Knights of the Range. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ An’ Frayne says easy an’ cool, ‘Renn Frayne’ . . . Thet bunk-house went as quiet as a church. They’d heahed of him. Cowboys air a curious lot. They never fail to talk whenever they meet riders or go any place. An’ they never forget an’ they tell each other. Some of our new boys have rode the Pan Handle. Ride-’em Jackson is from Texas. They’ve heahed of Frayne an’ have talked aboot him, same as of every bad hombre on the range. It worries me.”

      “Did you tell Mr. Frayne that I invited him to supper?”

      “I shore did, Holly. He just refused, short an’ sweet. I was sort of stumped, an’ told him when you invited people, same as yore Dad before you, an’ Don Carlos before him—why, they just come plumb glad. Then he says: ‘Thank Miss Ripple for me, and tell her I appreciate the honor, but that I do not want to come.’”

      “Britt, is Frayne a criminal, with good instincts?”

      “No criminal, believe me, in the sense you mean. No low-born man could ever look straight at you like Frayne does. . . . An’ I shore don’t believe he was ashamed to come.”

      “Could it have been because he shot his comrades?”

      “No. Frayne wouldn’t think no more aboot shootin’ them than jack-rabbits. Holly, you’ll have to swaller it. Heah’s an outlaw you’ve been gracious to. An’ he just plain snubs you. I reckon, though, thet it’d mean nothin’ to you except fer thet absurd old custom of yore Dad’s, an’ one you think every man should kow-tow to.”

      “It’s not absurd, Britt,” protested Holly, spiritedly.

      “Be reasonable, lass. What could an old Spanish law of hospitality or the pleasure of a great pioneer mean to a man who survives only by eternal vigilance?”

      “Survives? I don’t understand you.”

      “Renn Frayne is a hunted man. By officers perhaps, but mostly by men who want revenge fer the killin’ of friends or relatives. Or by genuine bad men he has got the best of. Or by the bluff bad hombres or wild cowboys who’d like the fame of killin’ him.”

      “Oh!—Frayne is indeed to be pitied,” murmured Holly.

      “Look at his hands next time you get a chance. Kept careful as yores, Holly. I’ll bet Frayne never chops wood or digs post-holes. He keeps them hands limber an’ soft so thet he can handle them guns swift as lightnin’.”

      “I can excuse his rudeness,” concluded Holly, and bade her foreman goodnight.

      * * * *

      Holly was at breakfast in her room when she heard a familiar clinking step out upon the path. She was expecting Britt, but this step was quicker and more vibrant than that of the old Texan.

      “Mawnin’, Cap,” spoke up a lazy resonant voice. “How’s our Lady of the Rancho?”

      “Howdy, Brazos,” returned Britt, who evidently had arrived first. “Haven’t seen her yet this mornin’. She’s late. But yesterday knocked her oot, I dare say.”

      “Who’s the flowery-vested caird-sharp I jest met?”

      “Name’s Lascelles. From New Orleans. Dropped in heah yesterday with thet wagon-train. Used to know Holly when she was at school. She confessed she’d flirted a little with him before she found oot he was a gambler. An’ he pestered her after thet. It was plain last night thet he meant to take advantage of the early acquaintance.”

      “Wal, you don’t say,” drawled Brazos, in a tone that sent little shivers over Holly.

      “Yes, I do say,” rejoined Britt, testily. “Dog-gone! We never know what’s goin’ to bob up. Lascelles fetched his pack. An’ I had to give him a room. If he hangs aboot heah it’ll be unpleasant fer Holly.”

      “How you know thet?”

      “She told him plumb oot thet she had no wish to renew the acquaintance.”

      “Ah-huh. Holly can shore tell a fellar. . . . What you gonna do aboot it?”

      “Reckon I’ll give Lascelles a hint to leave with the wagon-train.”

      “Holly won’t like thet. It ain’t Ripple hospitality.”

      “But the four-flusher might set down to live heah. Thet’s happened before.”

      “Shore. But if Holly doesn’t like the galoot he wouldn’t be around long.”

      “I savvy. You’d set in a little game of cairds with him, huh? An’ then we’d have to plant another stiff back on the hill. Brazos, you’re just plain devil.”

      “See heah, boss. Haven’t you forgot thet little confab you had with me when you persuaded me to ride heah?”

      “No, Brazos. But I hate to distress Holly. She was game yesterday. All the same thet blood-lettin’ made her sick. . . . Besides, dog-gone-it, I don’t want you to get any wuss name on the range. I like you, Brazos.”

      “You don’t say? Nobody’d ever notice it. Wal, there’s some hope of me likin’ you, Cap.”

      Holly finished her coffee rather hurriedly, and went through the living-room to the door. Britt was sitting on the porch steps, looking up at his tall companion. Brazos Keene was the youngest, the wildest, the most untamable, yet the most fascinating and lovable of all Holly’s cowboys. His slim, round-limbed rider’s figure lost little from the ragged garb and shiny leather; his smooth tanned face, fresh and clear as a girl’s, clean-cut and regular as a cameo, his half-shut, wild blue eyes and clustering fair hair, all proclaimed his glad youth and irresistible attractiveness, without a hint of his magnificent lawlessness and that he was a combination of fire and ice and steel.

      “Howdy, Texans. Come right in,” invited Holly, gayly.

      “Mawnin’, Lady,” drawled Brazos, doffing his sombrero.

      “How air you, Holly?” asked Britt, rising uncovered.

      “My dreams were troubled, but I am fine this morning.”

      “Thet’s good. You was so late I . . . Wal, I cain’t waste more time. The wagons air heah, Holly. There’s a whole wagon-load fer you. Jim said ‘Shore we know spring is come!’ . . . Boxes, bags, an’ what not? Where’ll I have the boys pack this stuff?”

      “In the patio by my storeroom. Have the boxes opened, Britt.”

      “All ready fer you in less’n an hour,” returned Britt, stepping down. “Adios, Holly.” . . . Then he looked at Brazos, as if prompted by an afterthought. “Say, cowboy, rustle along pronto.”

      “Aw, boss, I have a report to make,” complained Brazos.

      “Wal, cut it short an’ leave oot the smoke,” concluded Britt, curtly.

      “Come in, Brazos. I’d rather not see the frocked gentleman who is loitering around.”

      “Thet pale-faced gent!—Britt told aboot him,” said Brazos, and following her into the room to her desk he took her hand. “Holly, you СКАЧАТЬ