Books: The Man of the Forest

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"Who's in the outfit? How many?" he had questioned, quickly.

"It's a one-man outfit, boss," replied Weaver.

Beasley appeared astounded. He and his men had prepared to
meet the friends of the girl whose property he had taken
over, and because of the superiority of his own force he had
anticipated no bloody or extended feud. This amazing
circumstance put the case in very much more difficult form.

"One man!" he ejaculated.

"Yep. Thet cowboy Las Vegas. An,' boss, he turns out to be a
gun-slinger from Texas. I was in Turner's. Hed jest happened
to step in the other room when Las Vegas come bustin' in on
his boss an' jumped off. . . . Fust thing he called Jeff an'
Pedro. They both showed yaller. An' then, damn if thet
cowboy didn't turn his back on them an' went to the bar fer
a drink. But he was lookin' in the mirror an' when Jeff an'
Pedro went fer their guns why he whirled quick as lightnin'
an' bored them both. . . . I sneaked out an --"

"Why didn't you bore him?" roared Beasley.

Buck Weaver steadily eyed his boss before he replied. "I
ain't takin' shots at any fellar from behind doors. An' as
fer meetin' Las Vegas -- excoose me, boss! I've still a
hankerin' fer sunshine an' red liquor. Besides, I 'ain't got
nothin' ag'in' Las Vegas. If he's rustled over here at the
head of a crowd to put us off I'd fight, jest as we'd all
fight. But you see we figgered wrong. It's between you an'
Las Vegas! . . . You oughter seen him throw thet hunter Dale
out of Turner's."

"Dale! Did he come?" queried Beasley.

"He got there just after the cowboy plugged Jeff. An' thet
big-eyed girl, she came runnin' in, too. An' she keeled over
in Dale's arms. Las Vegas shoved him out -- cussed him so
hard we all heerd. . . . So, Beasley, there ain't no fight
comin, off as we figgered on."

Beasley thus heard the West speak out of the mouth of his
own man. And grim, sardonic, almost scornful, indeed, were
the words of Buck Weaver. This rider had once worked for Al
Auchincloss and had deserted to Beasley under Mulvey's
leadership. Mulvey was dead and the situation was vastly
changed.

Beasley gave Weaver a dark, lowering glance, and waved him
away. From the door Weaver sent back a doubtful,
scrutinizing gaze, then slouched out. That gaze Beasley had
not encountered before.

It meant, as Weaver's cronies meant, as Beasley's
long-faithful riders, and the people of the range, and as
the spirit of the West meant, that Beasley was expected to
march down into the village to face his single foe.

But Beasley did not go. Instead he paced to and fro the
length of Helen Rayner's long sitting-room with the nervous
energy of a man who could not rest. Many times he hesitated,
and at others he made sudden movements toward the door, only
to halt. Long after midnight he went to bed, but not to
sleep. He tossed and rolled all night, and at dawn arose,
gloomy and irritable.

He cursed the Mexican serving-women who showed their
displeasure at his authority. And to his amaze and rage not
one of his men came to the house. He waited and waited. Then
he stalked off to the corrals and stables carrying a rifle
with him. The men were there, in a group that dispersed
somewhat at his advent. Not a Mexican was in sight.

Beasley ordered the horses to be saddled and all hands to go
down into the village with him. That order was disobeyed.
Beasley stormed and raged. His riders sat or lounged, with
lowered faces. An unspoken hostility seemed present. Those
who had been longest with him were least distant and
strange, but still they did not obey. At length Beasley
roared for his Mexicans.

"Boss, we gotta tell you thet every greaser on the ranch hes
sloped -- gone these two hours -- on the way to Magdalena,"
said Buck Weaver.

Of all these sudden-uprising perplexities this latest was
the most astounding. Beasley cursed with his questioning
wonder.

"Boss, they was sure scared of thet gun-slingin' cowboy from
Texas," replied Weaver, imperturbably.

