Title: The Song of the Wolf
Author: Mayer, Frank
Language: English
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THE SONG OF THE WOLF

by

FRANK MAYER



Copyright, 1910, by
Moffat, Yard and Company
New York

Published, April, 1910



CONTENTS


       I. A RIFT IN THE LUTE

      II. THE MARK OF THE BEAST

     III. AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING

      IV. IN THE MIDST OF ALARUMS

       V. "HER HEART WON'T BE BROKE NONE"

      VI. THE MAN AND THE WOMAN

     VII. BELSHAZZAR

    VIII. THE PASSING OF A CLOUD

      IX. IN PART PAYMENT

       X. THAT WHICH IS CÆSAR'S

      XI. FRENZIED FINANCE

     XII. NOT STRICTLY ACCORDING TO PROGRAM

    XIII. A LAUGH IN THE NIGHT

     XIV. A FAIR FIELD AND NO FAVORS

      XV. GREAT EXPECTATIONS

     XVI. THE SONG OF THE WOLF

    XVII. THE FROWNING GODDESS SMILES

   XVIII. IN THE HOUSE OF POTIPHAR

     XIX. MUTUAL ASSISTANCE

      XX. A PASSAGE AT ARMS

     XXI. THE WIDENING CHASM

    XXII. THE RENUNCIATION

   XXIII. BELSHAZZAR COMES BACK TO STAY



     "When a man gets through playin' thu goat he gin'rally feels some
     obligated to act the sheep foh a spell, so's to even up thu deal."

     Red McVey



THE SONG OF THE WOLF



CHAPTER I

A RIFT IN THE LUTE


Everything else was in harmony. If the sky turquoise was a shade or two
paler than the prescribed robin's-egg, it blended perfectly with the
unpronounced greens of the sprouting grass and the uncertain olive of
the budding sagebrush. On the crest of the distant divide a silver-gray
wreath of aspens lay against the tawny cheek of the mountain as daintily
as an otter-fur collarette on the neck of a girl. Even the darker girdle
of spruce and pine, lower down, lost its harsh individuality, merging
insensibly into the faded umbers, sepias, lavenders and tans of the
graduating background where the rocks and buckbrush fell away to the
open slopes beneath.

On the vega below, the alkaline scars, as yet uncalcined by the sun's
fires into glaring chalkiness, gave no offense in their moist
neutrality, and the coyote slinking dejectedly among the deserted
prairie-dog mounds was, in his ash-colored surtout, as inconspicuous as
the long wan shadows cast by the weak spring sun. In the hollow of the
foothill's arm lay a little lake, fed by a brook born in heights so
remote that its purl was deduced rather than heard, and over all lay
the soft glow of the fading twilight, accentuated by the subtle incense
of the young year's breath.

It was a symphony of tender half-tone in minor key, one of these
mystical, ethereal, God-painted Corots of the great West whose
enchantment outlives life itself, calling with an insistence which will
not be denied until the souls of its hearing yearn for its bondage again
and return to the rack of the cow-range, the torments of the desert, the
chain of the eternal hills.

The only discord was in the heart and speech of the man who swore
savagely at his over-ridden horse stumbling among the loose bowlders of
the half-effaced trail. The anathema and succeeding spur thrust were
alike cruel and undeserved, for the faithful beast had borne his rider
bravely throughout a long and weary day's work, and despite the
favorable temperature of the mild spring day, his chest was foam-flecked
and sweat-crusted and his gaunt flanks heaved pitiably. And yet there
was nothing particularly vicious in the face of the cowpuncher glaring
so disconsolately over the tender vista. It was a bit thin-lipped and
there was more than a suggestion of merciless hardness in the deep lines
about the mouth, but the blue-gray eyes were calm and steady and there
was a sturdy independence in the out-thrust of his prominent chin and
the bird-like poise of his head which, bespoke either a clear conscience
or the lethal indifference of an indomitable will. Bull-throated, yet
withal of a lean, rangy, muscular conformation, his every movement
betokened virility and force; an experienced frontiersman would have
glanced approvingly at his well-ordered equipment, the wicked blue Colts
in its Mexican holster sagging at just the proper angle for quick work
on a cartridge belt filled to the last becket, the pliable reata hanging
in unkinked coils with chafed honda evincing long usage. There was a
significant absence of fringe and ornament about this man, yet the
excellence of materials was noticeable, from the selected buckskin of
his gauntlets to the tempered steel of his rowels and expensive Stetson
hat; and women usually looked twice at the broad-chested, flat-thighed,
bronze-faced fellow who returned their stares with disconcerting
assurance. It was his habit to look all things squarely in the face, and
before his level gaze women blushed unaccountably and men smiled,
squirmed or turned quietly away as the circumstances warranted. Little
children alone took liberties with him, and for these the bold eyes
would soften wondrously and a rare gentleness creep into his usually
crisp and terse speech.

