Zane Grey - The Rustlers of Pecos County

Miss Sampson gasped when she saw him and both her hands flew to her breast.

“Girls, don't make any noise,” I whispered. “I'd rather he didn't wake suddenly to find you here. Go round behind the rocks there. I'll wake him, and call you presently.”

They complied with my wish, and I stepped down to Steele and gave him a little shake. He awoke instantly.

“Hello!” I said, “Want a drink?”

“Water or champagne?” he inquired.

I stared at him. “I've some champagne behind the rocks,” I added.

“Water, you locoed son of a gun!”

He looked about as thirsty as a desert coyote; also, he looked flighty. I was reaching for the canteen when I happened to think what pleasure it would be to Miss Sampson to minister to him, and I drew back. “Wait a little.” Then with an effort I plunged. “Vaughn, listen. Miss Sampson and Sally are here.”

I thought he was going to jump up, he started so violently, and I pressed him back.

“She—Why, she's been here all the time—Russ, you haven't double-crossed me?”

“Steele!” I exclaimed. He was certainly out of his head.

“Pure accident, old man.”

He appeared to be half stunned, yet an eager, strange, haunting look shone in his eyes. “Fool!” he exclaimed.

“Can't you make the ordeal easier for her?” I asked.

“This'll be hard on Diane. She's got to be told things!”

“Ah!” breathed Steele, sinking back. “Make it easier for her—Russ, you're a damned schemer. You have given me the double-cross. You have and she's going to.”

“We're in bad, both of us,” I replied thickly. “I've ideas, crazy enough maybe. I'm between the devil and the deep sea, I tell you. I'm about ready to show yellow. All the same, I say, see Miss Sampson and talk to her, even if you can't talk straight.”

“All right, Russ,” he replied hurriedly. “But, God, man, don't I look a sight! All this dirt and blood!”

“Well, old man, if she takes that bungled mug of yours in her lap, you can be sure you're loved. You needn't jump out of your boots! Brace up now, for I'm going to bring the girls.” As I got up to go I heard him groan. I went round behind the stones and found the girls. “Come on,” I said. “He's awake now, but a little queer. Feverish. He gets that way sometimes. It won't last long.” I led Miss Sampson and Sally back into the shade of our little camp glade.

Steele had gotten worse all in a moment. Also, the fool had pulled the bandage off his head; his wound had begun to bleed anew, and the flies were paying no attention to his weak efforts to brush them away. His head rolled as we reached his side, and his eyes were certainly wild and wonderful and devouring enough. “Who's that?” he demanded.

“Easy there, old man,” I replied. “I've brought the girls.” Miss Sampson shook like a leaf in the wind.

“So you've come to see me die?” asked Steele in a deep and hollow voice. Miss Sampson gave me a lightning glance of terror.

“He's only off his head,” I said. “Soon as we wash and bathe his head, cool his temperature, he'll be all right.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Sampson, and dropped to her knees, flinging her gloves aside. She lifted Steele's head into her lap. When I saw her tears falling upon his face I felt worse than a villain. She bent over him for a moment, and one of the tender hands at his cheeks met the flow of fresh blood and did not shrink. “Sally,” she said, “bring the scarf out of my coat. There's a veil too. Bring that. Russ, you get me some water—pour some in the pan there.”

“Water!” whispered Steele.

She gave him a drink. Sally came with the scarf and veil, and then she backed away to the stone, and sat there. The sight of blood had made her a little pale and weak. Miss Sampson's hands trembled and her tears still fell, but neither interfered with her tender and skillful dressing of that bullet wound.

Steele certainly said a lot of crazy things. “But why'd you come—why're you so good—when you don't love me?”

“Oh, but—I do—love you,” whispered Miss Sampson brokenly.

“How do I know?”

“I am here. I tell you.”

There was a silence, during which she kept on bathing his head, and he kept on watching her. “Diane!” he broke out suddenly.

“Yes—yes.”

“That won't stop the pain in my head.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

“Kiss me—that will,” he whispered. She obeyed as a child might have, and kissed his damp forehead close to the red furrow where the bullet cut.

“Not there,” Steele whispered.

Then blindly, as if drawn by a magnet, she bent to his lips. I could not turn away my head, though my instincts were delicate enough. I believe that kiss was the first kiss of love for both Diane Sampson and Vaughn Steele. It was so strange and so long, and somehow beautiful. Steele looked rapt. I could only see the side of Diane's face, and that was white, like snow. After she raised her head she seemed unable, for a moment, to take up her task where it had been broken off, and Steele lay as if he really were dead. Here I got up, and seating myself beside Sally, I put an arm around her. “Sally dear, there are others,” I said.

“Oh, Russ—what's to come of it all?” she faltered, and then she broke down and began to cry softly. I would have been only too glad to tell her what hung in the balance, one way or another, had I known. But surely, catastrophe! Then I heard Steele's voice again and its huskiness, its different tone, made me fearful, made me strain my ears when I tried, or thought I tried, not to listen.

“Diane, you know how hard my duty is, don't you?”

“Yes, I know—I think I know.”

“You've guessed—about your father?”

“I've seen all along you must clash. But it needn't be so bad. If I can only bring you two together—Ah! please don't speak any more. You're excited now, just not yourself.”

“No, listen. We must clash, your father and I. Diane, he's not—”

“Not what he seems! Oh, I know, to my sorrow.”

“What do you know?” She seemed drawn by a will stronger than her own. “To my shame I know. He has been greedy, crafty, unscrupulous—dishonest.”

“Diane, if he were only that! That wouldn't make my duty torture. That wouldn't ruin your life. Dear, sweet girl, forgive me—your father's—”

“Hush, Vaughn. You're growing excited. It will not do. Please—please—”

“Diane, your father's—chief of this—gang that I came to break up.”

“My God, hear him! How dare you—Oh, Vaughn, poor, poor boy, you're out of your mind! Sally, Russ, what shall we do? He's worse. He's saying the most dreadful things! I—I can't bear to hear him!”

Steele heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. I walked away with Sally, led her to and fro in a shady aisle beyond the rocks, and tried to comfort her as best I could. After a while, when we returned to the glade, Miss Sampson had considerable color in her cheeks, and Steele was leaning against the rock, grave and sad. I saw that he had recovered and he had reached the critical point. “Hello, Russ,” he said. “Sprung a surprise on me, didn't you? Miss Sampson says I've been a little flighty while she bandaged me up. I hope I wasn't bad. I certainly feel better now. I seem to—to have dreamed.”

Miss Sampson flushed at his concluding words. Then silence ensued. I could not think of anything to say and Sally was dumb. “You all seem very strange,” said Miss Sampson.

When Steele's face turned gray to his lips I knew the moment had come. “No doubt. We all feel so deeply for you,” he said.

“Me? Why?”

“Because the truth must no longer be concealed.”

It was her turn to blanch, and her eyes, strained, dark as night, flashed from one of us to the other.