The Man of the Forest, Zane Grey [books to read for 13 year olds txt] 📗

>say she’s jest like her mother. An’ Nell Auchincloss — what

a girl she was!”

 

Dale felt his face grow red. Indeed, this was strange

conversation for him.

 

“Honest, Al —” he began.

 

“Son, don’t lie to an old man.”

 

“Lie! I wouldn’t lie to any one. Al, it’s only men who live

in towns an’ are always makin’ deals. I live in the forest,

where there’s nothin’ to make me lie.”

 

“Wal, no offense meant, I’m sure,” responded Auchincloss.

“An’ mebbe there’s somethin’ in what you say … We was

talkin’ about them sheep your big cat killed. Wal, Milt, I

can’t prove it, that’s sure. An’ mebbe you’ll think me

doddery when I tell you my reason. It wasn’t what them

greaser herders said about seein’ a cougar in the herd.”

 

“What was it, then?” queried Dale, much interested.

 

“Wal, thet day a year ago I seen your pet. He was lyin’ in

front of the store an’ you was inside tradin’, fer supplies,

I reckon. It was like meetin’ an enemy face to face.

Because, damn me if I didn’t know that cougar was guilty

when he looked in my eyes! There!”

 

The old rancher expected to be laughed at. But Dale was

grave.

 

“Al, I know how you felt,” he replied, as if they were

discussing an action of a human being. “Sure I’d hate to

doubt old Tom. But he’s a cougar. An’ the ways of animals

are strange … Anyway, Al, I’ll make good the loss of

your sheep.”

 

“No, you won’t,” rejoined Auchincloss, quickly. “We’ll call

it off. I’m takin’ it square of you to make the offer.

Thet’s enough. So forget your worry about work, if you had

any.”

 

“There’s somethin’ else, Al, I wanted to say,” began Dale,

with hesitation. “An’ it’s about Beasley.”

 

Auchincloss started violently, and a flame of red shot into

his face. Then he raised a big hand that shook. Dale saw in

a flash how the old man’s nerves had gone.

 

“Don’t mention — thet — thet greaser — to me!” burst out

the rancher. “It makes me see — red… . Dale, I ain’t

overlookin’ that you spoke up fer me to-day — stood fer my

side. Lem Harden told me. I was glad. An’ thet’s why —

to-day — I forgot our old quarrel… . But not a word

about thet sheep-thief — or I’ll drive you off the place!”

 

“But, Al — be reasonable,” remonstrated Dale. “It’s

necessary thet I speak of — of Beasley.”

 

“It ain’t. Not to me. I won’t listen.”

 

“Reckon you’ll have to, Al,” returned Dale. “Beasley’s after

your property. He’s made a deal —”

 

“By Heaven! I know that!” shouted Auchincloss, tottering up,

with his face now black-red. “Do you think thet’s new to me?

Shut up, Dale! I can’t stand it.”

 

“But Al — there’s worse,” went on Dale, hurriedly. “Worse!

Your life’s threatened — an’ your niece, Helen — she’s to

be —”

 

“Shut up — an’ clear out!” roared Auchincloss, waving his

huge fists.

 

He seemed on the verge of a collapse as, shaking all over,

he backed into the door. A few seconds of rage had

transformed him into a pitiful old man.

 

“But, Al — I’m your friend —” began Dale, appealingly.

 

“Friend, hey?” returned the rancher, with grim, bitter

passion. “Then you’re the only one… . Milt Dale, I’m

rich an’ I’m a dyin’ man. I trust nobody … But, you wild

hunter — if you’re my friend — prove it! … Go kill

thet greaser sheep-thief! DO somethin’ — an’ then come talk

to me!”

 

With that he lurched, half falling, into the house, and

slammed the door.

 

Dale stood there for a blank moment, and then, taking up his

rifle, he strode away.

 

Toward sunset Dale located the camp of his four Mormon

friends, and reached it in time for supper.

 

John, Roy, Joe, and Hal Beeman were sons of a pioneer Mormon

who had settled the little community of Snowdrop. They were

young men in years, but hard labor and hard life in the open

had made them look matured. Only a year’s difference in age

stood between John and Roy, and between Roy and Joe, and

likewise Joe and Hal. When it came to appearance they were

difficult to distinguish from one another. Horsemen,

sheep-herders, cattle-raisers, hunters — they all possessed

long, wiry, powerful frames, lean, bronzed, still faces, and

the quiet, keen eyes of men used to the open.

 

Their camp was situated beside a spring in a cove surrounded

by aspens, some three miles from Pine; and, though working

for Beasley, near the village, they had ridden to and fro

from camp, after the habit of seclusion peculiar to their

kind.

