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

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As she entered the lane leading to the house she encountered

one of the new stable-boys driving a pack-mule.

 

“Jim, whose pack is that?” she asked.

 

“Ma’am, I dunno, but I heard him tell Roy he reckoned his

name was mud,” replied the boy, smiling.

 

Helen’s heart gave a quick throb. That sounded like Las

Vegas. She hurried on, and upon entering the courtyard she

espied Roy Beeman holding the halter of a beautiful,

wild-looking mustang. There was another horse with another

man, who was in the act of dismounting on the far side. When

he stepped into better view Helen recognized Las Vegas. And

he saw her at the same instant.

 

Helen did not look up again until she was near the porch.

She had dreaded this meeting, yet she was so glad that she

could have cried aloud.

 

“Miss Helen, I shore am glad to see you,” he said, standing

bareheaded before her, the same young, frank-faced cowboy

she had seen first from the train.

 

“Tom!” she exclaimed, and offered her hands.

 

He wrung them hard while he looked at her. The swift woman’s

glance Helen gave in return seemed to drive something dark

and doubtful out of her heart. This was the same boy she had

known — whom she had liked so well — who had won her

sister’s love. Helen imagined facing him thus was like

awakening from a vague nightmare of doubt. Carmichael’s face

was clean, fresh, young, with its healthy tan; it wore the

old glad smile, cool, easy, and natural; his eyes were like

Dale’s — penetrating, clear as crystal, without a shadow.

What had evil, drink, blood, to do with the real inherent

nobility of this splendid specimen of Western hardihood?

Wherever he had been, whatever he had done during that long

absence, he had returned long separated from that wild and

savage character she could now forget. Perhaps there would

never again be call for it.

 

“How’s my girl?” he asked, just as naturally as if he had

been gone a few days on some errand of his employer’s.

 

“Bo? Oh, she’s well — fine. I — I rather think she’ll be

glad to see you,” replied Helen, warmly.

 

“An’ how’s thet big Indian, Dale?” he drawled.

 

“Well, too — I’m sure.”

 

“Reckon I got back heah in time to see you-all married?”

 

“I — I assure you I — no one around here has been married

yet,” replied Helen, with a blush.

 

“Thet shore is fine. Was some worried,” he said, lazily.

“I’ve been chasin’ wild hosses over in New Mexico, an’ I got

after this heah blue roan. He kept me chasin’ him fer a

spell. I’ve fetched him back for Bo.”

 

Helen looked at the mustang Roy was holding, to be instantly

delighted. He was a roan almost blue in color, neither large

nor heavy, but powerfully built, clean-limbed, and racy,

with a long mane and tail, black as coal, and a beautiful

head that made Helen love him at once.

 

“Well, I’m jealous,” declared Helen, archly. “I never did

see such a pony.”

 

“I reckoned you’d never ride any hoss but Ranger,” said Las

Vegas.

 

“No, I never will. But I can be jealous, anyhow, can’t I?”

 

“Shore. An I reckon if you say you’re goin’ to have him —

wal, Bo ‘d be funny,” he drawled.

 

“I reckon she would be funny,” retorted Helen. She was so

happy that she imitated his speech. She wanted to hug him.

It was too good to be true — the return of this cowboy. He

understood her. He had come back with nothing that could

alienate her. He had apparently forgotten the terrible role

he had accepted and the doom he had meted out to her

enemies. That moment was wonderful for Helen in its

revelation of the strange significance of the West as

embodied in this cowboy. He was great. But he did not know

that.

 

Then the door of the living-room opened, and a sweet, high

voice pealed out:

 

“Roy! Oh, what a mustang! Whose is he?”

 

“Wal, Bo, if all I hear is so he belongs to you,” replied

Roy with a huge grin.

 

Bo appeared in the door. She stepped out upon the porch. She

saw the cowboy. The excited flash of her pretty face

vanished as she paled.

 

“Bo, I shore am glad to see you,” drawled Las Vegas, as he

stepped forward, sombrero in hand. Helen could not see any

sign of confusion in him. But, indeed, she saw gladness.

Then she expected to behold Bo run right into the cowboys’s

arms. It appeared, however, that she was doomed to

disappointment.

 

“Tom, I’m glad to see you,” she replied.

 

They shook hands as old friends.

 

“You’re lookin’ right fine,” he said.

 

“Oh, I’m well… . And how have you been these six

months?” she queried.

 

“Reckon I though it was longer,” he drawled. “Wal, I’m

pretty tip-top now, but I was laid up with heart trouble for

a spell.”

 

“Heart trouble?” she echoed, dubiously.

 

“Shore… . I ate too much over heah in New Mexico.”

 

“It’s no news to me — where your heart’s located,” laughed

Bo. Then she ran off the porch to see the blue mustang. She

walked round and round him, clasping her hands in sheer

delight.

 

“Bo, he’s a plumb dandy,” said Roy. “Never seen a prettier

hoss. He’ll run like a streak. An’ he’s got good eyes. He’ll

be a pet some day. But I reckon he’ll always be spunky.”

 

“Bo ventured to step closer, and at last got a hand on the

mustang, and then another. She smoothed his quivering neck

and called softly to him, until he submitted to her hold.

 

“What’s his name?” she asked.

 

“Blue somethin’ or other,” replied Roy.

 

“Tom, has my new mustang a name?” asked Bo, turning to the

cowboy.

 

“Shore.”

 

“What then?”

 

“Wal, I named him Blue-Bo,” answered Las Vegas, with a

smile.

 

“Blue-Boy?”

