CHAPTER III
MOLLY
Molly came down next morning in the faded blue gingham. Sandy marked howworn it was and marked an item in his mind--clothes. He smiled at herwith the sudden showing of his sound white teeth that made many friends.She was much too young, too frank, too like a boy to affect him with anyof his woman-shyness. He did not realize how close she was to womanhood,seeing only how much she must have missed of real girlhood.
Molly had a snubby nose, a wide mouth, Irish eyes of blue that were farapart and crystal clear, freckles and a lot of brown hair that she worein a long braid wound twice about her well-shaped head. She was acombination of curves and angles, of well-rounded neck and arms and legswith collar-bones and hips over-apparent, immature but not awkward.
None of the three partners observed these things in detail. All of themnoted that her eyes were steady, friendly, trusting, and that when shesmiled at them it was like the flash of water in a tree-shady pond, whena trout leaps. Grit, entering with her, divided his attentions among themen, shoving a moist nose at last into Sandy's palm and lying downobedient, his tail thumping amicably, as Sandy examined the tapeprotectors.
"You lie round the ranch for a day or so," he told the collie, "an'you'll be as good as new."
"Fo' a sheepdawg," said Mormon, "he sure shapes fine."
Molly's eyes flashed. "He don't _know_ he's a sheepdawg," she protested."He's never even seen one, 'less it was a mountain sheep, 'way upagainst the skyline. Samson liked him. Don't you like him?"
"I like him fine," Mormon answered hurriedly. "Fine!"
"Ef you-all didn't, we c'ud shack on somewheres. I c'ud git work down tothe settlemints, I reckon. I don't aim to put you out any. I've beenthinkin' erbout that. 'Less you should happen to want a woman to run thehouse. I don't know much about housekeepin' but I c'ud l'arn. It's awoman's job, chasin' dirt. I can cook--some. Dad used to say mycamp-bread an' biscuits was fine. I c'ud earn what I eat, I reckon. An'what Grit 'ud eat. We don't aim to stay unless we pay--someway."
There was a touch of fire to her independence, a chip on the shoulder ofher pride the three partners recognized and respected.
"See here, Molly Casey,"--Sandy used exactly the same tone and manner hewould have taken with a boy--"that's yore way of lookin' at it. Thenthere's our side. You figger yore dad was a pritty good miner, Ireckon?"
"He sure knew rock. Every one 'lowed that. They was always more'n onewantin' to grubstake him but he'd never take it. Figgered he didn't wantto split any strike he might make an' figgered he w'udn't take no man'smoney 'less he was dead sure of payin' him back. Dad was a good miner."
"All right. Now, yore dad believes in them claims. The last two words hesays was 'Molly' and 'mines.' I give him my word then and there, like hewould have to me, to watch out for yore interests. My word is mypardners' word. I'm willin' to gamble those claims of his'll pan outsome day. Until they do, ef you-all 'll stay on at the Three Star, stopMormon stompin' in from the corral with dirty boots, ride herd on Saman' me the same way, mebbe cook us up some of them biscuits once in awhile, why, it'll be fine! Then there's yore schoolin'. Yore dad 'udwish you to have that. I don't suppose you've had a heap. An' you sabe,Molly, that you swear mo' often than a gel usually swears."
She opened her eyes wide. "But I don't cuss when I say 'em. An' I don'tuse the worst ones. Dad w'udn't let me. I can read an' write, spell an'cipher some. But Dad needed me more'n I needed learnin'."
"But you got to have it," said Mormon earnestly. "S'pose them claims panout way rich and you git all-fired wealthy? Bein' a gel, you sabeclothes, di'monds, silks, satins an' feather fuss. You'll want to learnthe pianner. You'll want to know what to git an' how to wear it. Won'twant folks laffin' at you like they laffed at Sam, time he won fo'hundred dollars shootin' craps an' went to Galveston where a smart Alecof a clerk sells him a spiketail coat, wash vest an' black pants withbraid on the seams.
"Sam, he don't know how to wear 'em, or when. His laigs sure lookedprominent in them braided pants. Warn't any side pockets in 'em,neither, fo' him to hide his hands. Sam's laigs got warped when he wasyoung, lyin' out nights in the rain 'thout a tarp'. That suit set backSam a heap of money an' it ain't no mo' use to him than an extry shellto a terrapin."
He grinned at Molly with his face creased into good humor that could notbe resisted. She laughed as Sam joined in, but the determination of herrounded chin returned after the merriment had passed.
