The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (readera ebook reader txt) 📕

porch. Opening to a loud knock, Helen was surprised to see Beasley. And out in the court were several mounted horsemen. Helen's heart sank. This visit, indeed, had been foreshadowed.

“Afternoon, Miss Rayner,” said Beasley, doffing his sombrero. “I've called on a little business deal. Will you see me?”

Helen acknowledged his greeting while she thought rapidly. She might just as well see him and have that inevitable interview done with.

“Come in,” she said, and when he had entered she closed the door. “My sister, Mr. Beasley.”

“How d' you do, Miss?” said the rancher, in bluff, loud voice.

Bo acknowledged the introduction with a frigid little bow.

At close range Beasley seemed a forceful personality as well as a rather handsome man of perhaps thirty-five, heavy of build, swarthy of skin, and sloe-black of eye, like that of the Mexicans whose blood was reported to be in him. He looked crafty, confident, and self-centered. If Helen had never heard of him before that visit she would have distrusted him.

“I'd called sooner, but I was waitin' for old Jose, the Mexican who herded for me when I was pardner to your uncle,” said Beasley, and he sat down to put his huge gloved hands on his knees.

“Yes?” queried Helen, interrogatively.

“Jose rustled over from Magdalena, an' now I can back up my claim.... Miss Rayner, this hyar ranch ought to be mine an' is mine. It wasn't so big or so well stocked when Al Auchincloss beat me out of it. I reckon I'll allow for thet. I've papers, an' old Jose for witness. An' I calculate you'll pay me eighty thousand dollars, or else I'll take over the ranch.”

Beasley spoke in an ordinary, matter-of-fact tone that certainly seemed sincere, and his manner was blunt, but perfectly natural.

“Mr. Beasley, your claim is no news to me,” responded Helen, quietly. “I've heard about it. And I questioned my uncle. He swore on his death-bed that he did not owe you a dollar. Indeed, he claimed the indebtedness was yours to him. I could find nothing in his papers, so I must repudiate your claim. I will not take it seriously.”

“Miss Rayner, I can't blame you for takin' Al's word against mine,” said Beasley. “An' your stand is natural. But you're a stranger here an' you know nothin' of stock deals in these ranges. It ain't fair to speak bad of the dead, but the truth is thet Al Auchincloss got his start by stealin' sheep an' unbranded cattle. Thet was the start of every rancher I know. It was mine. An' we none of us ever thought of it as rustlin'.”

Helen could only stare her surprise 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