The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (fastest ebook reader .TXT) 📖

the ranch — loss of

cattle, horses, sheep — the desertion of herders to Beasley

— failure of freighters to arrive when most needed —

fights among the cowboys — and disagreements over

long-arranged deals.

 

“Your uncle Al makes a heap of this here Jeff Mulvey,”

asserted Carmichael.

 

“Yes, indeed. Uncle absolutely relies on Jeff,” replied

Helen.

 

“Wal, I hate to tell you, Miss Nell,” said the cowboy,

bitterly, “thet Mulvey ain’t the man he seems.”

 

“Oh, what do you mean?”

 

“When your uncle dies Mulvey is goin’ over to Beasley an’

he’s goin’ to take all the fellars who’ll stick to him.”

 

“Could Jeff be so faithless — after so many years my

uncle’s foreman? Oh, how do you know?”

 

“Reckon I guessed long ago. But wasn’t shore. Miss Nell,

there’s a lot in the wind lately, as poor old Al grows

weaker. Mulvey has been particular friendly to me an’ I’ve

nursed him along, ‘cept I wouldn’t drink. An’ his pards have

been particular friends with me, too, more an’ more as I

loosened up. You see, they was shy of me when I first got

here. To-day the whole deal showed clear to me like a hoof

track in soft ground. Bud Lewis, who’s bunked with me, come

out an’ tried to win me over to Beasley — soon as

Auchincloss dies. I palavered with Bud an’ I wanted to know.

But Bud would only say he was goin’ along with Jeff an’

others of the outfit. I told him I’d reckon over it an’ let

him know. He thinks I’ll come round.”

 

“Why — why will these men leave me when — when — Oh, poor

uncle! They bargain on his death. But why — tell me why?”

 

“Beasley has worked on them — won them over,” replied

Carmichael, grimly. “After Al dies the ranch will go to you.

Beasley means to have it. He an’ Al was pards once, an’ now

Beasley has most folks here believin’ he got the short end

of thet deal. He’ll have papers — shore — an’ he’ll have

most of the men. So he’ll just put you off an’ take

possession. Thet’s all, Miss Nell, an’ you can rely on its

bein’ true.”

 

“I — I believe you — but I can’t believe such — such

robbery possible,” gasped Helen.

 

“It’s simple as two an’ two. Possession is law out here.

Once Beasley gets on the ground it’s settled. What could you

do with no men to fight for your property?”

 

“But, surely, some of the men will stay with me?”

 

“I reckon. But not enough.”

 

“Then I can hire more. The Beeman boys. And Dale would come

to help me.”

 

“Dale would come. An’ he’d help a heap. I wish he was here,”

replied Carmichael, soberly. “But there’s no way to get him.

He’s snowed-up till May.”

 

“I dare not confide in uncle,” said Helen, with agitation.

“The shock might kill him. Then to tell him of the

unfaithfulness of his old men — that would be cruel… .

Oh, it can’t be so bad as you think.”

 

“I reckon it couldn’t be no worse. An’ — Miss Nell, there’s

only one way to get out of it — an’ thet’s the way of the

West.”

 

“How?” queried Helen, eagerly.

 

Carmichael lunged himself erect and stood gazing down at

her. He seemed completely detached now from that frank,

amiable cowboy of her first impressions. The redness was

totally gone from his face. Something strange and cold and

sure looked out of his eyes.

 

“I seen Beasley go in the saloon as I rode past. Suppose I

go down there, pick a quarrel with him — an’ kill him?”

 

Helen sat bolt-upright with a cold shock.

 

“Carmichael! you’re not serious?” she exclaimed.

 

“Serious? I shore am. Thet’s the only way, Miss Nell. An’ I

reckon it’s what Al would want. An’ between you an’ me — it

would be easier than ropin’ a calf. These fellars round Pine

don’t savvy guns. Now, I come from where guns mean

somethin’. An’ when I tell you I can throw a gun slick an’

fast, why I shore ain’t braggin’. You needn’t worry none

about me, Miss Nell.”

 

Helen grasped that he had taken the signs of her shocked

sensibility to mean she feared for his life. But what had

sickened her was the mere idea of bloodshed in her behalf.

 

“You’d — kill Beasley — just because there are rumors of

his — treachery?” gasped Helen.

 

“Shore. It’ll have to be done, anyhow,” replied the cowboy.

 

“No! No! It’s too dreadful to think of. Why, that would be

murder. I — I can’t understand how you speak of it — so —

so calmly.”

 

“Reckon I ain’t doin’ it calmly. I’m as mad as hell,” said

Carmichael, with a reckless smile.

 

“Oh, if you are serious then, I say no — no — no! I forbid

you. I don’t believe I’ll be robbed of my property.”

 

“Wal, supposin’ Beasley does put you off — an’ takes

possession. What ‘re you goin’ to say then?” demanded the

cowboy, in slow, cool deliberation.

 

“I’d say the same then as now,” she replied.

 

He bent his head thoughtfully while his red hands smoothed

his sombrero.

 

“Shore you girls haven’t been West very long,” he muttered,

as if apologizing for them. “An’ I reckon it takes time to

learn the ways of a country.”