Beasley's dark, swarthy face changed its hue. What of the
subtle reflection in Weaver's slow speech! One of the men
came out of a corral leading Beasley's saddled and bridled
horse. This fellow dropped the bridle and sat down among his
comrades without a word. No one spoke. The presence of the
horse was significant. With a snarling, muttered curse,
Beasley took up his rifle and strode back to the
ranch-house.

In his rage and passion he did not realize what his men had
known for hours -- that if he had stood any chance at all
for their respect as well as for his life the hour was long
past.

Beasley avoided the open paths to the house, and when he got
there he nervously poured out a drink. Evidently something
in the fiery liquor frightened him, for he threw the bottle
aside. It was as if that bottle contained a courage which
was false.

Again he paced the long sitting-room, growing more and more
wrought-up as evidently he grew familiar with the singular
state of affairs. Twice the pale serving-woman called him to
dinner.

The dining-room was light and pleasant, and the meal,
fragrant and steaming, was ready for him. But the women had
disappeared. Beasley seated himself -- spread out his big
hands on the table.

Then a slight rustle -- a clink of spur -- startled him. He
twisted his head.

"Howdy, Beasley!" said Las Vegas, who had appeared as if by
magic.

Beasley's frame seemed to swell as if a flood had been
loosed in his veins. Sweat-drops stood out on his pallid
face.

"What -- you -- want?" he asked, huskily.

"Wal now, my boss, Miss Helen, says, seein' I am foreman
heah, thet it'd be nice an' proper fer me to drop in an' eat
with you -- THE LAST TIME!" replied the cowboy. His drawl
was slow and cool, his tone was friendly and pleasant. But
his look was that of a falcon ready to drive deep its beak.

Beasley's reply was loud, incoherent, hoarse.

Las Vegas seated himself across from Beasley.

"Eat or not, it's shore all the same to me," said Las Vegas,
and he began to load his plate with his left hand. His right
hand rested very lightly, with just the tips of his
vibrating fingers on the edge of the table; and he never for
the slightest fraction of a second took his piercing eyes
off Beasley.

"Wal, my half-breed greaser guest, it shore roils up my
blood to see you sittin' there -- thinkin' you've put my
boss, Miss Helen, off this ranch," began Las Vegas, softly.
And then he helped himself leisurely to food and drink. "In
my day I've shore stacked up against a lot of outlaws,
thieves, rustlers, an' sich like, but fer an out an' out
dirty low-down skunk, you shore take the dough! . . . I'm
goin, to kill you in a minit or so, jest as soon as you move
one of them dirty paws of yourn. But I hope you'll be polite
an' let me say a few words. I'll never be happy again if you
don't. . . . Of all the -- yaller greaser dogs I ever seen,
you're the worst! . . . I was thinkin' last night mebbe
you'd come down an' meet me like a man, so 's I could wash
my hands ever afterward without gettin' sick to my stummick.
But you didn't come. . . . Beasley, I'm so ashamed of myself
thet I gotta call you -- when I ought to bore you, thet -- I
ain't even second cousin to my old self when I rode fer
Chisholm. It don't mean nuthin' to you to call you liar!
robber! blackleg! a sneakin' coyote! an' a cheat thet hires
others to do his dirty work! . . . By Gawd! --"

"Carmichael, gimme a word in," hoarsely broke out Beasley.
"You're right, it won't do no good to call me. . . . But
let's talk. . . . I'll buy you off. Ten thousand dollars --"

"Haw! Haw! Haw!" roared Las Vegas. He was as tense as a
strung cord and his face possessed a singular pale radiance.
His right hand began to quiver more and more.

"I'll -- double -- it!" panted Beasley. "I'll -- make over
-- half the ranch -- all the stock --"

"Swaller thet!" yelled Las Vegas, with terrible strident
ferocity.

"Listen -- man! . . . I take -- it back! . . . I'll give up
-- Auchincloss's ranch!" Beasley was now a shaking,
whispering, frenzied man, ghastly white, with rolling eyes.

Las Vegas's left fist pounded hard on the table.

"GREASER, COME ON!" he thundered.

Then Beasley, with desperate, frantic action, jerked for his
gun.

CHAPTER XXVI

For Helen Rayner that brief, dark period of expulsion from
her home had become a thing of the past, almost forgotten.

