The Light of Western Stars

Z >> Zane Grey >> The Light of Western Stars

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28

Madeline did not hesitate a moment.

"Thank you, Nels. Take me at once. Come, Florence."

They left the car, now surrounded by gaping-eyed Mexican
children, and crossed the dusty space to a narrow lane between
red adobe walls. Passing by several houses, Nels stopped at the
door of what appeared to be an alleyway leading back. It was
filthy.

"He's in there, around thet first corner. It's a patio, open an'
sunny. An', Miss Hammond, if you don't mind, I'll wait here for
you. I reckon Gene wouldn't like any fellers around when he sees
you girls."

It was that which made Madeline hesitate then and go forward
slowly. She had given no thought at all to what Stewart might
feel when suddenly surprised by her presence.

"Florence, you wait also," said Madeline, at the doorway, and
turned in alone.

And she had stepped into a broken-down patio littered with
alfalfa straw and debris, all clear in the sunlight. Upon a
bench, back toward her, sat a man looking out through the rents
in the broken wall. He had not heard her. The place was not
quite so filthy and stifling as the passages Madeline had come
through to get there. Then she saw that it had been used as a
corral. A rat ran boldly across the dirt floor. The air swarmed
with flies, which the man brushed at with weary hand. Madeline
did not recognize Stewart. The side of his face exposed to her
gaze was black, bruised, bearded. His clothes were ragged and
soiled. There were bits of alfalfa in his hair. His shoulders
sagged. He made a wretched and hopeless figure sitting there.
Madeline divined something of why Nels shrank from being present.

"Mr. Stewart. It is I, Miss Hammond, come to see you," she said.

He grew suddenly perfectly motionless, as if he had been changed
to stone. She repeated her greeting.

His body jerked. He moved violently as if instinctively to turn
and face this intruder; but a more violent movement checked him.

Madeline waited. How singular that this ruined cowboy had pride
which kept him from showing his face! And was it not shame more
than pride?

"Mr. Stewart, I have come to talk with you, if you will let me."

"Go away," he muttered.

"Mr. Stewart!" she began, with involuntary hauteur. But instantly
she corrected herself, became deliberate and cool, for she saw
that she might fail to be even heard by this man. "I have come
to help you. Will you let me?"

"For God's sake! You--you--" he choked over the words. "Go
away!"

"Stewart, perhaps it was for God's sake that I came," said
Madeline, gently. "Surely it was for yours--and your sister's--"
Madeline bit her tongue, for she had not meant to betray her
knowledge of Letty.

He groaned, and, staggering up to the broken wall, he leaned
there with his face hidden. Madeline reflected that perhaps the
slip of speech had been well.

"Stewart, please let me say what I have to say?"

He was silent. And she gathered courage and inspiration.

"Stillwell is deeply hurt, deeply grieved that he could not turn
you back from this--this fatal course. My brother is also. They
wanted to help you. And so do I. I have come, thinking somehow
I might succeed where they have failed. Nels brought your
sister's letter. I--I read it. I was only the more determined
to try to help you, and indirectly help your mother and Letty.
Stewart, we want you to come to the ranch. Stillwell needs you
for his foreman. The position is open to you, and you can name
your salary. Both Al and Stillwell are worried about Don Carlos,
the vaqueros, and the raids down along the border. My cowboys
are without a capable leader. Will you come?"

"No," he answered.

"But Stillwell wants you so badly."

"No."

"Stewart, I want you to come."

"No."

His replies had been hoarse, loud, furious. They disconcerted
Madeline, and she paused, trying to think of a way to proceed.
Stewart staggered away from the wall, and, falling upon the
bench, he hid his face in his hands. All his motions, like his
speech, had been violent.

"Will you please go away?" he asked.

"Stewart, certainly I cannot remain here longer if you insist
upon my going. But why not listen to me when I want so much to
help you? Why?"

"I'm a damned blackguard," he burst out. "But I was a gentleman
once, and I'm not so low that I can stand for you seeing me
here."

"When I made up my mind to help you I made it up to see you
wherever you were. Stewart, come away, come back with us to the
ranch. You are in a bad condition now. Everything looks black
to you. But that will pass. When you are among friends again
you will get well. You will be your old self. The very fact that
you were once a gentleman, that you come of good family, makes
you owe so much more to yourself. Why, Stewart, think how young
you are! It is a shame to waste your life. Come back with me."

"Miss Hammond, this was my last plunge," he replied,
despondently. "It's too late."

"Oh no, it is not so bad as that."

"It's too late."

"At least make an effort, Stewart. Try!"

