Andres you were yesterday.”

Necia had come close enough to hear what Joseph said. He seemed engulfed by the significance of Andres's coming. Necia had said that God would send him some sign—some proof that he was to lead his fellowmen to a better understanding. Could he doubt that this was God's answer?

Necia was not slow to see what Joseph's thought was, and she thrilled as she saw the boy move forward to Andres.

“I offer you my hand, my friend,” he said. “You are welcome.”

Andres, however, seemed turned to stone.

“You call me friend?” he murmured. “Knowing what you know—you are willing to take my hand?”

“I offer it to you, Andres.”

But the big fell ow only shook his head.

“You are Margarida's boy—I know!” he cried. “And you have found me out. When you spoke about Timoteo, I understood. You have found heem, too. But that ees not what brought me here.”

Andres dropped his torch as he finished speaking and his hands flashed to the guns which he had strapped on behind him. First his left hand and then his right came forward, each holding a big .45. Necia screamed a warning to Joseph.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” Andres said to her. “I was sent up here to get you. Theese gun belong to your grandfather. My father and heem ees wait at the Circle-Z for me. And Joseph—they theenk I come to keel you.”

Andres flipped the guns around in his hands so that he held them by the barrels, and then without looking again at either Joseph or Necia he tossed the pistols into the sage.

“Andres!” cried Joseph. “You do that—believing I hold your life in my hands—knowing that I know who killed this girl's father?”

“Yes, Joseph, yes! I do anytheeng for you. You open my eyes!” A wild cry broke from the big man's lips and he flung himself to his knees before Joseph, pouring out his soul, denying no part of his guilt, of his meanness, finding peace at the feet of the boy he had been sent to kill.

“Eef you say, go, I go. I'm not afraid to die,” he cried.

“Andres, you are clean. Arise!” Joseph commanded. “I forgive you. You need not fear that I shall be driven away. My father lives. He soon will make himself known. I will take you to him.

“The drought will continue. All of us must suffer, but we will lean on each other. You have opened my eyes, Andres. You, who were my enemy, and you, Necia, who might have been, are now my friends.”

Joseph put his arm around Andres as he got up.

“And you?” Andres asked Necia, “you forgeeve too?”

Necia nodded, but she turned away, her eyes wet at the man's contrition.

“I told my father,” Andres began again, “that I would try to prove to-night that I could do sometheeng for the good name of my people. He misunderstand me. But I say to you, Joseph, I will keep my word. Soon I be the head of my clan. I am the oldest son. My father ees very old man. Eef he not change, I change.

“You are part Basque, Joseph. Me, I am all Basque. Theese girl ees no Basque at all. But eef we be friends, then all Basques can be friends.”

“Andres, Andres!” cried Joseph, his heart smiting him with joy. “If I have helped you to see that, if I can help that day to come, I care not what else happens. Come with me!” and Joseph held out his hand and led the way to the dug-out.

And as the three moved away from the fire, Grimm, the crow, raised his wings and settled upon Andres's shoulder. Andres stopped and looked up fearfully, but Grimm's eyes were no longer ominous.

Joseph was in the dug-out only a second. When he came out he held the bottle containing his mother's and Timoteo's letters.

“Here,” he said to Andres, “is the message my mother left to me, and here is Timoteo's. My mother buried him. She knew, and I knew, what you have told us to-night. Take them—destroy them!” and he handed the two letters to Andres.

The coarseness seemed to fade from Andres's face as his fingers closed over Joseph's. His eyes lost their piggishness; and as he watched the flames lick up the two pieces of paper he made the sign of the cross with his thumb.

“If you will stay here, my blanket is yours,” Joseph said to him. “I will share it with you.”

“I—I will stay,” Andres answered.

And down in the valley, Thad and Angel waited. No one came. No sound of shooting broke the stillness. Night passed, and dawn found them hollow-eyed, old, silent.

First Necia and then Andres—Angel got down on his knees, daring to pray.

And Thad, the scoffer, turned away, his lips scaled.

