Nevada (1995) (32 page)

Only the birds and the wild game, and the calves in the pasture
,
the roosters in the barnyard, the burros out on the range share
d
with Hettie those perfect uplifting, clarifying moments of th
e
sunrise.

Golden gleams of light crossed the brown boles of the statel
y
pines; low down through the foliage shone patches of pink sky; t
o
the north and west opened the vast slant down to the desert
,
illimitable and magnificent in the rosy, shadowy soft dawn. Dee
r
and antelope grazed with the cows in the pasture. Squirrels barke
d
from the trees, hawks sent down their shrill piercing cries, wil
d
turkeys gobbled from over the ridge. Joy of life, radiance o
f
creation, peace and solitude, wholesomeness and sweetness o
f
nature, the exquisite beauty of woodland and wasteland at the brea
k
of day, and a marvelous, inscrutable, divine will pervaded tha
t
wilderness scene.

Hettie absorbed it. She lifted up her head to the one black dom
e
of the Mogollons. The misery of the night faded away like
a
nightmare. She had been a coward. She had failed to be gratefu
l
for the very thing that had been the beginning and end of he
r
prayers. Could she be so slight and shallow a woman as to succum
b
to heartbreak? A terrible ordeal faced her, the outcome of whic
h
she could not divine. She could only endure and fight whateve
r
fate had in store.

"Oh, if I can cling to this blessed strength!" she cried. "To hol
d
it fast when I'm distracted! To have it in hours of gloom!"

That day Hettie did not cross the picturesque log bridge tha
t
spanned the brook between her cabin and the beautiful ramblin
g
residence of her brother. She plunged into her work, whic
h
consisted of the housekeeping she shared with her mother, he
r
dressmaking and other personal tasks, and all the bookkeepin
g
necessary to the running of a large expensive ranch.

She did not see Ben all day. Late in the afternoon, when she wen
t
out to walk a little in the open air, she espied Marvie sitting o
n
the porch, a most abject-looking lad.

"Hello, Marv, old pard! Come and walk with me," she said
,
brightly.

"Aw, I want to die!" replied Marvie.

"Goodness gracious! Well, don't do that on my porch. It'd be
a
perpetual reminder of you."

She dragged him to his feet and locking an arm with his led him of
f
into the woods, until they were out of sight of anyone at th
e
house. Then Hettie bade him sit with her under an old pine wher
e
the fragrant brown needle mat looked so inviting.

"Now, Marv, I'm through teasing," she said, with a gravity tha
t
suited his mood. "What's the trouble?"

"I had a run-in with Ben," replied the lad. "First one we eve
r
had."

"You did? Well, I've had a thousand. When Ben gets sulky an
d
cross a good run-in clears him up, as a thunderstorm does a sultr
y
day. Where did Ben go to-day?"

"He finally rode off to a deserted homestead over here, five mile
s
or so. Some one found tracks of California Red, and that new
s
upset Ben. Then he waited round hours for Dillon, who didn't come.

Raidy, who's on the outs with Dillon, said some things that mad
e
Ben sorer. You know Raidy. Well, doggone it, Ben pretty soo
n
pitched into me."

"What for?" queried Hettie, practically.

"Nothin'. Not a darned thing. 'Cept I moped along at a job h
e
gave me. Fixin' fence. If there's any job I hate it's that. H
e
swore at me. Then I told him to go to the devil--I'd quit and g
o
home."

"What did Ben say?" asked Hettie.

"He said, 'Go ahead, you bull-headed, lop-eared little jackass.' . . .

So I rode off home. And I reckon I'll quit. I'm goin' to be
a
rustler."

"All right. You want to become a rustler," returned Hettie
,
accepting the statement. "What for?"

Marvie did not reply for a long while, during which his head san
k
lower.

"Hettie, I'm turrible--in love," he said at last, with an effort.

"Rose Hatt?"

"Yes. It couldn't be nobody else."

"Does Rose love you?" asked Hettie, softly, her hand going t
o
Marvie's.

"I thought she did, at first," replied the boy, writhing. "She le
t
me kiss her--kissed me back. But last night, when I asked her t
o
meet me again, she said no. I got mad. But she stuck to it. Whe
n
I accused her of flirtin', and me dead in earnest, she said:

'Marvie, I've a bad name. I belong to the Hatts. You've a lovel
y
sister' (she'd seen YOU) 'and a proud family. I'm only a backwood
s
girl. It won't do. I'll not see you no more.' She ran away fro
m
me then an' I couldn't find her. She'd hidden or left the dance.

In the mornin' I tried again. No luck."

"Marvie, I admire Rose for that," said Hettie, earnestly. "I thin
k
she's a square girl, even if she is a Hatt."

"Now, Hettie, don't you go talkin' like dad or mother," burst ou
t
Marvie, warningly.

"Oh, Marvie, I won't," declared Hettie, ashamed of the fact tha
t
she had been about to do so. By Marvie's warning she estimated hi
s
regard for her.