"No. There's no use. I'm done for. Please leave me--thank you
for--"

He had been savage, then sullen, and now he was grim. Madeline
all but lost power to resist his strange, deadly, cold finality.
No doubt he knew he was doomed. Yet something halted her--held
her even as she took a backward step. And she became conscious
of a subtle change in her own feeling. She had come into that
squalid hole, Madeline Hammond, earnest enough, kind enough in
her own intentions; but she had been almost imperious--a woman
habitually, proudly used to being obeyed. She divined that all
the pride, blue blood, wealth, culture, distinction, all the
impersonal condescending persuasion, all the fatuous philanthropy
on earth would not avail to turn this man a single hair's-breadth
from his downward career to destruction. Her coming had terribly
augmented his bitter hate of himself. She was going to fail to
help him. She experienced a sensation of impotence that amounted
almost to distress. The situation assumed a tragic keenness.
She had set forth to reverse the tide of a wild cowboy's
fortunes; she faced the swift wasting of his life, the damnation
of his soul. The subtle consciousness of change in her was the
birth of that faith she had revered in Stillwell. And all at once
she became merely a woman, brave and sweet and indomitable.

"Stewart, look at me," she said.

He shuddered. She advanced and laid a hand on his bent shoulder.
Under the light touch he appeared to sink.

"Look at me," she repeated.

But he could not lift his head. He was abject, crushed. He
dared not show his swollen, blackened face. His fierce, cramped
posture revealed more than his features might have shown; it
betrayed the torturing shame of a man of pride and passion, a man
who had been confronted in his degradation by the woman he had
dared to enshrine in his heart. It betrayed his love.

"Listen, then," went on Madeline, and her voice was unsteady.
"Listen to me, Stewart. The greatest men are those who have
fallen deepest into the mire, sinned most, suffered most, and
then have fought their evil natures and conquered. I think you
can shake off this desperate mood and be a man."

"No!" he cried.

"Listen to me again. Somehow I know you're worthy of Stillwell's
love. Will you come back with us--for his sake?"

"No. It's too late, I tell you."

"Stewart, the best thing in life is faith in human nature. I
have faith in you. I believe you are worth it."

"You're only kind and good--saying that. You can't mean it."

"I mean it with all my heart," she replied, a sudden rich warmth
suffusing her body as she saw the first sign of his softening.
"Will you come back--if not for your own sake or Stillwell's--
then for mine?"

"What am I to such a woman as you?"

"A man in trouble, Stewart. But I have come to help you, to show
my faith in you."

"If I believed that I might try," he said.

"Listen," she began, softly, hurriedly. "My word is not lightly
given. Let it prove my faith in you. Look at me now and say you
will come."

He heaved up his big frame as if trying to cast off a giant's
burden, and then slowly he turned toward her. His face was a
blotched and terrible thing. The physical brutalizing marks were
there, and at that instant all that appeared human to Madeline
was the dawning in dead, furnace-like eyes of a beautiful light.

"I'll come," he whispered, huskily. "Give me a few days to
straighten up, then I'll come."

IX The New Foreman

Toward the end of the week Stillwell informed Madeline that
Stewart had arrived at the ranch and had taken up quarters with
Nels.

"Gene's sick. He looks bad," said the old cattleman. "He's so
weak an' shaky he can't lift a cup. Nels says that Gene has hed
some bad spells. A little liquor would straighten him up now.
But Nels can't force him to drink a drop, an' has hed to sneak
some liquor in his coffee. Wal, I think we'll pull Gene through.
He's forgotten a lot. I was goin' to tell him what he did to me
up at Rodeo. But I know if he'd believe it he'd be sicker than
he is. Gene's losin' his mind, or he's got somethin' powerful
strange on it."

From that time Stillwell, who evidently found Madeline his most
sympathetic listener, unburdened himself daily of his hopes and
fears and conjectures.

Stewart was really ill. It became necessary to send Link Stevens
for a physician. Then Stewart began slowly to mend and presently
was able to get up and about. Stillwell said the cowboy lacked
interest and seemed to be a broken man. This statement, however,
the old cattleman modified as Stewart continued to improve. Then
presently it was a good augury of Stewart's progress that the
cowboys once more took up the teasing relation which had been
characteristic of them before his illness. A cowboy was indeed
out of sorts when he could not vent his peculiar humor on
somebody or something. Stewart had evidently become a broad
target for their badinage.