M
AN
and boy, Thad Taylor had arisen with the sun. Pagan that he was, he had drunk of the dawn as though it were some healthful anodyne. This morning, however, he shivered as he closed the door on old Angel and stepped out to greet the Host of Light.

The air was cold, as it ever is at dawn on the mountain-desert, even in midsummer, but Thad shivered not because of it. His was a mental reaction. He did not know it as such, sensing only that for the first time his spirit failed to thrill at the wonder of the· coming day.

He squinted his eyes, as was the habit with him, and gazed far off to the east where the lofty Tuscaroras, swathed still in their night dress of filmy blue, dissolving rapidly now into a silver gossamer, lifted their spires and turrets dripping with deepest orange and cherry. Even as he gazed at them the cherry warmed to rose, the orange became yellow. Fire touched them suddenly. They seemed to tremble with the wonder which they withheld from the waiting world for a brief second.

Thad wet his lips. He knew the play by heart; the climax was to hand. Like a jack out of his box the great sun popped above the shimmering peaks. The blue and violet hosts scampered away. Valley and mesa floated in a golden sea, the hazy drapery of the night caught fire, flamed and was gone; and lo ! it was day.

Out from the ragged
malpais
, a coyote leaped to the crest of the rimrocks above the cañon of the North Fork. Raising his head, he barked his obeisance to the God of Light. From afar his brothers and sisters answered him.

Thad heard a door open. The angry jangle of spur chains clanked metallically as the wranglers moved away to cut out the horses for the day's work. The smell of coffee came from Little Billy's fire; breakfast would not be long delayed. A window went up with a bang. Cursing followed—a broken shoe-lace!

On a thousand mornings had the Circle-Z ranch-house echoed to just such sounds. There was nothing in the day to mark it as different from those that had been, and yet Thad found it all wrong. He thought of yesterday. It seemed far away.

He wondered if he could ever get back to it—back to where he had been before Angel had come with his talk. He damned him aloud, the while his eyes swept Buckskin.

MacNeil, the blacksmith, whistling a merry tune, came out and pulled the rope that turned the windmill into the wind. It began to creak and rattle.

“Stop it; stop that damn noise!” Thad shouted. Poor Mac looked at him askance, wondering if the “old man” were daft. The windmill had creaked and groaned daily for ten years without a protesting voice having been raised against it.

Thad saw the man's unasked question, and having no answer for it, he reëntered the house and left the hapless MacNeil to himself. The incident, trifling though it was, served to bring Thad out of the backwater in which he had been drifting since the evening before. At least he had been made angry with himself, and as he faced Angel his jaw held some of its old air of determination.

Angel did not look up as Thad entered. He sat slouched down in a chair, his head bent forward. Thad glanced at him twice, so still did the Basque sit. Thad could not see the man's eyes, but the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the arms of his chair told him that Angel was not asleep. This immobility exasperated Thad. He waited a minute for Angel to speak, but the Basque remained silent.

“You ain't a-goin' to sit there all day, be yuh ?” Thad demanded in rising anger. “You had schemes enough when you came here yesterday mornin'. It's time to do somethin'!”

Angel nodded and said: “Yes.”

“Well, pull up then!” Thad snapped, “Pull up! This damned inaction is killin' me. Sittin' here mopin' ain't a-goin' to git us nowheres. It's mornin'! I ain't wastin' no more time. You grab a bite, and we'll move.”

Angel got up slowly, nodding his head as if confirming some decision of his own making.

“A cup of coffee will satisfy me,” he said. “Have your men ready.”

“You forgit my men!” Thad exclaimed impatiently. “Do you think they'd take my side against her? If she's up there because she wants to be, they'd see me in hell before they lift a finger. What do they care for their jobs? Where they'd git another one now, God only knows. But that wouldn't matter. They're a pack of sentimental fools. You and me started this thing, and we'll finish it.”

Angel agreed wearily. In the full ·light of the morning his skin was yellow. His eyes burned with an unnatural brightness.

“Perhaps we had better make a friend of the boy,” he said under his breath.

“Sure—anythin' to git rid of him!” Thad answered.

