That same afternoon, which was two days after Lovely Lucas had tossed Kent Cutter over the Black Horse bar, Jeff Ryker, prosecuting attorney, rode out to Conley’s ranch, wearing a new mailorder suit and an extra large collar. Dawn saw him coming from afar. She had been expecting Jimmy to ignore her father’s warning, and at first she thought it might be Jimmy; but, when she saw who it was, she departed hurriedly, leaving her mother to do the talking.The very fat, stolid old Indian woman filled the rocking-chair to creaking capacity. She wore an old print wrapper and moccasins, a very brassy necklace and an even more brassy bracelet. Minnie Conley had never become civilized, as far as apparel was concerned.Ryker rode up to the porch, tipped his hat to Mrs. Conley and dismounted. She nodded coldly. Moses Conley had explained to her that Ryker was the man who would try to hang Peter.“Rather hot today, Mrs. Conley,” he said pleasantly.“Pretty damn hot,” she said forcibly.“Yeah, it is,” he sat down in the vacant chair and mopped his brow. “Hot in town today. I thought I’d take a ride and cool off. Where’s Mr. Conley?”“He not here.”“I see.”He craned his neck and glanced through the doorway.“Dawn not here,” said the woman.“I see. Well, you’re here, Mrs. Conley.”“I here,” stolidly. “I mos’ always here. Too fat to ride.”Ryker laughed cautiously.“Well, you’re good and healthy, Mrs. Conley.”“Pretty good. What you want?”“That depends, Mrs. Conley. Peter’s in jail, you know.”“I know very well.”“And they might hang him, Mrs. Conley,” he said heartlessly.The Indian woman’s eyes flickered for a moment, as she shifted her gaze past Ryker. He watched her face closely, but beyond the flicker of her eyelids there was no emotion.“And you don’t want that to happen,” he said softly.“No,” she said. “No want that to happen.”“He’s your son,” said Ryker.“You right, my son.”“There’s just me and you here, Mrs. Conley. I don’t mind telling you, I love Dawn. I want to marry Dawn.”The woman’s gaze came back to Ryker, and he shifted uneasily under the stare of those beady eyes.“You want marry Dawn?” she asked.“Yeah, that’s the idea, Mrs. Conley. I’m a big man in Turquoise City, you understand. If I say they must hang Peter—they hang Peter. If I am going to marry Dawn, I not say for them to hang Peter. Yousabethat?”“Damn right!”“Fine. When Dawn say she marry me, I get Peter loose. If she not marry me—” Ryker hesitated meaningly.“You hang Peter,” said the woman heavily.“That’s the idea, Mrs. Conley. We make a trade, eh?”“S’pose Dawn no marry you?”“She like to see Peter get hung?” countered Ryker.“She not like.”“And there you are, Mrs. Conley. You tell her about it. You not need to tell Moses. He not need to know. Our secret, eh?”“I not tell nobody.”“Good! Well, I’ll be goin’ on. Peter have trial next week. You let me know Monday.”Ryker mounted his horse and rode away, well pleased with himself. Once he turned in his saddle and waved back at the huddled figure on the old porch, which did not wave back at him.After Ryker had passed from sight, Dawn came out. She halted near her mother and stared across the hills toward the Black Horse ford.“I heard everything he said, mother.”“Good! Rykermamook hyas cultus wau-wau.”Stress of emotion caused the old squaw to revert to the trade language of her people. Translated, it meant that Ryker made a very bad talk.“How can he turn Peter loose?” demanded Dawn indignantly. “Is Ryker the law?”“Crooked!” said the old lady.“It surely is! If I marry him he’ll turn Peter loose. Why, I wouldn’t marry him.”“Peter hang, mebby.”“Oh, I don’t mean it that way, mother. I want Peter to go free. You know that, don’t you? Why, he’s my brother; but to marry Jeff Ryker—”“Too much talk about marry,” said the old lady. “Cutter talk to Mose. You don’t know. He want marry you. Jimmy Moran want marry you.”“Kent Cutter want to marry me?”