Nevada (1995) (24 page)

"Shore, I'll bet that'll be Elam Hatt an' his daughter Rose,"
m
uttered Jim. "An' if so, those three riders are the othe
r
Hatts. . . . Reckon the ball is openin' pronto."

By the time Jim had turned his horse over to the Mexican stable-bo
y
the Hatts had gone into town. Jim got out just in time to see the
m
turn a corner. He followed very slowly, not reluctantly in an
y
sense, but ponderingly. Familiar as he was with Winthrop, it di
d
not seem the same town. Turning into the broad main street, h
e
strolled along, seeing everything while not appearing to b
e
interested in anything. He passed several persons whom he kne
w
well. They did not give him a second glance. The restaurant-
k
eeper, standing in a doorway, did not recognize Jim. A cowbo
y
came along on his horse, evidently going home. It was Jerry Smit
h
from Franklidge Ranch. He saw Jim, yet did not look twice.

"Jerry! An' the son-of-a-gun didn't know me," soliloquized Jim
,
elated. "He owes me money I'll never get now. Wal, could I
s
urprise him?"

The later afternoon hours were the busy ones in the stores o
f
Winthrop, owing to the heat of midday. The saloons were alway
s
busy, all day and all night. Jim had never entered a saloon i
n
Winthrop. He would break that record presently, but not just yet.

At the next corner he came abreast of three cowboys sitting on
a
stone step of a saloon.

"Look, Bill, do you see the same as me--somethin' awful pretty?"
a
sked one.

"By josh! I do," was the jocular reply.

"Boys, anybody'd know there was a dance on tonight--huh?" said th
e
other.

"Hey, stranger, yore sure steppin' high, wide, an' handsome," spok
e
up the third.

Jim wheeled round to face them, with amusement difficult to hide.

These fine-spirited cowboys were far from being harmless, but i
t
was only their way to extract fun out of every incident.

"Wal, are you boys lookin' for a fight or a drink?" he asked
,
smiling.

"Since you ask us, stranger, it sure must have been a drink,"
r
eplied the first speaker.

Jim waved them into the saloon, followed them, threw money on th
e
bar, and said: "On me, boys. Sorry I ain't drinkin' to-day. I
j
ust buried my grandma an' feel bad."

Loud guffaws greeted his sally, and as he walked out through th
e
swinging doors one of the cowboys yelled, "You're all right
,
stranger."

Jim crossed the side street and went on down toward the center o
f
the main block. He idled along, halting to gaze into windows
,
leaned against doorways here and there, watching the people.

Presently he came to the entrance of a store and espied the girl h
e
had taken for Rose Hatt standing in the door. She had a packag
e
under her arm and was evidently waiting for some one.

"Excuse me, miss," said Jim, doffing his sombrero and stepping u
p
to her. "Don't I know you?"

She looked up at him with big hazel eyes that had not been lon
g
free of tears.

"You might, mister, but I sure don't know you," she replied.

Jim decided she was more than pretty and not such a child as he ha
d
first supposed. She had wavy brown hair, rather rebellious, re
d
lips, and tanned rose-tinted cheeks.

"Aren't you Rose Hatt?" he asked.

"Sure."

Jim leaned easily against the doorpost, smiling down upon her.

"Reckon I thought so. Shore that's not many girls as pretty as yo
u
in these parts."

"Put your hat back on, mister," she replied, tartly. "Standin'
b
areheaded don't go with such taffy. Besides, I ain't used to it."

"All right," returned Jim, good-humoredly. "Bad habit of mine.

I'll get sunstruck some day."

"Say, you'll ketch worse if my dad comes along," she said
,
laughing, "Onless you tell me pronto who you are."

"Wal, Rose, I might be Samuel Snoozegazzer," drawled Jim.

"Only you ain't," she added, with interest, and she looked Jim ove
r
from boots to sombrero. She was not bold, but she certainly di
d
not show embarrassment or shyness. Jim gathered that she was use
d
to men.

"I'll tell you my name if I drop in on the dance tonight," he said.

"Mister, I knowed that was comin'," she returned. "An' I'll be
t
you never met me before."

"Wal, to be honest, I never did."

"Reckon it ain't no difference. But I'm afeared I can't promise t
o
dance with you."

"Why not?"

"Dad says I can go, but Cedar--he's my brother--he says no. An'

Cedar is boss of our outfit."

"Wal, if your dad's willin', why, go ahaid. He's your father."

"Say, mister, I reckon you ain't acquainted with Cedar Hatt,"
d
eclared the girl, almost with scorn. "You're sure a stranger i
n
these parts."

"Yes, I am, sorry to say," replied Jim, thoughtfully. "But what'
s
so bad aboot your brother?"

"Cedar's just plain cactus an' side-winder rattlesnake mixed u
p
with hell."

"Aw, that's a terrible thing to call a brother," rejoined Jim.

"He's only a half brother, same as Henny an' Tobe."

"Oh, I see! Your dad was married twice an' your ma was th
e
second."

The girl's eyes grew somber and her red lips curled wit
h
bitterness.

