Knights of the Range. Zane GreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
who hastened the advent of her departure for home. Holly had never heard from Lascelles and had almost forgotten the incident. But here he had turned up, at her own table, an older man with whom the years had played havoc, whose hungry eyes betrayed that he had been hunting for her, and intended to make her remember. Holly suffered a moment of dismay. She was to blame for this. Whatever had been in her mind—to imagine she had been in love with this Lascelles?
The supper was served by a troupe of Holly’s Mexican girls in native costume, and it was a bounteous one. The table groaned with savory viands and steaming vegetables and luscious fruits. At the outset the burly members of the caravan were too hungry and too glad to be present for any consistent merriment. But by the time the wine was passed around they made up for their lack.
In the succeeding hour Holly heard all the news from the towns on the Mississippi, from the cattle centers in Kansas, from the camps and posts in the plains, and from the forts. Not the least of this information consisted of reports of Indian attacks on the vanguard of the buffalo hunters, the advance of the railroad, the increase of travel westward, the renewal of soldier escorts for the caravans south from Las Animas, the hold-up of stage-coaches, all of which attested to the spring quickening of activity on the frontier. And the best of it was a marked rise in prices for beef, the increase in markets, owing to the pushing westward of the Santa Fe Railroad.
“Hard times for railroad construction are about over,” said Belmet. “Last December the work crossed the Colorado state line. That was well within the ten years of grace allowed the builders by the land grant. Rails will reach La Junta by 1873, mebbe, and Raton the year after, mebbe.”
“Holly, thet’s great news,” exclaimed Britt. “When the Santa Fe crosses New Mexico we want 75,000 haid of cattle heah.”
“Cap, you can breed them on this wonderful range,” said the scout. “But keepin’ them long enough to sell—thet’ll be the rub!”
When the supper-party broke up Holly was standing with Britt, saying goodbye to Belmet, as Lascelles presented himself. Looked at through more mature eyes, he did not revive even a hint of the old girlish thrill. Still he had a semblance of southern grace.
“Holly Ripple, we meet again,” he said, with gallant bow. “I have long dreamed of this moment. May I present my compliments? You have changed from the girl I knew so well at Madam Brault’s school in New Orleans. From pretty girl to lovely woman!”
Holly did not offer her hand and she met his eyes with level gaze.
“I remember you, Mr. Lascelles,” she said. “Are you not lost, away from the boulevards of Orleans? What are you doing on the frontier?”
“Holly, I have never ceased to search for you,” he returned, boldly. “You alone brought me West.”
“Indeed? I am sorry. You must have over-rated the silly flirtation of a pent-up school girl. You are welcome, of course, at the table of my father. But I have no wish to renew the acquaintance.”
“Holly, I’d like to meet the gentleman,” interposed Britt, in his cool drawl.
“Mr. Lascelles, this is my father’s old trail comrade, and my foreman, Captain Britt.”
Holly moved toward the door with Belmet. “Thet’d shore took the hide off the impudent fellow if it hadn’t been so thick,” observed the scout. Holly went out on the porch with him. The last group of guests were thudding down the path. Stars were shining; the peep of spring frogs came plaintively from the ponds; a cold tang of mountain air made Holly draw her wrap close about her bare shoulders. She bade the plainsman goodnight and went into the living-room, to turn up the lamp. Cedar logs burned ruddily on the hearth. She thought again of Frayne. Presently Britt entered, with his keen eyes gleaming unwontedly.
“Say, Holly Ripple, air you responsible fer that flash gambler showin’ up heah?” he demanded.
“He says so.”
“Has he any hold on you?”
“None whatever.”
“I heahed you tell him. An’ shore I shouldn’t need more. But he ruffled me, lass. I must be gettin’ testy in my old age. . . . Dog-gone-it, I’m the only dad you got!”
“Cappy, you are indeed, and I love you. Don’t waste concern on Mr. Lascelles.”
“Wal, he tried to make oot there was somethin’ between you. Kind of brazen, or thick-haided. I told him he’d had supper at Don Carlos’ Rancho, an’ to slope. All the same if I don’t mistake my figgerin’ men you’ll heah more aboot this kid flirtation.”
“Cappy, you don’t mean this man will take advantage of that indiscretion of mine to—to——”
“I shore do,” returned Britt, as Holly hesitated. “The damn fool thinks you air—or was—sweet on him. Reckon it’s a bluff. He’s an adventurer an’ ’way down on his luck. He fetched his pack up heah, an’ I had to give him a room. Another instance of yore Dad’s famous hospitality to anyone! I cain’t throw him oot.”
“No, indeed. . . . But it might prove annoying. I certainly don’t want to meet him again.”
“Wal, how air you goin’ to avoid it, if he stays heah? Remember thet army officer who bored you half to death?”
“You might try the same remedy,” said Holly, with a little laugh.
“Brazos!—Holly, I must say thet when you air sick of a man you reckoned you liked—wal, you show yore Spanish. It wouldn’t never do to give Brazos a hint aboot this gambler.”
“Did Brazos get back?” asked Holly, quickly.
“Yes, before supper. Mad as a wet hen because he had to pack Stinger on his hawse, an’ walk ten miles. How thet boy hates to walk!”
“Oh—Stinger! Is he——”
“Shot up some, but nothin’ to worry aboot. . . . It happened thet Frayne seen Brazos comin’ an’ packed Stinger in. Frayne said he knowed gun-shot wounds, an’ thet this wasn’t bad if dressed proper. Which he proceeded to do. Done it swift an’ slick, too. I shore get a laugh oot of those cowboys. Brazos said, ‘I’m dawg-tired an’ I don’t care a damn if he croaks. An’ I’m gonna bore Mugg Dillon!’ . . . Then Stinger looks up at Frayne an’ asks, suspicious like, ‘Who’n hell air you, stranger?’ An’ Frayne says easy an’ cool, ‘Renn Frayne’ . . . Thet bunk-house went as quiet as a church. They’d heahed of him. Cowboys air a curious lot. They never fail to talk whenever they meet riders or go any place. An’ they never forget an’ they tell each other. Some of our new boys have rode the Pan Handle. Ride-’em Jackson is from Texas. They’ve heahed of Frayne an’ have talked aboot him, same as of every bad hombre on the range. It worries me.”
“Did you tell Mr. Frayne that I invited him to supper?”
“I shore did, Holly. He just refused, short an’ sweet. I was sort of stumped, an’ told him when you invited people, same as yore Dad before you, an’ Don Carlos before him—why, they just come plumb glad. Then he says: ‘Thank Miss Ripple for me, and tell her I appreciate the honor, but that I do not want to come.’”
“Britt, is Frayne a criminal, with good instincts?”
“No criminal, believe me, in the sense you mean. No low-born man could ever look straight at you like Frayne does. . . . An’ I shore don’t believe he was ashamed to come.”
“Could it have been because he shot his comrades?”
“No. Frayne wouldn’t think no more aboot shootin’ them than jack-rabbits. Holly, you’ll have to swaller it. Heah’s an outlaw you’ve been gracious to. An’ he just plain snubs you. I reckon, though, thet it’d mean nothin’ to you except fer thet absurd old custom of yore Dad’s, an’ one you think every man should kow-tow to.”
“It’s not absurd, Britt,” protested Holly, spiritedly.
“Be