Desert Gold by Zane Grey Page B

to the Eastern idea of horsemanship.
    â€œYou don’t need to be half horse to ride one of that bunch. But over there in the other field I’ve iron-jawed bronchos I wouldn’t want you to tackle—except to see the fun. I’ve an outlaw I’ll gamble even Laddy can’t ride.”
    â€œSo. How much’ll you gamble?” asked Laddy, instantly.
    The ringing of a bell, which Belding said was a call to supper, turned the men back toward the house. Facing that way, Gale saw dark, beetling ridges rising from the oasis and leading up to bare, black mountains. He had heard Belding call them No Name Mountains, and somehow the appellation suited those lofty, mysterious, frowning peaks.
    It was not until they reached the house and were about to go in that Belding chanced to discover Gale’s crippled hand.
    â€œWhat an awful hand!” he exclaimed. “Where the devil did you get that?”
    â€œI stove in my knuckles on Rojas,” replied Dick.
    â€œYou did that in one punch? Say, I’m glad it wasn’t me you hit! Why didn’t you tell me? That’s a bad hand. Those cuts are full of dirt and sand. Inflammation’s setting in. It’s got to be dressed. Nell!” he called.
    There was no answer. He called again, louder.
    â€œMother, where’s the girl?”
    â€œShe’s there in the dining room,” replied Mrs. Belding.
    â€œDid she hear me?” he inquired, impatiently.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œNell!” roared Belding.
    This brought results. Dick saw a glimpse of golden hair and a white dress in the door. But they were not visible longer than a second.
    â€œDad, what’s the matter?” asked a voice that was still as sweet as formerly, but now rather small and constrained.
    â€œBring the antiseptics, cotton, bandages—and things out here. Hurry now.”
    Belding fetched a pail of water and a basin from the kitchen. His wife followed him out, and, upon seeing Dick’s hand, was all solicitude. Then Dick heard light, quick footsteps, but he did not look up.
    â€œNell, this is Mr. Gale—Dick Gale, who came with the boys last night,” said Belding. “He’s got an awful hand. Got it punching that greaser Rojas. I want you to dress it…. Gale, this is my stepdaughter, Nell Burton, of whom I spoke. She’s some good when there’s somebody sick or hurt. Shove out your fist, my boy, and let her get at it. Supper’s nearly ready.”
    Dick felt that same strange, quickening heart throb, yet he had never been cooler in his life. More than anything else in the world he wanted to look at Nell Burton; however, divining that the situation might be embarrassing to her, he refrained from looking up. She began to bathe his injured knuckles. He noted the softness, the deftness of her touch, and then it seemed her fingers were not quite as steady as they might have been. Still, in a moment they appeared to become surer in their work. She had beautiful hands, not too large, though certainly not small, and they were strong, brown, supple. He observed next, with stealthy, upward-stealing glance, that she had rolled up her sleeves, exposing fine, round arms graceful in line. Her skin was brown—no, it was more gold than brown. It had a wonderful clear tint. Dick stoically lowered his eyes then, putting off as long as possible the alluring moment when he was to look into her face. That would be a fateful moment. He played with a certain strange joy of anticipation. When, however, she sat down beside him and rested his injured hand in her lap as she cut bandages, she was so thrillingly near that he yielded to an irrepressible desire to look up. She had a sweet, fair face warmly tinted with that same healthy golden-brown sunburn. Her hair was light gold and abundant, a waving mass. Her eyes were shaded by long, downcast lashes, yet through them he caught a gleam of blue.
    Despite the stir within him, Gale, seeing