"If you did that--took my Daddy's place," she said, "why, we'd bepardners, same as him an' me was. When the claims pan out, half of it'llhave to be yores. I won't stay no other way."
The glances of the three partners exchanged a mutual conclusion, amutual approval.
"That goes," said Sandy, putting out his hand. "Fo' all three of us.When the mines are payin' dividends, we split, half on 'count of theThree Star, half to you. Providin' you fall in line with the eddication,so's to do yore dad, yo'se'f an' us, yore pardners, due credit when themoney starts comin' in. Sabe?"
"I don't sabe the eddication part of it," she answered. "Jest what doesthat mean? I don't want to go to school with a lot of kids who'll laf atme."
"You don't have to. As pardners," Sandy went on earnestly, "I don't mindtellin' you that the Three Bar has put all its chips into the kitty an',while we figger sure to win, we can't cash in any till the increase ofthe herds starts to make a showin'. Not till after the fall round-up,anyway. So yore eddication'll have to be put off a bit. Meantime you'lllearn to ride an' rope an' mebbe break a colt or two, between meals an'ridin' herd on the dirt. When you start in, it'll be at one of themschools in the East where they make a speshulty of western heiresses.How's that sound?"
"Sounds fine. On'y, you've picked up Dad's hand to gamble with. Mebbe itain't yore game, nor the one you'd choose to play if it wasn't forced onyou."
"Sister," said Sam, "yo're skinnin' yore hides too close. Sandy 'udgamble on which way a horn-toad'll spit. It's meat an' drink to him. Wewon this ranch on a gamble--him playin'. He gambles as he breathes. An'whatever hand he plays, me an' Mormon backs. Why, if we win on thisminin' deal, we're way ahead of the game, seein' we don't put upanythin' in cold collateral. It's a sure-fire cinch."
"Sam says it," backed Sandy. "One good gamble!"
Molly's eyes had lightened for a moment, losing their gloom of griefthey had held since the shadow of the circling buzzards in the gorge haddarkened them. She fumbled at the waistband of her one-piece gown,working at it with her fingers, producing a golden eagle which shehanded to Sandy.
"That's my luck-piece," she said. "Dad give it to me one time hecleaned up good on a placer claim. Nex' time you gamble, will you playthat--for me? Half an' half on the winnin's. I sure need some clothes."
The glint of the born gambler's superstition showed in Sandy's eyes ashe took the ten dollars.
"I sure will do that," he said. "An' mighty soon. Now then, talk's over,all agreed. Sam an' me has got some work to do outside. Won't be backmuch before sun-down. Mormon, he's goin' to be middlin' busy, too.Molly, you jest acquaint yorese'f with the Three Star. Riders won't beback till dark. No one about but Mormon, Pedro the cook, an' Joe. Restup all you can. I'm goin' to bring yore dad in to runnin' water."
Tears welled in Molly's eyes as she thanked him. Again Sandy saw thegirlish frankness change to the gratefulness of a woman's spirit,looking out at him between her lids. It made him a little uneasy. Themen went out together, walking toward the corral.
"Sam an' me's goin' to bring in what's left of Pat Casey, Mormon.Wagon's kindlin', harness is plumb rotten. Ain't much to bring 'cepthim, I reckon. We'll take the buckboard, with a tarp' to stow him under.Up to you to knock together a coffin an' dig a grave under thecottonwoods an' below the spring. Right where that li'l' knoll makes theoverflow curve 'ud be a good spot. Use up them extry boards we got forthe bunk-house. Git Joe to help you. No sense in lettin' the gel seeyou, of course."
"Nice occupation fo' a sunny day," grumbled Mormon, but, as thebuckboard
drove off, he was busy planing boards in the blacksmith'sshop, with the door closed against intrusion.
Mid-afternoon found him with the coffin completed. He rounded up thehalf-breed to help him dig the grave, first locating Molly in a hammockhe had slung for her in the shade of the trees by the cistern. He hadfurnished her with his pet literature, an enormous mail-order cataloguefrom a Chicago firm. It was on the ground, the breeze ruffling theillustrated pages, lifting some stray wisps of hair on the girl's neckas she lay, fast asleep, relaxed in the wide canvas hammock, her facecheckered by the shifting leaves between her and the sun.
Mormon could move as softly as a cat, for all his bulk. There was turfabout the cistern, he had made no sound arriving, but he tiptoed off,his kindly mouth rounded into an O of silence, his weather crinkled eyeshalf-closed.
