The Best Western Novels of William MacLeod Raine. William MacLeod Raine

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СКАЧАТЬ no less sudden was the finish of the battle. The bronco pounded to a stiff-legged standstill, trembled for a long minute like an aspen, and sank to a tame surrender, despite the sharp spurs roweling its bloody sides.

      “Ah, my beauty. You've had enough, have you?” demanded the cruel, triumphant voice of the rider. “You would try that game, would you? I'll teach you.”

      “Stop spurring that horse, you bully.”

      The man stopped, in sheer amazement at this apparition which had leaped out of the ground almost at his feet. His wary glance circled the hills to make sure she was alone.

      “Ce'tainly, ma'am. We're sure delighted to meet up with you. Ain't we, Two-step?”

      For himself, he spoke the simple truth. He lived in his sensations, spurring himself to fresh ones as he had but just now been spurring his horse to sate the greed of conquest in him. And this high-spirited, gallant creature—he could feel her vital courage in the very ring of her voice—offered a rare fillip to his jaded appetite. The dusky, long-lashed eyes which always give a woman an effect of beauty, the splendid fling of head, and the piquant, finely cut features, with their unconscious tale of Brahmin caste, the long lines of the supple body, willowy and yet plump as a partridge—they went to his head like strong wine. Here was an adventure from the gods—a stubborn will to bend, the pride of a haughty young beauty to trail in the dust, her untamed heart to break if need be. The lust of the battle was on him already. She was a woman to dream about,

      “Sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,

       Or Cytherea's breath,”

      he told himself exultantly as he slid from his horse and stood bowing before her.

      And he, for his part, was a taking enough picture of devil-may-care gallantry gone to seed. The touch of jaunty impudence in his humility, not less than the daring admiration of his handsome eyes and the easy, sinuous grace of his flexed muscles, labeled him what he was—a man bold and capable to do what he willed, and a villain every inch of him.

      Said she, after that first clash of stormy eyes with bold, admiring ones:

      “I am lost—from the Lazy D ranch.”

      “Why, no, you're found,” he corrected, white teeth flashing in a smile.

      “My motor ran out of gasolene this afternoon. I've been”—there was a catch in her voice—“wandering ever since.”

      “You're played out, of course, and y'u've had no supper,” he said, his quiet close gaze on her.

      “Yes, I'm played out and my nerve's gone.” She laughed a little hysterically. “I expect I'm hungry and thirsty, too, though I hadn't noticed it before.”

      He whirled to his saddle, and had the canteen thongs unloosed in a moment. While she drank he rummaged from his saddle-bags some sandwiches of jerky and a flask of whiskey. She ate the sandwiches, he the while watching her with amused sympathy in his swarthy countenance.

      “You ain't half-bad at the chuck-wagon, Miss Messiter,” he told her.

      She stopped, the sandwich part way to her mouth. “I don't remember your face. I've met so many people since I came to the Lazy D. Still, I think I should remember you.”

      He immediately relieved of duty her quasi apology. “You haven't seen my face before,” he laughed, and, though she puzzled over the double meaning that seemed to lurk behind his words and amuse him, she could not find the key to it.

      It was too dark to make out his features at all clearly, but she was sure she had seen him before or somebody that looked very much like him.

      “Life on the range ain't just what y'u can call exciting,” he continued, “and when a young lady fresh from back East drops among us while sixguns are popping, breaks up a likely feud and mends right neatly all the ventilated feudists it's a corollary to her fun that's she is going to become famous.”

      What he said was true enough. The unsolicited notoriety her exploit had brought upon her had been its chief penalty. Garbled versions of it had appeared with fake pictures in New York and Chicago Sunday supplements, and all Cattleland had heard and discussed it. No matter into what unfrequented canon she rode, some silent cowpuncher would look at her as they met with admiring eyes behind which she read a knowledge of the story. It was a lonely desolate country, full of the wide deep silences of utter emptiness, yet there could be no footfall but the whisper of it was bruited on the wings of the wind.

      “Do you know where the Lazy D ranch is from here?” she asked.

      He nodded.

      “Can you take me home?”

      “I surely can. But not to-night. You're more tired than y'u know. We'll camp here, and in the mo'ning we'll hit the trail bright and early.”

      This did not suit her at all. “Is it far to the Lazy D?” she inquired anxiously.

      “Every inch of forty miles. There's a creek not more than two hundred yards from here. We'll stay there till morning,” he made answer in a matter of course voice, leading the way to the place he had mentioned.

      She followed, protesting. Yet though it was not in accord with her civilized sense of fitness, she knew that what he proposed was the common sense solution. She was tired and worn out, and she could see that his broncho had traveled far.

      Having reached the bank of the creek, he unsaddled, watered his horse and picketed it, and started a fire. Uneasily she watched him.

      “I don't like to sleep out. Isn't there a ranchhouse near?”

      “Y'u wouldn't call it near by the time we had reached it. What's to hinder your sleeping here? Isn't this room airy enough? And don't y'u like the system of lighting? 'Twas patented I forget how many million years ago. Y'u ain't going to play parlor girl now after getting the reputation y'u've got for gameness, are y'u?”

      But he knew well enough that it was no silly schoolgirl fear she had, but some deep instinct in her that distrusted him and warned her to beware. So, lightly he took up the burden of the talk while he gathered cottonwood branches for the fire.

      “Now if I'd only thought to bring a load of lumber and some carpenters—and a chaperon,” he chided himself in burlesque, his bold eyes closely on the girl's face to gloat on the color that flew to her cheeks at his suggestion.

      She hastened to disclaim lightly the feeling he had unmasked in her. “It is a pity, but it can't be helped now. I suppose I am cross and don't seem very grateful. I'm tired out and nervous, but I am sure that I'll enjoy sleeping out. If I don't I shall not be so ungenerous as to blame you.”

      He soon had a cup of steaming coffee ready for her, and the heat of it made a new woman of her. She sat in the warm fire glow, and began to feel stealing over her a delightful reaction of languor. She told herself severely it was ridiculous to have been so foolishly prim about the inevitable.

      “Since you know my name, isn't it fair that I should know yours?” she smilingly asked, more amiably than she had yet spoken to him.

      “Well, since I have found the lamb that was lost, y'u may call me a shepherd of the desert.”

      “Then, Mr. Shepherd, I'm very glad to meet you. I don't СКАЧАТЬ