The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (fb2 epub reader .txt) 📕

and doubt at this

statement.

 

“Talk’s cheap anywhere, an’ in the West talk ain’t much at

all,” continued Beasley. “I’m no talker. I jest want to tell

my case an’ make a deal if you’ll have it. I can prove more

in black an’ white, an’ with witness, than you can. Thet’s

my case. The deal I’d make is this… . Let’s marry an’

settle a bad deal thet way.”

 

The man’s direct assumption, absolutely without a qualifying

consideration for her woman’s attitude, was amazing,

ignorant, and base; but Helen was so well prepared for it

that she hid her disgust.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Beasley, but I can’t accept your offer,” she

replied.

 

“Would you take time an’ consider?” he asked, spreading wide

his huge gloved hands.

 

“Absolutely no.”

 

Beasley rose to his feet. He showed no disappointment or

chagrin, but the bold pleasantness left his face, and,

slight as that change was, it stripped him of the only

redeeming quality he showed.

 

“Thet means I’ll force you to pay me the eighty thousand or

put you off,” he said.

 

“Mr. Beasley, even if I owed you that, how could I raise so

enormous a sum? I don’t owe it. And I certainly won’t be put

off my property. You can’t put me off.”

 

“An’ why can’t I” he demanded, with lowering, dark gaze.

 

“Because your claim is dishonest. And I can prove it,”

declared Helen, forcibly.

 

“Who ‘re you goin’ to prove it to — thet I’m dishonest?”

 

“To my men — to your men — to the people of Pine — to

everybody. There’s not a person who won’t believe me.”

 

He seemed curious, discomfited, surlily annoyed, and yet

fascinated by her statement or else by the quality and

appearance of her as she spiritedly defended her cause.

 

“An’ how ‘re you goin’ to prove all thet?” he growled.

 

“Mr. Beasley, do you remember last fall when you met Snake

Anson with his gang up in the woods — and hired him to make

off with me?” asked Helen, in swift, ringing words.

 

The dark olive of Beasley’s bold face shaded to a dirty

white.

 

“Wha-at?” he jerked out, hoarsely.

 

“I see you remember. Well, Milt Dale was hidden in the loft

of that cabin where you met Anson. He heard every word of

your deal with the outlaw.”

 

Beasley swung his arm in sudden violence, so hard that he

flung his glove to the floor. As he stooped to snatch it up

he uttered a sibilant hiss. Then, stalking to the door, he

jerked it open, and slammed it behind him. His loud voice,

hoarse with passion, preceded the scrape and crack of hoofs.

 

Shortly after supper that day, when Helen was just

recovering her composure, Carmichael presented himself at

the open door. Bo was not there. In the dimming twilight

Helen saw that the cowboy was pale, somber, grim.

 

“Oh, what’s happened?” cried Helen.

 

“Roy’s been shot. It come off in Turner’s saloon But he

ain’t dead. We packed him over to Widow Cass’s. An’ he said

for me to tell you he’d pull through.”

 

“Shot! Pull through!” repeated Helen, in slow, unrealizing

exclamation. She was conscious of a deep internal tumult and

a cold checking of blood in all her external body.

 

“Yes, shot,” replied Carmichael, fiercely.

 

“An’, whatever he says, I reckon he won’t pull through.”

 

“O Heaven, how terrible!” burst out Helen. “He was so good

— such a man! What a pity! Oh, he must have met that in my

behalf. Tell me, what happened? Who shot him?”

 

“Wal, I don’t know. An’ thet’s what’s made me hoppin’ mad. I

wasn’t there when it come off. An’ he won’t tell me.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I don’t know thet, either. I reckoned first it was because

he wanted to get even. But, after thinkin’ it over, I guess

he doesn’t want me lookin’ up any one right now for fear I

might get hurt. An’ you’re goin’ to need your friends.

Thet’s all I can make of Roy.”

 

Then Helen hurriedly related the event of Beasley’s call on

her that afternoon and all that had occurred.

 

“Wal, the half-breed son-of-a-greaser!” ejaculated

Carmichael, in utter confoundment. “He wanted you to marry

him!”

 

“He certainly did. I must say it was a — a rather abrupt

proposal.”

 

Carmichael appeared to be laboring with speech that had to

be smothered behind his teeth. At last he let out an

explosive breath.

 

“Miss Nell, I’ve shore felt in my bones thet I’m the boy

slated to brand thet big bull.”

 

“Oh, he must have shot Roy. He left here in a rage.”

 

“I reckon you can coax it out of Roy. Fact is, all I could

learn was thet Roy come in the saloon alone. Beasley was

there, an’ Riggs —”

 

“Riggs!” interrupted Helen.

 

“Shore, Riggs. He come back again. But he’d better keep out

of my way… . An’ Jeff Mulvey with his outfit. Turner

told me he heard an argument an’ then a shot. The gang

cleared out, leavin’ Roy on the floor. I come in a little

later. Roy was still layin’ there. Nobody was doin’ anythin’

for him. An’ nobody had. I hold that against Turner. Wal, I

got help an’ packed Roy over to Widow Cass’s. Roy seemed all

right. But he was too bright an’ talky to suit me. The

bullet hit his lung, thet’s shore. An’ he lost a sight of

blood before we stopped it. Thet skunk Turner might have

lent a hand. An’ if Roy croaks I reckon I’ll —”

 

“Tom, why must you always be reckoning to kill somebody?”

demanded Helen, angrily.

 

“‘Cause somebody’s got to be killed ‘round here. Thet’s

why!” he snapped back.

 

“Even so — should you risk leaving Bo and me without a

friend?” asked Helen, reproachfully.

