I Conquered Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  The Trouble Hunter

  Knee to knee, at a shacking trot, they rode out into the glory of bigplaces, two horses before them bearing the light burden of aWesterner's bed.

  "My name's Jed Avery," the little man broke in when they were clear ofthe town. "I'm located over on Red Mountain--a hundred an' thirty milesfrom here. I run horses--th' VB stuff. They call me Jed--or Old VB;mostly Jed now, 'cause th' fellers who used to call me Old VB has gotpast talkin' so you can hear 'em, or else has moved out. Names don'tmatter, anyhow. It ain't a big outfit, but I have a good time runnin'it. Top hands get thirty-five a month."

  Danny felt that there was occasion for answer of some sort. In thosefew words Avery had given him as much information as he could need, andhad given it freely, not as though he expected to open a way for thesatisfaction of any curiosity. He wanted to forget the past, to leaveit entirely behind him; did not want so much as a remnant to cling tohim in this new life. Still, he did not deem it quite courteous to letthe volunteered information come to him and respond with merely anacknowledgment.

  He cleared his throat. "I'm from Riverside Drive, New York City," hesaid grimly. "Names don't matter. I don't know how to do a thing exceptwaste time--and strength. If you'll give me a chance, I'll get to be atop hand."

  An interval of silence followed.

  "I never heard of th' street you mention. I know New York's on th'other slope an' considerable different from this here country. Gettin'to be a top hand's mostly in makin' up your mind--just like gettin'anywhere else."

  Then more wordless travel. Behind them Colt dwindled to a brightblotch. The road ran close against the hills, which rose abruptly andin scarred beauty. The way was ever upward, and as they progressed moreof the country beyond the river spread out to their view, mesas andmountains stretching away to infinite distance, it seemed.

  Even back of the sounds of their travel the magnificent silenceimpressed itself. It was weird to Danny Lenox, unlike anything histraffic-hardened ears had ever experienced, and it made him uneasy--it,and the ache in his throat.

  That ache seemed to be the last real thing left about him, anyhow.Events had come with such unreasonable rapidity in those last few daysthat his harassed mind could not properly arrange the impressions. Herehe was, hired out to do he knew not what, starting a journey that wouldtake him a hundred and thirty miles from a place called Colt, in thestate of Colorado, through a country as unknown to him as the regionsof mythology, beside a man whose like he had never seen before,traveling in a fashion that on his native Manhattan had worn itself todisuse two generations ago!

  Out of the whimsical reverie he came with a jolt. Following thetwisting road, coming toward them at good speed, was the last thing hewould have associated with this place--an automobile. He reined hishorse out of the path, saw the full-figured driver throw up his arm insalutation to Jed, and heard Jed shout an answering greeting. Thedriver looked keenly at Danny as he passed, and touched his broad hat.

  "Who was that?" the boy asked, as he again fell in beside his companion.

  "That's Bob Thorpe," the other explained. "He's th' biggest owner inthis part of Colorado--mebby in th' whole state. Cattle. S Bar Smostly, but he owns a lot of brands."

  "Can he get around through these mountains in a car?"

  "He seems to. An' his daughter! My! To be sure, she'd drive thatdog-gone bus right up th' side of that cliff! You'll see for yourself.She'll be home 'fore long--college--East somewheres."

  The boy looked at him questioningly but said nothing."College--East--home 'fore long--" Might it not form a link betweenthis new and that old--a peculiar sort of link--as peculiar as thissudden, unwarranted interest in this girl?

  Through the long afternoon Danny eagerly awaited the coming of moreevents, more distractions. When they came--such as informative burstsfrom Jed or the passing of the automobile--he forgot for the briefpassage of time the throb in his throat, that wailing of the creaturein him. But when the two rode on at the shambling trot, with thesilence and the immense grandeur all about them, the demands of hisappetite were made anew, intensified perhaps by a feeling of his owninconsequence, by the knowledge that should he fail once in standingoff those assaults it would mean only another beginning, and harder byfar than this one he was experiencing.

