THE BRAND _HW_
Henry West had been gone upon the round-up for a week before Bess
Fletcher and Mrs. White started. The plan was for them to ride to the
west shore of the Big Arm of the lake upon the appointed day, where
Henry West would meet them and accompany them to the camp. The two
women were ready for the long ride early in the morning, and as they
proceeded along the road they chatted and laughed like happy, careless
children.
As they neared the vicinity where Bess had spent the happy, pleasant
days in camp the autumn before, she felt conflicting emotions of
pleasure and pain. Swerving from the road she led the way along the
path to the deserted camp ground. The winter had not destroyed every
token, for there were still the stakes where rested the dining-table;
the five, large cottonwoods still bore evidences of convenient shelves
and towel racks, of gun supports and where the hammock had been
fastened. A faded ribbon which lay partly concealed by fallen leaves
was lifted tenderly by Bess, as it recalled to her the dear little girl
who had worn it. Mrs. White, one of the group, heard her give a sigh as
she placed the ribbon in her bosom and hurried Mauchacho out onto the
main road again.
In the distance Bess could discern Henry West awaiting their coming.
When they reached him he made them dismount and rest, as Mrs. White,
who was not accustomed to such long rides, was plainly becoming
fatigued. They enjoyed their lunch, and after becoming completely
refreshed proceeded to the camp which Henry told them was at the
extreme end of the Big Draw.
What a marvelous and strange place the Big Draw seemed to Bess! A
perfectly level stretch of nine miles which looked like only one; high,
sloping hills lined both sides, which made it seem like some mighty
river-bed run dry. No cattle were grazing upon the succulent grass,
because, as Bess learned from Henry West, it was too far for them to
go to water. He pointed out to them, up in a gulch to the left of the
draw, a deserted cabin, near which trickled a tiny spring. Bess wished
a drink, but when he told them the place was called Rattlesnake Gulch
and that the Frenchman and his squaw had been forced to leave the place
because of the venomous intrusions, she hastily recovered from her
thirst and hurried on.
At last the glow of the camp-fires was seen; the numerous tents gave
assurance of a good night’s rest, while the delicious aroma of coffee
told the weary visitors that supper was ready.
Bess and Mrs. White were greeted and made welcome by the several other
women in camp. Seeing that the little woman was almost ready to drop,
Bess asked if she might remove her to their tent. Here she was made
comfortable and was soon enjoying the tea and toast which one of the
women brought to her.
During the night the new, strange noises, as well as the brilliant
moonlight made sleep impossible to Bess. She crept quietly out of bed
and wrapping a huge blanket around her, stepped out before the tent.
How wondrous was the night! In the distant moonlight she could see the
wranglers who were guarding the restless herd of horses, riding slowly
back and forth. She heard a boyish voice singing softly as he rode
about the cavie. Just now she discovered quite near the tent, a man
rolled in a blanket and asleep upon the ground, his head resting upon
a saddle. With a startled movement she turned to re-enter her shelter,
when a deep, low voice said, “Do not be afraid Bess. I am sleeping here
that you—that the ladies may feel secure.” It was Henry West.
The grey dawn came creeping up through the long draw and peered into
Bess’ tent before she could close her eyes and lose herself in sleep.
When the first pale ray of morning broke, she saw the man who had kept
vigil during the night, arise hastily from his impromptu bed and hurry
away. She then fell asleep, dreaming of flight before the mad rush of
wild horses, and again seemed to feel an iron hold grasping her arm
and lifting her high out of danger’s path. With a bewildered start she
awoke to discover that Mrs. White was clasping her arm and shaking her
vigorously.
“Hurry and get up! What in the world were you dreaming of? I could
scarcely arouse you! See, breakfast is over and the men have all gone
after the horses. If you expect to see the branding you will have to
hurry,” said Mrs. White, as her busy fingers assisted Bess in making
her hasty toilet.
At several different points she could see the smoke arising from the
branding fires and the men riding unceasingly to cut out the victims of
the red-hot irons.
