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

>“Anson’s scared of cougars. Mebbe we can scare him an’ the

gang so it ‘d be easy to sneak the girl off. Can you make

thet big brute do tricks? Rush the camp at night an’ squall

an’ chase off the horses?”

 

“I’ll guarantee to scare Anson out of ten years’ growth,”

replied Dale.

 

“Shore it’s a go, then,” resumed Wilson, as if glad. “I’ll

post the girl — give her a hunch to do her part. You sneak

up to-night jest before dark. I’ll hev the gang worked up.

An’ then you put the cougar to his tricks, whatever you

want. When the gang gits wild I’ll grab the girl an’ pack

her off down heah or somewheres aboot an’ whistle fer you… .

But mebbe thet ain’t so good. If thet cougar comes

pilin’ into camp he might jump me instead of one of the

gang. An’ another hunch. He might slope up on me in the

dark when I was tryin’ to find you. Shore thet ain’t

appealin’ to me.”

 

“Wilson, this cougar is a pet,” replied Dale. “You think

he’s dangerous, but he’s not. No more than a kitten. He only

looks fierce. He has never been hurt by a person an’ he’s

never fought anythin’ himself but deer an’ bear. I can make

him trail any scent. But the truth is I couldn’t make him

hurt you or anybody. All the same, he can be made to scare

the hair off any one who doesn’t know him.”

 

“Shore thet settles me. I’ll be havin’ a grand joke while

them fellars is scared to death… . Dale, you can depend

on me. An’ I’m beholdin’ to you fer what ‘ll square me some

with myself… . To-night, an’ if it won’t work then,

tomorrer night shore!”

 

Dale lowered the rifle. The big cougar spat again. Wilson

dropped his hands and, stepping forward, split the green

wall of intersecting spruce branches. Then he turned up the

ravine toward the glen. Once there, in sight of his

comrades, his action and expression changed.

 

“Hosses all thar, Jim?” asked Anson, as he picked up, his

cards.

 

“Shore. They act awful queer, them hosses,” replied. Wilson.

“They’re afraid of somethin’.”

 

“A-huh! Silvertip mebbe,” muttered Anson. “Jim, You jest

keep watch of them hosses. We’d be done if some tarnal

varmint stampeded them.”

 

“Reckon I’m elected to do all the work now,” complained

Wilson, “while you card-sharps cheat each other. Rustle the

hosses — an’ water an’ fire-wood. Cook an’ wash. Hey?”

 

“No one I ever seen can do them camp tricks any better ‘n

Jim Wilson,” replied Anson.

 

“Jim, you’re a lady’s man an’ thar’s our pretty hoodoo over

thar to feed an’ amoose,” remarked Shady Jones, with a smile

that disarmed his speech.

 

The outlaws guffawed.

 

“Git out, Jim, you’re breakin’ up the game,” said Moze, who

appeared loser.

 

“Wal, thet gurl would starve if it wasn’t fer me,” replied

Wilson, genially, and he walked over toward her, beginning

to address her, quite loudly, as he approached. “Wal, miss,

I’m elected cook an’ I’d shore like to heah what you fancy

fer dinner.”

 

The outlaws heard, for they guffawed again. “Haw! Haw! if

Jim ain’t funny!” exclaimed Anson.

 

The girl looked up amazed. Wilson was winking at her, and

when he got near he began to speak rapidly and low.

 

“I jest met Dale down in the woods with his pet cougar. He’s

after you. I’m goin’ to help him git you safe away. Now you

do your part. I want you to pretend you’ve gone crazy.

Savvy? Act out of your head! Shore I don’t care what you do

or say, only act crazy. An’ don’t be scared. We’re goin’ to

scare the gang so I’ll hev a chance to sneak you away.

To-night or tomorrow — shore.”

 

Before he began to speak she was pale, sad, dull of eye.

Swiftly, with his words, she was transformed, and when he

had ended she did not appear the same girl. She gave him one

blazing flash of comprehension and nodded her head rapidly.

 

“Yes, I understand. I’ll do it!” she whispered.

 

The outlaw turned slowly away with the most abstract air,

confounded amid his shrewd acting, and he did not collect

himself until half-way back to his comrades. Then, beginning

to hum an old darky tune, he stirred up and replenished the

fire, and set about preparation for the midday meal. But he

did not miss anything going on around him. He saw the girl

go into her shelter and come out with her hair all down over

her face. Wilson, back to his comrades, grinned his glee,

and he wagged his head as if he thought the situation was

developing.

 

The gambling outlaws, however, did not at once see the girl

preening herself and smoothing her long hair in a way

calculated to startle.

 

“Busted!” ejaculated Anson, with a curse, as he slammed down

his cards. “If I ain’t hoodooed I’m a two-bit of a gambler!”

 

“Sartin you’re hoodooed,” said Shady Jones, in scorn. “Is

thet jest dawnin’ on you?”

 

“Boss, you play like a cow stuck in the mud,” remarked Moze,

laconically.

 

“Fellars, it ain’t funny,” declared Anson, with pathetic

gravity. “I’m jest gittin’ on to myself. Somethin’s wrong.

Since ‘way last fall no luck — nothin’ but the wust end of

everythin’. I ain’t blamin’ anybody. I’m the boss. It’s me

thet’s off.”

 

“Snake, shore it was the gurl deal you made,” rejoined

Wilson, who had listened. “I told you. Our troubles hev only

begun. An’ I can see the wind-up. Look!”

 

Wilson pointed to where the girl stood, her hair flying

wildly all over her face and shoulders. She was making most

elaborate bows to an old stump, sweeping the ground with her

tresses in her obeisance.

 

Anson started. He grew utterly astounded. His amaze was

ludicrous. And the other two men looked to stare, to equal

their leader’s bewilderment.