Two months had flown by on the wings of love and work and
the joy of finding her place there in the West. All her old
men had been only too glad of the opportunity to come back
to her, and under Dale and Roy Beeman a different and
prosperous order marked the life of the ranch.

Helen had made changes in the house by altering the
arrangement of rooms and adding a new section. Only once had
she ventured into the old dining-room where Las Vegas
Carmichael had sat down to that fatal dinner for Beasley.
She made a store-room of it, and a place she would never
again enter.

Helen was happy, almost too happy, she thought, and
therefore made more than needful of the several bitter drops
in her sweet cup of life. Carmichael had ridden out of Pine,
ostensibly on the trail of the Mexicans who had executed
Beasley's commands. The last seen of him had been reported
from Show Down, where he had appeared red-eyed and
dangerous, like a hound on a scent. Then two months had
flown by without a word.

Dale had shaken his head doubtfully when interrogated about
the cowboy's absence. It would be just like Las Vegas never
to be heard of again. Also it would be more like him to
remain away until all trace of his drunken, savage spell had
departed from him and had been forgotten by his friends. Bo
took his disappearance apparently less to heart than Helen.
But Bo grew more restless, wilder, and more wilful than
ever. Helen thought she guessed Bo's secret; and once she
ventured a hint concerning Carmichael's return.

"If Tom doesn't come back pretty soon I'll marry Milt Dale,"
retorted Bo, tauntingly.

This fired Helen's cheeks with red.

"But, child," she protested, half angry, half grave. "Milt
and I are engaged."

"Sure. Only you're so slow. There's many a slip -- you
know."

"Bo, I tell you Tom will come back," replied Helen,
earnestly. "I feel it. There was something fine in that
cowboy. He understood me better than you or Milt, either. .
. . And he was perfectly wild in love with you."

"Oh! WAS he?"

"Very much more than you deserved, Bo Rayner."

Then occurred one of Bo's sweet, bewildering, unexpected
transformations. Her defiance, resentment, rebelliousness,
vanished from a softly agitated face.

"Oh, Nell, I know that. . . . You just watch me if I ever
get another chance at him! . . . Then -- maybe he'd never
drink again!"

"Bo, be happy -- and be good. Don't ride off any more --
don't tease the boys. It'll all come right in the end."

Bo recovered her equanimity quickly enough.

"Humph! You can afford to be cheerful. You've got a man who
can't live when you're out of his sight. He's like a fish on
dry land. . . . And you -- why, once you were an old
pessimist!"

Bo was not to be consoled or changed. Helen could only sigh
and pray that her convictions would be verified.

The first day of July brought an early thunder-storm, just
at sunrise. It roared and flared and rolled away, leaving a
gorgeous golden cloud pageant in the sky and a fresh,
sweetly smelling, glistening green range that delighted
Helen's eye.

Birds were twittering in the arbors and bees were humming in
the flowers. From the fields down along the brook came a
blended song of swamp-blackbird and meadow-lark. A
clarion-voiced burro split the air with his coarse and
homely bray. The sheep were bleating, and a soft baa of
little lambs came sweetly to Helen's ears. She went her
usual rounds with more than usual zest and thrill.
Everywhere was color, activity, life. The wind swept warm
and pine-scented down from the mountain heights, now black
and bold, and the great green slopes seemed to call to her.

At that very moment she came suddenly upon Dale, in his
shirt-sleeves, dusty and hot, standing motionless, gazing at
the distant mountains. Helen's greeting startled him.

"I -- I was just looking away yonder," he said, smiling. She
thrilled at the clear, wonderful light of his eyes.

"So was I -- a moment ago," she replied, wistfully. "Do you
miss the forest -- very much?"

"Nell, I miss nothing. But I'd like to ride with you under
the pines once more."

"We'll go," she cried.

"When?" he asked, eagerly.

"Oh -- soon!" And then with flushed face and downcast eyes
she passed on. For long Helen had cherished a fond hope that
she might be married in Paradise Park, where she had fallen
in love with Dale and had realized herself. But she had kept
that hope secret. Dale's eager tone, his flashing eyes, had
made her feel that her secret was there in her telltale
face.