"Wal, the boys are sure after Gene," said Stillwell, with his
huge smile. "Joshin' him all the time about how he sits around
an' hangs around an' loafs around jest to get a glimpse of you,
Miss Majesty. Sure all the boys hev a pretty bad case over their
pretty boss, but none of them is a marker to Gene. He's got it
so bad, Miss Majesty, thet he actooly don't know they are joshin'
him. It's the amazin'est strange thing I ever seen. Why, Gene
was always a feller thet you could josh. An' he'd laugh an' get
back at you. But he was never before deaf to talk, an' there was
a certain limit no feller cared to cross with him. Now he takes
every word an' smiles dreamy like, an' jest looks an' looks.
Why, he's beginnin' to make me tired. He'll never run thet bunch
of cowboys if he doesn't wake up quick."

Madeline smiled her amusement and expressed a belief that
Stillwell wanted too much in such short time from a man who had
done body and mind a grievous injury.

It had been impossible for Madeline to fail to observe Stewart's
singular behavior. She never went out to take her customary
walks and rides without seeing him somewhere in the distance.
She was aware that he watched for her and avoided meeting her.
When she sat on the porch during the afternoon or at sunset
Stewart could always be descried at some point near. He idled
listlessly in the sun, lounged on the porch of his bunk-house,
sat whittling the top bar of the corral fence, and always it
seemed to Madeline he was watching her. Once, while going the
rounds with her gardener, she encountered Stewart and greeted him
kindly. He said little, but he was not embarrassed. She did not
recognize in his face any feature that she remembered. In fact,
on each of the few occasions when she had met Stewart he had
looked so different that she had no consistent idea of his facial
appearance. He was now pale, haggard, drawn. His eyes held a
shadow through which shone a soft, subdued light; and, once
having observed this, Madeline fancied it was like the light in
Majesty's eyes, in the dumb, worshiping eyes of her favorite
stag-hound. She told Stewart that she hoped he would soon be in
the saddle again, and passed on her way.

That Stewart loved her Madeline could not help but see. She
endeavored to think of him as one of the many who, she was glad
to know, liked her. But she could not regulate her thoughts to
fit the order her intelligence prescribed. Thought of Stewart
dissociated itself from thought of the other cowboys. When she
discovered this she felt a little surprise and annoyance. Then
she interrogated herself, and concluded that it was not that
Stewart was so different from his comrades, but that
circumstances made him stand out from them. She recalled her
meeting with him that night when he had tried to force her to
marry him. This was unforgettable in itself. She called
subsequent mention of him, and found it had been peculiarly
memorable. The man and his actions seemed to hinge on events.
Lastly, the fact standing clear of all others in its relation to
her interest was that he had been almost ruined, almost lost, and
she had saved him. That alone was sufficient to explain why she
thought of him differently. She had befriended, uplifted the
other cowboys; she had saved Stewart's life. To be sure, he had
been a ruffian, but a woman could not save the life of even a
ruffian without remembering it with gladness. Madeline at length
decided her interest in Stewart was natural, and that her deeper
feeling was pity. Perhaps the interest had been forced from her;
however, she gave the pity as she gave everything.

Stewart recovered his strength, though not in time to ride at the
spring round-up; and Stillwell discussed with Madeline the
advisability of making the cowboy his foreman.

"Wal, Gene seems to be gettin' along," said Stillwell. "But he
ain't like his old self. I think more of him at thet. But
where's his spirit? The boys'd ride rough-shod all over him.
Mebbe I'd do best to wait longer now, as the slack season is on.
All the same, if those vaquero of Don Carlos's don't lay low I'll
send Gene over there. Thet'll wake him up."

A few days afterward Stillwell came to Madeline, rubbing his big
hands in satisfaction and wearing a grin that was enormous.

"Miss Majesty, I reckon before this I've said things was amazin'
strange. But now Gene Stewart has gone an' done it! Listen to
me. Them Greasers down on our slope hev been gettin' prosperous.
They're growin' like bad weeds. An' they got a new padre--the
little old feller from El Cajon, Padre Marcos. Wal, this was all
right, all the boys thought, except Gene. An' he got blacker 'n
thunder an' roared round like a dehorned bull. I was sure glad
to see he could get mad again. Then Gene haids down the slope fer
the church. Nels an' me follered him, thinkin' he might hev been
took sudden with a crazy spell or somethin'. He hasn't never
been jest right yet since he left off drinkin'. Wal, we run into
him comin' out of the church. We never was so dumfounded in our
lives. Gene was crazy, all right--he sure hed a spell. But it
was the kind of a spell he hed thet paralyzed us. He ran past us
like a streak, an' we follered. We couldn't ketch him. We heerd
him laugh--the strangest laugh I ever heerd! You'd thought the
feller was suddenly made a king. He was like thet feller who was
tied in a bunyin'-sack an' throwed into the sea, an' cut his way
out, an' swam to the island where the treasures was, an' stood up
yellin', 'The world is mine.' Wal, when we got up to his
bunk-house he was gone. He didn't come back all day an' all
night. Frankie Slade, who has a sharp tongue, says Gene hed gone
crazy for liquor an' thet was his finish. Nels was some worried.
An' I was sick.