“You right. Mose tell him go to hell.”Dawn laughted bitterly.“I wonder what’s got into ’em? Why don’t they come to me, I wonder?”“Jimmy come to you, eh?”“Yes,” softly.“Roarin’ come to you, Dawn?”“No.”“He not come to nobody—jus’ come. Good man.”“Yes, he’s a good man, mother; but I don’t want to marry him. Oh, I don’t want to marry anybody.”Her mother looked at her keenly for several moments.“I guess you marry man you want,” she said slowly. “Peter have trial next week. Mose hire good lawyer. Mebby I tell judge what Ryker say. Here come Mose now.”Moses Conley rode to the corral, unsaddled his horse and came up to the house.“Was Ryker here?” he asked.Mrs. Conley nodded.“He jus’ stop little while, Mose.”“What for?”“Dawn.”“Dawn?” Mose Conley twisted his head and looked at Dawn. “Came to see you? What did he say to you?”“I didn’t talk with him.”“He want marry her,” said Mrs. Conley.“Huh!” The old man ran his fingers through his white beard, frowning heavily. “The prosecutin’ attorney wants to marry Dawn. That’s funny. There’s Cutter, Rigby, English Ed, Moran, and now comes Ryker. How do you account for all this, Dawn?”“I don’t,” said Dawn seriously.“You’re pretty,” said Conley slowly.“I’m a half-breed.”“You stop that! I hate that word, Dawn. If there’s any mixed blood that you might be ashamed of, it’s on my side. You mother is an American.”“You right!” said Mrs. Conley. “My father big chief.”“Well, I wouldn’t rate him too high,” said Conley. “If I hadn’t tracked some horses he stole from me to his teepee, I wouldn’t have met you; so that’s all right.”“That was my grandfather,” said Dawn bitterly. “A horsethief.”“Well,” amended Conley, “he didn’t really steal ’em, Dawn. Me and him made a deal. He kept six pintos and I took his daughter. That’s the only time I ever cheated an Injun.”Conley looked fondly at his fat wife. She smiled. Dawn laughed and turned toward the door, going into the house.
That same afternoon, which was two days after Lovely Lucas had tossed Kent Cutter over the Black Horse bar, Jeff Ryker, prosecuting attorney, rode out to Conley’s ranch, wearing a new mailorder suit and an extra large collar. Dawn saw him coming from afar. She had been expecting Jimmy to ignore her father’s warning, and at first she thought it might be Jimmy; but, when she saw who it was, she departed hurriedly, leaving her mother to do the talking.
The very fat, stolid old Indian woman filled the rocking-chair to creaking capacity. She wore an old print wrapper and moccasins, a very brassy necklace and an even more brassy bracelet. Minnie Conley had never become civilized, as far as apparel was concerned.
Ryker rode up to the porch, tipped his hat to Mrs. Conley and dismounted. She nodded coldly. Moses Conley had explained to her that Ryker was the man who would try to hang Peter.
“Rather hot today, Mrs. Conley,” he said pleasantly.
“Pretty damn hot,” she said forcibly.
“Yeah, it is,” he sat down in the vacant chair and mopped his brow. “Hot in town today. I thought I’d take a ride and cool off. Where’s Mr. Conley?”
“He not here.”
“I see.”
He craned his neck and glanced through the doorway.
“Dawn not here,” said the woman.
“I see. Well, you’re here, Mrs. Conley.”
“I here,” stolidly. “I mos’ always here. Too fat to ride.”
Ryker laughed cautiously.
“Well, you’re good and healthy, Mrs. Conley.”
“Pretty good. What you want?”
“That depends, Mrs. Conley. Peter’s in jail, you know.”
“I know very well.”
“And they might hang him, Mrs. Conley,” he said heartlessly.
The Indian woman’s eyes flickered for a moment, as she shifted her gaze past Ryker. He watched her face closely, but beyond the flicker of her eyelids there was no emotion.
“And you don’t want that to happen,” he said softly.
“No,” she said. “No want that to happen.”
“He’s your son,” said Ryker.
“You right, my son.”
“There’s just me and you here, Mrs. Conley. I don’t mind telling you, I love Dawn. I want to marry Dawn.”