The women had started out to watch the performance, when a great cry
of pain and the smell of burning flesh reached Bess. For an instant
she stood frozen with horror, then without a word to her companions
turned and fled back to her tent. Here she sat in a huddled heap with
her fingers thrust into her ears. Here the other women discovered her,
but no word of coaxing or joking derision succeeded in drawing her out
again to watch the nauseous spectacle of branding. At noon-time, when
all the others were hungry and enjoying the delicious roast, Bess felt
sick at the very mention of food. All she wanted was her horse so that
she might ride far away from all the confusion and heart-rending sounds.
Henry West asked Bess if she would ride part way with one of the women
who was returning to her home at Dayton Creek. “By the time you return
the branding will be over for today, and then tomorrow I will accompany
you and Mrs. White part of the way home. I cannot tell you how sorry I
am that you are feeling so disturbed,” said West.
“I am ashamed of being such a—a baby, but the sight of pain or
suffering always fills me with horror. I cannot bear it,” answered
Bess, putting on her gloves and sombrero preparatory to accompanying
the woman on her long ride.
How glad she was to leave the camp behind and to ride out into the
clear, bright air! The gentle slopes on either side of the Big Draw
were soft with the delicate green of the tamaracks, whose vivid verdure
was enhanced by the dark branches of the pines and fir trees. Great
rocks of varied hues jutted forth in places as if they concealed the
den of some formidable mountain lion.
So impressed was Bess at the sublime grandeur and beauty of the scene
that she was oblivious of her companion.
“You are enjoying the view, also, Miss Fletcher?” asked the woman.
“I beg your pardon for being so rude. Somehow, words always spoil this
for me,” answered the abstracted girl, as she drew herself together
and made a sweeping gesture toward the bordering hills and distant
mountains. Presently they neared the gulch with its deserted cabin,
and Bess gave an involuntary shudder at the sight of its isolated
loneliness. They started their horses into a swift gallop, and before
long came in sight of the great, high cliff near Dayton Creek.
“There, Miss Fletcher, I think you have come far enough. I’ll take the
trail across to the cliff and will soon be home. I fear you have come
too far. A storm seems to be coming.”
Bess scanned the sky and saw dark clouds rapidly rising from the
south-west. A sharp flash of lightning, unusual for June in the
mountains, gave them both warning to hurry. The one turned her horse
toward the cliff, while the other reined Mauchacho about to re-enter
the Big Draw. The swift beating of a horse’s hoofs behind her made
her give a swift glance over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of
some man, probably one of the round-up men, riding hurriedly in the
direction of the camp. She felt glad that she would not have to go on
alone, for now the warning flashes were growing more frequent, while
the wind was gradually increasing. She noticed the horse’s speed
slacken, heard a commanding voice speak to the animal, then felt the
breath from its nostrils as it reached her side. She waited an instant
for the man to speak, then lifted her face abruptly to look at the one
so near her, a smile of salutation parting her lips. For the flash
of an instant the smile lasted, then a look of incredulity crept
into her eyes and stopped her heart beats. Mauchacho had instantly
responded to the tight, resisting hand upon the bridle and stood taut
as a cow-horse. Deep, glowing eyes held her fascinated so that she
could scarcely catch her breath! What phantom was this, so like yet
so different from the man who passed out of her life! A face thin and
worn, with great, burning, piercing eyes; lips thick and distended
above a quivering chin! Could such a transformation be wrought?
With a sob she recovered her senses as the man grasped her hand in his
own. “Why are you here?” she cried, trying in vain to extricate her
hand from his loathsome grasp.
“Why? Because—because I had to see you again,” replied the man with a
voice still deep and low, yet hard. “Yes—look at me—look well at the
result of your faithlessness! Do I seem like the Dave Davis whom you
knew a year ago?” and he clutched her hand with a grasp that made her
cry out in pain.
A strange, loud laugh burst from him as he nearly pulled her out of her
saddle toward him.
