The Light of Western Stars
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Zane Grey >> The Light of Western Stars
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"Stewart, I have come to love my ranch," said Madeline, slowly,
"and I care a great deal for my--my cowboys. It would be
dreadful if they were to kill anybody, or especially if one of
them should be killed."
"Miss Hammond, you've changed things considerable out here, but
you can't change these men. All that's needed to start them is a
little trouble. And this Mexican revolution is bound to make
rough times along some of the wilder passes across the border.
We're in line, that's all. And the boys are getting stirred up."
"Very well, then, I must accept the inevitable. I am facing a
rough time. And some of my cowboys cannot be checked much
longer. But, Stewart, whatever you have been in the past, you
have changed." She smiled at him, and her voice was singularly
sweet and rich. "Stillwell has so often referred to you as the
last of his kind of cowboy. I have just a faint idea of what a
wild life you have led. Perhaps that fits you to be a leader of
such rough men. I am no judge of what a leader should do in this
crisis. My cowboys are entailing risk in my employ; my property
is not safe; perhaps my life even might be endangered. I want to
rely upon you, since Stillwell believes, and I, too, that you are
the man for this place. I shall give you no orders. But is it
too much to ask that you be my kind of a cowboy?"
Madeline remembered Stewart's former brutality and shame and
abject worship, and she measured the great change in him by the
contrast afforded now in his dark, changeless, intent face.
"Miss Hammond, what kind of a cowboy is that?" he asked.
"I--I don't exactly know. It is that kind which I feel you might
be. But I do know that in the problem at hand I want your
actions to be governed by reason, not passion. Human life is not
for any man to sacrifice unless in self-defense or in protecting
those dependent upon him. What Stillwell and you hinted makes me
afraid of Nels and Nick Steele and Monty. Cannot they be
controlled? I want to feel that they will not go gunning for Don
Carlos's men. I want to avoid all violence. And yet when my
guests come I want to feel that they will be safe from danger or
fright or even annoyance. May I not rely wholly upon you,
Stewart? Just trust you to manage these obstreperous cowboys and
protect my property and Alfred's, and take care of us--of me,
until this revolution is ended? I have never had a day's worry
since I bought the ranch. It is not that I want to shirk my
responsibilities; it is that I like being happy. May I put so
much faith in you?"
"I hope so, Miss Hammond," replied Stewart. It was an instant
response, but none the less fraught with consciousness of
responsibility. He waited a moment, and then, as neither
Stillwell nor Madeline offered further speech, he bowed and
turned down the path, his long spurs clinking in the gravel.
"Wal, wal," exclaimed Stillwell, "thet's no little job you give
him, Miss Majesty."
"It was a woman's cunning, Stillwell," said Alfred. "My sister
used to be a wonder at getting her own way when we were kids.
Just a smile or two, a few sweet words or turns of thought, and
she had what she wanted."
"Al, what a character to give me!" protested Madeline. "Indeed, I
was deeply in earnest with Stewart. I do not understand just
why, but I trust him. He seems like iron and steel. Then I was
a little frightened at the prospect of trouble with the vaqueros.
Both you and Stillwell have influenced me to look upon Stewart as
invaluable. I thought it best to confess my utter helplessness
and to look to him for support."
"Majesty, whatever actuated you, it was a stroke of diplomacy,"
replied her brother. "Stewart has got good stuff in him. He was
down and out. Well, he's made a game fight, and it looks as if
he'd win. Trusting him, giving him responsibility, relying upon
him, was the surest way to strengthen his hold upon himself.
Then that little touch of sentiment about being your kind of
cowboy and protecting you--well, if Gene Stewart doesn't develop
into an Argus-eyed knight I'll say I don't know cowboys. But,
Majesty, remember, he's a composite of tiger breed and forked
lightning, and don't imagine he has failed you if he gets into a
fight.
"I'll sure tell you what Gene Stewart will do," said Florence.
