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

>his leader.

 

“Please take this rope off my feet. Let me walk a little.

Let me have a — a little privacy. That fool watched every

move I made. I promise not to run away. And, oh! I’m

thirsty.”

 

“Shore you’ve got sense.” He freed her feet and helped her

get up. “There’ll be some fresh water any minit now, if

you’ll wait.”

 

Then he turned his back and walked over to where Riggs sat

nursing a bullet-burn on his leg.

 

“Say, Riggs, I’m takin’ the responsibility of loosin’ the

girl for a little spell. She can’t get away. An’ there ain’t

any sense in bein’ mean.”

 

Riggs made no reply, and went on rolling down his trousers

leg, lapped a fold over at the bottom and pulled on his

boot. Then he strode out toward the promontory. Half-way

there he encountered Anson tramping back.

 

“Beasley’s comin’ one way an’ Shady’s comin’ another. We’ll

be off this hot point of rock by noon,” said the outlaw

leader.

 

Riggs went on to the promontory to look for himself.

 

“Where’s the girl?” demanded Anson, in surprise, when he got

back to the camp.

 

“Wal, she’s walkin’ ‘round between heah an’ Pine,” drawled

Wilson.

 

“Jim, you let her loose?”

 

“Shore I did. She’s been hawg-tied all the time. An’ she

said she’d not run off. I’d take thet girl’s word even to a

sheep-thief.”

 

“A-huh. So would I, for all of thet. But, Jim, somethin’s

workin’ in you. Ain’t you sort of rememberin’ a time when

you was young — an’ mebbe knowed pretty kids like this

one?”

 

“Wal, if I am it ‘ll shore turn out bad fer somebody.”

 

Anson gave him a surprised stare and suddenly lost the

bantering tone.

 

“A-huh! So thet’s how it’s workin’,” he replied, and flung

himself down in the shade.

 

Young Burt made his appearance then, wiping his sallow face.

His deep-set, hungry eyes, upon which his comrades set such

store, roved around the camp.

 

“Whar’s the gurl?” he queried.

 

“Jim let her go out fer a stroll,” replied Anson.

 

“I seen Jim was gittin’ softy over her. Haw! Haw! Haw!”

 

But Snake Anson did not crack a smile. The atmosphere

appeared not to be congenial for jokes, a fact Burt rather

suddenly divined. Riggs and Moze returned from the

promontory, the latter reporting that Shady Jones was riding

up close. Then the girl walked slowly into sight and

approached to find a seat within ten yards of the group.

They waited in silence until the expected horseman rode up

with water-bottles slung on both sides of his saddle. His

advent was welcome. All the men were thirsty. Wilson took

water to the girl before drinking himself.

 

“Thet’s an all-fired hot ride fer water,” declared the

outlaw Shady, who somehow fitted his name in color and

impression. “An’, boss, if it’s the same to you I won’t take

it ag’in.”

 

“Cheer up, Shady. We’ll be rustlin’ back in the mountains

before sundown,” said Anson.

 

“Hang me if that ain’t the cheerfulest news I’ve hed in some

days. Hey, Moze?”

 

The black-faced Moze nodded his shaggy head.

 

“I’m sick an’ sore of this deal,” broke out Burt, evidently

encouraged by his elders. “Ever since last fall we’ve been

hangin’ ‘round — till jest lately freezin’ in camps — no

money — no drink — no grub wuth havin’. All on promises!”

 

Not improbably this young and reckless member of the gang

had struck the note of discord. Wilson seemed most detached

from any sentiment prevailing there. Some strong thoughts

were revolving in his brain.

 

“Burt, you ain’t insinuatin’ thet I made promises?” inquired

Anson, ominously.

 

“No, boss, I ain’t. You allus said we might hit it rich. But

them promises was made to you. An’ it ‘d be jest like thet

greaser to go back on his word now we got the gurl.”

 

“Son, it happens we got the wrong one. Our long-haired pard

hyar — Mister Riggs — him with the big gun — he waltzes

up with this sassy kid instead of the woman Beasley wanted.”

 

Burt snorted his disgust while Shady Jones, roundly

swearing, pelted the smoldering campfire with stones. Then

they all lapsed into surly silence. The object of their

growing scorn, Riggs, sat a little way apart, facing none of

them, but maintaining as bold a front as apparently he could

muster.

 

Presently a horse shot up his ears, the first indication of

scent or sound imperceptible to the men. But with this cue

they all, except Wilson, sat up attentively. Soon the crack

of iron-shod hoofs on stone broke the silence. Riggs

nervously rose to his feet. And the others, still excepting

Wilson, one by one followed suit. In another moment a rangy

bay horse trotted out of the cedars, up to the camp, and his

rider jumped off nimbly for so heavy a man.

 

“Howdy, Beasley?” was Anson’s greeting.

 

“Hello, Snake, old man!” replied Beasley, as his bold,

snapping black eyes swept the group. He was dusty and hot,

and wet with sweat, yet evidently too excited to feel

discomfort. “I seen your smoke signal first off an’ jumped

my hoss quick. But I rode north of Pine before I headed

‘round this way. Did you corral the girl or did Riggs? Say!

— you look queer! … What’s wrong here? You haven’t

signaled me for nothin’?”

 

Snake Anson beckoned to Bo.

 

“Come out of the shade. Let him look you over.”

 

The girl walked out from under the spreading cedar that had

hidden her from sight.

 

Beasley stared aghast — his jaw dropped.

 

“Thet’s the kid sister of the woman I wanted!” he

ejaculated.

 

“So we’ve jest been told.”

 

Astonishment still held Beasley.

 

“Told?” he echoed. Suddenly his big body leaped with a

start. “Who got her? Who fetched her?”