 

At that Carmichael wavered and lost something of his sullen

deadliness.

 

“Aw, Miss Nell, I’m only mad. If you’ll just be patient with

me — an’ mebbe coax me… . But I can’t see no other way

out.”

 

“Let’s hope and pray,” said Helen, earnestly. “You spoke of

my coaxing Roy to tell who shot him. When can I see him?”

 

“Tomorrow, I reckon. I’ll come for you. Fetch Bo along with

you. We’ve got to play safe from now on. An’ what do you say

to me an’ Hal sleepin’ here at the ranch-house?”

 

“Indeed I’d feel safer,” she replied. “There are rooms.

Please come.”

 

“Allright. An’ now I’ll be goin’ to fetch Hal. Shore wish I

hadn’t made you pale an’ scared like this.”

 

About ten o’clock next morning Carmichael drove Helen and Bo

into Pine, and tied up the team before Widow Cass’s cottage.

 

The peach and apple-trees were mingling blossoms of pink

and white; a drowsy hum of bees filled the fragrant air;

rich, dark-green alfalfa covered the small orchard flat; a

wood fire sent up a lazy column of blue smoke; and birds

were singing sweetly.

 

Helen could scarcely believe that amid all this tranquillity

a man lay perhaps fatally injured. Assuredly Carmichael had

been somber and reticent enough to rouse the gravest fears.

 

Widow Cass appeared on the little porch, a gray, bent, worn,

but cheerful old woman whom Helen had come to know as her

friend.

 

“My land! I’m thet glad to see you, Miss Helen,” she said.

“An’ you’ve fetched the little lass as I’ve not got

acquainted with yet.”

 

“Good morning, Mrs. Cass. How — how is Roy?” replied Helen,

anxiously scanning the wrinkled face.

 

“Roy? Now don’t you look so scared. Roy’s ‘most ready to git

on his hoss an’ ride home, if I let him. He knowed you was

a-comin’. An’ he made me hold a lookin’-glass for him to

shave. How’s thet fer a man with a bullet-hole through him!

You can’t kill them Mormons, nohow.”

 

She led them into a little sitting-room, where on a couch

underneath a window Roy Beeman lay. He was wide awake and

smiling, but haggard. He lay partly covered with a blanket.

His gray shirt was open at the neck, disclosing bandages.

 

“Mornin’ — girls,” he drawled. “Shore is good of you, now,

comin’ down.”

 

Helen stood beside him, bent over him, in her earnestness,

as she greeted him. She saw a shade of pain in his eyes and

his immobility struck her, but he did not seem badly off. Bo

was pale, round-eyed, and apparently too agitated to speak.

Carmichael placed chairs beside the couch for the girls.

 

“Wal, what’s ailin’ you this nice mornin’?” asked Roy, eyes

on the cowboy.

 

“Huh! Would you expect me to be wearin’ the smile of a

fellar goin’ to be married?” retorted Carmichael.

 

“Shore you haven’t made up with Bo yet,” returned Roy.

 

Bo blushed rosy red, and the cowboy’s face lost something of

its somber hue.

 

“I allow it’s none of your d — darn bizness if SHE ain’t

made up with me,” he said.

 

“Las Vegas, you’re a wonder with a hoss an’ a rope, an’ I

reckon with a gun, but when it comes to girls you shore

ain’t there.”

 

“I’m no Mormon, by golly! Come, Ma Cass, let’s get out of

here, so they can talk.”

 

“Folks, I was jest a-goin’ to say thet Roy’s got fever an’

he oughtn’t t’ talk too much,” said the old woman. Then she

and Carmichael went into the kitchen and closed the door.

 

Roy looked up at Helen with his keen eyes, more kindly

piercing than ever.

 

“My brother John was here. He’d just left when you come. He

rode home to tell my folks I’m not so bad hurt, an’ then

he’s goin’ to ride a bee-line into the mountains.”

 

Helen’s eyes asked what her lips refused to utter.

 

“He’s goin’ after Dale. I sent him. I reckoned we-all sorta

needed sight of thet doggone hunter.”

 

Roy had averted his gaze quickly to Bo.

 

“Don’t you agree with me, lass?”

 

“I sure do,” replied Bo, heartily.

 

All within Helen had been stilled for the moment of her

realization; and then came swell and beat of heart, and

inconceivable chafing of a tide at its restraint.

 

“Can John — fetch Dale out — when the snow’s so deep?” she

asked, unsteadily.

 

“Shore. He’s takin’ two hosses up to the snow-line. Then, if

necessary, he’ll go over the pass on snow-shoes. But I bet

him Dale would ride out. Snow’s about gone except on the

north slopes an’ on the peaks.”

 

“Then — when may I — we expect to see Dale?”

 

“Three or four days, I reckon. I wish he was here now… .

Miss Helen, there’s trouble afoot.”

 

“I realize that. I’m ready. Did Las Vegas tell you about

Beasley’s visit to me?”

 

“No. You tell me,” replied Roy.

 

Briefly Helen began to acquaint him with the circumstances

of that visit, and before she had finished she made sure Roy

was swearing to himself.

 

“He asked you to marry him! Jerusalem! … Thet I’d never

have reckoned. The — lowdown coyote of a greaser! …

Wal, Miss Helen, when I met up with Senor Beasley last night

he was shore spoilin’ from somethin’; now I see what thet

was. An’ I reckon I picked out the bad time.”

 

“For what? Roy, what did you do?”

 

“Wal, I’d made up my mind awhile back to talk to Beasley the

first chance I had. An’ thet was it. I was in the store when

I seen him go