  Every hour of sober reflection, of sordid struggle, added to hisestimate of the strength of that self he must subdue. He was going awayinto the waste places, and a sneaking fear of being removed from thestuff that had kept him keyed commenced to grow, adding to the fleshlywants.

  If he should be whipped and a surrender be forced? What then? Herealized that that doubting was cowardice. He had come out here to havefreedom, a new beginning, and now he found himself begging for a wayback should the opposition be too great. It was sheer weakness!

  Cautiously Jed Avery had watched Danny's face, and when he saw anxietyshow there as doubt rose, he broke into words:

  "Yes, sir, Charley was sure a good boy, but th' booze got him."

  He looked down at his horse's withers so he could not see the startthis assertion gave Danny.

  "He didn't want to be bad, but it's so easy to let go. To be sure, itis. Anyhow, Charley never had a chance, never a look-in. He was goodhearted an' meant well--but he didn't have th' backbone."

  And Danny found that a rage commenced to rise within him, a rage whichdrove back those queries that had made him weak.

  Day waned. The sun slid down behind the string of cliffs whichstretched on before them at their left. Distances took on their purpleveils, a canopy of virgin silver spread above the earth, and thestillness became more intense.

  "Right on here a bit now we'll stop," Jed said. "This's th' AnchorRanch. They're hayin', an' full up. We'll get somethin' to eat, though,an' feed for th' ponies. Then we'll sleep on th' ground. Ever do it?"

  "Never."

  "Well, you've got somethin' comin', then. With a sky for a roof a mangets close to whatever he calls his God--an' to himself. Some fellersout here never seem to see th' point. Funny. I been sleepin' out, offan' on, for longer than I like to think about--an' they's a feelin'about it that don't come from nothin' else in th' world."

  "You think it's a good thing, then, for a man to get close to himself?"

  "To be sure I do."

  "What if he's trying to get away from himself?"

  Jed tugged at his mustache while the horses took a dozen strides. Thenhe said:

  "That ain't right. When a man thinks he wants to get away from himself,that's th' coyote in him talkin'. Then he wants to get closer'n ever;get down close an' fight again' that streak what's come into him an'got around his heart. Wants to get down an' fight like sin!"

  He whispered the last words. Then, before Danny could form an answer,he said, a trifle gruffly:

  "Open th' gate. I'll ride on an' turn th' horses back."

  They entered the inclosure and rode on toward a clump of buildings ahalf-mile back from the road.

  Off to their right ran a strip of flat, cleared land. It was dottedwith new haystacks, and beyond them they could see waving grass thatremained to be cut. At the corral the two dismounted, Danny stiffly andwith necessary deliberation. As they commenced unsaddling, a trio ofhatless men, bearing evidences of a strenuous day's labor, came fromthe door of one of the log houses to talk with Jed. That is, they cameostensibly to talk with Jed; in reality, they came to look at theEasterner who fumbled awkwardly with his cinch.

  Danny looked at them, one after the other, then resumed his work. Soona new voice came to his ears, speaking to Avery. He noticed that wherethe little man's greeting to the others had been full-hearted andbuoyant, it was now curt, almost unkind.

  Curious, Danny looked up again--looked up to meet a leer from a pair ofeyes that appeared to be only half opened; green eyes, surrounded byinflamed lids, under protruding brows that boasted but little hair,above high, sunburned cheek bones; eyes that reflected all the smallmeanness that lived in the thin lips and shor
t chin. As he looked, theeyes leered more ominously. Then the man spoke:

  "Long ways from home, ain't you?"

  Although he looked directly at Danny, although he put the question tohim and to him alone, the boy pretended to misunderstand--chose to doso because in the counter question he could express a little of thequick contempt, the instinctive loathing that sprang up for this manwho needed not to speak to show his crude, unreasoning, militantdislike for the stranger, and whose words only gave vent to the spiritof the bully.