"She's jest a baby," he said, half aloud, as he passed beyond the treesto where Joe waited with pick and spade.
The soil was soft and clear from stone. An hour sufficed to sink a shaftfor Pat Casey's last bed. Mormon carefully adjusted the headboard he hadfashioned from a thick plank, to be carved later when the lettering wasdecided upon. This done he buckled on the belt he had discarded, fromwhich his holster and revolver swung. Sandy carried two guns, hispartners one, habits of earlier, more stirring days, toting them asinevitably as they wore spurs, though there was little occasion to usethem on the Three Star, save to put a hurt animal out of misery, or killa rattlesnake.
Moisture streamed from Mormon's face, patched his clothes as the heatand his exertions temporarily melted some of his superfluous adiposity.Joe, his mahogany face stolid as a wooden carving, rolled a cigarette.
"I sure hate to see a nameless grave," said Mormon.
"Si, Senor," Joe's amiability agreed.
"You go git a dipper. I'm drier'n Dry Crick. Fetch it full from thespring." The half-breed ambled off. Mormon wiped his face with hisbandanna. Suddenly his big body stiffened. He heard Molly's voice fromthe cistern, frightened, then storming in anger. Mormon ran at asprinter's gait from the cottonwoods, along a side of the corral,through the trees bordering the cistern. The girl was out of thehammock, facing a man in riding breeches and puttees, his face concealedfor the moment by his hands. A sleeve of the girl's frock was torn away,the outworn fabric in streamers. The man's hands came down and Mormonrecognized him for Jim Plimsoll, owner of the Good Luck Pool Parlors, inthe little cattle town of Hereford, where faro, roulette, chuckaluck andcraps were played in the back room, owner also of a near-by horse ranch.There was blood on his face, the marks of finger nails.
Plimsoll jumped for the girl, caught her by one arm roughly. Shestruggled fiercely, silently, striking at him with her free fist.Mormon's gun flashed from its sheath as he shouted at the man. Plimsollwheeled, releasing Molly. His dark face was livid with rage, a pistolgleamed as he plucked it from beneath the waistband of his ridingbreeches. The turf spatted between his feet as Mormon fired.
"Got the drop on ye, Jim! Nex' shot'll be higher. Shove that gun back.Now then," as Plimsoll sullenly obeyed, "what in hell do you figgeryo're doin'?" Mormon's jovial face was tense, his voice stern and cold,he stood crouched forward a little from the hips, legs apart, his gun athing of menace that seemed to be alive, snaky.
"Keep still," he ordered, walking toward the pair, his gun coveringPlimsoll, the cheery blue of his eyes changed to the color of ice in theshade, the pupils mere pin-pricks. Molly glanced at him once, fingerscaressing her bruised arm.
"He kissed me while I was asleep, the damned skunk!" she flared. "I'dsooner hev rattlesnake-pizen on my lips!" She stopped rubbing the arm toscrub fiercely at her mouth with the back of her hand.
"It ain't the first time I've kissed you," said Plimsoll. "Yore daddidn't stop me from doin' it. I didn't notice you scratching like awildcat either. Where's your dad? And where do you come in on this dealbetween old friends?" he demanded of Mormon.
"Her dad's dead," said Mormon simply. "Molly is stayin' fo' a spell atthe Three Star. Sandy Bourke, Sam Manning an' me is lookin' out fo'her, an' we aim to do a good job of it. Sabe?"
Plimsoll's thin-lipped mouth sneered with his eyes.
"Gone in for baby-farming, have you, or robbing the cradle? Who'splaying the king in this deal? I----" The leer suddenly vanished fromhis face, the tip of his tongue licked his lips. Mormon's gun was slowlycoming up level with his heart, steady as Mormon's gaze, fingercompressing the trigger.
"The law reckons you a man--so fur," said Mormon. "Yore pals 'ud pack ajury to hang me fo' shootin' the dirty heart out of you, but--ef youever let out a foul word or a look about that gel, I'll take my chanceof their bein' enough white men round here to 'quit me. There ought tobe a bounty on yore scalp an' ears. You hear me, Jim Plimsoll, I'mtalkin' straight. Now git, head yore hawss fo' the short trail toHereford an' keep travelin'. Pronto!"
Plimsoll's pony was standing under the trees and the gambler turned and,with an attempted laugh, swaggered toward it.
The threat to his personal safety, his desire to fling a sneer atMormon, seemed to have halted any correlation of the statementconcerning the death of the girl's father until now.
"If that's true about your dad," he said, "I'm sorry. How did he die?"