"Don't I know cowboys? Why, they used to take me up on their
horses when I was a baby. Gene Stewart will be the kind of
cowboy your sister said he might be, whatever that is. She may
not know and we may not guess, but he knows."
"Wal, Flo, there you hit plumb center," replied the old
cattleman. "An' I couldn't be gladder if he was my own son."
X Don Carlos's Vaqueros
Early the following morning Stewart, with a company of cowboys,
departed for Don Carlos's rancho. As the day wore on without any
report from him, Stillwell appeared to grow more at ease; and at
nightfall he told Madeline that he guessed there was now no
reason for concern.
"Wal, though it's sure amazin' strange," he continued, "I've been
worryin' some about how we was goin' to fire Don Carlos. But
Gene has a way of doin' things."
Next day Stillwell and Alfred decided to ride over Don Carlos's
place, taking Madeline and Florence with them, and upon the
return trip to stop at Alfred's ranch. They started in the cool,
gray dawn, and after three hours' riding, as the sun began to get
bright, they entered a mesquite grove, surrounding corrals and
barns, and a number of low, squat buildings and a huge, rambling
structure, all built of adobe and mostly crumbling to ruin. Only
one green spot relieved the bald red of grounds and walls; and
this evidently was made by the spring which had given both value
and fame to Don Carlos's range. The approach to the house was
through a wide courtyard, bare, stony, hard packed, with
hitching-rails and watering-troughs in front of a long porch.
Several dusty, tired horses stood with drooping heads and bridles
down, their wet flanks attesting to travel just ended.
"Wal, dog-gone it, Al, if there ain't Pat Hawe's hoss I'll eat
it," exclaimed Stillwell.
"What's Pat want here, anyhow?" growled Alfred.
No one was in sight; but Madeline heard loud voices coming from
the house. Stillwell dismounted at the porch and stalked in at
the door. Alfred leaped off his horse, helped Florence and
Madeline down, and, bidding them rest and wait on the porch, he
followed Stillwell.
"I hate these Greaser places," said Florence, with a grimace.
"They're so mysterious and creepy. Just watch now! They'll be
dark-skinned, beady-eyed, soft-footed Greasers slip right up out
of the ground! There'll be an ugly face in every door and window
and crack."
"It's like a huge barn with its characteristic odor permeated by
tobacco smoke," replied Madeline, sitting down beside Florence.
"I don't think very much of this end of my purchase. Florence,
isn't that Don Carlos's black horse over there in the corral?"
"It sure is. Then the Don's heah yet. I wish we hadn't been in
such a hurry to come over. There! that doesn't sound
encouraging."
From the corridor came the rattling of spurs, tramping of boots,
and loud voices. Madeline detected Alfred's quick notes when he
was annoyed: "We'll rustle back home, then," he said. The answer
came, "No!" Madeline recognized Stewart's voice, and she quickly
straightened up. "I won't have them in here," went on Alfred.
"Outdoors or in, they've got to be with us!" replied Stewart,
sharply. "Listen, Al," came the boom of Stillwell's big voice,
"now that we've butted in over hyar with the girls, you let
Stewart run things."
Then a crowd of men tramped pell-mell out upon the porch.
Stewart, dark-browed and somber, was in the lead. Nels hung close
to him, and Madeline's quick glance saw that Nels had undergone
some indescribable change. The grinning, brilliant-eyed Don
Carlos came jostling out beside a gaunt, sharp-featured man
wearing a silver shield. This, no doubt, was Pat Hawe. In the
background behind Stillwell and Alfred stood Nick Steele, head
and shoulders over a number of vaqueros and cowboys.
"Miss Hammond, I'm sorry you came," said Stewart, bluntly.
"We're in a muddle here. I've insisted that you and Flo be kept
close to us. I'll explain later. If you can't stop your ears I
beg you to overlook rough talk."
With that he turned to the men behind him: "Nick, take Booly, go
back to Monty and the boys. Fetch out that stuff. All of it.