"I don't care a damn about myself--even when I do love he
r
turrible," went on Marvie, passionately. "But what's to become o
f
Rose?"

In the sincerity and inevitableness of youth he had hit upon th
e
thing that mattered most.

"I understand, Marvie," said Hettie, gravely. "You make m
e
ashamed. Rose is not to blame for her family, for her surroundings
,
for--anything."

"Now you're talkin' like Hettie Ide," returned Marvie, fervently.

"And I'm givin' you a hunch. If Rose really loves me I'll stick t
o
her. In spite of dad or Ben or anyone!"

Hettie dropped her head. Here was a problem. What should she say?

Marvie's confidence in her suddenly meant more than ever before.

He needed something from her.

"What knocks me flat is--I'm afraid she doesn't love me," went o
n
the lad. "I'm goin' to find out, though, if I have to ride righ
t
under Cedar Hatt's nose. . . . Last night I believed she didn't.

This mornin' I thought she did. If not--if she was only a littl
e
hussy--why'd she say she had a bad name and wouldn't meet me n
o
more?"

Hettie had no quick reply to his passionate query. Owing to he
r
own stress of emotion during the last twenty-four hours, she wa
s
far from being her old logical self. But she was fighting
a
conviction that Rose Hatt had shown nobility and sacrifice in he
r
attitude toward Marvie's advances. If those attributes did no
t
spring from love, Hettie did not know what to call it.

"Tell me, Hettie," begged Marvie, with soul-searching eyes tha
t
hurt her, "don't you think Rose cared really? Wasn't that good i
n
her--givin' me up? Wasn't it because she--she liked me too well t
o
go on with what she thought might disgrace me an' you an' Ben?"

"Marv, I can't be sure, but I think so."

"Thanks--Hettie," choked the lad, sitting up straight and facin
g
ahead. A light crossed his somber youthful face. "You hit m
e
right here." And he put his hand to his breast. "Sure I couldn'
t
tell nobody else but you. It's helped a lot."

"Marvie, how in the world did all this come about?" asked Hettie
,
in wondering sympathy.

"Like a story, Hettie. I met Rose over a month ago. Went huntin'
o
n a Sunday. Rode a long way, then walked. I got after som
e
turkeys. They were awful wild. I followed them a long ways, dow
n
into a big grassy canyon where a stream ran. Most beautiful place.

Deer, elk, beaver all along. But I wanted one of them big ol
d
gobblers. So I kept on. And I run plump into a girl. She wa
s
cryin'. I spoke to her--sat down with her. After a while sh
e
began to talk. First she was sore an' hot at her brother, Ceda
r
Hatt, who beat her. Showed me black-and-blue marks on her bar
e
legs. I said somebody like Jim Lacy ought to come along and kil
l
him. Funny, wasn't it--me sayin' that? Well, we got rea
l
friendly. She said she'd meet me again, but farther away. Tha
t
place was too near home. So she told me where a trail ran and ho
w
I could find it. I never told her who I was that time. Forgot.

Anyway, I kept the day she set, and sure enough she came. . . . I
t
was different that day. I reckon I fell in love then--not th
e
first day. And she--but never mind. . . . I met her three time
s
more. And last time, night before last at the dance. That's all."

"It's quite enough, isn't it, Marvie?" said Hettie.

"It sure is. I forgot to tell you. At the dance, when she sai
d
first she wouldn't meet me no more, I said I was goin' to our plac
e
Wednesday at the same time as before. I'm goin', too."

"Marv, if what I know of girls holds true--if she really cares--
s
he'll come. Rose is too young to stick to a hard decision lik
e
that, if her heart's involved."

"Hettie, you're a comfort," cried Marvie, gratefully, almos
t
hugging her. "I'll hope she'll come. I'll believe it. Mayb
e
that'll let me eat and sleep."

"You'll tell me everything?" asked Hettie, earnestly.

"You bet I will. Now I'll go and crawl to Ben."

Several days passed. Hettie took to horseback-riding again
,
venturing perhaps farther away from the ranch than Ben would hav
e
allowed, had he known. But Hettie seemed driven. On Wednesday sh
e
rode with Marvie for five miles back into the forest toward th
e
brakes, and that was the greatest ride she ever enjoyed. Ridge an
d
canyon, the aspen thickets, the wonderful swales where the turkey
s
and elk lived, the beaver dams and bee trees, the first coloring o
f
vines and sumach in the open spots, the deep dark thickets wher
e
the horses scented bear and reared to turn back, the roar of wate
r
over boulders and the wind through the pine tops--these thing
s
enchanted Hettie and won her more than ever to the wilderness o
f
Arizona.

On the last stretch back home, where the trail was fairly level an
d
open, she urged her horse to his best speed. That race satisfied
,
for the time being, a restlessness and need of violence. Her bloo
d
danced hot; wind and sun burned her cheeks; the tang of the wood
s
acted like wine. Thus she rode down into the clearing and on t
o
the barn and corrals. And she ran pell-mell into Ben, Raidy
,
Dillon, and Tom Day, scattering them like quail.