"Wal' this mawnin' I went over to Nels's bunk. Some of the
fellers was there, all speculatin' about Gene. Then big as life
Gene struts round the corner. He wasn't the same Gene. His face
was pale an' his eyes burned like fire. He had thet old mockin',
cool smile, an' somethin' besides thet I couldn't understand.
Frankie Slade up an' made a remark--no wuss than he'd been makin'
fer days--an' Gene tumbled him out of his chair, punched him
good, walked all over him. Frankie wasn't hurt so much as he was
bewildered. 'Gene,' he says, 'what the hell struck you?' An'
Gene says, kind of sweet like, 'Frankie, you may be a nice feller
when you're alone, but your talk's offensive to a gentleman.'

"After thet what was said to Gene was with a nice smile. Now,
Miss Majesty, it's beyond me what to allow for Gene's sudden
change. First off, I thought Padre Marcos had converted him. I
actooly thought thet. But I reckon it's only Gene Stewart come
back--the old Gene Stewart an' some. Thet's all I care about.
I'm rememberin' how I once told you thet Gene was the last of the
cowboys. Perhaps I should hev said he's the last of my kind of
cowboys. Wal, Miss Majesty, you'll be apprecatin' of what I
meant from now on."

It was also beyond Madeline to account for Gene Stewart's antics,
and, making allowance for the old cattleman's fancy, she did not
weigh his remarks very heavily. She guessed why Stewart might
have been angry at the presence of Padre Marcos. Madeline
supposed that it was rather an unusual circumstance for a cowboy
to be converted to religious belief. But it was possible. And
she knew that religious fervor often manifested itself in
extremes of feeling and action. Most likely, in Stewart's case,
his real manner had been both misunderstood and exaggerated.
However, Madeline had a curious desire, which she did not wholly
admit to herself, to see the cowboy and make her own deductions.

The opportunity did not present itself for nearly two weeks.
Stewart had taken up his duties as foreman, and his activities
were ceaseless. He was absent most of the time, ranging down
toward the Mexican line. When he returned Stillwell sent for
him.

This was late in the afternoon of a day in the middle of April.
Alfred and Florence were with Madeline on the porch. They saw the
cowboy turn his horse over to one of the Mexican boys at the
corral and then come with weary step up to the house, beating the
dust out of his gauntlets. Little streams of gray sand trickled
from his sombrero as he removed it and bowed to the women.

Madeline saw the man she remembered, but with a singularly
different aspect. His skin was brown; his eyes were piercing and
dark and steady; he carried himself erect; he seemed preoccupied,
and there was not a trace of embarrassment in his manner.

"Wal, Gene, I'm sure glad to see you," Stillwell was saying.
"Where do you hail from?"

"Guadaloupe Canyon," replied the cowboy.

Stillwell whistled.

"Way down there! You don't mean you follered them hoss tracks
thet far?"

"All the way from Don Carlos's rancho across the Mexican line. I
took Nick Steele with me. Nick is the best tracker in the
outfit. This trail we were on led along the foothill valleys.
First we thought whoever made it was hunting for water. But they
passed two ranches without watering. At Seaton's Wash they dug
for water. Here they met a pack-train of burros that came down
the mountain trail. The burros were heavily loaded. Horse and
burro tracks struck south from Seaton's to the old California
emigrant road. We followed the trail through Guadelope Canyon and
across the border. On the way back we stopped at Slaughter's
ranch, where the United States cavalry are camping. There we met
foresters from the Peloncillo forest reserve. If these fellows
knew anything they kept it to themselves. So we hit the trail
home."

"Wal, I reckon you know enough?" inquired Stillwell, slowly.

"I reckon," replied Stewart.

"Wal, out with it, then," said Stillwell, gruffly. "Miss Hammond
can't be kept in the dark much longer. Make your report to her."

The cowboy shifted his dark gaze to Madeline. He was cool and
slow.

