CHAPTER II
THE SYMPATHETIC RESCUER
Halfway down the slope, the rider turned and saw that Willard and theoccupants of the buckboard were watching him. The color in his cheeksgrew deeper and his embarrassment increased, for he noted that the girlhad faced squarely around toward him, had forgotten her precariousposition; her hands were clasped as though she were praying for hissafety. The aunt and uncle, too, were twisted in their seat, leaningtoward him in rigid attitudes, and Willard, safe on his bank, wasstanding with clenched hands.
"Do you reckon we're goin' to break our necks, you piebald outlaw," therider said to the pony. "Well," as the animal whinnied gently at thesound of his voice, "there's some people that do, an' if you've got anyrespect for them you'll be mighty careful."
The descent was accomplished in a brief time, and then Patches and hisrider went forward toward the mired buckboard and its occupants, the ponyunconcernedly, its rider, having conquered his embarrassment, serene,steady of eye, inwardly amused.
When he reached the water's edge he halted Patches. Sitting motionless inthe saddle, he quietly contemplated the occupants of the buckboard. Hehad come to help them, but he was not going to proffer his services untilhe was sure they would be welcomed. He had heard stories of thesnobbishness and independence of some Easterners.
And so he sat there long, for the occupants of the buckboard, knowingnothing of his intentions, were in their turn awaiting some word fromhim.
No word came. He looked down, interestedly watching Patches drink. Then,when the pony had finished, he looked up, straight at the girl. She wassitting very erect--as erect as she could in the circumstances, tryinghard to repress her anger over his inaction. She could see that he wasdeliberately delaying. And she met his gaze coldly.
He looked from the girl to Willard. The Easterner was examining a smallpistol that he had drawn from a yellow holster at his waist, so high onhis waist that he had been compelled to bend his elbow in an acute angleto get it out. His hands were trembling, whether from the wetting he hadreceived or from doubt as to the rider's intentions, was a question thatthe rider did not bother with. He looked again at the girl. Doubt hadcome into her eyes; she was looking half fearfully at him, and he sawthat she half suspected him of being a desperado, intent on doing harm.He grinned, moved to mirth.
She was reassured; that smile had done it. She returned it, a littleruefully. And she felt that, in view of the circumstances, she mightdispense with formalities and get right down to business. For her seatwas uncomfortable, and Aunt Martha and Uncle Jepson were anxious, to saynothing of Willard, who had placed his pistol behind him, determined, ifthe man turned out to be a highwayman, to defend his party to the last.
But still the rider did not move. There was no hurry; only Willard seemedto be really suffering, for the winter's chill had not yet gone out ofthe air. But then, Willard had earned his ducking.
The girl cleared her throat. "We have had an accident," she informed therider, her voice a little husky.
At this word he swept his hat from his head and bowed to her. "Why, Ireckon you have, ma'am," he said. "Didn't you have no driver?"
"Why, yes," returned the girl hesitatingly, for she thought she detectedsarcasm in his voice, and she had to look twice at him to make sure--andthen she couldn't have told. "The gentleman on the bank, there, is ourdriver."
"The gentleman on the bank, eh?" drawled the rider. And now for the firsttime he seemed to become aware of Willard's presence, for he lookednarrowly at him. "Why, he's all wet!" he exclaimed. "I expect he comepretty near drownin', didn't he, ma'am?" He looked again at the girl,astonishment in his eyes. "An' so he drove you into that suck-hole, an'he got throwed out! Wasn't there no one to tell him that Calamity ain'tto be trusted?"
"Mr. Vickers told us to keep to the right after reaching the middle,"said the girl.
"I distinctly understood him to say the left, Ruth," growled Willard.
The rider watched the girl's face, saw the color come into it, and hislips twitched with some inward emotion. "I reckon your brother's right,ma'am. Vickers wanted to drownd you-all."
"Mr. Masten isn't my brother," denied the girl. The color in her faceheightened.
"Well, now," said the rider. He bent his head and patted the pony's maneto hide his disappointment. Again, so it seemed to the girl, he wasdeliberately delaying, and she bit her lips with vexation.
Willard also seemed to have the same thought, for he shouted angrily:"While you are talking there, my man, I am freezing. Isn't there some wayfor you to get my party and the wagon out of there?"
