Free Prospector's Gold and Canyon Walls (1990) by Zane Grey Page B

live who can seem to let Rebecca alone. If h e could he'd be a godsend to a distracted old woman."
    Monty wagged his bare head thoughtfully and slid the brim of his sombrero through his fingers. "Wal, I reckon I've been most everythin' but a gawdsend, an' I'd shore like to try thet."
    "What's your name?" she asked with those searching gray eyes on him.
    "Monty Bellew, Smoke fer short, an' it's shore shameful well known in some parts of Arizona."
    "Any folks living?"
    "Yes, back in Iowa. Father an' mother get-tin' along in years now. An' a kid sister growed up."
    "You send them money every month, of course?"
    Monty hung his head. "Wal, fact is, not so reg'lar as I used to. . . . Late years times have been hard fer me."
    "Hard nothing! You've drifted into hard ways. Shiftless, drinking, gambling, shooting cowhand--now, haven't you been just that?" "I'm sorry, ma'am--I--I reckon I have." "You ought to be ashamed. I know boys. I raised nine. It's time you were turning over a new leaf. Suppose we begin by burying that name Monty Bellew."
    "I'm shore willin' an' grateful, ma'am." "Then it's settled. Tend to your horse. You can have the little cabin there under the big cottonwood. We've kept that for our hire d help, but it hasn't been occupied much lately."
    She left Monty then and returned to the ranch house. And he stood a moment irresolute. What a balance was struck there! Presently he slipped saddle and bridle off the horse, and turned him into the pasture. "Baldy, look at thet alfalfa," he said. Weary as Baldy was he lay down and rolled and rolled.
    Monty carried his equipment to the tiny porch of the cabin under the huge cottonwood. He removed his saddlebags, which contained the meager sum of his possessions. Then he flopped down on a bench. "Doggone it!" he muttered. His senses seemed to be playing with him. The leaves rustled above and the white cottonseeds floated down; the bees were murmuring; water tinkled softly beyond the porch; somewhere a bell on a sheep or calf broke the stillness. Monty had never felt such peace and tranquillity, and his soul took on a burden of gratitude.
    Suddenly a clear, resonant voice called out from the house. "Ma, what's the name of our new hand?" .
    "Ask him, Rebecca. I forgot to," replied the mother.
    "If that isn't like you!"
    Monty was on his way to the house and soon hove in sight of the young woman on the porch. His heart thrilled as he saw her.
    And he made himself some deep, wild promises.
    "Hey, cowboy. What's your name?" she called.
    "Sam," he called back.
    "Sam what ?"
    "Sam Hill."
    "For the land's sake! . . . That's not your name."
    "Call me Land's Sake, if you like it better."
    "1 like it?" She nodded her curly head sagely, and she regarded Monty with a certainty that made him vow to upset her calculations or die in the attempt. She handed him down a bucket. "Can you milk a cow?" "I never saw my equal as a milker," asserted Monty.
    "In that case I won't have to help," she replied. "But I'll go with you to drive in the cows."

    Chapter 2
    FROM THAT HOUR DATED MONTY'S APPARENT s ubjection. He accepted himself at Rebecca' s valuation--that of a very small hired boy.
    Monty believed he had a way with girls, bu t evidently that way had never been tried upo n this imperious young Mormon miss.
    Monty made good his boast about being a master hand at the milking of cows. He surprised Rebecca, though she did not guess that he was aware of it. For the rest, Monty never looked at her when she was looking, never addressed her, never gave her the slightest hint that he was even conscious of her sex.
    Now he knew perfectly well that his appearance did not tally with this domesticated kind of a cowboy. She realized it and was puzzled, but evidently he was a novelty to her. At first Monty sensed the usual slight antagonism of the Mormon against the gentile, but in the case of Mrs. Keetch he never noticed this at all, and less and less from the girl.
    The feeling of being in some sort of trance