Nevada (1995) (44 page)

I never forgot. . . . Well, I reckon every cowboy on these range
s
has hit me for a job. But sure not one of them was Nevada, nor ha
d
they ever heard of him. I reckon he's dead. Don't you ever thin
k
that, Hettie?"

"Yes. . . . Dead to us, surely," she returned, with dry lips.

"How could Nevada be dead to us if he were alive?" queried Ben
,
sharply. Then he lifted his head to some interruption of hi
s
thought. "I hear a horse . . . comin' lickety cut! Hello! it'
s
Dillon! . . . Damn the luck! There's somethin' up!"

Hettie sustained a sharp quickening of her pulse. A horse an
d
rider bobbed up over the bench. At the moment Ina came out of th
e
house, to begin some speech to Ben, which did not materialize. Be
n
strode off the porch to meet Dillon, who rode up like a whirlwind
,
scattering gravel all over the porch; and he leaped out of th
e
saddle with the lithe grace of one to whom such action was a habit.

"Mornin', boss," he said and tipped his sombrero to Hettie and Ina.

"You're late. So I rode up."

"Bad news?" asked Ben.

"No, it ain't bad, but it's disturbin'. Cowboy just in from To
m
Day's range. Name's Laskin. He rode a hoss to death gettin' here.

I gave him another hoss, an' soon as he'd swallowed some drink an'
g
rub he rode off for Franklidge's ranch."

"Yes. Well, what was he ridin' so hard for?" queried Ben, as i
f
prepared.

"Yesterday he was in camp near Silver Meadows," went on Dillon.

"Another rider with him--whose name I didn't get. Some men rod
e
down on them. Laskin said they wasn't drunk. Just keyed up over
a
big deal. They made no bones about the deal--at least their leade
r
didn't. An' he was no other than Jim Lacy."

"Jim Lacy bobbed up again!" ejaculated Ben, with irritation. "G
o
on, Dillon."

"Lacy said he was goin' to rustle the stock at Silver Meadows an'
s
ent you his compliments."

"Well, I'm a--!" broke out Ben, choking down the last of hi
s
utterance.

"Pretty nervy, wasn't it?" asked Dillon. He appeared excited
,
which was a striking exception to his usual genial and imperturbabl
e
mood. Hettie gazed spell-bound at him.

"Nervy? Yes, if it's true," retorted Ben. "But I don't believ
e
it."

"It's as straight as shootin', boss," rejoined Dillon. "I happe
n
to know the rider who tipped us off."

"But Jim Lacy or anybody else would be a fool to tell such a plan
,
before pullin' it off," said Ben, incredulously.

"Reckon that seems so," replied the foreman, smoothly. "Bu
t
sometimes these desperadoes like Lacy do queer things. It's no
t
braggin'. Such men don't brag. It's just sort of a cool defianc
e
of law--an' honest ranchin'. . . . Well, Lacy has twenty-fou
r
hours' start. There was a big bunch of cattle at Silver, so Laski
n
said. The last of your stock, an' some of Day's an' Franklidge's.

We were figgerin' on a big roundup pronto. But we're too late
,
boss."

"Too late! Why, man, if it IS true, we can stop that drive befor
e
it gets down to the road," declared Ben.

"Stop nothin'. Lacy's outfit won't drive this way. They'll driv
e
up over the Rim, an' I'll gamble there's a bunch of five thousan
d
head on the way now."

Ben sat down as if suddenly weighted.

"Boss, I'm sure kickin' myself for not figgerin' that very deal,"
w
ent on Dillon, and his smile was something to conjure with.

Hettie caught it, but Ben saw nothing. "You see, the cattle wer
e
workin' high up. An' grass an' water's so good at Silver that the
y
bunched thick. Laskin swears it's only a half day's drive up th
e
canyon which opens into Silver. . . . An' there you are."

A hoarse intolerant resentment rang in Dillon's voice. To Ben Id
e
he must have seemed a masterful and experienced foreman, angry a
t
this coup of the latest recruit to Arizona rustlers.

"If it's true I'll--I'll run down this Jim Lacy an' jail him. I
d
on't care what it costs," declared Ben. "But I reckon we'r
e
gettin' all r'iled up over cowboy guessin'."

"Give me a couple of days off, boss?" asked Dillon, in strang
e
eagerness. "I'll find out."

"You want to ride off alone?" queried Ben.

"Sure. That's the best way."

"No. Some of the rustlers will plug you, an' then I WOULD be ou
t
of luck," replied Ben, decisively.

"But I want to go," declared Dillon, with the blood rising unde
r
the tan of his handsome face.

"I appreciate the risk you'd take for me, Dillon. But, no, I'
m
gjvin' you orders to take Raidy with six cowboys an' go to Silve
r
Meadows. Hurry back to report. Then we'll see."

Dillon had difficulty in repressing some kind of agitation that di
d
not owe its source to respect and regard for Ben Ide. What a
n
intent, almost derisive glance he gave Ben! Then without anothe
r
word he mounted and rode furiously down toward the corrals.

"Girls, did you hear all he had to say?" asked Ben, appealing fo
r
sympathy.