As she entered the lane leading to the house she encountered
one of the new stable-boys driving a pack-mule.

"Jim, whose pack is that?" she asked.

"Ma'am, I dunno, but I heard him tell Roy he reckoned his
name was mud," replied the boy, smiling.

Helen's heart gave a quick throb. That sounded like Las
Vegas. She hurried on, and upon entering the courtyard she
espied Roy Beeman holding the halter of a beautiful,
wild-looking mustang. There was another horse with another
man, who was in the act of dismounting on the far side. When
he stepped into better view Helen recognized Las Vegas. And
he saw her at the same instant.

Helen did not look up again until she was near the porch.
She had dreaded this meeting, yet she was so glad that she
could have cried aloud.

"Miss Helen, I shore am glad to see you," he said, standing
bareheaded before her, the same young, frank-faced cowboy
she had seen first from the train.

"Tom!" she exclaimed, and offered her hands.

He wrung them hard while he looked at her. The swift woman's
glance Helen gave in return seemed to drive something dark
and doubtful out of her heart. This was the same boy she had
known -- whom she had liked so well -- who had won her
sister's love. Helen imagined facing him thus was like
awakening from a vague nightmare of doubt. Carmichael's face
was clean, fresh, young, with its healthy tan; it wore the
old glad smile, cool, easy, and natural; his eyes were like
Dale's -- penetrating, clear as crystal, without a shadow.
What had evil, drink, blood, to do with the real inherent
nobility of this splendid specimen of Western hardihood?
Wherever he had been, whatever he had done during that long
absence, he had returned long separated from that wild and
savage character she could now forget. Perhaps there would
never again be call for it.

"How's my girl?" he asked, just as naturally as if he had
been gone a few days on some errand of his employer's.

"Bo? Oh, she's well -- fine. I -- I rather think she'll be
glad to see you," replied Helen, warmly.

"An' how's thet big Indian, Dale?" he drawled.

"Well, too -- I'm sure."

"Reckon I got back heah in time to see you-all married?"

"I -- I assure you I -- no one around here has been married
yet," replied Helen, with a blush.

"Thet shore is fine. Was some worried," he said, lazily.
"I've been chasin' wild hosses over in New Mexico, an' I got
after this heah blue roan. He kept me chasin' him fer a
spell. I've fetched him back for Bo."

Helen looked at the mustang Roy was holding, to be instantly
delighted. He was a roan almost blue in color, neither large
nor heavy, but powerfully built, clean-limbed, and racy,
with a long mane and tail, black as coal, and a beautiful
head that made Helen love him at once.

"Well, I'm jealous," declared Helen, archly. "I never did
see such a pony."

"I reckoned you'd never ride any hoss but Ranger," said Las
Vegas.

"No, I never will. But I can be jealous, anyhow, can't I?"

"Shore. An I reckon if you say you're goin' to have him --
wal, Bo 'd be funny," he drawled.

"I reckon she would be funny," retorted Helen. She was so
happy that she imitated his speech. She wanted to hug him.
It was too good to be true -- the return of this cowboy. He
understood her. He had come back with nothing that could
alienate her. He had apparently forgotten the terrible role
he had accepted and the doom he had meted out to her
enemies. That moment was wonderful for Helen in its
revelation of the strange significance of the West as
embodied in this cowboy. He was great. But he did not know
that.

Then the door of the living-room opened, and a sweet, high
voice pealed out:

"Roy! Oh, what a mustang! Whose is he?"

"Wal, Bo, if all I hear is so he belongs to you," replied
Roy with a huge grin.

Bo appeared in the door. She stepped out upon the porch. She
saw the cowboy. The excited flash of her pretty face
vanished as she paled.

"Bo, I shore am glad to see you," drawled Las Vegas, as he
stepped forward, sombrero in hand. Helen could not see any
sign of confusion in him. But, indeed, she saw gladness.
Then she expected to behold Bo run right into the cowboys's
arms. It appeared, however, that she was doomed to
disappointment.