 

“What ‘n hell’s come over her?” asked Anson, dubiously.

“Must hev perked up… . But she ain’t feelin’ thet gay!”

 

Wilson tapped his forehead with a significant finger.

 

“Shore I was scared of her this mawnin’,” he whispered.

 

“Naw!” exclaimed Anson, incredulously.

 

“If she hain’t queer I never seen no queer wimmin,”

vouchsafed Shady Jones, and it would have been judged, by

the way he wagged his head, that he had been all his days

familiar with women.

 

Moze looked beyond words, and quite alarmed.

 

“I seen it comin’,” declared Wilson, very much excited. “But

I was scared to say so. You-all made fun of me aboot her.

Now I shore wish I had spoken up.”

 

Anson nodded solemnly. He did not believe the evidence of

his sight, but the facts seemed stunning. As if the girl

were a dangerous and incomprehensible thing, he approached

her step by step. Wilson followed, and the others appeared

drawn irresistibly.

 

“Hey thar — kid!” called Anson, hoarsely.

 

The girl drew her slight form up haughtily. Through her

spreading tresses her eyes gleamed unnaturally upon the

outlaw leader. But she deigned not to reply.

 

“Hey thar — you Rayner girl!” added Anson, lamely. “What’s

ailin’ you?”

 

“My lord! did you address me?” she asked, loftily.

 

Shady Jones got over his consternation and evidently

extracted some humor from the situation, as his dark face

began to break its strain.

 

“Aww!” breathed Anson, heavily.

 

“Ophelia awaits your command, my lord. I’ve been gathering

flowers,” she said, sweetly, holding up her empty hands as

if they contained a bouquet.

 

Shady Jones exploded in convulsed laughter. But his

merriment was not shared. And suddenly it brought disaster

upon him. The girl flew at him.

 

“Why do you croak, you toad? I will have you whipped and put

in irons, you scullion!” she cried, passionately.

 

Shady underwent a remarkable change, and stumbled in his

backward retreat. Then she snapped her fingers in Moze’s

face.

 

“You black devil! Get hence! Avaunt!”

 

Anson plucked up courage enough to touch her.

 

“Aww! Now, Ophelyar —”

 

Probably he meant to try to humor her, but she screamed, and

he jumped back as if she might burn him. She screamed

shrilly, in wild, staccato notes.

 

“You! You!” she pointed her finger at the outlaw leader.

“You brute to women! You ran off from your wife!”

 

Anson turned plum-color and then slowly white. The girl must

have sent a random shot home.

 

“And now the devil’s turned you into a snake. A long, scaly

snake with green eyes! Uugh! You’ll crawl on your belly soon

— when my cowboy finds you. And he’ll tramp you in the

dust.”

 

She floated away from them and began to whirl gracefully,

arms spread and hair flying; and then, apparently oblivious

of the staring men, she broke into a low, sweet song. Next

she danced around a pine, then danced into her little green

inclosure. From which presently she sent out the most

doleful moans.

 

“Aww! What a shame!” burst out Anson. “Thet fine, healthy,

nervy kid! Clean gone! Daffy! Crazy ‘n a bedbug!”

 

“Shore it’s a shame,” protested Wilson. “But it’s wuss for

us. Lord! if we was hoodooed before, what will we be now?

Didn’t I tell you, Snake Anson? You was warned. Ask Shady

an’ Moze — they see what’s up.”

 

“No luck ‘ll ever come our way ag’in,” predicted Shady,

mournfully.

 

“It beats me, boss, it beats me,” muttered Moze.

 

“A crazy woman on my hands! If thet ain’t the last straw!”

broke out Anson, tragically, as he turned away. Ignorant,

superstitious, worked upon by things as they seemed, the

outlaw imagined himself at last beset by malign forces. When

he flung himself down upon one of the packs his big

red-haired hands shook. Shady and Moze resembled two other

men at the end of their ropes.

 

Wilson’s tense face twitched, and he averted it, as

apparently he fought off a paroxysm of some nature. Just

then Anson swore a thundering oath.

 

“Crazy or not, I’ll git gold out of thet kid!” he roared.

 

“But, man, talk sense. Are you gittin’ daffy, too? I declare

this outfit’s been eatin’ loco. You can’t git gold fer her!”

said Wilson, deliberately.

 

“Why can’t I?”

 

“‘Cause we’re tracked. We can’t make no dickers. Why, in

another day or so we’ll be dodgin’ lead.”

 

“Tracked! Whar ‘d you git thet idee? As soon as this?”

queried Anson, lifting his head like a striking snake. His

men, likewise, betrayed sudden interest.

 

“Shore it’s no idee. I ‘ain’t seen any one. But I feel it in

my senses. I hear somebody comin’ — a step on our trail —

all the time — night in particular. Reckon there’s a big

posse after us.”

 

“Wal, if I see or hear anythin’ I’ll knock the girl on the

head an’ we’ll dig out of hyar,” replied Anson, sullenly.

 

Wilson executed a swift forward motion, violent and

passionate, so utterly unlike what might have been looked

for from him, that the three outlaws gaped.

 

“Then you’ll shore hev to knock Jim Wilson on the haid

first,” he said, in voice as strange as his action.

 

“Jim! You wouldn’t go back on me!” implored Anson, with

uplifted hands, in a dignity of pathos.

 

“I’m losin’ my haid, too, an’ you shore might as well knock

it in, an’ you’ll hev to before I’ll stand you murderin’

thet pore little gurl you’ve drove crazy.”

 

“Jim, I was only mad,” replied Anson. “Fer thet matter, I’m

growin’ daffy myself. Aw! we all need a good stiff drink of

whisky.”