The panorama stretched out before him as he topped the ridge, halting
his horse instinctively to reconnoitre the ground, was one that would
ordinarily have appealed to him, for despite his prosaic avocation, his
was the true artistic temperament; but to-day he looked with weary
unappreciation bordering upon disgust, and mumbled profanely under his
heavy mustache.

The coyote sneaking stealthily among the short sagebrush caught his eye
and he laughed mirthlessly. "Poor devil! Rustling like the rest of us to
keep his miserable body and soul together--and making a damn poor job of
it. It would be a mercy--" and he half drew the heavy revolver from its
sheath. Just then the wolf sprang fiercely at a clump of grass and a
plaintive squeal rose upon the air. Then the coyote trotted out into the
open with a rabbit hanging limply from its jaws and made off across the
vega in a swinging gallop instead of devouring its prey instantly, as
one would have naturally anticipated, considering its gaunt and starved
appearance.

Under the tan of the cowboy's face a darker flush spread redly.

"A bunch of starving pups in the arroyo yonder, and I would have
wantonly killed her. God! what a brute I am."

For a space he sat in silent self-abasement; then as his horse champed
impatiently on the bit, he tightened the rein and rode slowly down to
the little lake.

At its edge he dismounted, and after removing the bridle so that his
horse could drink and graze more comfortably, threw himself at full
length upon the short grass. The well-trained broncho would not stray
far, and both needed rest. The coyote was still in his thoughts, but his
mood had changed. "After all," he meditated, "she got that rabbit
unexpectedly when she sure needed it worst--and she won out by staying
with the game. Maybe my turn will come, too, if I don't get buffaloed
and stampede. Was it Seneca or Lucretius--no, Havard--who said that
perseverance is a virtue

                'that plucks success
    Even from the spear-proof crest of rugged danger.'

Well, in this case I'll be virtuous from force of necessity. But how
long, oh, Lord, how long?"

From which it might be inferred that this particular cowboy had some
time or other drank from springs Pierian as well as alkaline. Just now
it was hard to say which was most bitter in his mouth.

He shifted restlessly to his elbow and built a cigarette; through its
thin blue mist he waded retrospectively in the stream of memory. Rapidly
in review passed his boyhood days in the far East, his college career
with its vast ambitions and roseate dreams, his migration to the
cloud-kissed Rockies where he had suffered the undoing of all his
mawkish illusions. An idealist of the most refined type, he writhed even
now at the merciless rape of all his virginal conceptions by that
unsympathetic iconoclast Practicality, that ironical cynic who laughs
our adolescent theories to scorn and desecrates the holiest of our
dream-woven holies. All his finespun hopes had been ruthlessly rent by
the hand of reality. Contact with humanity in its primeval phase had
worn his unusually refined sensibilities to the quick and the reaction
was as unhealthy as it was inevitable. From enthusiastic optimism to
hopeless pessimism is only a short step for exaggerated natures like
his, and there were few things that this man now held sacred--and none
that he held holy. Even life itself, and particularly that of other men,
he held in contempt, and with the usual disastrous consequences. There
were few, even in this land of reckless men, who cared to arouse the
slumbering devil under the quiet demeanor of this gray-eyed range rider
who killed first and argued afterward.

From the pinnacle of a great faith in his kind he had been hurled
headlong to the depths of unbelief and suspicion. He had seen Loyalty
mocked and betrayed; starving Intelligence bought with a price by
crime-opulent Ignorance; naked Virtue crouched shivering in the shadow
of exalted, ermined Vice; the sots and trulls of bestial Sensuality
deified and worshiped in the public places. He had seen the harlotry of
Society set above the sacrament of Maternity, the butchery of embryonic
souls so that their lawful heritage might be squandered in the
prostitution of Love to Vanity and Indolence. He had witnessed the
sacrifice of every civic virtue to the Moloch of Greed and Graft, the
abasement of all human motives to the idol of Self.

The fiercely-drawn cigarette burned his lips and he threw it away with a
snarling curse, his whole sentience revolted with the odor of social
corruption, his soul sickening in resentment of his own undeserved
failure. He had been honest and industrious, energetic, leal and true,
conscientious in all things--and to what end?