“Release me, you—you—”
“Say it! Brute! God, yes—a damned brute, and all because I loved you!”
A vivid flash made the already frightened girl tremble still more. She
begged the man to allow her to proceed.
“You are going over to that cow-camp where that Indian is. I heard you
were there and was even willing to risk my precious head for just one
glimpse of you. Come! If you must go, I shall go with you.”
Bess knew that it was useless to try to escape, so she hurried her
horse on as swiftly as she dared. The wind had now risen to its height
and was blowing a gale. The lightning brought a single drop of rain
from the great, fleeing clouds which hid the sky and filled the land
with oppressive, early darkness. Great trees swayed against each other
and loud crashes told of a mighty monarch which could not resist the
strength of the storm.
“Come, we must seek shelter from these falling trees,” said the man,
whose worn face was pale in the fury of the storm.
Taking Mauchacho by the bit he turned into Rattlesnake Gulch and
hastened toward the old cabin.
“Stop! I am not afraid of the storm. You shall let me go on—alone,”
cried the terrified girl, as she pulled in vain at the horse’s bridle.
Seeing that her efforts were useless, she sprang from the saddle, half
falling to the ground. By the time she had recovered her footing, Davis
had also dismounted and had reached her side. As he did so his horse
gave an alarmed bound and tore away at full speed. With an oath at his
loss the man turned to secure Mauchacho, who was standing with trailing
reins and dejected head near his mistress. Just then a great tree
snapped and fell crashing to the ground. Taking Bess by the arm the
determined man carried her into the cabin. How dark and gloomy was the
place! A mountain rat scurried out of sight at the intrusion. Releasing
his hold the man walked sullenly across the room and stood watching
the fury of the storm from the open doorway.
Bess half crouched against the logs of the wall, almost frenzied with
fear. The howling, shrieking wind; the crashing trees, the awful
lightning without. Within, a danger greater and more terrible than
any storm could be! Her hand, which had clutched at her heart, fell
slowly by her side. What was that her fingers touched that instantly
filled her heart with hope and sent the blood throbbing through the
congealed veins! She closed her hand firmly over the handle of her
Smith and Wesson, the gun which had so long lain in its hidden pocket
all unneeded. But now, now—! Could it be that even the shadow of love
for this man had ever possessed her? Had she not long ago seen and felt
the latent repulsion? Was this transformation made by just retribution
or an avenging God? A feeling almost of pity swept over her at the
horrible change which she beheld in the man. Tears of sadness at the
sight of the wreck filled her eyes and made her lips tremble. The
man slowly turned and looked at Bess before she realized that he had
stirred, so deeply was she engrossed.
“Ah—little girl, you are sorry for me; you do still care for me; I see
it—I feel it, know it,” came in a voice at first soft and caressing in
its tenderness, then swelling with a crescendo of hope till it fairly
shouted in its intensity.
He made a swift, decisive step toward her, but was checked as suddenly
by her firm, hard outburst. “Stop—do not come one step nearer! You
once saw me kill a rattlesnake! I can—do—it again!” Her teeth shut
hard and her wondrous eyes narrowed to tiny slits, as with a steady,
determined movement she drew the pistol from its pocket and rested
her hand deliberately across her left arm. So she stood, fearlessly,
confidently. No words were needed for the man to know how utterly lost
was his recrudescent hope.
“Bess Fletcher, I am not unarmed,” he said threateningly. “I—could—kill
you!” Not even her eyelash quivered as her steady gaze held his own.
A faint, scornful smile played for an instant upon her lips. Nor yet
did she move when she heard from out the storm Mauchacho’s loud neigh
in response to another horse’s call. Davis suddenly turned to the
window and his face grew dark. “West!” he cried hoarsely, and wrenched
the door open, attempting to escape under cover of the small firs. He
was too late. In the dim light of the swiftly abating storm Bess saw
a wide, swaying rope suddenly descend and curl its quivering folds
securely about the fugitive’s body, pinioning him within its tightening
hold.