 

“West or no West, I won’t have fights deliberately picked,

and men shot, even if they do threaten me,” declared Helen,

positively.

 

“All right, Miss Nell, shore I respect your wishes,” he

returned. “But I’ll tell you this. If Beasley turns you an’

Bo out of your home — wal, I’ll look him up on my own

account.”

 

Helen could only gaze at him as he backed to the door, and

she thrilled and shuddered at what seemed his loyalty to

her, his love for Bo, and that which was inevitable in

himself.

 

“Reckon you might save us all some trouble — now if you’d

— just get mad — an’ let me go after thet greaser.”

 

“Greaser! Do you mean Beasley?”

 

“Shore. He’s a half-breed. He was born in Magdalena, where I

heard folks say nary one of his parents was no good.”

 

“That doesn’t matter. I’m thinking of humanity of law and

order. Of what is right.”

 

“Wal, Miss Nell, I’ll wait till you get real mad — or till

Beasley —”

 

“But, my friend, I’ll not get mad,” interrupted Helen. “I’ll

keep my temper.”

 

“I’ll bet you don’t,” he retorted. “Mebbe you think you’ve

none of Bo in you. But I’ll bet you could get so mad — once

you started — thet you’d be turrible. What ‘ve you got them

eyes for, Miss Nell, if you ain’t an Auchincloss?”

 

He was smiling, yet he meant every word. Helen felt the

truth as something she feared.

 

“Las Vegas, I won’t bet. But you — you will always come to

me — first — if there’s trouble.”

 

“I promise,” he replied, soberly, and then went out.

 

Helen found that she was trembling, and that there was a

commotion in her breast. Carmichael had frightened her. No

longer did she hold doubt of the gravity of the situation.

She had seen Beasley often, several times close at hand, and

once she had been forced to meet him. That time had

convinced her that he had evinced personal interest in her.

And on this account, coupled with the fact that Riggs

appeared to have nothing else to do but shadow her, she had

been slow in developing her intention of organizing and

teaching a school for the children of Pine. Riggs had become

rather a doubtful celebrity in the settlements. Yet his

bold, apparent badness had made its impression. From all

reports he spent his time gambling, drinking, and bragging.

It was no longer news in Pine what his intentions were

toward Helen Rayner. Twice he had ridden up to the

ranch-house, upon one occasion securing an interview with

Helen. In spite of her contempt and indifference, he was

actually influencing her life there in Pine. And it began to

appear that the other man, Beasley, might soon direct

stronger significance upon the liberty of her actions.

 

The responsibility of the ranch had turned out to be a heavy

burden. It could not be managed, at least by her, in the way

Auchincloss wanted it done. He was old, irritable,

irrational, and hard. Almost all the neighbors were set

against him, and naturally did not take kindly to Helen.

 

She had not found the slightest evidence of unfair dealing

on the part of her uncle, but he had been a hard driver.

Then his shrewd, farseeing judgment had made all his deals

fortunate for him, which fact had not brought a profit of

friendship.

 

Of late, since Auchincloss had grown weaker and less

dominating, Helen had taken many decisions upon herself,

with gratifying and hopeful results. But the wonderful

happiness that she had expected to find in the West still

held aloof. The memory of Paradise Park seemed only a dream,

sweeter and more intangible as time passed, and fuller of

vague regrets. Bo was a comfort, but also a very

considerable source of anxiety. She might have been a help

to Helen if she had not assimilated Western ways so swiftly.

Helen wished to decide things in her own way, which was as

yet quite far from Western. So Helen had been thrown more

and more upon her own resources, with the cowboy Carmichael

the only one who had come forward voluntarily to her aid.

 

For an hour Helen sat alone in the room, looking out of the

window, and facing stern reality with a colder, graver,

keener sense of intimacy than ever before. To hold her

property and to live her life in this community according to

her ideas of honesty, justice, and law might well be beyond

her powers. To-day she had been convinced that she could not

do so without fighting for them, and to fight she must have

friends. That conviction warmed her toward Carmichael, and a

thoughtful consideration of all he had done for her proved

that she had not fully appreciated him. She would make up

for her oversight.

 

There were no Mormons in her employ, for the good reason

that Auchincloss would not hire them. But in one of his

kindlier hours, growing rare now, he had admitted that the

Mormons were the best and the most sober, faithful workers

on the ranges, and that his sole objection to them was just

this fact of their superiority. Helen decided to hire the

four Beemans and any of their relatives or friends who would

come; and to do this, if possible, without letting her uncle

know. His temper now, as well as his judgment, was a

hindrance to efficiency. This decision regarding the

Beemans; brought Helen back to Carmichael’s fervent wish for

Dale, and then to her own.

 

Soon spring would be at hand, with its multiplicity of range

tasks. Dale had promised to come to Pine then, and Helen

knew that promise would be kept. Her heart beat a little

faster, in spite of her business-centered thoughts. Dale was

there, over the black-sloped, snowy-tipped mountain, shut

away from the world. Helen almost envied him. No wonder he

loved loneliness, solitude, the sweet, wild silence and

beauty of Paradise Park! But he was selfish, and Helen meant

to show him that. She needed his help. When she recalled his

physical prowess with animals, and imagined what it must be

in relation