That he might look every man fearlessly in the face by day and go
ahungered to a scant bed at night. He had labored servilely in the
vineyard of the Lord and been paid by the contemptuously-thrown lees of
the vintage. Thrice had he lost employment because he had indignantly
refused to be a party to mendacity and rascality, the recollection of
his rather strenuous resentment in the last instance wrinkling his face
with a grim, unlovely smile; it had made an outlaw of him. But the
other was an object of compassion ever since. Another Ishmael, he had
turned naturally to the clean, free independence of the life outdoors,
drifting ultimately to the cow range. His natural ability and
adaptiveness soon brought him recognition in a sphere where men are
weighed in the scale of their actual worth as men, not as puppets in the
pantomime of conventionality. It paid him bread and he bedded where and
how he chose. In the first flush of independence he felt a certain
content, but his was too intense a nature--he was cursed with too much
knowledge and ambition--and the encysted leaven began to work.

In one thing he was fortunate. The hard outdoor work had hammered the
native iron of the man into finely-tempered steel and he was thewed and
sinewed like a cougar. He had learned self-reliance, which is a good
thing, and self-containment, which is a better. Best of all, he was
beginning to place a value on himself; all he needed was incentive. And
such men make their own opportunities.

The fast waning light warned him that it was time to take the trail
again. It was quite dark when he swung himself into the saddle with ten
miles of rough country to negotiate, and the trail's difficulties in
nowise lessened his mental discontent. For the first time he was
resenting morosely the necessity of preparing his own supper at the end
of his journey, and he was nowise gentle in the roping of a fresh mount
for the morrow's work on his arrival at the outlying camp, where he ate
perfunctorily and without gust; despite his harsh fatigue a great
restlessness sent him wide, with pipe in mouth, into the stellar
splendor that beatifies every clear Colorado night.

The thin, pure air was surcharged with ozone and delicately perfumed
with the aroma of the lemonia crushing beneath his feet. A big white
moon topped the far-off crests of the Continental Divide, silvering the
cottonwood fringe of the creek bank and transmuting the dull lead of the
sagebrush waste into molten silver and liquid pearl. High up the aspens
were a shimmering sea of aquamarine, and the snow fields at the foot of
the moon were scintillating masses of opal; the cloudless sky above was
a shield of steel-blue sapphire emblazoned with diamond stars. The
sanctity of the profound solitude was as yet unbroken by the inevitable
wolf wails; the tender benediction of a supernal beauty was over all;
and everywhere, save in the hot heart of Ken Douglass, was a great
Peace.

Unseeing the glory spread about him, he tramped far into the night, torn
by conflicting emotions, none of which could he analyze. He was
conscious only of a great Desire whose inchoateness maddened and
bewildered him, and he stumbled blindly through the mazes of his
uncertainty, falling over the truth at every turn but never once
realizing it. Vainly he evoked all the logic and reason at his command,
but the analogies of a by no means inconsiderable experience failed him
utterly. It was ordinarily characteristic of him to arrive at
conclusions with a bound where he himself was the object under
consideration, but to-night his powers of concentration were strangely
deficient and he chafed as much under the sense of indecision as he did
over his inability to diagnose his ailment.

"What's the matter of me, anyhow?" he ruminated, lapsing whimsically
into the range vernacular which he seldom affected. "Here I've been
riding circle on myself all day and haven't rounded in even a sick
maverick. I reckon I'm losing my grip on myself--and that's a bad sign.
Guess I'm herding by my lonely too much and it's getting on my nerves.
Might as well be a sheep-herd as hold down this job; then I'd have a dog
to talk to at any rate. Well, wolfing it like this won't do my
complexion any good; guess I'll go and get my beauty sleep!" But the
gray eyes held an unusual languor when he rode out in the morning, and
the look of worriment increased with every strenuous hour; all
throughout the night had he lain wide-eyed, and the experience was a
disturbing one. Never before had sleep been denied him; even on that
memorable night when, in a difference of opinion as to whose horse was
entitled to precedence at the public watering trough in Tin Cup, he had
roped and dragged nigh to death the foreman of the C Bar outfit, he had
audaciously crept into the bunkhouse of the outraged fellows who were
vengefully seeking him in every place but the right one, and after
calmly appropriating the personal blankets of his victim, had slept the
sleep of vindicated virtue. That this necessitated his shooting his way
out, on his discovery by the astonished outfit the next morning, in
nowise affected the soundness of his slumbers; sleep was imperative to
this hard-working young man, and the incident had gone far towards the
establishment of his standing on the range. He had watered his horses
unchallenged and slept undisturbedly ever since.

Therefore his last night's experience was anomalous to a degree and one
to be reckoned with seriously. In Douglass's perplexity he decided to
extend the day's pascar to Tin Cup and get decently drunk; convinced
that conviviality was the one essential lacking to his happiness. He
dismounted at the ford of the creek on, the outskirts of the village and
looked solicitously after the condition of his revolver. Not that he
deliberately, contemplated "shooting up" the town; but there was always
the possibility of the C Bar gang coming into town after their mail and
it was only proper and wise to provide against contingencies. And Ken's
favorite maxim was, "Never overlook no bets."