"We're losing a few cattle on the open range. Night-drives by the
vaqueros. Some of these cattle are driven across the valley,
others up to the foothills. So far as I can find out no cattle
are being driven south. So this raiding is a blind to fool the
cowboys. Don Carlos is a Mexican rebel. He located his rancho
here a few years ago and pretended to raise cattle. All that
time he has been smuggling arms and ammunition across the border.
He was for Madero against Diaz. Now he is against Madero because
he and all the rebels think Madero failed to keep his promises.
There will be another revolution. And all the arms go from the
States across the border. Those burros I told about were packed
with contraband goods."

"That's a matter for the United States cavalry. They are
patrolling the border," said Alfred.

"They can't stop the smuggling of arms, not down in that wild
corner," replied Stewart.

"What is my--my duty? What has it to do with me?" inquired
Madeline, somewhat perturbed.

"Wal, Miss Majesty, I reckon it hasn't nothing to do with you,"
put in Stillwell. "Thet's my bizness an' Stewart's. But I jest
wanted you to know. There might be some trouble follerin' my
orders."

"Your orders?"

"I want to send Stewart over to fire Don Carlos an' his vaqueros
off the range. They've got to go. Don Carlos is breakin' the
law of the United States, an' doin' it on our property an' with
our hosses. Hev I your permission, Miss Hammond?"

"Why, assuredly you have! Stillwell, you know what to do.
Alfred, what do you think best?"

"It'll make trouble, Majesty, but it's got to be done," replied
Alfred. "Here you have a crowd of Eastern friends due next
month. We want the range to ourselves then. But, Stillwell, if
you drive those vaqueros off, won't they hang around in the
foothills? I declare they are a bad lot."

Stillwell's mind was not at ease. He paced the porch with a
frown clouding his brow.

"Gene, I reckon you got this Greaser deal figgered better'n me,"
said Stillwell. "Now what do you say?"

"He'll have to be forced off," replied Stewart, quietly. "The
Don's pretty slick, but his vaqueros are bad actors. It's just
this way. Nels said the other day to me, 'Gene, I haven't packed
a gun for years until lately, and it feels good whenever I meet
any of those strange Greasers.' You see, Stillwell, Don Carlos
has vaqueros coming and going all the time. They're guerrilla
bands, that's all. And they're getting uglier. There have been
several shooting-scrapes lately. A rancher named White, who
lives up the valley, was badly hurt. It's only a matter of time
till something stirs up the boys here. Stillwell, you know Nels
and Monty and Nick."

"Sure I know 'em. An' you're not mentionin' one more particular
cowboy in my outfit," said Stiliwell, with a dry chuckle and a
glance at Stewart.

Madeline divined the covert meaning, and a slight chill passed
over her, as if a cold wind had blown in from the hills.

"Stewart, I see you carry a gun," she said, pointing to a black
handle protruding from a sheath swinging low along his leather
chaps.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why do you carry it?" she asked.

"Well," he said, "it's not a pretty gun--and it's heavy." She
caught the inference. The gun was not an ornament. His keen,
steady, dark gaze caused her vague alarm. What had once seemed
cool and audacious about this cowboy was now cold and powerful
and mystical. Both her instinct and her intelligence realized
the steel fiber of the man's nature. As she was his employer,
she had the right to demand that he should not do what was so
chillingly manifest that he might do. But Madeline could not
demand. She felt curiously young and weak, and the five months
of Western life were as if they had never been. She now had to
do with a question involving human life. And the value she
placed upon human life and its spiritual significance was a
matter far from her cowboy's thoughts. A strange idea flashed
up. Did she place too much value upon all human life? She
checked that, wondering, almost horrified at herself. And then
her intuition told her that she possessed a far stronger power to
move these primitive men than any woman's stern rule or order.

"Stewart, I do not fully understand what you hint that Nels and
his comrades might do. Please be frank with me. Do you mean
Nels would shoot upon little provocation?"

"Miss Hammond, as far as Nels is concerned, shooting is now just
a matter of his meeting Don Carlos's vaqueros. It's wonderful
what Nels has stood from them, considering the Mexicans he's
already killed."

"Already killed! Stewart, you are not in earnest?" cried
Madeline, shocked.

"I am. Nels has seen hard life along the Arizona border. He
likes peace as well as any man. But a few years of that doesn't
change what the early days made of him. As for Nick Steele and
Monty, they're just bad men, and looking for trouble."

"How about yourself, Stewart? Stillwell's remark was not lost
upon me," said Madeline, prompted by curiosity.

Stewart did not reply. He looked at her in respectful silence.
In her keen earnestness Madeline saw beneath his cool exterior
and was all the more baffled. Was there a slight, inscrutable,
mocking light in his eyes, or was it only her imagination?
However, the cowboy's face was as hard as flint.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28