"Why, I expect there's a way," drawled the rider, fixing Masten with asteady eye; "I've been wonderin' why you didn't mention it before."
"Oh Lord!" said Masten to the girl, his disgust making his voice husky,"can you imagine such stupidity?"
But the girl did not answer; she had seen a glint in the rider's eyeswhile he had been looking at Masten which had made her draw a deepbreath. She had seen guile in his eyes, and subtlety, and much humor.Stupidity! She wondered how Masten could be so dense!
Then she became aware that the rider was splashing toward her, and thenext instant she was looking straight at him, with not more than fivefeet of space between them. His gaze was on her with frank curiosity, hislean, strong face glowing with the bloom of health; his mouth was firm,his eyes serene, virility and confidence in every movement of his body.And then he was speaking to her, his voice low, gentle, respectful, evendeferential. He seemed not to have taken offense at Willard, seemed tohave forgotten him.
"I reckon you-all will have to ride out of here on my horse, ma'am," hesaid, "if you reckon you'd care to. Why, yes, I expect that's right; I'dought to take the old lady an' gentleman first, ma'am," as the girlindicated them.
He backed his pony and smiled at Aunt Martha, who was small, gray, andsweet of face. He grinned at her--the grin of a grown boy at hisgrandmother.
"I reckon you'll go first, Aunty," he said to her. "I'll have you highan' dry in a jiffy. You couldn't ride there, you know," he added, as AuntMartha essayed to climb on behind him. "This Patches of mine isconsiderable cantankerous an' ain't been educated to it. It's likely he'ddump us both, an' then we'd be freezin' too." And he glanced sidelong atWillard.
Aunt Martha was directed to step on the edge of the buckboard. Tremblinga little, though smiling, she was lifted bodily and placed sidewise onthe saddle in front of him, and in this manner was carried to the bank,far up on the slope out of the deep mud that spread over the level nearthe water's edge, and set down gently, voicing her thanks.
Then the rescuer returned for Uncle Jepson. On his way to join AuntMartha, Uncle Jepson, who had watched the rider narrowly during his talkwith Willard, found time to whisper:
"I had a mule once that wasn't any stubborner than Willard Masten."
"You don't recollect how you cured him of it?"
"Yes sir, I do. I thumped it out of him!" And Uncle Jepson's eyes glowedvindictively.
"I reckon you've got a heap of man in you, sir," said the rider. He setUncle Jepson down beside Aunt Martha and turned his pony back toward theriver to get his remaining passenger. Masten waved authoritatively tohim.
"If it's just the same to you, my man, I'll assist Miss Ruth to land.Just ride over here!"
The rider halted the pony and sat loosely in the saddle, gravelycontemplating the driver across the sea of mud that separated them.
"Why, you ain't froze yet, are you!" he said in pretended astonishment."Your mouth is still able to work considerable smooth! An' so you want toride my horse!" He sat, regarding the Easterner in deep, feignedamazement. "Why, Willard," he said when it seemed he had quite recovered,"Patches would sure go to sun-fishin' an' dump you off into that littleol' suck-hole ag'in!" He urged the pony on through the water to thebuckboard and drew up beside the girl.
Her face was crimson, for she had not failed to hear Masten, and it wasplain to the rider
that she had divined that jealously had impelledMasten to insist on the change of riders. Feminine perverseness, orsomething stronger, was in her eyes when the rider caught a glimpse ofthem as he brought his pony to a halt beside her. He might now have madethe mistake of referring to Masten and thus have brought from her a quickrefusal to accompany him, for he had made his excuse to Masten and tohave permitted her to know the real reason would have been to attack herloyalty. He strongly suspected that she was determined to make Mastensuffer for his obstinacy, and he rejoiced in her spirit.
"We're ready for you now, ma'am."
"Are you positively certain that Patches won't go to 'sunfishing' withme?" she demanded, as she poised herself on the edge of the buckboard. Heflashed a pleased grin at her, noting with a quickening pulse the deep,rich color in her cheeks, the soft white skin, her dancing eyes--allframed in the hood of the rain cloak she wore.