CHAPTER II

THE MARK OF THE BEAST


As he rode slowly up the little squalid street, seemingly lost in a
brown study and gazing abstractedly straight between his horse's ears,
he was in reality keenly alive to his surroundings. Not a face or
movement escaped him, and his mouth hardened ever so slightly as he
noted a couple of C Bar horses tied to the hitching rail before the door
of the Alcazar saloon. Dismounting leisurely before the grimy little
shack which did combined duty as stationery store and post office, he
nodded casually to the crowd of loafers about the entrance; if he
noticed significant glances toward the horses tied to the railing across
the street, he made no sign. And when the old postmaster quietly
volunteered the information, "Matlock is in town," he merely smiled his
comprehension and rolled a fresh cigarette. Matlock was the man whom he
had so ignominiously dragged at his rope's end a month ago. And Matlock
had been indiscreet of speech since.

At the door he turned and came back with his hand extended to his
friend, "I am sure grateful to you for your interest, Hank," he said
gravely. "I noticed his horse as I came in. Well, so-long!" and
thrusting into his pocket the bundle of mail at which he had scarcely
glanced, went out, mounted his horse and rode unconcernedly toward the
one hotel which the embryo metropolis boasted.

Hank Williams scratched his head thoughtfully as he turned again to the
task of assorting the afternoon's mail. "Of course he must play his own
hand," he ruminated, "an' he'll come mighty nigh to winnin' out. But all
the same I'd like to set in the game a deal or two myself. Guess I'll
look in at the Alcazar to-night."

"I ain't got no call to butt in," he continued as he puzzled over an
unusually illegible address, "but that Matlock is a treacherous coyote
an' there's no tellin' what lowdown play he'll make. I just nacherally
have to keep cases to-night." His work finished, the old man proceeded
to carefully fill the empty loops of his cartridge belt and there was a
grim determination on his handsome hard old face as he spun the cylinder
of his ".45" to test its perfect action.

Up at the hotel an ambuscade was laid into which Douglass walked
unwittingly. As his foot reached the first of the three low steps
leading up to the rickety veranda, an arm shot around the corner of the
house, there was a soft swis-h-h, a chuckle of tense triumph, and the
folds of a lasso encircled his throat. Involuntarily his hand leaped to
his holster on his hip and the ready gun came flashing half way up. But
after a lightning glance at the chubby fist holding the other end of the
reata, the twinkle in his eyes accorded but illy with his subsequent
plunging and yelling as he sprawled on all fours and bawled like a
choking calf.

Then from around the corner rushed a sturdy little boy of five,
gathering up the slack of the rope as he came, followed by a
red-cheeked, star-eyed girl of four, who brandished a huge branding
iron. Upon the prostrate cowpuncher they precipitated themselves with a
yell, the boy deftly throwing a bight of the rope about Ken's feet and
drawing up the slack. Then placing one foot on Douglass's neck he
laconically announced:

"Tied! Put the iron to 'im, Yule."

The little girl thrust the end of the brand against the brawny shoulder
now quivering with the suppressed laughter of its owner and made a
quaint sizzling noise with her puckered lips. The cowboy emitted an
agonized bawl wonderfully like that of a calf in the throes of the
red-hot iron's bite and the boy stooped to a critical examination.
Bueno! he said approvingly, and then he untied the restraining coils,
stepped back a pace and gave Ken the ethical kick in the ribs.

"Get up, you chump!" he ejaculated in comical imitation of Ken's accent
and manner when at work in the branding corrals. Douglass was his model
in everything, and only the week before he had the beatitude of seeing
his hero actively engaged In a similar employment of the branding iron.
But the little girl laid her soft cheek against the bronzed one of the
cowboy and whispered sweetly, "Oh! Ten, youse is weally mine vewy own
now, ain't youse? Buddy said youse would be if ve doed it."

The man made two attempts before he could answer. Then he laid his lips
reverently on the rosebud mouth. "Yes, honey, I'm sure in your brand
now," he said gently. And he quietly but firmly declined the glass of
whiskey proffered him by her father as he sat her on the end of the
dingy counter. The sweetness of those little lips was too fresh for
that. Old Blount gave him a keen look of approval as he set the bottle
back. "Your head's level," he said, misinterpreting Douglass's motive.
"Matlock is a quick mover even if he is a cur. And he's ugly to-night."