Joseph's grandfather curled his lips in a mirthless grin.

“I—I did not mean it that way,” said Angel.

Thad threw up his head wondering if he heard aright.

“You mean—to lay down to him?”

“No; to compromise with him.”

“Well, I'm damned!” Thad gasped. “You suggest that to me?” He shook with wrath.

Angel appeared not to mind. He took out his watch and wound it absentmindedly.

“I know what you do not know,” he said slowly. “Andres had every reason for doing what we asked. But have we heard a shot? Has he come back? No; and he is not easily moved. What I said to you yesterday is as true now as it was then. This Joseph has bewitched the valley. He has made your granddaughter love him. He has turned my son against me, he has—”

“You're jest guessin' at that!” Thad exclaimed. “How do you know what's happened up there?”

Angel shook his head at him.

“I know,” he muttered. “I feel it in here,” and he tapped his breast. “Wherever that boy goes he makes his friends. I would not believe the stories I heard. I do now.

“For twenty years I have tried to forget the past. He is here to rake it up again. Well, if it is money he wants, he shall have it. I will stop at no price to get rid of him. Do you think I am going to see him turn my own children against me?”

“Well, that's what he's done to me, ain't it?” demanded Thad. “Do you think I'm a-goin' to stand for that? Give him your money; do any-thin' you damn please, but I'm a-goin' to settle with him in my own way.”

He ordered breakfast and horses, and with a curt gesture to Angel, said:

“We'll eat now.”

Before they had finished, Race Eagan—one of the two who found Dorr's lifeless body—grown thin and sharp of temper with the passing years, rode up to the house. The varying fortunes of the range had brought him the foremanship of the Circle-Z some three years back. That he still officiated in that capacity, will—to the initiated—be proof enough of the quality of his performance.

Naturally, Race came and went at his own pleasure. For the last few days he had been absent on one of his regular inspections of the Circle-Z outposts. A long conference with Thad always came as a matter of course after these trips, but the old cowman appeared particularly annoyed at seeing him enter the house this morning.

Race's face was unruffled as ever, but his horse bore signs of a hard ride; and Thad knew that beyond a doubt the man had come from as far as Kelly Creek, otherwise he would have ridden in the preceding night. In truth, Race had left Kelly Creek at a few minutes to four that morning. All of which said that something was amiss, and Thad was in no mood to discuss the affairs of his ranch this morning.

The foreman nodded as he entered the room. He did not expect to find the old Basque there, and he stared at him questioningly.

“Thought you was alone,” he said then, addressing Thad; “Got to see you.”

“You'll have to wait,” grunted Thad, his mouth full of food. “I'm leavin' here directly.”

Race was not to be dismissed so easily. He said bluntly:

“I broke my neck gettin' here. It's important. I got to see you before you go.”

“And I tell you you can't!” Thad declared vehemently. “I got worries enough without listenin' to yours. You're the foreman of this outfit. Do somethin', if somethin's wrong.”

Race started to protest, but Thad cut him short with:

“I ain't a-goin' to listen to you! You see me when I git back.”

“All right,” Race said tartly. “I'll speak to Miss Necia.” He started for the door, muttering under his breath: “She's the real boss of this outfit, anyhow.”

Thad heard him. His face reddened, and he winced.

“Hey!” he cried. “You needn't go lookin' around for Necia; she ain't here.”

Race stopped and came back.

“Pretty early for her to be off,” he grumbled.

“She wa'n't here last night neither,” Little Billy put in from the kitchen doorway.

Thad reached for a cup, and with the evident intention of hurling it at his cook he got halfway to his feet.

“Git!” he roared, and Little Billy disappeared. Thad expected Race to ask questions. Instead of doing so, however, Eagan said flatly:

“All right! It's up to me. Our stuff comes out of the hills this morning.”

Both Thad and Angel got to their feet at this. Thad's face actually went white beneath its tan.

“What?” he gasped. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said,” Race answered grimly. “There ain't a thing left below Kelly Creek. It's all burnt to the roots.”

Thad's mouth sagged as comprehension came.