He reached out his hands to her, clasped her around the waist and swungher to the place on the saddle formerly occupied by Aunt Martha. If heheld her to him a little more tightly than he had held Aunt Martha thewind might have been to blame, for it was blowing some stray wisps of herhair into his face and he felt a strange intoxication that he couldscarcely control.
And now, when she was safe on his horse and there was no further dangerthat she would refuse to ride with him, he gave her the answer to herquestion:
"Patches wouldn't be unpolite to a lady, ma'am," he said quietly, intoher hair; "he wouldn't throw you."
He could not see her face--it was too close to him and his chin washigher than the top of her head. But he could not fail to catch the mirthin her voice:
"Then you lied to Willard!"
"Why, yes, ma'am; I reckon I did. You see, I didn't want to let Patchesget all muddied up, ridin' over to Willard."
"But you are riding him into the mud now!" she declared in a strangelymuffled voice.
"Why, so I am, ma'am," he said gleefully; "I reckon I'm sure a box-head!"
He handed her down a minute later, beside Uncle Jepson and Aunt Martha,and he lingered another moment near her, for his proximity to her had sethis blood tingling, and there was an unnamable yearning in his breast tobe near her. He had passed hours in looking upon her picture, dreaming ofthis minute, or another like it, and now that his dream had come true herealized that fulfilment was sweeter than anticipation. He was hugelypleased with her.
"She's a lot better lookin' than her picture," he told himself as hewatched her. She had her back to him, talking with her relatives, but shedid not need to face him to arouse his worship. "Didn't I know she waslittle," he charged himself, estimating her height, "she won't comeanywhere near reachin' my shoulder."
He had not forgotten Masten. And a humorous devil sported in his eye ashe wheeled his pony and fixed his gaze on that gentleman.
"Speciments travel around most anywheres," he reflected. "This here's aswell head with a grouch. I reckon he ain't a serious friend of hers, orshe wouldn't have stood for me rescuin' her when he offered himself thatgenerous." The recollection convulsed him, and he bowed his head over thepony's neck to hide the laugh. When he looked up, it was to see Mastenstanding rigid, watching him, wrath on his face.
"I suppose I'm to stand here and freeze while you sit over there andlaugh your fool head off!" shouted the Easterner. "I've got some dryclothing in my trunk on the wagon, which I might put on, if I couldinduce you to hurry a little."
"Why, shucks. I come mighty near forgettin' you, Willard," said therider. "An' so you've got other clothes! Only they're in your trunk onthe buckboard, an' you can't get 'em. An' you're freezin' an' I'mlaughin' at you. You've got a heap of trouble, ain't you, Willard. An'all because you was dead set on goin' to the left when you ought to havegone to the right."
"Do hurry! Wont you, please?" said the girl's voice, close to hisstirrup.
He looked guiltily at her, for he had been about to say some vitriolicthings to Masten, having almost lost patience with him. But at her wordshis slow good nature returned.
"I'm sure goin' to hurry, ma'am."
He urged the pony into the water again, rode to the buckboard, steppedoff, and kneeling in the seat reached into the water and worked with theharness. Then, walking along the wagon tongue, which was slightly out ofthe water, he again reached into the water and fumbled with the harness.Then he stepped back, slapped the blacks and urged them with his voice,and they floundered out of the water and gained the bank, where theystood shaking the water from their glistening bodies.
He mounted his pony again and rode to the rear of the buckboard. Takingthe braided hair rope that hung from the pommel of his saddle he made ahitch around the center of the rear axle. Then he wheeled his pony untilit faced away from the buckboard, rode the length of the rope carefully,halted when it was taut, and then slowly, with his end of the ropefastened securely to the saddle horn, pulled the buckboard to a level onthe river bottom.
Returning to the rear of the buckboard he unfastened the rope, coiled it,and rode to the bank, catching the blacks and leading them up the slopebeyond where the girl, her aunt and uncle stood. He gently asked UncleJepson to hold the blacks, for fear they might stray, and then with asmile at the girl and Aunt Martha, he returned to the buckboard. There heuncoiled his rope again and attached one end of it to the tongue of thewagon, again, as before, riding away until the rope grew taut. Then, witha word to the pony, the wagon was drawn through the water to the edge ofthe sea of mud.
