Nevada (1995) (13 page)

Ben was late at breakfast next morning. No one had to tell Hetti
e
and Ina that he had been out to the corrals. He strode in mor
e
like his old self than for months, keen-eyed, virile, with th
e
spring of a rider in his step.

"Say, girls, what do you think?" he declared, radiantly. "Red cam
e
to me this morning. The wild son-of-a-gun! He did, and it sur
e
tickled me. And I said to him, 'Old boy, you're going back to th
e
unfenced ranges.' He understood me, too. . . . Oh, Ina--Hettie
,
I'm another man this mawnin'!"

"You look it, Bennie," replied Ina, with her beautiful eyes war
m
and glad.

"But you and Hettie look as if you'd lain awake and cried al
l
night."

"That's a way women have, sometimes," said Ina. "It's a break, o
f
course. But we're happy for you, and, thank God, we've found th
e
way to restore mother."

"Blaine, my boy," said Ben, leaning to the child in his highchair
,
"we're going to Arizona. Are you glad?"

"Papa happy?" replied Blaine, with big-eyed, questioning wonder.

"Well, there's a bright youngster," declared Ben, raising his hea
d
to smile at Ina.

Mrs. Ide came in at the moment, to take her place next to Hettie.

"What's that I hear about Arizona?"

"Oh, nothing much, mother," laughed Ben. "I was teasing Blain
e
about Arizona."

"Reckon you're full of Arizona since you met that cattleman,"
r
ejoined Mrs. Ide, placidly. "I didn't think much of him. He wa
s
as rough as the country he bragged about."

"Nana, we's doan Ar-zoonie," chirped up little Blaine, with grea
t
importance.

Mrs. Ide had not until that moment been given any inkling of th
e
secret.

"Land's sake!" she ejaculated. "So that's the mystery. . . . Be
n
Ide, you ain't goin' back to chasin' wild hosses? Your fathe
r
would turn over in his grave."

Ben Ide was not noted for deception or beating round the bush.

Despite warning glances from Hettie and a kick under the table fro
m
Ina he told his mother that he was thinking of selling out an
d
moving to Arizona. Mrs. Ide declared she would never go or permi
t
Hettie to leave home. Ben tried to expostulate with her and
,
failing that, tried to laugh it off. But when his mother asked hi
m
a deliberate question he maintained silence. Whereupon she ros
e
from the table and, weeping, left the room.

"Blaine, I reckon you're not such a bright kid, after all," sai
d
Ben, ruefully.

"It was a shock, Ben," rejoined Ina. "You were so abrupt. Bu
t
she'll come round to it all right."

"Leave mother to us," added Hettie.

They talked it over, and at the conclusion of breakfast both In
a
and Hettie urged Ben, now that he had made the great decision, t
o
proceed at once toward its fulfillment.

"I'll run over to tell mother and dad," said Ina. "They'd neve
r
forgive me if I didn't tell them first. Maybe they'll not forgiv
e
me, anyway. . . . And Marvie! I'll bet he lets out a whoop."

"By George!" ejaculated Ben. "Marvie will want to come with us.

Ina, it's a big chance for the boy."

"I believe it is, Ben," she replied.

"Well, there's something sort of tough about this deal," went o
n
Ben. "Yet it's great, too. . . . I'll go to Klamath Falls today.

Reckon the papers will require your signature, Hettie. Say
,
what're you going to do with all that money?"

"What money?" queried Hettie, blankly.

"Why, ninny, your share in the Ide property!"

"Goodness! I never thought of that in money. Ben, I'll want th
e
same share in your Arizona ranch."

"Good. You're one sister in a million. I'll leave you to tal
k
some sense into mother, and you, Ina, to do the same by your folks.

Reckon that'll be leaving you a job, because you and Marvie hav
e
all the sense in the Blaine family."

Ben left early for Klamath and Hettie had her hands full, not onl
y
with her mother, but with the ranch boys and riders among whom th
e
news spread like wildfire in dry grass. Ben had not been any mor
e
tactful than usual. But then, Hettie reflected, since everybod
y
had to know, what difference did it make whether they were tol
d
sooner or later?

Hettie told nine boys, one after the other, that Ben had not bee
n
joking, and that the Ide ranch was to pass into strange hands.

Each and every one of these ranch hands was visibly agitated at th
e
news.

"Miss Hettie," said one, "I reckon we ain't carin' what becomes o
f
Tule Lake Ranch, but we care an awful lot about what becomes of yo
u
an' the boss. You can't get along without us."

"Oh, I wish Ben would take you all," replied Hettie, hal
f
distracted.

Then she had a long and trying hour with her mother, who, o
f
course, could not be told the most important reason for thi
s
breaking of old home ties. But Hettie knew how to handle he
r
mother, and with patience and common sense, and dwelling much o
n
the need of a change for Ben, she at last won the victory.

"After all, Hettie, it doesn't--matter about me," concluded Mrs.

Ide, weeping. "But you'll be marryin' one of them long-legged
,
long-haired Arizona jacks, like that terrible Nevada."

