The Seventh Man, Page 2

  Chapter II. Grey Molly

  If her soul had been capable of enthusiasm, Marne could have made thetrip on schedule time, but she was a burro good for nothing except tocarry a pack well nigh half her own weight, live on forage that mighthave starved a goat, and smell water fifteen miles in time of drought.Speed was not in her vocabulary, and accordingly it was late afternoonrather than morning when Gregg, pointing his course between the ears ofMarne, steered her through Murphy's Pass and came out over Alder.There they paused by mutual consent, and the burro flicked one longear forward to listen to the rushing of the Doane River. It filled thevalley with continual murmur, and just below them, where the brown,white-flecked current twisted around an elbow bend, lay Alder tosseddown without plan, here a boulder and there a house. They seemedmarvelously flimsy structures, and one felt surprise that the weight thewinter snow had not crushed them, or that the Doane River had not senta strong current licking over bank and tossed the whole village crashingdown the ravine. One building was very much like other, but Gregg'sfamiliar eye pierced through the roofs and into Widow Sullivan'sstaggering shack, into Hezekiah Whittleby's hushed sitting-room, downto the moist, dark floor of the Captain's saloon into that amazingjunkshop, the General Merchandise store; but first and last he looked tothe little flag which gleamed and snapped above the schoolhouse, and itspelled "my country" to Vic.

  Marne consented to break into a neat-footed jog-trot going down the lastslope, and so she went up the single winding street of Alder, gruntingat every step, with Gregg's whistle behind her. In town, he livedwith his friend, Dug Pym, who kept their attic room reserved for hisoccupancy, so he headed straight for that place. What human face wouldhe see first?

  It was Mrs. Sweeney's little boy, Jack, who raced into the streetwhooping, and Vic caught him under the armpits and swung him dizzilyinto the air.

  "By God," muttered Vic, as he strode on, "that's a good kid, thatJack." And he straightway forgot all about that knife which Jackie hadpurloined from him the summer before. "Me and Betty," he thought, "we'llhave kids, like Jack; tougher'n leather."

  Old Garrigan saw him next and cackled from his truck garden in thebackyard, but Vic went on with a wave of his arm, and on past GertieVincent's inviting shout (Gertie had been his particular girl beforeBetty Neal came to town), and on with the determination of a soldiereven past the veranda of Captain Lorrimier's saloon, though Lorrimerhimself bellowed a greeting and "Chick" Stewart crooked a significantthumb over his shoulder towards the open door. He only paused at theblacksmith shop and looked in at Dug, who was struggling to make theprint of a hot shoe on a hind foot of Simpson's sorrel Glencoe.

  "Hey, Dug!"

  Pym raised a grimy, sweating forehead.

  "You, boy; easy, damn you! Hello, Vic!" and he propped that restlesshind foot on his inner thigh and extended a hand.

  "Go an workin', Dug, because I can't stop; I just want a rope to catchGrey Molly."

  "You red devil--take that rope over there, Vic. You won't have no workcatchin' Molly. Which she's plumb tame. Stand still, damn you. I neverseen a Glencoe with any sense!--Where you goin', Vic? Up to the school?"

  And his sweaty grin followed Vic as the latter went out with the coil ofrope over his shoulder. When Gregg reached the house, Nelly Pym huggedhim, which is the privilege of fat and forty, and then she sat at thefoot of the stairs and shouted up gossip while he shaved withfrantic haste and jumped into his best clothes. He answered her withmonosyllables and only half his mind.

  "Finish up your work, Vic?"

  "Nope."

  "You sure worked yourself all thin. I hope somebody appreciates it." Shechuckled. "Ain't been sick, have you?"

  "Say, who d'you think's in town? Sheriff Glass!"

  This information sank in on him while he tugged at a boot at least asize and half too small.

  "Pete Glass!" he echoed. Then: "Who's he after?"

  "I dunno. Vic, he don't look like such a bad one."

  "He's plenty bad enough," Gregg assured her. "Ah-h-h!"

  His foot ground into place, torturing his toes.

  '"Well," considered Mrs. Pym, in a philosophic rumble, "I s'pose themquiet gents is the dangerous ones, mostly; but looking at Glass youwouldn't think he'd ever killed all those men. Know about the dance?"

  "Nope."

  "Down to Singer's place. Betty goin' with you?"

  He jerked open the door and barked down at her: "Who else would she begoin' with?"

  "Don't start pullin' leather before the horse bucks," said Mrs. Pym. "Idon't know who else she'd be goin' with. You sure look fine in that redshirt, Vic!"

  He grinned, half mollified, half shame-faced, and ducked back into theroom, but a moment later he clumped stiffly down the stairs, frowning.He wondered if he could dance in those boots.

  "Feel kind of strange in these clothes. How do I look, Nelly?" And heturned in review at the foot of the stairs.

  "Slick as a whistle, I'll tell a man." She raised her voice to a shoutas he disappeared through the outer door. "Kiss her once for me, Vic."

  In the center of the little pasture he stood shaking out the noose, andthe three horses raced in a sweeping gallop around the fence, lookingfor a place of escape, with Grey Molly in the lead. Nothing up the DoaneRiver, or even down the Asper, for that matter, could head Molly whenshe was full of running, and the eyes of Gregg gleamed as he watchedher. She was not a picture horse, for her color was rather a dirty whitethan a dapple, and besides, there were some who accused her of "tuckedup belly." But she had the legs for speed in spite of the sloping croup,and plenty of chest at the girth, and a small, bony head that rejoicedthe heart of a horseman. He swung the noose, and while the others dartedahead, stupidly straight into the range of danger, Grey Molly whirledlike a doubling coyote and leaped away.

  "Good girl!" cried Vic, in involuntary approbation. He ran a few steps.The noose slid up and out, opened in a shaky loop, and swooped down. Toolate the gray saw the flying danger, for even as she swerved the riatafell over her head, and she came to a snorting halt with all foursplanted, skidding through the grass. The first thing a range horselearns is never to pull against a rope.

  A few minutes later she was getting the "pitch" out of her system, asany self-respecting cattle horse must do after a session of pasture andno work. She bucked with enthusiasm and intelligence, as she did allthings. Sun-fishing, sun-fishing is the most deadly form of bucking, forit consists of a series of leaps apparently aimed at the sun, and thehorse comes down with a sickening jar on stiff front legs. Educated"pitchers" land on only one foot, so that the shock is accompanied bya terrible sidewise, downward wrench that breaks the hearts of the bestriders in the world. Grey Molly was educated, and Mrs. Pym stood inthe doorway with a broad grin of appreciation on her red face, she knewriding when she saw it. Then, out of the full frenzy, the mare lapsedinto high-headed, quivering attention, and Gregg cursed her softly, withdeep affection. He understood her from her fetlocks to her teeth. Shebucked like a fiend of revolt one instant and cantered like an angel ofgrace the next; in fact she was more or less of an equine counterpart ofher rider.

  But now he heard shrill voices passing down the street and he knew thatschool was out and that he must hurry if he wanted to ride home withBetty, so he waved to Mrs. Pym and cantered away. For over two days hehad been rushing towards this meeting; all winter he had hungered forit, but now that the moment loomed before him he weakened; he usuallydid when he came close to the girl. Not that her beauty overwhelmedhim, for though she had a portion of energetic good-health and freckledprettiness, he had chosen her as an Indian chooses flint for his steel;one could strike fire from Betty Neal. When he was far away he lovedher without doubt or question and his trust ran towards her like a riversetting towards the ocean because he knew that her heart was as big andas true as the heart of Grey Molly herself. Only her ways were fickle,and when she came near, she filled him with uneasiness, suspicion.