“Cows are turnin' off their calves,” Race went on, taking a savage delight in the old man's interest now in what he had to say. “They can't feed 'em. I counted sixteen dead ones yesterday. Another ten days of this and we'll never get a head fat enough to ship this fall. Maybe we won't have anythin' left to ship.”

A groan escaped Thad as he sank back into his chair. He glanced at Angel as if asking him what was to be done.

“The drought,” Angel muttered, and Thad thought to himself:

“Yes; I laughed when that ragged fool stood here and told me it would come. God! How'd he know; how' d he know?”

Aloud he said: “You can't turn our stuff on the hay-land, Race. What'll we do this winter without hay?”

“We won't need any hay this winter if we can't get grass this summer—this week. I tell you you could play a tune on the slats of our stock. They've got to come down to the meadow-land. It ain't none too good, but it'll save 'em for a while.”

“But it can't be so bad north of the creek,” Thad said, his tone almost a question.

“It'll be bad soon enough.” Race paused and looked away. He could see Thad aging before his eyes. He was glad Necia was not there. His news would have worried her. He was surprised to hear Thad say:

“Don't say anythin' to Necia about this when she gits back. You understand?”

Race nodded. He knew how hard it was going to be to keep it from her.

“I'll start movin' them to-day,” he said.

He went out then. Thad heard him stop to turn the windmill rudder; cursing the while at finding the wheel idle.

The horses which Thad had ordered were outside. They nickered impatiently, but Thad only sat and stared at Angel. Even now he could hardly believe that the blow had fallen. He wondered how Joseph had known that the drought would come. Did he know other things as well? Was it as Angel had said—had the boy some sort of power?

Thad had felt the Circle-Z sufficient unto itself. How many years had it been in the making? “God!” he muttered, shaken by the realization of how long it had taken him to build it into the formidable business it had been only a few yesterdays ago. To himself he said:

“I ain't a-goin' to lose it. It can't be. How can the little fellows stand out, if I can't? I got cash. I'll lease some range.”

But where ?—up north? Perhaps it had been leased already. Why had he waited? Anyhow, he was safe for a month. He had hay-land enough to last him that long.

“It's got to rain,” he thought. “A month—” and then he knew that it would not rain—not enough to matter. Hay had sold for forty-five dollars a ton one winter. What would it bring with less than none in sight?

He pulled at the neckband of his shirt as if it were tightening about his neck like a noose. When winter came, he had to have hay. Many tons of it!

A flock of crows cawed their way over the house. Thad shuddered. Had the crow told Joseph the drought would come? Insane hatred of the boy blazed in him.

An hour ago he had scoffed at Joseph; now, with equal certitude, he credited him with having brought the drought. He had mocked the boy's companions—Grimm, the crow, and Slippy-foot, the coyote—but as he saw them now in his mind's eye a feeling of dread gripped him. Fit mates were they for the one whom they followed.

Things of evil; creatures of ill omen moving in the shadow of death. Where death came, they grew fat. They were the great pariahs, the outcasts of the desert. And the hell-spawned creature who consorted with them was their blood brother!

The lust to kill mounted in Thad. He thought of Necia and how Joseph had stolen the love that had been his. He no longer doubted that this had happened. Nothing else could explain her conduct. Everywhere he turned, ruin faced him. In every direction, Joseph Gault arose to menace him.

A fly buzzed about his bald head. He raised his hand and killed it as he would kill that other thing. An unintelligible grunt burst from him. He got up hurriedly. Angel's eyes were on him. He read fear in the Basque's gaze.

What were the sheepmen going to do? Humph! He didn't care what they did. Sheep-men brought trouble wherever they came. But for this one, Joseph Gault would not have come back. This Basque was at the bottom of it I A savage strain in Thad flashed to the surface, and he laughed contemptuously at Angel.

“You're shakin', ain't yuh?” he cried. “You. know the dose I jest got is a-comin' to you. Ain't nothin' a-goin' to stop it. You're a-goin' to be cleaned out jest like the rest of us.” Thad chuckled mercilessly and said :