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

The girl refused to take food proffered her by Riggs, but

she ate and drank a little that Wilson brought her, then she

disappeared in the spruce lean-to.

Whatever loquacity and companionship had previously existed

in Snake Anson’s gang were not manifest in this camp. Each

man seemed preoccupied, as if pondering the dawn in his mind

of an ill omen not clear to him yet and not yet dreamed of

by his fellows. They all smoked. Then Moze and Shady played

cards awhile by the light of the fire, but it was a dull

game, in which either seldom spoke. Riggs sought his blanket

first, and the fact was significant that he lay down some

distance from the spruce shelter which contained Bo Rayner.

Presently young Burt went off grumbling to his bed. And not

long afterward the card-players did likewise.

Snake Anson and Jim Wilson were left brooding in silence

beside the dying campfire.

The night was dark, with only a few stars showing. A fitful

wind moaned unearthly through the spruce. An occasional

thump of hoof sounded from the dark woods. No cry of wolf or

coyote or cat gave reality to the wildness of forestland.

By and by those men who had rolled in their blankets were

breathing deep and slow in heavy slumber.

“Jim, I take it this hyar Riggs has queered our deal,” said

Snake Anson, in low voice.

“I reckon,” replied Wilson.

“An’ I’m feared he’s queered this hyar White Mountain

country fer us.”

“Shore I ‘ain’t got so far as thet. What d’ ye mean, Snake?”

“Damme if I savvy,” was the gloomy reply. “I only know what

was bad looks growin’ wuss. Last fall — an’ winter — an’

now it’s near April. We’ve got no outfit to make a long

stand in the woods… . Jim, jest how strong is thet

Beasley down in the settlements?”

“I’ve a hunch he ain’t half as strong as he bluffs.”

“Me, too. I got thet idee yesterday. He was scared of the

kid — when she fired up an’ sent thet hot-shot about her

cowboy sweetheart killin’ him. He’ll do it, Jim. I seen that

Carmichael at Magdalena some years ago. Then he was only a

youngster. But, whew! Mebbe he wasn’t bad after toyin’ with

a little red liquor.”

“Shore. He was from Texas, she said.”

“Jim, I savvied your feelin’s was hurt — by thet talk about

Texas — an’ when she up an’ asked you.”

Wilson had no rejoinder for this remark.

“Wal, Lord knows, I ain’t wonderin’. You wasn’t a hunted

outlaw all your life. An’ neither was I… . Wilson, I

never was keen on this girl deal — now, was I?”

“I reckon it’s honest to say no to thet,” replied Wilson.

“But it’s done. Beasley ‘ll get plugged sooner or later. Thet

won’t help us any. Chasin’ sheep-herders out of the country

an’ stealin’ sheep — thet ain’t stealin’ gurls by a long

sight. Beasley ‘ll blame that on us, an’ be greaser enough

to send some of his men out to hunt us. For Pine an’ Show

Down won’t stand thet long. There’s them Mormons. They’ll be

hell when they wake up. Suppose Carmichael got thet hunter

Dale an’ them hawk-eyed Beemans on our trail?”

“Wal, we’d cash in — quick,” replied Anson, gruffly.

“Then why didn’t you let me take the gurl back home?”

“Wal, come to think of thet, Jim, I’m sore, an’ I need money

— an’ I knowed you’d never take a dollar from her sister.

An’ I’ve made up my mind to git somethin’ out of her.”

“Snake, you’re no fool. How ‘ll you do thet same an’ do it

quick?”

“‘Ain’t reckoned it out yet.”

“Wal, you got aboot tomorrer an’ thet’s all,” returned

Wilson, gloomily.

“Jim, what’s ailin’ you?”

“I’ll let you figger thet out.”

“Wal, somethin’ ails the whole gang,” declared Anson,

savagely. “With them it’s nothin’ to eat — no whisky — no

money to bet with — no tobacco!… But thet’s not what’s

ailin’ you, Jim Wilson, nor me!”

“Wal, what is, then?” queried Wilson.

“With me it’s a strange feelin’ thet my day’s over on these

ranges. I can’t explain, but it jest feels so. Somethin’ in

the air. I don’t like them dark shadows out there under the

spruces. Savvy? … An’ as fer you, Jim — wal, you allus

was half decent, an’ my gang’s got too lowdown fer you.”

“Snake, did I ever fail you?”

“No, you never did. You’re the best pard I ever knowed. In

the years we’ve rustled together we never had a contrary

word till I let Beasley fill my ears with his promises.

Thet’s my fault. But, Jim, it’s too late.”

“It mightn’t have been too late yesterday.”

“Mebbe not. But it is now, an’ I’ll hang on to the girl or

git her worth in gold,” declared the outlaw, grimly.

“Snake, I’ve seen stronger gangs than yours come an’ go.

Them Big Bend gangs in my country — them rustlers — they

were all bad men. You have no likes of them gangs out heah.

If they didn’t get wiped out by Rangers or cowboys, why they

jest naturally wiped out themselves. Thet’s a law I

recognize in relation to gangs like them. An’ as for yours

— why, Anson, it wouldn’t hold water against one real

gun-slinger.”

“A-huh’ Then if we ran up ag’in’ Carmichael or some such

fellar — would you be suckin’ your finger like a baby?”

“Wal, I wasn’t takin’ count of myself. I was takin’

generalities.”

“Aw, what ‘n hell are them?” asked Anson, disgustedly. “Jim,

I know as well as you thet this hyar gang is hard put. We’re

goin’ to be trailed an’ chased. We’ve got to hide — be on

the go all the time — here an’ there — all over, in the

roughest woods. An’ wait our chance to work south.”

“Shore. But, Snake, you ain’t takin’ no count of the

feelin’s of the men — an’ of mine an’ yours… . I’ll bet

you my hoss thet