Rustle, now!"
Stillwell and Alfred disengaged themselves from the crowd to take
up positions in front of Madeline and Florence. Pat Hawe leaned
against a post and insolently ogled Madeline and then Florence.
Don Carlos pressed forward. His whole figure filled Madeline's
reluctant but fascinated eyes. He wore tight velveteen breeches,
with a heavy fold down the outside seam, which was ornamented
with silver buttons. Round his waist was a sash, and a belt with
fringed holster, from which protruded a pearl-handled gun. A
vest or waistcoat, richly embroidered, partly concealed a blouse
of silk and wholly revealed a silken scarf round his neck. His
swarthy face showed dark lines, like cords, under the surface.
His little eyes were exceedingly prominent and glittering. To
Madeline his face seemed to be a bold, handsome mask through
which his eyes piercingly betrayed the evil nature of the man.
He bowed low with elaborate and sinuous grace. His smile
revealed brilliant teeth, enhanced the brilliance of his eyes.
He slowly spread deprecatory hands.
"Senoritas, I beg a thousand pardons," he said. How strange it
was for Madeline to hear English spoken in a soft, whiningly
sweet accent! "The gracious hospitality of Don Carlos has passed
with his house."
Stewart stepped forward and, thrusting Don Carlos aside, he
called, "Make way, there!"
The crowd fell back to the tramp of heavy boots. Cowboys appeared
staggering out of the corridor with long boxes. These they
placed side by side upon the floor of the porch.
"Now, Hawe, we'll proceed with our business," said Stewart. "You
see these boxes, don't you?"
"I reckon I see a good many things round hyar," replied Hawe,
meaningly.
"Well, do you intend to open these boxes upon my say-so?"
"No!" retorted Hawe. "It's not my place to meddle with property
as come by express an' all accounted fer regular."
"You call yourself a sheriff!" exclaimed Stewart, scornfully.
"Mebbe you'll think so before long," rejoined Hawe, sullenly.
"I'll open them. Here, one of you boys, knock the tops off these
boxes," ordered Stewart. "No, not you, Monty. You use your
eyes. Let Booly handle the ax. Rustle, now!"
Monty Price had jumped out of the crowd into the middle of the
porch. The manner in which he gave way to Booly and faced the
vaqueros was not significant of friendliness or trust.
"Stewart, you're dead wrong to bust open them boxes. Thet's
ag'in' the law," protested Hawe, trying to interfere.
Stewart pushed him back. Then Don Carlos, who had been stunned
by the appearance of the boxes, suddenly became active in speech
and person. Stewart thrust him back also. The Mexican's
excitement increased. He wildly gesticulated; he exclaimed
shrilly in Spanish. When, however, the lids were wrenched open
and an inside packing torn away he grew rigid and silent.
Madeline raised herself behind Stillwell to see that the boxes
were full of rifles and ammunition.
"There, Hawe! What did I tell you?" demanded Stewart. "I came
over here to take charge of this ranch. I found these boxes
hidden in an unused room. I suspected what they were. Contraband
goods!"
"Wal, supposin' they are? I don't see any call fer sech
all-fired fuss as you're makin'. Stewart, I calkilate you're
some stuck on your new job an' want to make a big show before--"
"Hawe, stop slinging that kind of talk," interrupted Stewart.
"You got too free with your mouth once before! Now here, I'm
supposed to be consulting an officer of the law. Will you take
charge of these contraband goods?"
"Say, you're holdin' on high an' mighty," replied Hawe, in
astonishment that was plainly pretended. "What 're you drivin'
at?"
Stewart muttered an imprecation. He took several swift strides
across the porch; he held out his hands to Stillwell as if to
indicate the hopelessness of intelligent and reasonable
arbitration; he looked at Madeline with a glance eloquent of his
regret that he could not handle the situation to please her.
Then as he wheeled he came face to face with Nels, who had
slipped forward out of the crowd.