 

Dale and the brothers had much in common, and a warm regard

had sprang up. But their exchange of confidences had wholly

concerned things pertaining to the forest. Dale ate supper

with them, and talked as usual when he met them, without

giving any hint of the purpose forming in his mind. After

the meal he helped Joe round up the horses, hobble them for

the night, and drive them into a grassy glade among the

pines. Later, when the shadows stole through the forest on

the cool wind, and the campfire glowed comfortably, Dale

broached the subject that possessed him.

 

“An’ so you’re working for Beasley?” he queried, by way of

starting conversation.

 

“We was,” drawled John. “But to-day, bein’ the end of our

month, we got our pay an’ quit. Beasley sure was sore.”

 

“Why’d you knock off?”

 

John essayed no reply, and his brothers all had that quiet,

suppressed look of knowledge under restraint.

 

“Listen to what I come to tell you, then you’ll talk,” went

on Dale. And hurriedly he told of Beasley’s plot to abduct

Al Auchincloss’s niece and claim the dying man’s property.

 

When Dale ended, rather breathlessly, the Mormon boys sat

without any show of surprise or feeling. John, the eldest,

took up a stick and slowly poked the red embers of the fire,

making the white sparks fly.

 

“Now, Milt, why’d you tell us thet?” he asked, guardedly.

 

“You’re the only friends I’ve got,” replied Dale. “It didn’t

seem safe for me to talk down in the village. I thought of

you boys right off. I ain’t goin’ to let Snake Anson get

that girl. An’ I need help, so I come to you.”

 

“Beasley’s strong around Pine, an’ old Al’s weakenin’.

Beasley will git the property, girl or no girl,” said John.

 

“Things don’t always turn out as they look. But no matter

about that. The girl deal is what riled me… . She’s to

arrive at Magdalena on the sixteenth, an’ take stage for

Snowdrop… . Now what to do? If she travels on that stage

I’ll be on it, you bet. But she oughtn’t to be in it at all.

… Boys, somehow I’m goin’ to save her. Will you help me?

I reckon I’ve been in some tight corners for you. Sure, this

‘s different. But are you my friends? You know now what

Beasley is. An’ you’re all lost at the hands of Snake

Anson’s gang. You’ve got fast hosses, eyes for trackin’, an’

you can handle a rifle. You’re the kind of fellows I’d want

in a tight pinch with a bad gang. Will you stand by me or

see me go alone?”

 

Then John Beeman, silently, and with pale face, gave Dale’s

hand a powerful grip, and one by one the other brothers rose

to do likewise. Their eyes flashed with hard glint and a

strange bitterness hovered around their thin lips.

 

“Milt, mebbe we know what Beasley is better ‘n you,” said

John, at length. “He ruined my father. He’s cheated other

Mormons. We boys have proved to ourselves thet he gets the

sheep Anson’s gang steals… . An’ drives the herds to

Phenix! Our people won’t let us accuse Beasley. So we’ve

suffered in silence. My father always said, let some one

else say the first word against Beasley, an’ you’ve come to

us!”

 

Roy Beeman put a hand on Dale’s shoulder. He, perhaps, was

the keenest of the brothers and the one to whom adventure

and peril called most. He had been oftenest with Dale, on

many a long trail, and he was the hardest rider and the most

relentless tracker in all that range country.

 

“An’ we’re goin’ with you,” he said, in a strong and rolling

voice.

 

They resumed their seats before the fire. John threw on more

wood, and with a crackling and sparkling the blaze curled

up, fanned by the wind. As twilight deepened into night the

moan in the pines increased to a roar. A pack of coyotes

commenced to pierce the air in staccato cries.

 

The five young men conversed long and earnestly,

considering, planning, rejecting ideas advanced by each.

Dale and Roy Beeman suggested most of what became acceptable

to all. Hunters of their type resembled explorers in slow

and deliberate attention to details. What they had to deal

with here was a situation of unlimited possibilities; the

horses and outfit needed; a long detour to reach Magdalena

unobserved; the rescue of a strange girl who would no doubt

be self-willed and determined to ride on the stage — the

rescue forcible, if necessary; the fight and the inevitable

pursuit; the flight into the forest, and the safe delivery

of the girl to Auchincloss.

 

“Then, Milt, will we go after Beasley?” queried Roy Beeman,

significantly.

 

Dale was silent and thoughtful.

 

“Sufficient unto the day!” said John. “An’ fellars, let’s go

to bed.”

 

They rolled out their tarpaulins, Dale sharing Roy’s

blankets, and soon were asleep, while the red embers slowly

faded, and the great roar of wind died down, and the forest

stillness set in.