This mud looked treacherous, but it was the only way out; and so, after apause for rest, he urged the pony on again. The buckboard traveled itslength--then lurched into a rut and refused to move another foot, inspite of the straining of the pony and its rider's urgings.
The rider paused, turned in the saddle and scratched his head inperplexity.
"I reckon we've run ag'in a snag, Patches," he said. He scrutinized theslopes. "I expect we'll have to try one of them, after all," he decided.
"You were foolish to try to draw the wagon out with that thing, in thefirst place," loudly criticized Masten. "If you had hitched the horses tothe wagon after you had pulled it out of the hole, why--"
The rider looked at the fault-finder, his eyes narrowed.
"Why, if it ain't Willard!" he said, amazed. "Standin' there, workin' hislittle old jaw ag'in! An' a-mournin' because I ain't goin' to get my feetwet! Well, shucks. I reckon there ain't nothin' to do now but to get theblacks an' hitch 'em onto the wagon. There's a heap of mud there, ofcourse, but I expect some mud on them right pretty boots of yourswouldn't spoil 'em. I'll lead the blacks over an' you can work your jawon 'em."
"Thanks," said Masten, sneering, "I've had enough wettings for one day. Ihave no doubt that you can get the wagon out, by your own crude methods.I shall not interfere, you may be sure."
He stalked away from the water's edge and ascended the slope to a pointseveral feet in advance of the wagon. Standing there, he looked acrossthe mud at the girl and the others, as though disdaining to exchangefurther words with the rider.
The latter gazed at him, sidelong, with humorous malice in his glance.Then he wheeled his pony, rode back toward the wagon, veered when almostto it and forced the pony to climb the slope, thus getting Masten betweenthe rope and the mud. He pulled the rope taut again, swinging wagontongue and wheels at a sharp angle toward him, drove the spurs into theflanks of the pony and headed it toward the mud level, swinging so thatthe rope described a quarter circle. It was a time-honored expedientwhich, he expected, would produce the jerk releasing the wagon.
If he expected the action would produce other results, the rider gave noindication of it. Only the girl, watching him closely and seeing a hardgleam in his eyes, sensed that he was determined to achieve a doubleresult, and she cried out to Masten. The warning came too late. The tautrope, making its wide swing, struck Masten in the small of the back,lifted him, and bore him resistlessly out into the mud level, where helanded, face down, while the wagon, released, swished past him on its wayto freedo
m.
The rider took the wagon far up the sloping trail before he brought it toa halt. Then, swinging it sideways so that it would not roll back intothe mud, he turned and looked back at Masten. The latter had got to hisfeet, mud-bespattered, furious.
The rider looked from Masten to the girl, his expression one ofhypocritical gravity. The girl's face was flushed with indignation overthe affront offered her friend. She had punished him for his jealousy,she had taken her part in mildly ridiculing him. But it was plain to therider when he turned and saw her face, that she resented the indignityshe had just witnessed. She was rigid; her hands were clenched, her armsstiff at her sides; her voice was icy, even, though husky with suppressedpassion.
"I suppose I must thank you for getting the wagon out," she said. "Butthat--that despicable trick--" Her self-control deserted her. "I wish Iwere a man; you would not go unpunished!"
There was contrition in his eyes. For an infinitesimal space he regrettedthe deed, and his active mind was already framing an excuse. And then outof the tail of his eye he saw Uncle Jepson winking violent applause athim, and a broad grin suffused his face. He made some effort to suppressit, but deepening wrinkles around his eyes contradicted the gravity ofhis lips.
"Why, I wasn't reckonin' to hurt him, ma'am," he said. "You see, he wasright in the way, an' I reckon I was feelin' a bit wild right at thatminute, an'--" His gaze went to Masten, who was scraping mud from hisgarments with a small flat stone. The rider's eyes grew wide; morewrinkles appeared around them.
"Why, I've spoiled his white shirt," he said as though speaking tohimself, his voice freighted with awe. And then, as Masten shook athreatening fist at him, he suddenly yielded to the mirth that wasconsuming him and he bowed his head.