  "Are you speaking to me?" Danny asked, and the cool simplicity of hisexpression carried its weight to those who stood waiting to hear hisanswer.

  The other grinned, his mouth twisting at an angle.

  "Who else round here'd be far from home?" he asked.

  Danny turned to Jed.

  "How far is it?" he asked.

  "A hundred an' ten," Jed answered, a swift pleasure lighting hisserious face.

  Danny turned back to his questioner.

  "I'm a hundred and ten miles from home," he said with the samesimplicity, and lifted the saddle from his horse's back.

  It was the sort of clash that mankind the world over recognizes. Noangry word was spoken, no hostile movement made. But the spirit behindit could not be misunderstood.

  The man turned away with a forced laugh which showed his confusion. Hehad been worsted, he knew. The smiles of those who watched and listenedtold him that. It stung him to be so easily rebuffed, and his laughboded ugly things.

  "Don't have anything to do with him," cautioned Jed as they threw theirsaddles under a shed. "His name's Rhues, an' he's a nasty, snaky cuss.He'll make trouble every chance he gets. Don't give him a chance!"

  They went in to eat with the ranch hands. A dozen men sat at one longtable and bolted immense quantities of food.

  The boiled beef, the thick, lumpy gravy, the discolored potatoes, thecoarse biscuit were as strange to Danny as was his environment. Hisinitiation back at Colt had not brought him close to such crudity asthis. He tasted gingerly, and then condemned himself for beingsurprised to find the food good.

  "You're a fool!" he told himself. "This is the real thing; you've beendabbling in unrealities so long that you've lost sense of the virtue offundamentals. No frills here, but there's substance!"

  He looked up and down at the low-bent faces, and a new joy came to him.He was out among men! Crude, genuine, real men! It was an experience,new and refreshing.

  But in the midst of his contemplation it was as though fevered fingersclutched his throat. He dropped his fork, lifted the heavy cup, anddrank the coffee it contained in scorching gulps.

  Once more his big problem had pulled him back, and he wrestled withit--alone among men!

  After the gorging the men pushed back their chairs and yawned. Adesultory conversation waxed to lively banter. A match flared, and thetalk came through fumes of tobacco smoke.

  "Anybody got th' makin's?" asked Jed.

  "Here," muttered Danny beside him, and thrust pouch and papers into hishand.

  Danny followed Jed in the cigarette rolling, and they lighted from thesame match with an interchange of smiles that added another strand tothe bond between them.

  "That's good tobacco," Jed pronounced, blowing out a whiff of smoke.

  "Ought to be; it cost two dollars a pound."

  Jed laughed queerly.

  "Yes, it ought to," he agreed, "but we've got a tobacco out here theycall Satin. Ten cents a can. _It_ tastes mighty good to us."

  Danny sensed a gentle rebuke, but he somehow knew that it was given inall kindliness, that it was given for his own good.

  "While I fight up one way," he thought, "I must fight down another."And then aloud: "We'll stock up with your tobacco. What's liked by oneought to be good enough for--" He let the sentence trail off.

  Jed answered with: "Both."

  And the spirit behind that word added more strength to their unitingtie.

  The day had been a hard one. Darkness came quickly, and the workersstraggled off toward the bunk house. Tossing away the butt of hiscigarette, Jed proposed that they turn in.

  "I'm tired, and you've got a right to be," he declared.

  They walked out into the cool of evening. A light flared in the bunkhouse, and the sound of voices raised high came to them.

  "Like to look in?" Avery asked, and Danny thought he would.

  Men were in all stages of undress. Some were already in their beds;others, in scant attire, stood in mid-floor and talked loudly. From oneto another passed Rhues. In his hand he held a bottle, and to the lipsof each man in turn he placed the neck. He faced Jed and Danny as theyentered. At sight of the stranger a quick hush fell. Rhues stood there,bottle in hand, leering again.