West leaped from his horse. Without a word he secured the lariat about
his captive. Bess came hurrying to him, her pistol still in her hand.
He caught sight of the weapon.
“I came too soon,” he said. “You would have used my gift.”
“Oh—Henry—you came just in time,” sobbed the girl. “What are you going
to do,” she demanded as West told her to get on her horse, at the same
time lifting the helpless man with superhuman strength and thrusting
him into his own saddle.
The new-comer grasped his horse by the bridle and started with long,
rapid strides down the gulch, followed by Mauchacho and his helpless
rider. The strain of the past hour had completely unnerved the girl,
who with difficulty held her seat in the saddle. On walked the
determined man leading the way. On rode the captive in dogged silence,
while Bess followed scarcely knowing whither nor why.
The storm with all its fury and havoc had passed. Faint flashes beyond
the distant mountains showed where its wrath was weakening. Twilight,
soft and mystical was settling on the hills and weirdly filling the
expanse of the Big Draw. Like the gleam of a great evil eye shone in
the distance the fire of the branders, which the wind had fanned into
glowing coals. As they neared this spot Davis spoke for the first time.
“What are you going to do with me?”
Bess waited with bated breath for West’s reply. For a full moment he
walked on as if he had not heard. Then he said undecisively, “The boys
in camp shall decide.”
“Look here, West, this a damned mean way to treat any man. I demand
that you release me—you cowardly Indian!”
The Indian walked taciturnly on, swiftly, steadily. As he neared the
glowing fire, its ruddy light painted his face as red as a warrior’s.
Several of the irons were still sticking in the fire where the boys had
forgotten them as they hastened from the storm. Mauchacho shied when he
passed the fire with its irons, as if the sting of their torture was
still fresh in his mind.
“Say West—this has gone far enough. Besides—I—Miss Fletcher accompanied
me into that cabin—because she wished to—freely—”
But before he could utter another single word of the cowardly lie,
West sprang at him and dragged him from the horse. Grasping the rope
firmly he drew the resisting man directly toward the fire and flung him
mercilessly to the ground. With one hand he snatched a red-hot iron
from the fire; with the other he tore open the man’s shirt and despite
the restraining hold of a woman’s hand upon his arm he seared the bared
breast with the scorching brand!
“You dog,” he roared, “read that burning brand! Know that _HW_ means
Honor Women! Honor! Learn if you can what it means! When again you try
to destroy a woman’s life—let your fingers seek this everlasting seal;
and for God’s sake, if not your own and her’s, let the purport of the
brand restrain you!”
Without another word he loosened the man, placed him again in the
saddle and turned the horse’s head toward the east where already a
great, round moon lighted the way. West gave the horse a cut with the
quirt and soon horse and man were out of sight.
In an unconscious heap upon the ground lay Bess, where she had fallen
as the smoke from the burning flesh filled her nostrils.
West stood gazing down at the white face and pulseless temples. His
own heart had scarcely resumed its beating and was still pounding with
choking throbs in his throat. All the love of his heart increased a
thousand-fold, all the hopelessness of his love grew even more hopeless
as the savagery of his recent work forced itself into his soul. With a
cry of despair he knelt and lifted the limp form within his arms.
“Oh, if you were only dead! If I too might die now with you so near
me! You are dead—dead to me—I know! Good-bye!” he said as he tenderly
imprinted a kiss upon the silent lips.
Slowly her large, brown eyes opened and gazed understandingly into the
face so near her own. Then a look of horror crept into them, and with a
gasp she regained her senses. Thrusting out her hands, she repulsed the
solicitous man.
“You—_Indian_,” she cried, with abhorrence. With difficulty she arose
and mounted her horse. West did not move nor offer her the slightest
assistance as he watched her ride away toward camp.
Long he stood, silent and immovable, gazing into the moon upon whose
face he seemed to see in scarlet letters, _The Brand_.