"That so?" said Douglass indifferently, playing with the curls of the
little child nestling against his breast. Mrs. Blount, coming to
announce that supper was ready, shivered slightly and her kind brown
eyes were filled with an unspoken entreaty. But he evaded their
wistfulness and a certain doggedness gloomed in his own. All throughout
the meal he held the child in his lap, and when he relinquished her to
the troubled woman he said not unkindly: "I am not going to get drunk
to-night and I shall do all I can to avoid trouble. Of course I am not
going to let him kill me."

"Ask him to go back to the ranch, dearie, to go back at once for your
sake," the woman said to the child, nervously. "Just this once, Ken,"
she pleaded. "You are so young--and life certainly holds so much for
you!" But the child here interposed tearfully: "Ten shan't do home! Ten
tate me widin' to-mov-ver."

"That's what, honey!" said Douglass, with quieting assurance. "Out of
the mouth of babes--" he quoted whimsically and the woman turned away
with a sigh. But all that night a light burned in her room and when
little Eulalie said her prayers she knelt beside her with dumbly moving
lips. She had known so much misery and heartache in this dreadful
place--and this young man had once told her that his mother was dead.
Strangely enough, she did not include Matlock in her appeal. Which was
manifestly unfair and essentially feminine.

Hank Williams, dropping casually into the Alcazar that night, noted with
no small satisfaction that Douglass occupied that seat at the poker
table which commanded the whole room with the minimum of exposure in his
own rear. "Trust him for that!" he chuckled, but his nod of greeting was
anything but demonstrative. All the same he unobtrusively sat down at a
point where he could see in profile every man in the room and likewise
catch the first view of all who entered at either rear or front doors.
Matlock was not in the room, but leaning against the counter of the bar
were three of the C Bar outfit talking earnestly together. At the other
end of the counter Blount was lighting an unusually refractory pipe
which persisted in going out at every third puff. Williams, noting a
sharp projection in the side pocket of Blount's coat, smiled
quizzically.

"Derringer," he speculated. "Well, there ain't no accountin' for tastes.
An' I've heard that Blount got two men in one scrap down in No Man's
Land afore he come here. Guess Ken's good for a square deal all right.
But I don't like Matlock's dodging the play in this way. Wonder what
skunk trick he will try this time?"

Nearly every other man in the room was indulging in a like speculation.
The only possible exceptions were the C Bar men at the counter and a
slight, well-dressed young fellow who was watching the faro game at the
other side of the room. The latter was evidently a stranger both to Tin
Cup and to the game in which he was so thoroughly absorbed. Williams
looked him over indifferently.

"Tenderfoot," he opined, "takin' in the sights. Maybe he'll see suthin'
worth while if he hangs around a bit longer." And he smiled grimly and
renewed his watch of the doors.

Less than a year before, Matlock had an altercation with a sheep herder
over a game of cards in this very room and had been soundly thrashed by
the unarmed man. The next night the shepherd's camp had been raided by a
masked mob, his sheep ruthlessly slaughtered, despite the fact that he
was on the right side of the "dead line," therefore entirely within his
rights, and himself shot to death by the merciless marauders. Of course
there was no positive proof of their identity, but the consensus of
opinion pointed to the C Bar outfit, and the decent element among the
range men had held significantly aloof from Matlock ever since.
Douglass's escapade had in nowise affected his popularity among the
resentful cattle owners who had been seriously involved by the outrage
on the sheepman; the law of the range demands fair play and the feeling
against Matlock was further intensified by a dastardly trick perpetrated
by him a few days before Douglass's unceremonious man-handling of him.

Among the men working for the C Bar had been a quiet inoffensive German
named Braun, whose ambition was to acquire a small ranch of his own.
With this end in view he had allowed salary to accumulate in Matlock's
hands until it had attained very respectable proportions. Upon this
little hoard Matlock had long had designs, and one night he seduced
Braun--who was a mere boy--into a game of cards where with the
assistance of one of his confederate creatures he had deliberately
robbed him of every cent. This in itself would have aroused but little
comment; every man must protect himself in card play and any means that
can be enforced to one's end in poker are admissible. But with the
malicious brutality characteristic of all cowardly bullies, Matlock had
subsequently taunted his victim with his lack of perspicuity, boasting
openly of the means he had employed, until the boy, lashed into
ungovernable fury, had fumblingly drawn his revolver, whereupon Matlock
shot him through the head.

In the light of self-defense even this would have been condoned, but one
of the dead man's friends, collecting his effects for transmission to
his widowed mother, had discovered that Braun's revolver had been
rendered absolutely useless by having its hammer point shortened in such
a way that it could not reach the primers of the cartridges, the weapon
being therefore undischargeable. It was evident that the point had been
first broken off and the fracture cunningly ground smoothly round so as
to avoid detection. And it was whispered significantly among the C Bar
boys that Braun's gun had hung for the better-part of a day in the ranch
blacksmith shop while he was employed on a distant irrigation ditch, and
that Matlock had been refurbishing some branding Irons in the smithy
during the interim. And one of the boys who had been friendly with the
dead man found on the edge of the grindstone a deeply-cut indentation
such as is made by the bite of casehardened steel.