"Tom, I'm glad to see you," she replied.

They shook hands as old friends.

"You're lookin' right fine," he said.

"Oh, I'm well. . . . And how have you been these six
months?" she queried.

"Reckon I though it was longer," he drawled. "Wal, I'm
pretty tip-top now, but I was laid up with heart trouble for
a spell."

"Heart trouble?" she echoed, dubiously.

"Shore. . . . I ate too much over heah in New Mexico."

"It's no news to me -- where your heart's located," laughed
Bo. Then she ran off the porch to see the blue mustang. She
walked round and round him, clasping her hands in sheer
delight.

"Bo, he's a plumb dandy," said Roy. "Never seen a prettier
hoss. He'll run like a streak. An' he's got good eyes. He'll
be a pet some day. But I reckon he'll always be spunky."

"Bo ventured to step closer, and at last got a hand on the
mustang, and then another. She smoothed his quivering neck
and called softly to him, until he submitted to her hold.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Blue somethin' or other," replied Roy.

"Tom, has my new mustang a name?" asked Bo, turning to the
cowboy.

"Shore."

"What then?"

"Wal, I named him Blue-Bo," answered Las Vegas, with a
smile.

"Blue-Boy?"

"Nope. He's named after you. An' I chased him, roped him,
broke him all myself."

"Very well. Blue-Bo he is, then. . . . And he's a wonderful
darling horse. Oh, Nell, just look at him. . . . Tom, I
can't thank you enough."

"Reckon I don't want any thanks," drawled the cowboy. "But
see heah, Bo, you shore got to live up to conditions before
you ride him."

"What!" exclaimed Bo, who was startled by his slow, cool,
meaning tone, of voice.

Helen delighted in looking at Las Vegas then. He had never
appeared to better advantage. So cool, careless, and
assured! He seemed master of a situation in which his terms
must be accepted. Yet he might have been actuated by a
cowboy motive beyond the power of Helen to divine.

"Bo Rayner," drawled Las Vegas, "thet blue mustang will be
yours, an' you can ride him -- when you're MRS. TOM
CARMICHAEL!"

Never had he spoken a softer, more drawling speech, nor
gazed at Bo more mildly. Roy seemed thunderstruck. Helen
endeavored heroically to restrain her delicious, bursting
glee. Bo's wide eyes stared at her lover -- darkened --
dilated. Suddenly she left the mustang to confront the
cowboy where he lounged on the porch steps.

"Do you mean that?" she cried.

"Shore do."

"Bah! It's only a magnificent bluff," she retorted. "You're
only in fun. It's your -- your darned nerve!"

"Why, Bo," began Las Vegas, reproachfully. "You shore know
I'm not the four-flusher kind. Never got away with a bluff
in my life! An' I'm jest in daid earnest aboot this heah."

All the same, signs were not wanting in his mobile face that
he was almost unable to restrain his mirth.

Helen realized then that Bo saw through the cowboy -- that
the ultimatum was only one of his tricks.

"It IS a bluff and I CALL you!" declared Bo, ringingly.

Las Vegas suddenly awoke to consequences. He essayed to
speak, but she was so wonderful then, so white and
blazing-eyed, that he was stricken mute.

"I'll ride Blue-Bo this afternoon," deliberately stated the
girl.

Las Vegas had wit enough to grasp her meaning, and he seemed
about to collapse.

"Very well, you can make me Mrs. Tom Carmichael to-day --
this morning -- just before dinner. . . . Go get a preacher
to marry us -- and make yourself look a more presentable
bridegroom -- UNLESS IT WAS ONLY A BLUFF!"

Her imperiousness changed as the tremendous portent of her
words seemed to make Las Vegas a blank, stone image of a
man. With a wild-rose color suffusing her face, she swiftly
bent over him, kissed him, and flashed away into the house.
Her laugh pealed back, and it thrilled Helen, so deep and
strange was it for the wilful sister, so wild and merry and
full of joy.