"We couldn't very well help it," replied Ina, putting a hand o
n
Ben's shoulder. "Dear, I--I haven't confidence in this ma
n
Dillon."

"Huh! Nor in me, either," retorted Ben, shaking her hand off.

That action hurt Ina's sensitive feelings and she drew awa
y
haughtily.

"Very well, Ben Ide," she declared. "But when the crash comes
,
don't you look to ME for sympathy."

With that she went back into the house. Ben gazed helplessly up a
t
his sister.

"There! Can you beat that? My own wife gone against me!"

Hettie subdued her own impatience, not without effort, and then se
t
herself the task of meeting her brother's morbid irritation, and b
y
agreeing with him and bidding him hope on and fight on forever, i
f
need be, she made some little impression upon his mood.

Then Marvie appeared again, this time black in the face. Alas fo
r
Hettie! Her heart sank.

"Ben Ide, I've a bone to pick with you," he burst out.

"Pick away, you young rooster," returned Ben, wearily; but he wa
s
interested. Marvie had never before bearded the lion in his den.

"Did Dillon tell you a cowboy named Laskin rode in with news abou
t
a cattle drive?"

"Sure he did."

"Ha! That's what he told Raidy. He's a damn liar!"

"Marvie, take care! You're no longer a kid. Would you say that t
o
Dillon's face?"

"Would I? Huh! I did an' I cussed him good," rejoined Marvie
,
hotly.

"Why did you? Marv, I'm losin' patience."

"An, I'm losin' patience with you, Ben Ide. Listen. I saw tha
t
cowboy. He wasn't no rider named Laskin. He was Cedar Hatt!"

"What?"

"Cedar Hatt, I tell you. I KNOW him."

"Marvie, you're not only loco, but you're ravin' sore at Dillon.

You'll go too far. Take care."

"Care, hell!" shouted Marvie, beside himself with rage. "It's yo
u
who's loco."

"Marvie Blaine, you're fired," replied Ben, curtly. "You can'
t
ride for me any more."

Marvie underwent a sudden disastrous change of mood.

"Fired?" he said, poignantly.

"Yes, fired. Now get out of my house an' go over to Hettie's til
l
I can decide what to do with you."

"Aw--Ben!" gasped Marvie.

"Don't aw--Ben me," said Ben, furiously. "Get out of here now--yo
u
round-eyed, freckle-faced four-flush of a cowboy!"

Marvie started as if he had been lashed.

"Ben Ide, you'll be sorry for that," he declared, solemnly, an
d
stamped away.

Ben stared at the erect retreating figure of the lad.

"Marvie, too!" he said, huskily.

Hettie felt something of a sneak herself as she stole away, back t
o
her own cabin and the seclusion of her room. Was she not betrayin
g
Ben by withholding facts she alone knew? Yet how impossible t
o
crush him utterly! Jim Lacy was Nevada! She would never have th
e
courage to tell him.

As for herself, the last hope had fled, the last doubt, the las
t
shred of stubborn faith. Nevada was a rustler. He had fallen s
o
low that he could steal from the friend who had once succored him.

The thing was so base that Hettie writhed under the shame of he
r
seemingly indestructible love for this impostor Nevada--thi
s
fugitive horseman who had won her under another guise--this Ji
m
Lacy, killer and thief. But though everything else seemed dead
,
hope, faith, interest in life, will to go on fighting, she knew he
r
love survived. It was the very pulse of her heart.

A long hour she lay there on her bed, until collapse and tears cam
e
to her relief. And when she again rose to face herself in th
e
mirror she shrank aghast. But there was her mother to live for
,
and poor blind Ben, who had loved this traitor Nevada, even as she.

Two days went by, with the Ide households under considerable strai
n
of uncertainty.

Raidy and Dillon, with their riders, returned about noon of th
e
third day. The news reached Hettie while she was in the kitchen
,
with her sleeves rolled up and flour to her elbows, but she did no
t
lose time on account of that.

Ben was somber, nervous, silent, and he paced the living-room
,
oblivious to the importunities of little Blaine, who toddled her
e
and there, as if he were playing a game.

Presently Raidy entered the open door, sombrero in hand, dusty an
d
unshaven.

"Howdy, boss!" he said in greeting, and bowed quaintly to Hetti
e
and Ina.

"Took you long enough. Where's Dillon?" replied Ben, gruffly.

"Wal, you know Dillon always leaves the bad reports for me t
o
make."

"Did he return with you?"

"Not exactly. He left us at daybreak this mornin' an' beat us in."

"Is he here now?"

"Sure. I told him he'd better come along with me. But he sai
d
he'd see you later. . . . Boss, Dillon is in purty bad humor. I
n
ever seen him like this. He's another fellar."

"Drinkin'?" queried Ben, sharply.

"No. He's just black as thunder an' sore as a kicked pup."

"That'd be natural for anyone who had my interests at heart, a
s
Dillon has. But it's odd he didn't come to report. . . . Well
,
out with your bad news."

Ben squared himself as if for a blow and frowned upon his ol
d
foreman.