It was now ten o'clock and Matlock had not put in his appearance; the
smoke-dimmed atmosphere was heavy with expectancy but Douglass sat
unconcernedly rolling cigarettes, occasionally making a bet and
exchanging the rude badinage inseparable from the game. His face was
sphinx-like in its immobility but the cold lethality of his eyes was
apparent even to the inexperienced tenderfoot, who was growing strangely
uncomfortable for some indefinable reason. The raucous clamor of the
preceding hours had become unaccountably subdued and the soft flutter of
the cards as they were dealt was distinctly heard. A sudden gust of wind
slammed the insecurely fastened door with a sharp bang and a man sprang
quickly behind the precarious shelter of the stove; even Williams
stiffened perceptibly in his chair. The C Bar men had their hands on the
butts of their revolvers. The gray-eyed man alone smiled contemptuously
at the disconcerted fellow grinning behind the stove and said
humorously:

"Better take a little bromide, Jim. This night air is hell on the
nerves."

The tenderfoot was wavering between a conviction that it was time to go
home and a morbid inclination to stay and see what all this portended.
Impelled by an irresistible impulse, he went over and sat down beside
Douglass, who courteously shoved back the chair for his better
convenience. It was the one just vacated by the man behind the stove.

Then of a sudden it happened. In through the door walked Matlock, his
bloated face working ominously and an evil glitter in his closely-set
eyes. The player opposite Douglass, immediately between him and the
newcomer, rose with exaggerated deliberation and strolled over to the
counter, asking for a match. There was a perfect litter of matches on
the table about the very respectable heap of chips and coin which he had
accumulated but these were curiously overlooked, and what was even more
remarkable, he displayed no unseemly celeritude in returning to what was
plainly a very profitable divertisement.

Then the tenderfoot, comprehending, was obsessed by a great desire to go
somewhere and he moved nervously in his chair. The hand of the man
beside him had dropped carelessly to his side and involuntarily he
shifted his chair a little farther away. He wished now that he had gone
home. But the pride inherent in every man worthy of the name chained him
to his seat. He paled perceptibly, but Williams, watching him cynically
out of the corner of his eye, gave a grin of appreciative surprise at
the resolute squaring of his jaw and firm compression of lips.

"Blamed if the kid isn't game!" he ejaculated under his breath. "But all
the same, if I was him I'd mosey off a leetle to one side--and that _muy
pronto_. The work's apt to be a bit wild in all this yere durned smoke."

Then Douglass did a generous thing.

"I think," said he quietly to the young stranger, "that Blount over
there wants to speak to you."

The youngster looked him squarely in the eyes. "I don't know Blount--and
if I did it can wait." He was going to see it out side by side with this
man, come what might.

Matlock was no fool. As he halted with a swagger beside his men, one of
them spoke quickly in an undertone and he looked calculatingly about the
room. Something in the unfriendly silence warned him that this time his
metal would be fairly put to the test and the sheer cowardice of the man
shrank from the ordeal. He would wait for more propitious conditions and
with a well-simulated nonchalance he ordered drinks for the house. The
scant acceptance of his hospitality flooded his bloodshot eyes with
impotent rage, but he made no comment thereon. He merely remarked that
it was time to hit the trail, ignoring the titter of contemptuous
surprise and disgust which greeted the announcement. Was this the thing
he had foresworn so rabidly a scant four hours before! Someone laughed
jeeringly and he whirled like a kicked cur, the fires of hell in his
eyes.

"If anyone here's got any objections--!" he began furiously but he had
been weighed and found wanting and the strain had been relaxed. The
whole room was broadly smiling. Douglass's vis-a-vis had returned to his
seat, and even the tenderfoot was laughing in pure relief.

Matlock's undoing was so complete that he did not even resent Blount's
deep-toned "Buffaloed, by God!" He groped unseeingly for the door,
followed by the scowling trio whose faces were flushed with the awful
shame of his cowardice. At the threshold they stopped as one man, these
three; they were brave men, if evil ones, and their sense of ethics had
been outraged unpardonably.

"I'll take my time right now!" said one of them thickly. "I don't work
for no d----d coward!" And the others acquiesced: "Same here!"