 

“Why, Mister Gunman Riggs hyar,” replied Anson, with a

subtle scorn.

 

“Riggs, you got the wrong girl,” shouted Beasley. “You made

thet mistake once before. What’re you up to?”

 

“I chased her an’ when I got her, seein’ it wasn’t Nell

Rayner — why — I kept her, anyhow,” replied Riggs. “An’

I’ve got a word for your ear alone.”

 

“Man, you’re crazy — queerin’ my deal thet way!” roared

Beasley. “You heard my plans… . Riggs, this

girl-stealin’ can’t be done twice. Was you drinkin’ or

locoed or what?”

 

“Beasley, he was giving you the double-cross,” cut in Bo

Rayner’s cool voice.

 

The rancher stared speechlessly at her, then at Anson, then

at Wilson, and last at Riggs, when his brown visage shaded

dark with rush of purple blood. With one lunge he knocked

Riggs flat, then stood over him with a convulsive hand at

his gun.

 

“You white-livered card-sharp! I’ve a notion to bore you… .

They told me you had a deal of your own, an’ now I

believe it.”

 

“Yes — I had,” replied Riggs, cautiously getting up. He was

ghastly. “But I wasn’t double-crossin’ you. Your deal was to

get the girl away from home so you could take possession of

her property. An’ I wanted her.”

 

“What for did you fetch the sister, then?” demanded Beasley,

his big jaw bulging.

 

“Because I’ve a plan to —”

 

“Plan hell! You’ve spoiled my plan an’ I’ve seen about

enough of you.” Beasley breathed hard; his lowering gaze

boded an uncertain will toward the man who had crossed him;

his hand still hung low and clutching.

 

“Beasley, tell them to get my horse. I want to go home,”

said Bo Rayner.

 

Slowly Beasley turned. Her words enjoined a silence. What to

do with her now appeared a problem.

 

“I had nothin’ to do with fetchin’ you here an’ I’ll have

nothin’ to do with sendin’ you back or whatever’s done with

you,” declared Beasley.

 

Then the girl’s face flashed white again and her eyes

changed to fire.

 

“You’re as big a liar as Riggs,” she cried, passionately.

“And you’re a thief, a bully who picks on defenseless girls.

Oh, we know your game! Milt Dale heard your plot with this

outlaw Anson to steal my sister. You ought to be hanged —

you half-breed greaser!”

 

“I’ll cut out your tongue!” hissed Beasley.

 

“Yes, I’ll bet you would if you had me alone. But these

outlaws — these sheep-thieves — these tools you hire are

better than you and Riggs… . What do you suppose

Carmichael will do to you? Carmichael! He’s my sweetheart —

that cowboy. You know what he did to Riggs. Have you brains

enough to know what he’ll do to you?”

 

“He’ll not do much,” growled Beasley. But the thick purplish

blood was receding from his face. “Your cowpuncher —”

 

“Bah!” she interrupted, and she snapped her fingers in his

face. “He’s from Texas! He’s from TEXAS!”

 

“Supposin’ he is from Texas?” demanded Beasley, in angry

irritation. “What’s thet? Texans are all over. There’s Jim

Wilson, Snake Anson’s right-hand man. He’s from Texas. But

thet ain’t scarin’ any one.”

 

He pointed toward Wilson, who shifted uneasily from foot to

foot. The girl’s flaming glance followed his hand.

 

“Are you from Texas?” she asked.

 

“Yes, Miss, I am — an’ I reckon I don’t deserve it,”

replied Wilson. It was certain that a vague shame attended

his confession.

 

“Oh! I believed even a bandit from Texas would fight for a

helpless girl!” she replied, in withering scorn of

disappointment.

 

Jim Wilson dropped his head. If any one there suspected a

serious turn to Wilson’s attitude toward that situation it

was the keen outlaw leader.

 

“Beasley, you’re courtin’ death,” he broke in.

 

“You bet you are!” added Bo, with a passion that made her

listeners quiver. “You’ve put me at the mercy of a gang of

outlaws! You may force my sister out of her home! But your

day will come.’ Tom Carmichael will KILL you.”

 

Beasley mounted his horse. Sullen, livid, furious, he sat

shaking in the saddle, to glare down at the outlaw leader.

 

“Snake, thet’s no fault of mine the deal’s miscarried. I was

square. I made my offer for the workin’ out of my plan. It

‘ain’t been done. Now there’s hell to pay an’ I’m through.”

 

“Beasley, I reckon I couldn’t hold you to anythin’,” replied

Anson, slowly. “But if you was square you ain’t square now.

We’ve hung around an’ tried hard. My men are all sore. An’

we’re broke, with no outfit to speak of. Me an’ you never

fell out before. But I reckon we might.”

 

“Do I owe you any money — accordin’ to the deal?” demanded

Beasley.

 

“No, you don’t,” responded Anson, sharply.

 

“Then thet’s square. I wash my hands of the whole deal. Make

Riggs pay up. He’s got money an’ he’s got plans. Go in with

him.”

 

With that Beasley spurred his horse, wheeled and rode away.

The outlaws gazed after him until he disappeared in the

cedars.

 

“What’d you expect from a greaser?” queried Shady Jones.

 

“Anson, didn’t I say so?” added Burt.

 

The black-visaged Moze rolled his eyes like a mad bull and

Jim Wilson studiously examined a stick he held in his hands.

Riggs showed immense relief.

 

“Anson, stake me to some of your outfit an’ I’ll ride off

with the girl,” he said, eagerly.

 

“Where’d you go now?” queried Anson, curiously.

 

Riggs appeared at a loss for a quick answer; his wits were

no more equal to this predicament than his nerve.

 

“You’re no woodsman. An’ onless you’re plumb locoed you’d

never risk goin’ near Pine