The woman’s gaze came back to Ryker, and he shifted uneasily under the stare of those beady eyes.
“You want marry Dawn?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s the idea, Mrs. Conley. I’m a big man in Turquoise City, you understand. If I say they must hang Peter—they hang Peter. If I am going to marry Dawn, I not say for them to hang Peter. Yousabethat?”
“Damn right!”
“Fine. When Dawn say she marry me, I get Peter loose. If she not marry me—” Ryker hesitated meaningly.
“You hang Peter,” said the woman heavily.
“That’s the idea, Mrs. Conley. We make a trade, eh?”
“S’pose Dawn no marry you?”
“She like to see Peter get hung?” countered Ryker.
“She not like.”
“And there you are, Mrs. Conley. You tell her about it. You not need to tell Moses. He not need to know. Our secret, eh?”
“I not tell nobody.”
“Good! Well, I’ll be goin’ on. Peter have trial next week. You let me know Monday.”
Ryker mounted his horse and rode away, well pleased with himself. Once he turned in his saddle and waved back at the huddled figure on the old porch, which did not wave back at him.
After Ryker had passed from sight, Dawn came out. She halted near her mother and stared across the hills toward the Black Horse ford.
“I heard everything he said, mother.”
“Good! Rykermamook hyas cultus wau-wau.”
Stress of emotion caused the old squaw to revert to the trade language of her people. Translated, it meant that Ryker made a very bad talk.
“How can he turn Peter loose?” demanded Dawn indignantly. “Is Ryker the law?”
“Crooked!” said the old lady.
“It surely is! If I marry him he’ll turn Peter loose. Why, I wouldn’t marry him.”
“Peter hang, mebby.”
“Oh, I don’t mean it that way, mother. I want Peter to go free. You know that, don’t you? Why, he’s my brother; but to marry Jeff Ryker—”
“Too much talk about marry,” said the old lady. “Cutter talk to Mose. You don’t know. He want marry you. Jimmy Moran want marry you.”
“Kent Cutter want to marry me?”
“You right. Mose tell him go to hell.”
Dawn laughted bitterly.
“I wonder what’s got into ’em? Why don’t they come to me, I wonder?”
“Jimmy come to you, eh?”
“Yes,” softly.
“Roarin’ come to you, Dawn?”
“No.”
“He not come to nobody—jus’ come. Good man.”
“Yes, he’s a good man, mother; but I don’t want to marry him. Oh, I don’t want to marry anybody.”
Her mother looked at her keenly for several moments.
“I guess you marry man you want,” she said slowly. “Peter have trial next week. Mose hire good lawyer. Mebby I tell judge what Ryker say. Here come Mose now.”
Moses Conley rode to the corral, unsaddled his horse and came up to the house.
“Was Ryker here?” he asked.
Mrs. Conley nodded.
“He jus’ stop little while, Mose.”
“What for?”
“Dawn.”
“Dawn?” Mose Conley twisted his head and looked at Dawn. “Came to see you? What did he say to you?”
“I didn’t talk with him.”
“He want marry her,” said Mrs. Conley.
“Huh!” The old man ran his fingers through his white beard, frowning heavily. “The prosecutin’ attorney wants to marry Dawn. That’s funny. There’s Cutter, Rigby, English Ed, Moran, and now comes Ryker. How do you account for all this, Dawn?”
“I don’t,” said Dawn seriously.
“You’re pretty,” said Conley slowly.
“I’m a half-breed.”
“You stop that! I hate that word, Dawn. If there’s any mixed blood that you might be ashamed of, it’s on my side. You mother is an American.”
“You right!” said Mrs. Conley. “My father big chief.”
“Well, I wouldn’t rate him too high,” said Conley. “If I hadn’t tracked some horses he stole from me to his teepee, I wouldn’t have met you; so that’s all right.”
“That was my grandfather,” said Dawn bitterly. “A horsethief.”
“Well,” amended Conley, “he didn’t really steal ’em, Dawn. Me and him made a deal. He kept six pintos and I took his daughter. That’s the only time I ever cheated an Injun.”
Conley looked fondly at his fat wife. She smiled. Dawn laughed and turned toward the door, going into the house.