Matlock glared at them fiendishly for an eternal moment, one hand
fumbling at his throat, the other fiercely gripping his gun; but they
stared at him with somber contempt and deliberately turned their backs.
It was the last straw, and mumbling insanely through frothed lips, the
now thoroughly discredited and wholly disgraced wretch stumbled pitiably
out into the night of an ostracism more terrible than death.

Never again would man of these ranges take order from him. Never again
would women--even the sordid trollops of the slums--give him aught but a
pitying glance. And even the little children, awed by his shame, would
shrink wide-eyed from his contamination. For the one sin unpardonable,
the one foul specter against which range mothers invoke the intercession
of their gods, is Cowardice.



CHAPTER III

AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING


Douglass, ambling around the hotel veranda with little Eulalie astride
of his neck, the next morning, bumped into the tenderfoot who had sat
beside him in the Alcazar. He grinned sheepishly, for his antics were
anything but dignified and he and the child were both shouting at the
top of their voices. But there was only appreciation in the younger
man's eyes as he reflected "and this is the man who waited smilingly for
possible death last night!" Aloud he said genially:

"Good morning, Mr. Douglass. They told me over at the ranch--the C Bar I
mean--that I might find you here. At your convenience I would like to
have a talk with you."

Douglass looked at him curiously. "The C Bar," he said wonderingly. The
young man smiled. "Yes, I own it, as it happens. I am Robert Carter."
The cowboy took his extended hand and the young fellow winced
involuntarily. Eulalie, after grave deliberation, stuck out her chubby
little fist.

"I likes you, I fink," she said with much conviction, and Carter bowed
over it with a courtesy that placed him instantly in the good graces of
both.

"I am honored!" he said with characteristic gentleness. "You are the
first lady I have had the pleasure of meeting here, and your favor is an
auspicious omen." He pressed his lips to the grimy fingers.

The child smiled softly. "Youse may tiss my face if you wants."

It is worthy of note that the cowboy watching him saw nothing
incongruous in the flush of color that suffused this tenderfoot's face
as he availed himself of the ingenuous permission. "Another critter in
your brand, Yulie," he thought, "and this one's a thoroughbred!"

They adjourned to the shady side of the veranda and Carter, proffering
his cigar case, said without preamble: "You are a college man, Mr.
Douglass?" Ken, puffing at the excellent Havana, nodded affirmation.

"Yale '82."

"Princeton '86 myself," said Carter, and after the fashion of hereditary
rivals the world over, they solemnly shook hands again. For awhile they
smoked in silence, then Carter turned abruptly. "Will you manage the C
Bar for me?"

Douglass puffed meditatively for a moment. A thunderbolt from the clear
blue above would have surprised him less, but no stoic ever bore a face
more immobile than that which he turned toward the owner of the biggest
ranch on the Western Slope.

"How about Matlock?"

"He left this morning," said Carter grimly. "See here, Douglass, all I
have in this world is invested in the ranch. My family--I have a mother
and sister--has no other source of income. The outfit is badly run down
and I find it to be in bad flavor with everybody in this section."

Douglass looked at him in surprise. "Why, I thought--"

"So did I," said Carter sententiously, "but I was wrong. I haven't had
time to investigate the leak, but about half my fortune has seeped
through it and it's got to be stopped. I want a capable man, whom I can
trust, to take full charge and put it back on its feet. Will you take
the job?"

Ken looked at him with a new understanding; this was a different man
from the white-lipped one who had writhed so uncomfortably beside him
the night before. There was no indecision in the tense, vibrant voice,
and the almost effeminately delicate features were strong with a great
determination. The cowboy was suddenly filled with a conviction that Tin
Cup had underweighed this tenderfoot.

"Do I get a free hand?" he asked. "I can only work my own way."

Carter nodded shortly. "The actual work will be yours absolutely but I
will take care of the outside business end. I have a knack that way--and
I need something to keep me busy. So far I've had no time for
investigation--came in on the stage yesterday afternoon and put up at
Vaughan's, old friends of mine--but will get at the bottom of things
to-day. You'll take hold on the first; that will give you a week to
clear up your work. You'll start at three thousand a year. And now I'll
go back to the ranch and get busy."

They shook hands and Douglass said slowly: "I'll do what I can." And
Carter was filled with great satisfaction, for he knew that was a pledge
which would see fulfillment.

When he had gone, Ken sat for a long time in silent meditation. "I guess
I've arrived!" he confided to the little girl who finally waked him out
of this reverie. "Yulie dear, it pays to stay with the game!" And he
went in to the congratulations of Blount and his wife, who were
overjoyed at his good fortune.

Down at the Alcazar he found the three riders who had deserted Matlock
overnight. "I'm taking charge of the C Bar on the first, boys," he said
simply, "and I'd like you to stay on with me if you will. There's going
to be a clean-up and a new deal. I'll play square, and you're all good
hands. What d'ye say?"