Madeline gathered serious import from the steel-blue meaning
flash of eyes whereby Nels communicated something to Stewart.
Whatever that something was, it dispelled Stewart's impatience.
A slight movement of his hand brought Monty Price forward with a
jump. In these sudden jumps of Monty's there was a suggestion of
restrained ferocity. Then Nels and Monty lined up behind
Stewart. It was a deliberate action, even to Madeline,
unmistakably formidable. Pat Hawe's face took on an ugly look;
his eyes had a reddish gleam. Don Carlos added a pale face and
extreme nervousness to his former expressions of agitation. The
cowboys edged away from the vaqueros and the bronzed, bearded
horsemen who were evidently Hawe's assistants.
"I'm driving at this," spoke up Stewart, presently; and now he
was slow and caustic. "Here's contraband of war! Hawe, do you
get that? Arms and ammunition for the rebels across the border!
I charge you as an officer to confiscate these goods and to
arrest the smuggler--Don Carlos."
These words of Stewart's precipitated a riot among Don Carlos and
his followers, and they surged wildly around the sheriff. There
was an upflinging of brown, clenching hands, a shrill, jabbering
babel of Mexican voices. The crowd around Don Carlos grew louder
and denser with the addition of armed vaqueros and barefooted
stable-boys and dusty-booted herdsmen and blanketed Mexicans, the
last of whom suddenly slipped from doors and windows and round
comers. It was a motley assemblage. The laced, fringed,
ornamented vaqueros presented a sharp contrast to the
bare-legged, sandal-footed boys and the ragged herders. Shrill
cries, evidently from Don Carlos, somewhat quieted the commotion.
Then Don Carlos could be heard addressing Sheriff Hawe in an
exhortation of mingled English and Spanish. He denied, he
avowed, he proclaimed, and all in rapid, passionate utterance.
He tossed his black hair in his vehemence; he waved his fists and
stamped the floor; he rolled his glittering eyes; he twisted his
thin lips into a hundred different shapes, and like a cornered
wolf showed snarling white teeth.
It seemed to Madeline that Don Carlos denied knowledge of the
boxes of contraband goods, then knowledge of their real contents,
then knowledge of their destination, and, finally, everything
except that they were there in sight, damning witnesses to
somebody's complicity in the breaking of neutrality laws.
Passionate as had been his denial of all this, it was as nothing
compared to his denunciation of Stewart.
"Senor Stewart, he keel my Vaquero!" shouted Don Carlos, as,
sweating and spent, he concluded his arraignment of the cowboy.
"Him you must arrest! Senor Stewart a bad man! He keel my
vaquero!"
"Do you hear thet?" yelled Hawe. "The Don's got you figgered fer
thet little job at El Cajon last fall."
The clamor burst into a roar. Hawe began shaking his finger in
Stewart's face and hoarsely shouting. Then a lithe young
vaquero, swift as an Indian, glided under Hawe's uplifted arm.
Whatever the action he intended, he was too late for its
execution. Stewart lunged out, struck the vaquero, and knocked
him off the porch. As he fell a dagger glittered in the sunlight
and rolled clinking over the stones. The man went down hard and
did not move. With the same abrupt violence, and a manner of
contempt, Stewart threw Hawe off the porch, then Don Carlos, who,
being less supple, fell heavily. Then the mob backed before
Stewart's rush until all were down in the courtyard.
The shuffling of feet ceased, the clanking of spurs, and the
shouting. Nels and Monty, now reinforced by Nick Steele, were as
shadows of Stewart, so closely did they follow him. Stewart
waved them back and stepped down into the yard. He was absolutely
fearless; but what struck Madeline so keenly was his magnificent
disdain. Manifestly, he knew the nature of the men with whom he
was dealing. From the look of him it was natural for Madeline to
expect them to give way before him, which they did, even Hawe and
his attendants sullenly retreating.
Don Carlos got up to confront Stewart. The prostrate vaquero
stirred and moaned, but did not rise.
