Rodeo Ranch by Max Brand

Rodeo Ranch by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand [Brand, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
Publisher: Roy Glashan's Library
Published: 2015-05-22T22:00:00+00:00


* * *

VII. — OVER THE WALL

SHE was thrumming at the piano again, but the music was so soft that he knew it could not interrupt her thoughts.

“Oh, of course,” she said at last, “I understand that there are these romances. But most of them are in books. However, Señor Alvarez and I have decided that the other way is the safer way.”

“You and Señor Alvarez?” he echoed as the picture grew bright in his mind.

“I’m surprised that he hasn’t told you, since he knows that you’re to be with us for such a long time.”

Still she played the piano. Still her head was turned from him.

He came to his feet, and at the noise she turned toward him. It was only for a glance, but he could tell in that instant that at the least she was not happy. And he forgot that he was showing her the misery of his own face. This child, with all the beauty of her life before her, to be wedded to a man past the middle of his life, gray, already half-prepared for the grave.

He murmured something as an excuse and stumbled out of the room, out of the house. In the garden he dropped on a bench and turned his face up to the stars and the cool of the wind. But when he was motionless, his torment grew too much for him to bear. He started up and began to pace back and forth, for when he was in motion he could struggle better toward a solution of his problem.

She was to marry Alvarez! For that purpose doubtless he had raised her, reveling in the prospect of her beauty one day becoming his. She had passed from his protégée to his fiancée, and in the end she was to be his wife. That certainly must be the story. He saw the tall form of a guard stalking near the wall, and accosted him, for the fellow might be able to tell him something worth knowing.

He had expected a Spanish accent, for in New Mexico Spanish is far more familiar than English, and particularly on the estate of a Spanish-American.

“Maybe you’re Kobbe?” he said.

“That’s my name.”

“Well,” said the guard, “darned if I ain’t glad to see you. I guess you’re here on the same business that keeps me.”

“Perhaps. What’s your work?”

“Chasing around, hunting ghosts.”

“Ghosts?”

“Ever since that gent shoved a knife at Alvarez, he’s been scared green. I’m to keep guard here like a soldier. If I see anybody sneaking around, I’m to holler to ‘em once, and then start shooting.”

“Maybe the fellow Alvarez shot is one of a gang. Maybe Alvarez is waiting for the next one of the gang to show up?”

“Did he tell you that?” murmured the guard. “He’s dreaming, partner. I’ve lived around these parts a mighty long time before Alvarez come, and I’ve been here all the time Alvarez has been here. He ain’t made no enemies. He’s a sure enough quiet one. Besides, the folks in this neighborhood ain’t the kind that gang together to get a man.



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