Grey Zane by 1940 30 000 on the Hoof by Zane Grey

Author:1940 30,000 on the Hoof, by Zane Grey [1940 30,000 on the Hoof, by Zane Grey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-11-26T06:07:28+00:00

“Look out down your way, Huett,” he advised, morosely. “When you begin to sell cattle you’re a marked man. There’ll be hell to pay on this range, in five years.”

Holbert’s pessimism, which was corroborated by his neighbour Collier, in no wise dampened Huett’s ardour. He had his heavy boot on the neck of the hydra-headed giant that had kept him poor for twenty years. That trip to Flagg, for him and his family, far outdid the one years before, when his beaver pelts had brought their first happy Christmas. He spent lavishly. He bought secret gifts for the Christmas soon to come. He paid his pressing debts and saw himself at last on the road to success.

The drive back home, with a second wagon and team, was in the nature of a jubilee. More than once Lucinda had Logan stop the wagon so that she could get out and gather purple asters and golden rod. She talked of their honeymoon ride through that dreary, desolate forest. And before they got home Lucinda talked of other things—particularly about Barbara.

“Logan, you’re blind as a bat to all except cattle,” she said, tersely. “You never saw how the men at Flagg, young and old, flocked around Barbara. That girl could be the belle of Arizona. She could marry any one of them. Take her pick.”

“Good Lord, Luce!” ejaculated Logan, surprised and stung. “Our Barbara leaving? Not to be thought of!”

“How can we help it?—But for Barbara’s singular loyalty to us—her love for the boys—she would be having suitors now.”

“Luce, you trouble me.”

“No wonder. I’m troubled myself. Barbara loves George and Grant. And she worships Abe. But she doesn’t know it. She thinks she’s just a fond sister. Nature will out, Logan!—She’s no kin of ours. She’s not their sister…And my trouble is this. Since she must marry—do her part for our West—she should marry one of our boys!”

“My God, Lucinda! you’d have to tell her you’re not her mother. I’m not her Dad. Who could we tell her she is? We don’t even know her name…Aw, Luce, let’s keep it secret long as we can. Not to break that sweet girl’s heart!”

“There’s the rub, Logan dear,” returned Lucinda, soberly. “But the thing can’t be overlooked for ever.”

Another autumn came. It was different from all the autumns, except one, that Huett remembered. It followed a hot summer remarkable for short, dry, electric storms. What little rain fell was up on the bluffs and the high rims. Not a drop descended in Sycamore Canyon.

That spring and summer the grass in the canyon had been thicker and richer than usual. Huett had dammed the brook into a small lake and had run many branches from it through the meadows, until it sank into the ground. The gardens, orchards, and alfalfa fields, having abundant water from the irrigation ditches, did not suffer from the scorching sun and dry wind.

Indian summer held off.

One day Abe met two cowboys out on the road, riding to Payson. They reported the worst grasshopper plague ever known in that section of Arizona.

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