"You needn't jibber Spanish to me," said Stewart. "You can talk
American, and you can understand American. If you start a
rough-house here you and your Greasers will be cleaned up.
You've got to leave this ranch. You can have the stock, the
packs and traps in the second corral. There's grub, too. Saddle
up and hit the trail. Don Carlos, I'm dealing more than square
with you. You're lying about these boxes of guns and cartridges.
You're breaking the laws of my country, and you're doing it on
property in my charge. If I let smuggling go on here I'd be
implicated myself. Now you get off the range. If you don't I'll
have the United States cavalry here in six hours, and you can
gamble they'll get what my cowboys leave of you."
Don Carlos was either a capital actor and gratefully relieved at
Stewart's leniency or else he was thoroughly cowed by references
to the troops. "Si, Senor! Gracias, Senor!" he exclaimed; and
then, turning away, he called to his men. They hurried after
him, while the fallen vaquero got to his feet with Stewart's help
and staggered across the courtyard. In a moment they were gone,
leaving Hawe and his several comrades behind.
Hawe was spitefully ejecting a wad of tobacco from his mouth and
swearing in an undertone about "white-livered Greasers." He
cocked his red eye speculatively at Stewart.
"Wal, I reckon as you're so hell-bent on doin' it up brown thet
you'll try to fire me off'n the range, too?"
"If I ever do, Pat, you'll need to be carried off," replied
Stewart. "Just now I'm politely inviting you and your deputy
sheriffs to leave."
"We'll go; but we're comin' back one of these days, an' when we
do we'll put you in irons."
"Hawe, if you've got it in that bad for me, come over here in the
corral and let's fight it out."
"I'm an officer, an' I don't fight outlaws an' sich except when I
hev to make arrests."
"Officer! You're a disgrace to the county. If you ever did get
irons on me you'd take me some place out of sight, shoot me, and
then swear you killed me in self-defense. It wouldn't be the
first time you pulled that trick, Pat Hawe."
"Ho, ho!" laughed Hawe, derisively. Then he started toward the
horses.
Stewart's long arm shot out, his hand clapped on Hawe's shoulder,
spinning him round like a top.
"You're leaving, Pat, but before you leave you'll come out with
your play or you'll crawl," said Stewart. "You've got it in for
me, man to man. Speak up now and prove you're not the cowardly
skunk I've always thought you. I've called your hand."
Pat Hawe's face turned a blackish-purple hue.
"You can jest bet thet I've got it in fer you," he shouted,
hoarsely. "You're only a low-down cow-puncher. You never hed a
dollar or a decent job till you was mixed up with thet Hammond
woman--"
Stewart's hand flashed out and hit Hawe's face in a ringing slap.
The sheriff's head jerked back, his sombrero fell to the ground.
As he bent over to reach it his hand shook, his arm shook, his
whole body shook.
Monty Price jumped straight forward and crouched down with a
strange, low cry.
Stewart seemed all at once rigid, bending a little.
"Say Miss Hammond, if there's occasion to use her name," said
Stewart, in a voice that seemed coolly pleasant, yet had a deadly
undernote.
Hawe did a moment's battle with strangling fury, which he
conquered in some measure.
"I said you was a low-down, drunken cow-puncher, a tough as damn
near a desperado as we ever hed on the border," went on Hawe,
deliberately. His speech appeared to be addressed to Stewart,
although his flame-pointed eyes were riveted upon Monty Price.
"I know you plugged that vaquero last fall, an' when I git my
proof I'm comin' after you."
"That's all right, Hawe. You can call me what you like, and you
can come after me when you like," replied Stewart. "But you're
going to get in bad with me. You're in bad now with Monty and
Nels. Pretty soon you'll queer yourself with all the cowboys and
the ranchers, too. If that don't put sense into you-- Here,
listen to this. You knew what these boxes contained. You know
Don Carlos has been smuggling arms and ammunition across the
border. You know he is hand and glove with the rebels. You've
been wearing blinders, and it has been to your interest. Take a
hunch from me. That's all. Light out now, and the less we see of
your handsome mug the better we'll like you."
