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

spoke. Riggs sought his blanket first, and the fact was significant that he lay down some distance from the spruce shelter which contained Bo Rayner. Presently young Burt went off grumbling to his bed. And not long afterward the card-players did likewise.

Snake Anson and Jim Wilson were left brooding in silence beside the dying camp-fire.

The night was dark, with only a few stars showing. A fitful wind moaned unearthly through the spruce. An occasional thump of hoof sounded from the dark woods. No cry of wolf or coyote or cat gave reality to the wildness of forest-land.

By and by those men who had rolled in their blankets were breathing deep and slow in heavy slumber.

“Jim, I take it this hyar Riggs has queered our deal,” said Snake Anson, in low voice.

“I reckon,” replied Wilson.

“An' I'm feared he's queered this hyar White Mountain country fer us.”

“Shore I 'ain't got so far as thet. What d' ye mean, Snake?”

“Damme if I savvy,” was the gloomy reply. “I only know what was bad looks growin' wuss. Last fall—an' winter—an' now it's near April. We've got no outfit to make a long stand in the woods.... Jim, jest how strong is thet Beasley down in the settlements?”

“I've a hunch he ain't half as strong as he bluffs.”

“Me, too. I got thet idee yesterday. He was scared of the kid—when she fired up an' sent thet hot-shot about her cowboy sweetheart killin' him. He'll do it, Jim. I seen that Carmichael at Magdalena some years ago. Then he was only a youngster. But, whew! Mebbe he wasn't bad after toyin' with a little red liquor.”

“Shore. He was from Texas, she said.”

“Jim, I savvied your feelin's was hurt—by thet talk about Texas—an' when she up an' asked you.”

Wilson had no rejoinder for this remark.

“Wal, Lord knows, I ain't wonderin'. You wasn't a hunted outlaw all your life. An' neither was I.... Wilson, I never was keen on this girl deal—now, was I?”

“I reckon it's honest to say no to thet,” replied Wilson. “But it's done. Beasley 'll get plugged sooner or later. Thet won't help us any. Chasin' sheep-herders out of the country an' stealin' sheep—thet ain't stealin' gurls by a long sight. Beasley 'll blame that on us, an' be greaser enough to send some of his men out to hunt us. For Pine an' Show Down won't stand thet long. There's them Mormons. They'll be hell when they wake up. Suppose Carmichael got thet hunter Dale an' them hawk-eyed Beemans on our trail?”

“Wal, we'd cash in—quick,” replied Anson, gruffly.

“Then why didn't you let me take the gurl back home?”

“Wal, come to think of thet, Jim, I'm sore, an' I need money—an' I knowed you'd never take a dollar from her sister. An' I've made up my mind to git somethin' out of her.”

“Snake, you're no fool. How 'll you do thet same an' do it quick?”

“'Ain't reckoned it out yet.”

“Wal, you got aboot to-morrer an' thet's all,” returned Wilson, gloomily.

“Jim, what's ailin' you?”

“I'll let you figger thet out.”

“Wal, somethin' ails the whole gang,” declared Anson, savagely. “With them it's nothin' to eat—no whisky—no money to bet with—no tobacco!... But thet's not what's ailin' you, Jim Wilson, nor me!”

“Wal, what is, then?” queried Wilson.

“With me it's a strange feelin' thet my day's over on these ranges. I can't explain, but it jest feels so. Somethin' in the air. I don't like them dark shadows out there under the spruces. Savvy?... An' as fer you, Jim—wal, you allus was half decent, an' my gang's got too lowdown fer you.”

“Snake, did I ever fail you?”

“No, you never did. You're the best pard I ever knowed. In the years we've rustled together we never had a contrary word till I let Beasley fill my ears with his promises. Thet's my fault. But, Jim, it's too late.”

“It mightn't have been too late yesterday.”

“Mebbe not. But it is now, an' I'll hang on to the girl or git her worth in gold,” declared the outlaw, grimly.

“Snake, I've seen stronger gangs than yours come an' go. Them Big Bend gangs in my country—them rustlers—they were all bad men. You have no likes of them gangs out heah. If they didn't get wiped out by Rangers or cowboys, why they jest naturally wiped out themselves. Thet's a law I recognize in relation to gangs like them. An' as for yours—why, Anson, it wouldn't hold water against one real gun-slinger.”

“A-huh' Then if we ran up ag'in' Carmichael or some such fellar—would you be suckin' your finger like a baby?”

“Wal, I wasn't takin' count of myself. I was takin' generalities.”

“Aw, what 'n hell are them?” asked Anson, disgustedly. “Jim, I know as well as you thet this hyar gang is hard put. We're goin' to be trailed an' chased. We've got to hide—be on the go all the time—here an' there—all over, in the roughest woods. An' wait our chance to work south.”

“Shore. But, Snake, you ain't takin' no count of the feelin's of the men—an' of mine an' yours.... I'll bet you my hoss thet in a day or so this gang will go to pieces.”

“I'm feared you spoke what's been crowdin' to git in my mind,” replied Anson. Then he threw up his hands in a strange gesture of resignation. The outlaw was brave, but all men of the wilds recognized a force stronger than themselves. He sat there resembling a brooding snake with basilisk eyes upon the fire. At length he arose, and without another word to his comrade he walked wearily to where lay the dark, quiet forms of the sleepers.

Jim Wilson remained beside the flickering fire. He was reading something in the red embers, perhaps the past. Shadows were on his face, not all from the fading flames or the towering spruces. Ever and anon he raised his head to listen, not apparently that he expected any unusual sound, but as if involuntarily. Indeed, as Anson had said, there was something nameless in the air. The black forest breathed heavily, in fitful moans of wind. It had its secrets. The glances Wilson threw on all sides betrayed that any hunted man did not love the dark night, though it hid him. Wilson seemed fascinated by the life inclosed there by the black circle of spruce. He might have been reflecting on the strange reaction happening to every man in that group, since a girl had been brought among them. Nothing was clear, however; the forest kept its secret, as did the melancholy wind; the outlaws were sleeping like tired beasts, with their dark secrets locked in their hearts.

After a while Wilson put