"Why, mother, what a happy thought!" exclaimed Hettie, with
a
divine blush. "I might be just that lucky."

Ina, however, did not have such success with her folks. Sh
e
returned both with fire in her eyes and with traces of tears on he
r
cheeks.

"Oh, Hettie, they were just horrid," she said. "Kate was there
,
too, and you know she hates me. Dad was idiot enough to sugges
t
that I come back to live with him. And Kate said I'd never nee
d
any more pretty dresses and hats out in that wild, woolly Arizona.

My clothes always stuck in Kate's craw. But Marvie. Oh, he wa
s
adorable! In front of dad he never batted an eye. Once outside
,
though, he nearly hugged the breath out of me. 'Come with you?' h
e
shouted, so loud I was afraid they'd hear. 'By the great jumpin'
h
orn of Jehosaphat, I'm comin'! Dad can't stop me. Nor ropes, no
r
jails! I'll ride for Ben, an' chase wild horses, an' hunt an'
f
ish. . . . Who knows, I might see Nevada out there.'"

"Bless the boy's heart!" exclaimed Hettie, her eyes filling wit
h
tears.

"Strange how Ben and Marvie loved Nevada," mused Ina.

"Strange?" queried Hettie, smiling through her tears.

"No. I don't mean that. . . . I think I loved him, too."

"Well, Ina, we've broken the ice," rejoined Hettie, quickl
y
changing the subject. "Mother made a fuss, but I won her over.

Your folks will have to come round, whether they like it or not.

Now we must get our heads together. Ben will think of taking yo
u
and Blaine, and us, and his horses. That's all. But you kno
w
there are many things he can't part with. What a job it will be!

How will we travel?"

"Goodness! I hope Ben doesn't make us ride horseback or in tent-
c
overed wagons," replied Ina. That'd be just like him."

"It'd be fun, once we got started," said Hettie, dreamily.

Chapter
seven.

Three days later the Ides stood on their front porch and watched
a
buckboard drawn by a spirited team of horses rapidly passing dow
n
the lane toward the main road. This vehicle contained Ben's lawye
r
and a representative of the Oregon syndicate. Ben held a certifie
d
check in his hand, for which he had signed away the broad fertil
e
acres of Tule Lake Ranch. He had also agreed to turn over th
e
property before the first of September.

"By George! It happened quick!" he exclaimed, breathing hard.

"Ina--Hettie--we're homeless."

"Ben, if it hurts you to lose this ranch, how will you ever give u
p
Forlorn River?" asked Hettie, wonderingly.

"I'm sure keeping Forlorn River," declared Ben, but he wince
d
perceptibly. "That reminds me, I'll have to ride out there."

"I'll go with you," said Hettie.

"Me, too," added Ina. "Reckon you-all haven't any corner on lov
e
for old Forlorn River."

"Honest, girls, I'd rather go alone," returned Ben.

"We won't intrude on your grief, Bennie dear," smiled Ina.

"I stopped over in Hammell on my way back from Oregon," said Ben.

"You remember Sheriff Strobel. He always was a friend of mine
,
even in those outcast days when I was suspected of being a rustler.

Strobel knows a good deal about Arizona. I asked him to come ou
t
this afternoon. I'll sure take what he says pretty serious."

"Now that we've burned our bridges behind us, it's late to as
k
advice," said Hettie.

"Yes, as far as going is concerned," agreed Ben. "But about WHERE
t
o go--that's another matter. Arizona is a big place."

No wonder, thought Hettie, that Ben wanted to consult some one wh
o
was familiar with Arizona. She had begun to realize th
e
responsibility of their undertaking. Therefore she was quite a
s
eager to hear Sheriff Strobel as Ben; and Ina, too, did not want t
o
be excluded from the interview.

They sat out on the shady porch, and while little Blaine played o
n
the grass they explained to Ben's old friend the exigencies of th
e
case.

"Wal, if you've sold out an' have got to go, there ain't no us
e
advisin' ag'in' it," replied Strobel. "I reckon it's a pity.

Folks around will miss you-all. . . . But what'd you pick ou
t
Arizona for, of all places?"

"Arizona has the climate. The doctor recommended it," said Ben.

"Wal, Arizona sure has a lot of climate," admitted Strobel. "Ther
e
ain't no gainsayin' that. But climate is the only GOOD thing i
t
has got. The rest is desert, rocks, cactus, Gila monsters, an'
t
arantulas, side-winders, bad varmints, greasers, rustlers, an' gun-
t
hrowers."

"That's the worst I've heard yet," returned Ben, regretfully. "Ar
e
you giving Arizona a square deal?"

"Wal, after all, it's a wonderful country," replied the sheriff, a
s
if forced to make a concession. "I went there twice, first time i
n
the early days of the Territory, an' second about two years ago.

Outside of the Indians bein' quiet, I didn't see much difference.

Of late, hard characters have slipped into Arizona from all over."

"I've heard that," said Ben, impatiently. "It's about all anyon
e
seems to say. What I want help in is where to strike for."