Muttering, cursing, pallid of face, Hawe climbed astride his
horse. His comrades followed suit. Certain it appeared that the
sheriff was contending with more than fear and wrath. He must
have had an irresistible impulse to fling more invective and
threat upon Stewart, but he was speechless. Savagely he spurred
his horse, and as it snorted and leaped he turned in his saddle,
shaking his fist. His comrades led the way, with their horses
clattering into a canter. They disappeared through the gate.
* * *
When, later in the day, Madeline and Florence, accompanied by
Alfred and Stillwell, left Don Carlos's ranch it was not any too
soon for Madeline. The inside of the Mexican's home was more
unprepossessing and uncomfortable than the outside. The halls
were dark, the rooms huge, empty, and musty; and there was an air
of silence and secrecy and mystery about them most fitting to the
character Florence had bestowed upon the place.
On the other hand, Alfred's ranch-house, where the party halted
to spend the night, was picturesquely located, small and cozy,
camplike in its arrangement, and altogether agreeable to
Madeline.
The day's long rides and the exciting events had wearied her.
She rested while Florence and the two men got supper. During the
meal Stillwell expressed satisfaction over the good riddance of
the vaqueros, and with his usual optimism trusted he had seen the
last of them. Alfred, too, took a decidedly favorable view of
the day's proceedings. However, it was not lost upon Madeline
that Florence appeared unusually quiet and thoughtful. Madeline
wondered a little at the cause. She remembered that Stewart had
wanted to come with them, or detail a few cowboys to accompany
them, but Alfred had laughed at the idea and would have none of
it.
After supper Alfred monopolized the conversation by describing
what he wanted to do to improve his home before he and Florence
were married.
Then at an early hour they all retired.
Madeline's deep slumbers were disturbed by a pounding upon the
wall, and then by Florence's crying out in answer to a call:
"Get up! Throw some clothes on and come out!"
It was Alfred's voice.
"What's the matter?" asked Florence, as she slipped out of bed.
"Alfred, is there anything wrong?" added Madeline, sitting up.
The room was dark as pitch, but a faint glow seemed to mark the
position of the window.
"Oh, nothing much," replied Alfred. "Only Don Carlos's rancho
going up in smoke."
"Fire!" cried Florence, sharply.
"You'll think so when you see it. Hurry out. Majesty, old girl,
now you won't have to tear down that heap of adobe, as you
threatened. I don't believe a wall will stand after that fire."
"Well, I'm glad of it," said Madeline. "A good healthy fire will
purify the atmosphere over there and save me expense. Ugh! that
haunted rancho got on my nerves! Florence, I do believe you've
appropriated part of my riding-habit. Doesn't Alfred have lights
in this house?"
Florence laughingly helped Madeline to dress. Then they
hurriedly stumbled over chairs, and, passing through the
dining-room, went out upon the porch.
Away to the westward, low down along the horizon, she saw leaping
red flames and wind-swept columns of smoke.
Stillwell appeared greatly perturbed.
"Al, I'm lookin' fer that ammunition to blow up," he said.
"There was enough of it to blow the roof off the rancho."
"Bill, surely the cowboys would get that stuff out the first
thing," replied Alfred, anxiously.
"I reckon so. But all the same, I'm worryin'. Mebbe there
wasn't time. Supposin' thet powder went off as the boys was
goin' fer it or carryin' it out! We'll know soon. If the
explosion doesn't come quick now we can figger the boys got the
boxes out."
For the next few moments there was a silence of sustained and
painful suspense. Florence gripped Madeline's arm. Madeline
felt a fullness in her throat and a rapid beating of her heart.
Presently she was relieved with the others when Stillwell
declared the danger of an explosion needed to be feared no
longer.
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