Knights of the Range. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ dark-horsed riders, proceeding in close formation, with something inimical about them, would pass up the wide street. The bark of six-shooters would become too common to attract interest, except when the town flocked out to see some gunman forced to draw upon a drunken, notoriety-seeking cowboy, or when the flint and steel of real killers struck sparks face to face.

      Britt saw the raw wildness of Hays City, Dodge and Abilene enacted on a smaller scale, yet with an equal lawlessness. There might not ever be another Wild Bill Hickok, at whose vested star so many desperadoes and outlaws had shot vainly and too late. But there surely would rise to fame emulators of Buck Duane and King Fisher and Wess Hardin and Ben Thompson, those famed and infamous Texas exponents of the draw. And perhaps there might arise one who would dwarf the achievements of any of this quartet. And lastly Britt saw, with something of a grim and sardonic humor, dark slack forms of men, terribly suggestive, swinging from the cottonwoods in the moonlight.

      “Wal, Kurnel,” he said, finally, “I reckon there’s only one way to meet what’s comin’. An’ it is to scour the country fer the damndest ootfit of cowboys thet can possibly be found.”

      “Britt, the outfit you’re runnin’ now are far from bein’ lambs. I could name half a dozen others that are bad. But not one of them could buck such a rustler gang as you expect to develop heah on this range. . . . I don’t quite grasp what you mean by damndest.”

      “I shore know, boss, an’ the idee grips me. Reckon I’ve pondered over it a good deal. I want riders so hard an’ wild thet they cain’t hold a job fer long. Fact is, Kurnel, I never hired a cowboy thet I couldn’t have kept on, if I’d stood fer his tricks. My idee is to pick my men—I’ve a few in mind now—an’ make this job so attractive thet they’d stick. Shore I’d have to stand fer hell itself. But I could do it.”

      “Britt, I agree you can handle cows and men. Your idea is great. There’s only one drawback. My daughter. Think of that young girl, lovely, like an unfoldin’ rose, innocent, full of fire and joy, as mistress of the hardest outfit of cowboys ever thrown together in the West. . . . My God, Britt—think of it!”

      “I been thinkin’. It’d been better fer us, an’ Holly, too, if she hadn’t had them nine years in school. But thet cain’t be helped now. If you are keen to have Holly live her life oot heah, keep up the great house of Ripple, thet’s the way to do it—an’ the only way.”

      “Would you risk it, if Holly was your child?” queried the rancher, hoarsely.

      “I shore would. Holly is no ordinary girl. She will rise to the occasion. . . . Run yore herd an’ yore house—wal, by thunder! I’ll bet on her!”

      “She shall choose,” shot out Colonel Ripple, strung with emotion. “We will tell her the truth and let her decide. I have been tortured between the devil and the deep sea. I want her to live here. Yet if she prefers San Antonio or New Orleans, I shall not let her see my disappointment.”

      “Boss, you’ll shore never be disappointed in Holly. I reckon, seein’ how het up you air, thet we’d better call her oot an’ get it over. But I’d rather face a bunch of ridin’ Comanches.”

      “Holly!” called the Colonel, his rich voice ringing.

      As there was no answer from the house, Britt arose to go in search of the girl. All the rooms in the front of the wonderful old Spanish mansion opened out on the arched porch. Britt went through the wide hall to the patio, where his spurs clinked musically upon the flagstones. But the girl was not to be found near the sunny fountain, or among the roses, or in the hammock under the dense canopy of vines. Britt went into the living-room, and halted a moment in the shadowed light. Then from the porch came a gay contralto voice. He went out, lagging a little.

      Holly stood beside her father’s chair. And Britt had a tingling recurrence of the emotion the girl had roused in him when he saw her first after her arrival from New Orleans: a strange yearning to be young again, to be the very flower of fine, noble manhood, handsome, gifted, rich, worthy.

      “Howdy, Holly,” he drawled. “I was oot lookin’ fer you.”

      “You old hawk-nosed, hawk-eyed devil! What have you been putting into Dad’s head?”

      Britt laughed and found himself forthwith. Holly Ripple had a regal air. She looked her aristocratic Spanish lineage. Her great dark eyes and her exquisitely pale skin came to her from the Castilian Valverdes. But Britt had only to hear her to know that she was American, and Lee Ripple’s daughter, and that she belonged to the West.

      “Lass, I reckon it’s been yore Dad puttin’ things into my haid,” replied Britt, and resumed his comfortable seat.

      “You both look like owls,” said the girl, and she slid on to the arm of her father’s chair.

      “Holly, dear, it’s only fair that you learn at once the serious side of your home-comin’,” replied the Colonel.

      “Serious?” she asked, with a puzzled smile.

      “Indeed it is. Back me up, Britt.”

      “Wal, lass, I reckon it’s nothin’ to make you feel bad,” said Britt, feeling his way and meeting squarely those compelling eyes. “You’re oot West now. You’ve been heah three days. An’ it’s just sense to tell you pronto what we air up against.”

      “Ah, I see,” Holly rejoined, soberly. “Very well. Tell me. I left Don Carlos’ Rancho a child and I have come back a woman.”

      “Holly, look down there,” spoke up her father, pointing to the grazing lands below. “All those black dots are cattle. Thousands of cattle. They are mine. And all I have to hold them is a wavy brand from shoulder to flank. A ripple! . . . Times are changin’. We expect the wildest years this section of the West has ever known. When we came back from Santone by stage, you saw Indians, soldiers, cowboys, pioneers, rough men galore. You saw buffalo by the million, and cattle and horses almost as many. In short, you rode across Texas and you saw wild life. . . . But nothin’, my daughter, compared to what you will see heah in New Mexico the next decade—if you stay.”

      “If I stay?” she echoed, with a curious intentness.

      “Yes. Because I meant it to be a matter of your own choice,” he went on, swiftly. “Rustlers—that is the western name for cattle-thieves—and a horde of hardened men of differin’ types will ride into New Mexico. There will be fightin’, Holly. . . . Now, for instance, suppose I happened to be shot. What——”

      “Oh, Dad!” she cried, poignantly.

      “Holly, the chance is remote, but it might happen. Suppose I were shot by rustlers. What would you do?”

      “Do!—I’d hang every rustler in this country,” exclaimed the girl hotly.

      Britt met the piercing eyes of the rancher. Holly Ripple had answered to the subtle call of the Texan.

      “All right,” went on Ripple, a little huskily. “Now, say for example that I—I didn’t get shot, but just passed—on, you know. . . . Died. . . . Holly, listen. That, too, might happen. It’s natural. I’m gettin’ on in years and I’ve led a strenuous life. . . . Well, suppose that happened. . . . Would you want to stay on heah at Don Carlos’ Rancho?”

      “Yes, Dad,” she answered quietly.

      “But, listen, child. You СКАЧАТЬ