  "Jed, you don't drink," he said in his drawling, insinuating voice,"but mebby yer friend here 'uld like a nightcap."

  He advanced to Danny, bottle extended, an evil smile on his face. Jedraised a hand as though to interfere; then dropped it. His jaw settledin grim resolution, his nostrils dilated, and his eyes fixed themselvesfast on Danny's face.

  Oh, the wailing eagerness of those abused nerves! The cracking of thattortured throat! All the weariness of the day, of the week; all thesagging of spirit under the assault of the demon in him wereconcentrated now. A hot wave swept his body. The fumes set the bloodrushing to his eyes, to his ears; made him reel. His hand wavered up,half daring to reach for the bottle, and the strain of his drawn facedissolved in a weak smile.

  Why hold off? Why battle longer? Why delay? Why? Why? Why?

  Of a sudden his ears rang with memory of his father's brittle voice incold denunciation, and the quick passing of that illusion left anothertalking there, in nasal twang, carrying a great sympathy.

  "No, thanks," he said just above a whisper. "I'm not drinking."

  He turned quickly and stepped out the door.

  Through the confusion of sounds and ideas he heard the rasping laughterof Rhues, and the tone of it, the nasty, jeering note, did much toclear his brain and bring him back to the fighting.

  Jed walked beside him and they crossed to where their rolls of beddinghad been dropped, speaking no word. As they stooped to pick up thestuff the older man's hand fell on the boy's shoulder. His fingerssqueezed, and then the palm smote Danny between the shoulder blades,soundly, confidently. Oh, that assurance! This man understood. And hehad faith in this wreck of a youth that he had seen for the first timeten hours before!

  Shaken, tormented though he was, weakened by the sharp struggle of amoment ago, Danny felt keenly and with something like pride that it hadbeen worth the candle. He knew, too, with a feeling of comfort, that anexplanation to Jed would never be necessary.

  Silently they spread the blankets and, with a simple "Good night,"crawled in between.

  Danny had never before slept with his clothes on--when sober. He hadnever snuggled between coarse blankets in the open. But somehow it didnot seem strange; it was all natural, as though it should be so.

  His mind went round and round, fighting away the tingling odor thatstill clung in his nostrils, trying to blot out the wondering looks onthe countenances of those others as they watched his struggle to refusethe stuff his tormentor held out to him.

  He did not care about forgetting how Rhues's laughter sounded. Somehowthe feeling of loathing for the man for a time distracted his thoughtfrom the pleading of his throat, augmented the singing of that chordhis father had set in motion, bolstered his will to do, to conquer thisthing!

  But the effect was not enduring. On and on through the narrow channelsthat the fevered condition made went his thinking; forever and foreverit must be so--the fighting, fighting, fighting; the searching forpetty distractions that would make him forget for the moment!

  Suddenly he saw that there were stars--millions upon countless millionsof them dusted across the dome of the pale heavens as carelessly as abaker might dust silvered sugar over the icing of a festal cake. Bigstars and tiny stars and mere little diffusive glows of lig
ht thatmight come from a thousand worlds, clustering together out there ininfinite void. Blue stars and white stars, orange stars, and stars thatglowed red. Stars that sent beams through incalculable space and starsthat swung low, that seemed almost attainable. Stars that blinkedsleepily and stars that stared without wavering, purposeful, attentive.Stars alone and lonely; stars in bunches. Stars in rows and patterns,as though put there with design.

  Danny breathed deeply, as though the pure air were stuffy and he neededmore of it, for the vagary of his wandering mind had carried him backto the place where light points were arranged by plan. He saw again theelectric-light kitten and the spool of thread, the mineral-water clock,the cigarette sign with flowing border, the--

  Whisky again! He moved his throbbing head from side to side.

  "Is it a blank wall?" he asked quite calmly. "Shall I always come upagainst it? Is there no way out?"