Sensing the hypocrisy of the shift to sympathy, the girl took a stepforward. Mormon's pupils contracted again; his finger itched to pressthe trigger it touched.
"It's none of yore business," said the girl. "You git."
Plimsoll's eyes shifted to Mormon's big body, stiffening to the crouchthat prefaced shooting. He faced toward the trees again, flinging hislast words over his shoulder.
"None of my business? I don't agree with you there, you littlehell-weasel. Your father and me had more than one deal together. You andI may have to do business together yet, Molly mine!"
Molly's teeth showed between her parted lips, her fingers were hooked.Mormon anticipated her indignant leap. His gun spurted fire, theexpensive Stetson broadrim seemed lifted from Plimsoll's hair by aninvisible hand. With the report it sailed forward, side-slipped, landedon its rim, perforated by a steel-nosed thirty-eight caliber bullet.
"I give you last warnin'," roared Mormon.
Plimsoll sprang ahead like a racer at the starter's shot, snatched athis hat, missed it, let it lie as he ran on to his horse, mounted andwent galloping off. Mormon holstered his gun and swung about to Molly,standing with crimson cheeks, blazing eyes and a young bosom turbulentwith emotions.
"I wisht you'd killed him. I wisht you'd killed him!" she cried. "Iwisht I had a gun--or a knife! I hate him--hate him--_hate him_! When hesays he was ever in a deal with Dad, he lies. Dad stood for him and thatwas all. He purtended to be awful strong for Dad, purtended to be fondof me, jest to swarm 'round Dad, for some reason. Brought me a dollonce. I was thirteen. What in hell did I want with a doll?" she panted."I burned the damn thing that night in the fire. He kissed me an' Dadseemed to think I owed it him for the doll. I nigh bit my lip offafterward. I wisht yore first shot had been higher, or yore secondlower, Peters."
"Call me Uncle Mormon, Molly. I had all I c'ud do not to make it plumbcenter, li'l' gel, but the jury'd ring in a cold deck on me if I had.He's sure some snake. But we'll take care of Jim Plimsoll, yore UncleMormon, with Sam an' Sandy."
Patting Molly's shoulder, Mormon smiled at her with his irresistiblegrin, and she reflected it faintly as she tucked in the remnants of hertorn sleeve.
"That's the on'y dress I got till Sandy Bourke wins me some money," shesaid. "You sure are quick, Uncle Mormon, when you git inter action. An'you can shoot some."
"I reckon I coil up tight, between times, like a spring. Used to bepritty light an' limber on my feet oncet. As for shootin', I wish Sandy'ud been here. He'd have shot both the heels off that fo'-flusher, rightan' left, 'thout you ever see his hands move. I ain't so bad, Sam'sbetter, but we had to throw a lot of lead in practise. Sandy shoots likehe walks or breathes. It comes natcherul to him, like Sam's ear fo'music. I've allus 'lowed Sandy must hev cut his teeth
on a cartridge."
His arm around her shoulder, purposely chatting away, Mormon led Mollytoward the ranch-house, waving off the half-breed who came toward them,his dipper of the spring water half emptied in the excitement.Plimsoll's horse was stirring up a dust-cloud on the way to Hereford,other puffs, far-away toward the range, proclaimed that the buckboardwas on its way with its funeral freight.
The body of the old prospector was lowered into the grave with the lastof the daylight. The raw scar of the grave was covered with turfs Mormonordered cut by the half-breed. Molly Casey walked away alone, her headhigh, the corner of her lower lip caught under her teeth, eyes winkingback the tears. It was the headboard that had forced her struggle forcomposure. Mormon had marked on it, with the heavy lead of a carpenter'spencil.
PATRICK CASEY lies here where the grass grows and the water runs. He looked for gold in the desert and found death. Buried June 10, 1920
"Ef that suits you," he told Molly, "they's a chap over to Herefordwho's a wolf on carvin'. My letterin's punk. When yore mines pay youc'ud have it in stone."
"You-all are awful good to me," was all she could trust herself to say.Each of the Three Musketeers of the Range felt a tug to take her in hisarms and comfort her. Instead they looked at one another, as men oftheir breed do. Sam pulled at his mustache. Mormon rubbed the top of hisbald head and Sandy rolled a cigarette and smoked it silently.
Molly ate no supper that night. Before dawn Sandy thought he heard thedoor of her room open and soft footfalls stealing down the stairs. Whenhe went later to the spring he found the grave covered with the wildblooms that the girl had picked in the dewy dawn.