It was Uncle Jepson's warning shout that impelled him to raise his head.He saw Masten coming toward him, clawing at the foolish holster at hiswaist, his eyes flashing murder, his teeth bared in a snarl.
"You, Patches!" said the rider, his voice coming with a cold, quick snap.And the piebald pony, his muscles and thews alive with energy in aninstant, lunged in answer to the quick knee-press, through the mud,straight at Masten.
So it was a grim and formidable figure that Masten looked up at before hecould get his weapon out of his holster. The lean face of the rider wasclose to his own, the rider's eyes were steady, blue, and so cold thatthey made Masten forget the chill in the air. And one of the heavypistols that the rider carried was close to Masten's head, its big muzzlegaping forebodingly at him, and the rider's voice, as he leaned from thesaddle, came tense and low. The girl could not hear:
"Listen to this gospel, you mud-wallowin' swine," he said. "This is aman's country, an' you play a man's game or you lose out so quick it'llmake you dizzy! You been playin' kid all through this deal. You'regrumblin' an' whinin' ever since I set eyes on you from the edge of themesa, there. That little girl thinks you're all wool an' a yard wide. Youcome across, clean--you hear me! You shape up to man's size or I'll huntyou up an' tear the gizzard out of you! You jam that there cap-shooterback where it belongs or I'll take it away from you an' make you eat it!You hear me!"
The pistol went back; Masten's face was ashen beneath the mud on it.
"Now grin, you sufferin' shorthorn!" came the rider's voice again, low asbefore. "Grin like you'd just discovered that I'm your rich uncle comefrom Frisco with a platter full of gold nuggets which I'm set on youspendin' for white shirts. Grin, or I'll salivate you!"
It was a grin that wreathed Masten's lips--a shallow, forced one. But itsufficed for the rider. He sat erect, his six-shooter disappearingmagically, and the smile on his face when he looked at the girl, hadgenuine mirth in it.
"I've apologized to Willard, ma'am," he said. "We ain't goin' to be crossto each other no more. I reckon you c'n forgive me, now, ma'am. I suredidn't think of bein' mean."
The girl looked doubtfully at Masten, but because of the mud on his facecould see no expression.
"Well, I'm glad of that," she said, reddening with embarrassment. "Icertainly would not like to think that anyone who had been soaccommodating as you could be so mean as to deliberately upset anyone inthe mud." She looked downward. "I'm sorry I spoke to you as I did," sheadded.
"Why, I'm sorry too, ma'am," he said gravely. He urged his pony throughthe mud and brought it to a halt beside her. "If you'd shake hands onthat, ma'am, I'd be mighty tickled."
Her hand went out to him. He took it and pressed it warmly, looking atit, marveling at it, for the glove on it could not conceal itsshapeliness or its smallness. He dropped it presently, and taking off hishat, bowed to her.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said; "I'll be seein' you ag'in some time. I hopeyou'll like it here."
"I am sure I shall."
He grinned and turned away. Her voice halted him.
"May I know who has been so kind to us in our trouble?"
He reddened to the roots of his hair, but faced her.
"Why, I reckon you'll know, ma'am. I'm King Randerson, foreman of theDiamond H, up the crick a ways. That is," he added, his blush deepening,"I was christened 'King.' But a while ago a dago professor who stayedovernight at the Diamond H tipped the boys off that 'King' was Rex inLatin lingo. An' so it's been Rex Randerson since then, though mostlythey write it '_W-r-e-c-k-s_.' There's no accountin' for notionshereabouts, ma'am."
"Well, I should think not!" said the lady, making mental note of theblueness of his eyes. "But I am sure the boys make a mistake in spellingyour name. Judging from your recent actions it should be spelled'_R-e-c-k-l-e-s-s_.' Anyway, we thank you."
"The same to you, ma'am. So long."
He flashed a smile at Aunt Martha; it broadened as he met Uncle Jepson'seyes; it turned to a grin of derision as he looked at Masten. And then hewas splashing his pony across the river.
They watched him as he rode up the slope on the opposite side; they heldtheir breath as pony and rider climbed the steeper slope to the mesa.They saw him halt when he reached the mesa, saw him wave his hat to them.But they did not see him halt the pony after he had ridden a little way,and kiss the palm of the hand that had held hers.