In The Arroyo

: THE RAWHIDE
: Arizona Nights

Senor Johnson quietly approached Estrella. The girl had, during the

struggle, gone through an aimless but frantic exhibition of terror.

Now she shrank back, her eyes staring wildly, her hands behind her,

ready to flop again over the brink of hysteria.



"What are you going to do?" she demanded, her voice unnatural.



She received no reply. The man reached out and took her by the arm.


/> And then at once, as though the personal contact of the touch had

broken through the last crumb of numbness with which shock had overlaid

Buck Johnson's passions, the insanity of his rage broke out. He

twisted her violently on her face, knelt on her back, and, with the

short piece of hard rope the cowboy always carries to "hog-tie" cattle,

he lashed her wrists together. Then he arose panting, his square black

beard rising and falling with the rise and fall of his great chest.



Estrella had screamed again and again until her face had been fairly

ground into the alkali. There she had choked and strangled and gasped

and sobbed, her mind nearly unhinged with terror. She kept appealing

to him in a hoarse voice, but could get no reply, no indication that he

had even heard. This terrified her still more. Brent Palmer cursed

steadily and accurately, but the man did not seem to hear him either.



The tempest bad broken in Buck Johnson's soul. When he had touched

Estrella he had, for the first time, realised what he had lost. It was

not the woman--her he despised. But the dreams! All at once he knew

what they had been to him--he understood how completely the very

substance of his life had changed in response to their slow

soul-action. The new world had been blasted--the old no longer existed

to which to return.



Buck Johnson stared at this catastrophe until his sight blurred. Why,

it was atrocious! He had done nothing to deserve it! Why had they not

left him peaceful in his own life of cattle and the trail? He had been

happy. His dull eyes fell on the causes of the ruin.



And then, finally, in the understanding of how he had been tricked of

his life, his happiness, his right to well-being, the whole force of

the man's anger flared. Brent Palmer lay there cursing him

artistically. That man had done it; that man was in his power. He

would get even. How?



Estrella, too, lay huddled, helpless and defenseless, at his feet. She

had done it. He would get even. How?



He had spoken no word. He spoke none now, either in answer to

Estrella's appeals, becoming piteous in their craving for relief from

suspense, or in response to Brent Palmer's steady stream of insults and

vituperations. Such things were far below. The bitterness and anger

and desolation were squeezing his heart. He remembered the silly

little row of potatoes sewn in the green hide lying along the top of

the adobe fence, some fresh and round, some dripping as the rawhide

contracted, some black and withered and very small. A fierce and

savage light sprang into his eyes.



More

;