Horse Heaven Hill. Zane Grey

the leadership of a stallion, ran together, working down out of the mountains in the fall, and returning the next summer when the springs dried up in the low country. Seldom did the Indians chase these wild horses, except occasionally to trap one of the beautiful stallions. They were as free as the waving sage. Their range extended over the mountains to the swift Oregon. They grazed and lolled and raced and fought, and foaled their colts in peace, and lived the lives of eagles.

      But the time came when this tranquil existence was rudely disrupted. Abe Wade, rancher of that section, attracted by the strong demand for cattle, rounded up most of his stock and sold them. The unprecedented move left his cowboys with more leisure than was good for them. Hurd Blanding, lately from the ranges of Wyoming, originated a scheme with young Ellery Wade, ne’er-do-well son of the rancher, which set the whole community by the ears. With a selected outfit of hard-riding cowboys and a force of Clespelem Indians, they chased and trapped three thousand head of wild horses, and by a trick called tailing, which was simply tying the tail of one horse to the head of another, they drove the whole band to the railroad and shipped them to Montana to be slaughtered for chicken feed. Blanding paid the Clespelems one dollar a head for their assistance in making the drive; he gave young Wade one thousand and divided a like sum among the cowboys. As it soon leaked out that he had received three dollars a head it was clear he had made a large sum of money for a cowboy.

      * * * *

      The substance of this singular news came to Lark Burrell the very day she arrived at Wadestown, to make her home with the Wades.

      Lark was a second cousin of Marigold Wade, who had prevailed upon her father to offer a home to their orphan relative. Lark was eighteen. Most of her life she had lived in Idaho, far south on the great ranges of a still unfenced desert country. Burrell, her father, had owned a big stretch of land there, wild land which no one but Lark considered worth anything. He left it to her along with a ramshackle cabin, a fine stream of water, a few head of stock, and a drove of wild mustangs. Lark had come honestly by her love of wild horses. She had been brought up among them. She herself was like an untamed colt. But much as she desired it, she could no longer live on the profitless ranch, with only an old herder. So when the Wades sent for her, she was grateful and accepted the home offered, feeling in her heart that someday she would return to Idaho.

      Lark had been given a room that opened out upon the sage country, with the strangely named mountain dark on the horizon. At once this view struck her. It was not barren or big enough to resemble her country; still it charmed her. And the hour soon came when she sat in her window seat, consumed by the news she had heard downstairs. Three thousand head of wild horses sold for chicken feed!

      The shock to Lark was something that could not have been understood by most people. Marigold’s rich laugh had pealed out. “Look at the kid’s face!” Lark had fled to her room, and there she had ventured to peep in her mirror. It was a stormy, revealing face. She flung herself away, and, curling in the window seat, she tried to realize an appalling thing. “Three thousand head of wild horses sold for chicken feed!” Lark repeated, until she got its meaning through her head.

      Then her tears flowed so that she could not see the sage plains and the beckoning mountain.

      But they were soon burned away. All at once she hated this handsome cousin, Ellery Wade, who had kissed her and made much of her upon her arrival. It was at dinner, after she had unpacked and donned the only nice dress she owned, that the disturbance had come. Ellery had burst in upon the family wildly elated, his pockets bulging with money, to which he called attention by vociferous word and violent action. Right there Lark had divined he was a spoiled child, the only son of the family. Marigold had shrieked at the sight of the money and flashed her greedy white hands for it. Mr. Wade, after his surprise, had showed interest and pleasure. The boy’s mother had seemed nonplused.

      “Hurd sold the whole blooming bunch of wild horses,” Ellery had shouted. “My share was—well, never mind.”

      “Where—how’d he sell them?” his father had asked curiously.

      “Montana concern for chicken feed. Telegraphed the bank. Hurd got the cash before he shipped the horses. Foxy boy, Hurd. He made a deal with the Clespelems to help in future drives for him. Got the best of the other outfits.”

      “Yes, Blanding is rather crafty,” his father had agreed dryly. “Ellery, you’d better let me invest your money, if it’s any considerable amount.”

      “Dad, it’s not enough for that,” the young man had replied hastily. “Next drive I’ll insist on fifty-fifty with Hurd.”

      Here Lark had been unable to contain herself longer. “You—you don’t mean you’ve actually sold wild horses for chicken feed?”

      “We sure have, cousin,” he had replied, laughing. “And we’re going to make a business of it.”

      “Monstrous!” Lark had burst out, and then had fled. But she did not get her door closed before she heard Ellery’s remark to the others:

      “That’s odd. Do you suppose she cares?”

      Lark had gone all over it in her mind, with the result that she wished she had kept silent. It was none of her business. They would never understand. But wild mustangs! Murdered for chicken feed! Was it not hideous? Chickens lived on corn and what they could scratch for. Whoever heard of feeding horseflesh to them? It was so utterly foreign to anything relating to horses or chickens as she knew them. The idea had been born in the fertile brain of some devilish cowboy. Hurd Blanding. Lark would remember that name.

      Nothing could have been worse for Lark, upon the entrance to this new home, than to have heard of such brutality. She realized that her point of view was farfetched, and ridiculous to these town people. Most ranchers hated wild horses because they grazed on grass and drank up water which might have gone to sheep and cattle. Money was at the root of it.

      In vain Lark tried to see the other side. But she did understand that her feelings should not warp her against these relatives who had given her a home. She must not have such feelings, if that were possible. She was grateful and she meant to prove it. Nothing had been said to Lark about work, but she certainly would not be idle. She would earn her keep, if they would only allow her. Perhaps she could study something and earn money. And always in the back of her mind was the hope and the belief that she would someday return to Idaho.

      Then she was confronted by an unforeseen contingency. The idea of going to the home of relatives to live had not greatly appealed to her, but neither had she felt fear or anxiety. Lark had taken it for granted that she would like, even love, the Wades. She had lived mostly in the country and worn jeans more than dresses. She had not had much schooling outside of her mother’s teaching; still, there had not been any fear at the idea of mingling with more cultured people. She had not considered it much at all.

      Here, however, confusing thoughts began to rise. Suppose she took a dislike to all the Wades, as she had to Ellery? What if she were taken for a country girl, a poor dependent cousin? She regarded these thoughts as selfish and unworthy of her. Nevertheless she realized, with a sinking of the heart, almost in dismay, that it was not going to be as she had dreamed it would be. She fortified herself against unknown things.

      Lark’s meditations were interrupted by a knock on her door. “Come—in,” she faltered, wiping her eyes.

      Marigold entered. She had changed her dress. Lark almost gasped. Marigold was a tall, perfect blonde, and the tight-fitting bodice of the full-skirted gown displayed her beautiful figure.

      “May I come in and talk to you?” asked Marigold sweetly. She had light-blue languid eyes.

      “I’d be glad to have you,” replied Lark.

      Whereupon her cousin sat down beside her. “I like this seat,” she said. “It used to be mine—this room—before Dad fixed up the house. . . . Well let’s get acquainted.”

      “I’ll do my best,” replied Lark, smiling. Marigold seemed friendly and kind. “First off, cousin, I’d like to know what’s expected of me.”

      “Heavens! Nothing,