Code of the West. Zane Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ village of Ryson.

      Ranches gave place to cottages, widely separated, and these in turn to the row of square-fronted, old, and weather-beaten frame and stone structures that constituted Ryson. The one street appeared as wide as a public square. Along its quarter of a mile of business section could be seen several cattle, two horses, a burro, and some dogs, but no people. A couple of dilapidated automobiles marked the site of the garage, which had evidently once been a blacksmith’s shop. The town seemed enveloped in the warm, drowsy, sleepy air of midsummer.

      Cal stopped his Ford at the garage, not without a slight feeling of gratification at the amaze his advent would create. Upon the last occasion of his leaving the garage with this particular Ford one of the mechanics had remarked: “It’s a cinch we’ll never see this flivver ag’in!”

      “Say, will you have dinner with me?” queried Cal, of his silent companion.

      “Will I? Boy, lead me on,” replied the ex-marine. “I’ll say you’re a sport.”

      “Glad to have you,” responded Cal. “But we’re early. There’s the hotel—that gray house with the wide porch. You can wait for me there.”

      “You’ll find me anchored, and I’m hoping the dinner bell will ring quick,” he replied, taking his bundle and shuffling away in the direction indicated.

      The young man of the garage stood gaping. “Cal, what is thet you had with you?” inquired one.

      “Where’d it come from?” asked another.

      “It’s a scarecrow hitched on to a coupla bean-poles,” said a third.

      Cal laughed and explained: “Oh, that’s a chap I picked up on the road.”

      “Did he manipulate on this hyar Lizzie of yourn?” inquired the first garage man, indicating the Thurman Ford.

      “No, he didn’t,” retorted Cal. “I’ll have you understand I drove this car.”

      “Car? This ain’t no car. It’s a sheet-iron wagon with a milk-can fer an engine.”

      “Ahuh! Well, you lay off her with your monkey-wrenches,” returned Cal.

      Leaving the car there, Cal proceeded into the big barn-like general store and post-office, and set about the responsible and difficult task of selecting and purchasing the things enumerated by the women-folk of the Thurman household. In his anxiety during the performance of this duty he quite forgot the dinner engagement he had made with the hungry traveler until he had completed the selection to the best of his ability. Then he carried the packages out to the car and deposited them on the back seat. “Reckon she’ll have a lot of stuff to pack,” he muttered, suddenly reminded of his expected passenger.

      After this he repaired to the hotel porch, there to find the cadaverous individual waiting with hungry eyes.

      “Say, I’m sorry I was so long, but I had a lot to do,” said Cal. “Let’s go in an’ get it.”

      In the ensuing half-hour Cal was to learn that a kind action, however thoughtlessly entered into, could have singular effect, not only upon the recipient, but upon him who offered it. Naturally, being a range-rider, he had been many a time as hungry as a bear, but he had never seen a man apparently half starved. How good this meal must have been to the fellow! Cal’s curiosity followed his sympathy.

      “My name’s Cal Thurman,” he said, at the end of the dinner. “What’s yours?”

      “Tuck Merry,” was the reply.

      “Say, that’s a funny name. Merry! It sure doesn’t suit you, friend. An’ Tuck—never heard it before.”

      “It’s a nickname. Almost forgot I had another. But it was Thaddeus.”

      “Huh? How’d you ever get called Tuck?” asked Cal, curiously.

      “I was in the marines. They’re a scrappy bunch. An’ every time I punched a buddy I’d tuck him away to sleep. So they nicknamed me Tuck.”

      “Well, I’ll be darned!” exclaimed Cal, in wondering admiration. Nothing could have been more calculated to arouse his friendliness. “You must have a punch?”

      “Yes. It just comes natural,” replied Merry, simply. “I’ve got a couple of mitts, too. See there.”

      He doubled his enormous hands and showed Cal two fists of almost incredible size.

      “Say!” ejaculated Cal, with shining eyes. Then an idea flashed like lightning through his mind, and he liked it. The instant it clarified and caught his fancy it grew and grew until it was positively thrilling. “See here, Tuck, you said you wanted a job?”

      “I’ll say I said so,” returned Merry, rousing to interest.

      “Are you well? I mean are you strong?” queried Cal, hesitatingly. “You look like you’d fall in two pieces.”

      “I’m a deceiving cuss. Pretty much tuckered out now. But I was husky when I started West. A little rest and a mess-table like this would soon put me in as good shape as when I was one of Dempsey’s sparring pardners.”

      “What?” cried Cal, breathlessly.

      “See here, matey. I was raised on the waterfront in New York. Do you get that? Was in the navy for years. Finally was boxing instructor. Then after the war I knocked around in sparring bouts. Last job I had was with Dempsey.”

      “Whoop-ee!” ejaculated Cal, under his breath. He slammed the table with his fist. The idea had assumed bewildering and exhilarating proportions. “Say, Tuck, I’ve taken a liking to you.”

      “I’ll say that’s the first good luck I’ve had for many a day,” returned Merry, feelingly.

      “I’ll get you a job—two dollars a day an’ board—all the good grub you can eat,” blurted out Cal, breathlessly and low. “Up on my father’s ranch. It’s Tonto country, an’ once you live there you will never leave it. You can save your money—homestead your hundred an’ sixty acres—an’ some day be a rancher.”

      “Cal, I ain’t as strong as I thought,” replied Tuck, weakly. “Don’t promise so much at once. Just find me work an’ a meal ticket.”

      “My father runs a sawmill,” went on Cal. “He always needs a man. An’ all us riders hate sawin’ wood. That job would give you time off now an’ then, to ride with us an’ go huntin’. I’ll give you a horse. We’ve got over a hundred horses out home. . . . Tuck, the job’s yours if you’ll do me a little favor.”

      Tuck Merry held out his huge hand and said: “Mate, there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

      “Listen,” whispered Cal, intensely. “First, you’re not to tell a soul that you were in the marines an’ how you got that name Tuck an’ was one of Dempsey’s boxin’ pardners.”

      “I get you, Cal. I’m dumb on the has-been stuff. I lose my memory.”

      Cal was now tingling with thrilling glee at the enormous possibilities of his idea.

      “Tuck, СКАЧАТЬ