It was then that Roy Beeman recovered from his paralysis, to
let out such a roar of mirth as to frighten the horses.
Helen was laughing, and crying, too, but laughing mostly.
Las Vegas Carmichael was a sight for the gods to behold.
Bo's kiss had unclamped what had bound him. The sudden
truth, undeniable, insupportable, glorious, made him a
madman.

"Bluff -- she called me -- ride Blue-Bo saf'ternoon!" he
raved, reaching wildly for Helen. "Mrs. -- Tom -- Carmichael
-- before dinner -- preacher -- presentable bridegroom! . .
. Aw! I'm drunk again! I -- who swore off forever!"

"No, Tom, you're just happy," said Helen.

Between her and Roy the cowboy was at length persuaded to
accept the situation and to see his wonderful opportunity.

"Now -- now, Miss Helen -- what'd Bo mean by pre --
presentable bridegroom? . . . Presents? Lord, I'm clean
busted flat!"

"She meant you must dress up in your best, of course,"
replied Helen.

"Where 'n earth will I get a preacher? . . . Show Down's
forty miles. . . . Can't ride there in time. . . . Roy, I've
gotta have a preacher. . . . Life or death deal fer me."

"Wal, old man, if you'll brace up I'll marry you to Bo,"
said Roy, with his glad grin.

"Aw!" gasped Las Vegas, as if at the coming of a sudden
beautiful hope.

"Tom, I'm a preacher," replied Roy, now earnestly. "You
didn't know thet, but I am. An' I can marry you an' Bo as
good as any one, an' tighter 'n most."

Las Vegas reached for his friend as a drowning man might
have reached for solid rock.

"Roy, can you really marry them -- with my Bible -- and the
service of my church?" asked Helen, a happy hope flushing
her face.

"Wal, indeed I can. I've married more 'n one couple whose
religion wasn't mine."

"B-b-before -- d-d-din-ner!" burst out Las Vegas, like a
stuttering idiot.

"I reckon. Come on, now, an' make yourself pre-senttible,"
said Roy. "Miss Helen, you tell Bo thet it's all settled."

He picked up the halter on the blue mustang and turned away
toward the corrals. Las Vegas put the bridle of his horse
over his arm, and seemed to be following in a trance, with
his dazed, rapt face held high.

"Bring Dale," called Helen, softly after them.

So it came about as naturally as it was wonderful that Bo
rode the blue mustang before the afternoon ended.

Las Vegas disobeyed his first orders from Mrs. Tom
Carmichael and rode out after her toward the green-rising
range. Helen seemed impelled to follow. She did not need to
ask Dale the second time. They rode swiftly, but never
caught up with Bo and Las Vegas, whose riding resembled
their happiness.

Dale read Helen's mind, or else his own thoughts were in
harmony with hers, for he always seemed to speak what she
was thinking. And as they rode homeward he asked her in his
quiet way if they could not spare a few days to visit his
old camp.

"And take Bo -- and Tom? Oh, of all things I'd like to'" she
replied.

"Yes -- an' Roy, too," added Dale, significantly.

"Of course," said Helen, lightly, as if she had not caught
his meaning. But she turned her eyes away, while her heart
thumped disgracefully and all her body was aglow. "Will Tom
and Bo go?"

"It was Tom who got me to ask you," replied Dale. "John an'
Hal can look after the men while we're gone."

"Oh -- so Tom put it in your head? I guess -- maybe -- I
won't go."

"It is always in my mind, Nell," he said, with his slow
seriousness. "I'm goin' to work all my life for you. But
I'll want to an' need to go back to the woods often. . . .
An' if you ever stoop to marry me -- an' make me the richest
of men -- you'll have to marry me up there where I fell in
love with you."

"Ah! Did Las Vegas Tom Carmichael say that, too?" inquired
Helen, softly.

"Nell, do you want to know what Las Vegas said?"

"By all means."

"He said this -- an' not an hour ago. 'Milt, old hoss, let
me give you a hunch. I'm a man of family now -- an' I've
been a devil with the wimmen in my day. I can see through
'em. Don't marry Nell Rayner in or near the house where I
killed Beasley. She'd remember. An' don't let her remember
thet day. Go off into the woods. Paradise Park! Bo an' me
will go with you."

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