Code of the West. Zane Grey

day—the arrival of the stage. On the edge of the porch sat Tuck Merry, beside his canvas roll of baggage.

      At that moment, as Cal was about to get out he espied three horsemen trotting down the road from the east. He peered at them, and recognized Bloom of the Bar XX outfit, and two of his riders, one of them surely being Hatfield.

      “Well, I’ll be darned!” ejaculated Cal. “Talk about your hard luck!”

      To be made the victim of tricks by his own relatives and friends was bad enough, but to have to endure them in the face of this Bar XX outfit, especially Hatfield, was infinitely worse. Could Wess and his partners have had anything to do with the strange coincidence of the arrival of Bloom and Hatfield?

      “Aw, they couldn’t be that mean,” muttered Cal, loyally. Fun was fun, and the boys evidently had something especially to their liking, but they never would have sent for enemies of the Thurmans. Cal had no further thought of such a thing. The advent of these riders was just an unfortunate coincidence calculated to add to Cal’s discomfiture.

      He watched them ride past the garage, past Wess and his comrades, who nodded casually to them, and down the road to the hitching-rail under the cottonwood tree near the post-office. They dismounted. Bloom and Hatfield approached, while the third rider, a stranger to Cal, began to untie a mail-sack from the back of his saddle. Bloom was a heavy man for a rider, being square-shouldered and stocky, with a considerable girth. His huge bat-wing chaps flapped like sails as he slouched forward. He had a hard face, and though it showed him under forty, it was a record of strenuous life. Hatfield was young, a handsome, stalwart figure. He swaggered as he walked. His garb was picturesque, consisting of a huge beaver sombrero, red scarf, blue flannel shirt, just now covered with dust, and fringed chaps ornamented in silver.

      “Howdy, Thurman,” greeted Bloom as he came up. “Met yore dad this mornin’, an’ he was tellin’ me you’d come to town.”

      “How do, Bloom,” returned Cal, rather shortly.

      Hatfield did not speak to Cal, though he gave him a sidelong look out of his sharp, bold eyes. Then, as before, it struck Cal why Hatfield had gained the favor of most of the girls of the Tonto. But he was not equally popular with the men. Hatfield had few superiors as a rider and roper, and he was a bad customer in a fight, as Cal remembered to his grief; but though these qualities had entitled him to a certain respect, he had never been a friend of any of the Thurmans. Moreover, he did not come of Texas stock and he belonged to the Bar XX outfit.

      These two riders passed Cal, and had mounted the porch before they espied the ludicrous figure of Tuck Merry lounging with his back against a post. Bloom glanced at him, then halted to stare.

      “Haw! Haw!” he guffawed, striding on again. “Hat, did you see thet? Reckon it got away from a circus.”

      Whereupon Hatfield turned to look at Merry. It was not a gaze calculated to flatter or please the recipient, but though Merry evidently saw he was the object of ridicule, he gave no sign. The moment brought Cal both resentment and a thrilling anticipation. Then Bloom and Hatfield, after speaking to the natives on the bench, disappeared in the store.

      Cal heard the droning hum of the stage. So did the natives hear it. They woke up and stirred to animation.

      “Wal, I’ll be dog-goned if thar ain’t the stage comin’,” said one.

      “Betcha it ain’t Jake drivin’,” added another.

      “Reckon if it is Jake he’s been lookin’ at licker,” snickered a third.

      Cal found a grim consolation in the fact that whatever was to be his ordeal, it would soon be under way. He saw Wess and the boys leisurely approaching. Then he caught Tuck Merry’s eye and beckoned to him. When the lanky fellow slid off the porch to tower erect, Cal could not repress another start of amaze and mirth. If a man could somehow resemble a giraffe, Merry did.

      “Did you notice the two fellows who just went in the store?” queried Cal.

      “I’ll say so,” replied Merry.

      “Ahuh! Well, the fat one was Bloom, head of the Bar XX outfit, an’ no friend of the Thurmans. The other was Hatfield, one of his riders. There’s bad blood between him an’ me. I’ll tell you why some day. Of all the—But never mind.—Now look down the road. See those four boys comin’? Well, they belong to the Thurman outfit. Wess, the tallest, is my cousin. They’re just the finest fellows. But they’re hell on tricks an’ fights. They’ve put up some job on me today. Now you just hang around an’ watch, until I call you.”

      “I get you, Steve,” returned Merry, with a smile, and then lounged away to his seat on the porch.

      Cal remained sitting in the Ford. Wess and his comrades came leisurely on, and lined up on the porch, as calm as deacons. Natives of Ryson appeared on the road, approaching the store and post-office. Then the big auto-stage turned into the main road and came on with a roar, leaving a cloud of dust behind. It appeared to be loaded down with bags and boxes, piled on top and tied on the sides. The driver came on with unusual speed, and halted with a bang before the porch steps. When he stepped quickly out, Cal recognized Jake’s face and figure, but not his movements. Remarkable and unnatural energy characterized Jake at the moment.

      “Hyar we are,” he called, cheerily, as he opened a side door. Then he proceeded to lift out numerous pieces of hand baggage, grips and bags of a quality and style seldom seen at Ryson. These he deposited upon the steps. Next he helped some one out, speaking too low for Cal to hear what he said.

      The first passenger to alight was a very young girl, it seemed to Cal. His view was obstructed by Jake, who appeared to be making a gallant of himself. Everybody on the porch stared. The girl, carrying a hand satchel, tripped up the steps. Cal caught a glimpse of blond curls and the flash of a white face and a rosy cheek. She went into the store. Cal, waiting for the next passenger, made ready to go forward and do his duty. But no one else alighted. Jake lifted out some more baggage, then proceeded to untie sacks from the running-board.

      Cal stared. Suddenly he realized that the stage was empty. There were no more passengers. His first sensation was one of unutterable relief. Miss Stockwell’s sister had not come. She had missed the stage or had not come at all. Anyway, she was not there. The joke would be on the boys. He glanced away from the stage to the porch. What had happened to that outfit? Wess looked dazed; Pan Handle was in a trance; Tim stared open-mouthed at the wide door of the store; and Arizona seemed suddenly to be recovering from some shock and to be reminded of his radiant personal adornment. He was fussing with his hair, then his scarf. He changed his gloves from one hand to another, and began to walk toward the door in the most hesitating manner.

      But he never reached it. He was halted by a vision of youth and beauty that emerged from the doorway. She crossed the threshold, came out on the porch in the light. It seemed to Cal that everyone was struck as he was struck—incapable of movement. But his mind whirled with sensation and thought.

      The girl he had imagined a child, now facing him, was certainly a young lady. She had big violet eyes that peered expectantly all around her. Her face was white except for a rosy color high on her cheeks. Her lips were red as carmine. She wore a tan-colored dress, stylishly cut and strangely short. It reached only to the turn of her knees. Cal’s bewildered glance caught a glimpse of slender, shapely, black-stockinged legs before it flashed back to her face.

      “Mr. Driver, you said there was some one to meet me,” she spoke up, in a sweet, high-pitched voice.

      “Shore thar is, judgin’ from appearances,” laughed Jake, looking up from his task with the mail-bags. His bronzed face wrinkled with a smile. “An’ if thar wasn’t, miss, you’d hev no call for worry. Wait till I carry in these mail-bags.”

      She did not appear in the least embarrassed or concerned in any way, except somewhat curious and interested. Manifestly she expected some one of the group to step forward, and looked from one to another. Arizona began to thaw under the sweet expectation of that look, but the others remained frozen.

      Then Hatfield came out of the store,