"There're some folks out in the brakes who say my dad wasn't neve
r
married no second time."

"Shore he was, lass. Don't believe gossip of low-down people. An'
d
on't be so hard on your brother Cedar."

"I hate him," she burst out, with passion.

"Wal! Why do you hate your own kin, little girl? Shore it's no
t
natural," went on Jim, in his slow, persuasive drawl, so full o
f
interest and sympathy.

"Reason enough," she retorted. "It was his fault that Clan Dillo
n
took to runnin' after me."

"DILLON!" flashed Jim, in an amaze too swift and deep to hide.

His tone, his look betrayed to the simple passionate girl that sh
e
had allowed her tongue too much freedom.

"Say, mister, here I am talkin' like an old woman," she cried
,
almost in affright. "I'm beggin' you to keep mum that slip of m
y
tongue. Cedar would half kill me."

"Shore I will," returned Jim, in his former kindly tone. "Rose
,
you just happened to run into a man you can trust."

"You look it, mister. I like you," she replied, with relief.

"Thanks. I'm shore the lucky hombre. But I reckon now you'r
e
engaged to marry this Clan Dillon."

"Marry, hell!" she exclaimed, suddenly almost fierce again. "I
w
ouldn't marry HIM to save his life, the handsome, smilin'-face
d
liar. Not even if he wanted to, which he sure don't. I'd be onl
y
a sheepskin rug to Clan Dillon."

Jim dropped his head, conscious of an inward shrinking of tinglin
g
nerves, to the coldness of ice. It had come again--that thin
g
which had not frozen within his breast for years. How life tracke
d
him down! Then he looked once more at the girl. She wa
s
recovering composure. Manifestly she was a primitive little girl
,
as much like a wildcat as a wild rose. Jim felt intuitively tha
t
she was good. The flame left her hazel eyes and the hardnes
s
around her lips softened. Jim did not need to be told more abou
t
her life.

"Rose, have you any friends?" he asked, earnestly. "Shore I mea
n
women-folks who could advise a young girl like you."

"Me? Why, mister, didn't I tell you I lived down in the brakes?"

"Haven't you a man friend, then, or even a boy--who's good?"

"No. But I was makin' one fast enough," she replied, both wit
h
resentment and mischievousness in face and voice. "A boy fro
m
California! Say, he was nice. But Cedar caught me with him."

"Too bad. What'd Cedar do, now?" queried Jim, much concerned.

"Not much, for Cedar," replied the girl, demurely. "He drove m
y
boy friend off into the woods, dodgin' bullets! An' he kicked m
e
till I couldn't set down for days."

"Wal! . . . Look heah, girl, you're old enough an' you've sens
e
enough to know a friend when you meet him. Aren't you?"

"Mister, I think so. But I--I'm afraid to trust myself," sh
e
faltered, swayed by his earnestness.

"Wal, you needn't be in my case. I'm going to trust you."

"How?" she asked, wonderingly. "I'll tell you presently. I don'
t
want you to run off scared before I say all I want to. . . . No
w
who's this California boy your brother caught you with?"

"Swear you'll never tell?" she returned, impulsively, drawn by hi
s
potent sympathy.

"Rose, I'll shore keep your secret, an' more. I'll help you t
o
MAKE a friend of him."

"Oh, mister, if that could be!" she cried, rapturously.

"Hurry. I see your dad comin' down the street."

"His name is Marvie Blaine," she whispered.

Jim Lacy drew a sharp swift breath that seemed to cut him like
a
knife as it swelled his breast. He leaned down to the girl.

"Listen," he whispered. "I will be your friend--an' this boy's--i
f
you'll keep your mouth shut."

"Lord, mister, you needn't be afeared of ME," replied the girl. "I
w
ouldn't dare. Sure I don't know why I ever talked to you. Bu
t
you're different. An' oh! How I need some one to talk to!"

"Shore you've found some one. Me! I'll be goin' down into th
e
brakes."

"But who are you, mister?" she queried, aghast at his assertion.

"Did you ever heah of Jim Lacy?"

Her red lips parted to let out a little gasp and her brown fac
e
paled. "My Heavens--are you him?"

"Yes."

"Hear of you, Mister Jim Lacy!" she ejaculated, her eyes dilating.

"Ever since I can remember I've heerd of you. Many men ride to m
y
Dad's ranch, an' none but they speak your name. Some of them ha
d
seen you, an' two of them at least knowed you once."

"Rose, I'll tell you their names--Hardy Rue an' Cash Burridge."

"Yes--yes. Oh, you ARE Jim Lacy. An'--an' I'm not scared a bit,"
s
he whispered. "Why, it ain't so long ago that I heerd Cas
h
Burridge tell of seein' you call out an' kill a man for beatin'
a
girl. . . . Oh, Mister Lacy, no one ever taught me about God, bu
t
I've prayed--prayed night after night--for some one to come an'--"

"That your Dad right heah?" interrupted Jim.

"Oh yes. . . . What'll I say?"

"Nothin', lass. He hasn't seen us. Don't forget. Keep mum. Good-
b
y."