 

“Nope. He’s named after you. An’ I chased him, roped him,

broke him all myself.”

 

“Very well. Blue-Bo he is, then… . And he’s a wonderful

darling horse. Oh, Nell, just look at him… . Tom, I

can’t thank you enough.”

 

“Reckon I don’t want any thanks,” drawled the cowboy. “But

see heah, Bo, you shore got to live up to conditions before

you ride him.”

 

“What!” exclaimed Bo, who was startled by his slow, cool,

meaning tone, of voice.

 

Helen delighted in looking at Las Vegas then. He had never

appeared to better advantage. So cool, careless, and

assured! He seemed master of a situation in which his terms

must be accepted. Yet he might have been actuated by a

cowboy motive beyond the power of Helen to divine.

 

“Bo Rayner,” drawled Las Vegas, “thet blue mustang will be

yours, an’ you can ride him — when you’re MRS. TOM

CARMICHAEL!”

 

Never had he spoken a softer, more drawling speech, nor

gazed at Bo more mildly. Roy seemed thunderstruck. Helen

endeavored heroically to restrain her delicious, bursting

glee. Bo’s wide eyes stared at her lover — darkened —

dilated. Suddenly she left the mustang to confront the

cowboy where he lounged on the porch steps.

 

“Do you mean that?” she cried.

 

“Shore do.”

 

“Bah! It’s only a magnificent bluff,” she retorted. “You’re

only in fun. It’s your — your darned nerve!”

 

“Why, Bo,” began Las Vegas, reproachfully. “You shore know

I’m not the four-flusher kind. Never got away with a bluff

in my life! An’ I’m jest in daid earnest aboot this heah.”

 

All the same, signs were not wanting in his mobile face that

he was almost unable to restrain his mirth.

 

Helen realized then that Bo saw through the cowboy — that

the ultimatum was only one of his tricks.

 

“It IS a bluff and I CALL you!” declared Bo, ringingly.

 

Las Vegas suddenly awoke to consequences. He essayed to

speak, but she was so wonderful then, so white and

blazing-eyed, that he was stricken mute.

 

“I’ll ride Blue-Bo this afternoon,” deliberately stated the

girl.

 

Las Vegas had wit enough to grasp her meaning, and he seemed

about to collapse.

 

“Very well, you can make me Mrs. Tom Carmichael to-day —

this morning — just before dinner… . Go get a preacher

to marry us — and make yourself look a more presentable

bridegroom — UNLESS IT WAS ONLY A BLUFF!”

 

Her imperiousness changed as the tremendous portent of her

words seemed to make Las Vegas a blank, stone image of a

man. With a wild-rose color suffusing her face, she swiftly

bent over him, kissed him, and flashed away into the house.

Her laugh pealed back, and it thrilled Helen, so deep and

strange was it for the wilful sister, so wild and merry and

full of joy.

 

It was then that Roy Beeman recovered from his paralysis, to

let out such a roar of mirth as to frighten the horses.

Helen was laughing, and crying, too, but laughing mostly.

Las Vegas Carmichael was a sight for the gods to behold.

Bo’s kiss had unclamped what had bound him. The sudden

truth, undeniable, insupportable, glorious, made him a

madman.

 

“Bluff — she called me — ride Blue-Bo saf’ternoon!” he

raved, reaching wildly for Helen. “Mrs. — Tom — Carmichael

— before dinner — preacher — presentable bridegroom! …

Aw! I’m drunk again! I — who swore off forever!”

 

“No, Tom, you’re just happy,” said Helen.

 

Between her and Roy the cowboy was at length persuaded to

accept the situation and to see his wonderful opportunity.

 

“Now — now, Miss Helen — what’d Bo mean by pre —

presentable bridegroom? … Presents? Lord, I’m clean

busted flat!”

 

“She meant you must dress up in your best, of course,”

replied Helen.

 

“Where ‘n earth will I get a preacher? … Show Down’s

forty miles… . Can’t ride there in time… . Roy, I’ve

gotta have a preacher… . Life or death deal fer me.”

 

“Wal, old man, if you’ll brace up I’ll marry you to Bo,”

said Roy, with his glad grin.

 

“Aw!” gasped Las Vegas, as if at the coming of a sudden

beautiful hope.

 

“Tom, I’m a preacher,” replied Roy, now earnestly. “You

didn’t know thet, but I am. An’ I can marry you an’ Bo as

good as any one, an’ tighter ‘n most.”

 

Las Vegas reached for his friend as a drowning man might

have reached for solid rock.

 

“Roy, can you really marry them — with my Bible — and the

service of my church?” asked Helen, a happy hope flushing

her face.

 

“Wal, indeed I can. I’ve married more ‘n one couple whose

religion wasn’t mine.”

 

“B-b-before — d-d-din-ner!” burst out Las Vegas, like a

stuttering idiot.

 

“I reckon. Come on, now, an’ make yourself pre-senttible,”

said Roy. “Miss Helen, you tell Bo thet it’s all settled.”

 

He picked up the halter on the blue mustang and turned away

toward the corrals. Las Vegas put the bridle of his horse

over his arm, and seemed to be following in a trance, with

his dazed, rapt face held high.

 

“Bring Dale,” called Helen, softly after them.

 

So it came about as naturally as it was wonderful that Bo

rode the blue mustang before the afternoon ended.

 

Las Vegas disobeyed his first orders from Mrs. Tom

Carmichael and rode out after her toward the green-rising

range. Helen seemed impelled to follow. She did not need to

ask Dale the second time. They rode swiftly, but never

caught up