The three looked interrogatively at each other and then Reddy McVey, the
man who had taken the initiative the night before, said, "I reckon we'll
stay."

"That's good! Your pay will go right along without any docking and I
want you to go back to the ranch after we've had a drink, and finish up
your corral building. And you might tell all the other boys that I won't
make any changes--unless I have to. Sabe?"

They grinned their full understanding of the underlying significance of
that qualifying clause, and Red assured him that the rest of the outfit
would stay. "They're all good boys ef they are a leetle free on the
bit," he confided. "An' they've only been obeying orders." Ken nodded
his comprehension and the deal was properly ratified.

Over at the post office Williams was frankly exultant. "Best move ever
made on the C Bar," he swore. "That tenderfoot has more savvy than I
giv' him credit for. He's a sandy cuss, too. I was keepin' cases on him
las' night and he shore panned out good. Looks a heap more like his mam
than he does like th' ole man; reckon that's why I didn't get onto the
brand quicker. There's good leather in your new boss, Ken."

"Kem in yere this mawnin'," continued the loquacious old fellow, "an'
says--fust crack outer th' box--'What's th' name o' the feller who sits
next to me las' night; the one who was waitin' fer Matlock to make a
break?' er words to thet effect. 'How d'ye guess it?' I axes, bein' some
took aback--fer I didn't think he was wise ter the play. 'Will ye tell
me his name, man!' sez he, kinder impatient; 'I'm in a hurry.' Then I
give him your handle an' bymeby he twisted your pedigree outer me, too.
Not that he axes me any questions ter speak of, but somehow I slops over
without thinkin' an' he listens sharp. 'You're a friend o' hisn?' he
says, quiet like. 'Well, I don't wonder none. That's a man!' sez he. 'An
he's going to be my manager if I can fix it. I'm Carter, o' ther C Bar!'

"Say I, 'th' hell ye are! I knowed ole Bob Carter afore ye was
earmarked. You don't look none like him.' But his jaws snaps amazin'.
'My father is daid,' he whips out, 'but I am Robert Carter all the
same.' I axes his pardon an' he hikes out on your trail. An' I sez to
myself, he's some man, too!"

Douglass going out encountered a lady just entering the store. As he
stepped aside to allow her passage-way through the narrow door, their
eyes met momentarily and she flushed slightly at the unconscious
boldness of his look. Yet, curiously enough, she took no offense
thereat, and turned around as old Williams bawled out, "Hey, there!
Douglass. Come back yere; I'v got a letter fer you I overlooked
yisteday."

Out of the tail of his eye the man saw that the woman was young, dressed
quietly yet in exquisite taste, and that she was extremely good to look
at. She was evidently a stranger, yet there was something intangibly
familiar about her features. It was not until that night that he traced
the resemblance to Carter, when he knew immediately that this was the
sister of whom his employer had spoken. And although none knew better
than he the disparity of their social planes, he dropped off to sleep
wishing that her stay on the ranch would be indefinitely prolonged, for,
next to a horse he deemed a woman the most creditable and handsome of
divine creations, and beauty he adored both in the concrete and
abstract. It would be very pleasant and agreeable to come in contact
occasionally with this extremely pretty girl; it would ameliorate the
coarse, hard routine of his work just as the finding of a cluster of
mountain heart's-ease had often before dispelled the gloom of a hard
day's ride. His thought of her was purely impersonal as yet. He slept
dreamlessly the sleep of healthy, heart-whole youth and when he waked
with the dawn he had practically forgotten her existence.

And the woman? Well, after the fashion of woman, she thought more than
once of the bronzed young fellow who had looked at her so audaciously.
As she asked for her mail old Williams had volunteered some interesting
information.

"So you are Bob Carter's leetle gal, the one he used to brag on so much
to the boys, eh? Well, durn my pictur', if he didn't have good reason
to! You look like your mammy, Miss, and she were the puttiest filly that
ever run over this range! An' as good as she were purty! I mind oncet--"
and there followed an interminable string of reminiscences very
interesting to the girl but of no moment to this story.

"That feller thet jest went out is your brother's new foreman, Ken
Douglass, the sandiest galoot an' best cowman on this range," he
concluded. "Of course he didn't know who you was or he'd a spoke to you,
'deed he would! Ken's real polite." The girl smiled at his earnest
assurance and said gently: "I am quite sure of it."

"Betcher life!" affirmed the old man enthusiastically. "He's too da--er,
hem! too much polite to some cattle as doesn't desarve it, accordin' to
my way o' thinkin'. Why las' night he actoolly waited for a feller to
begin killin' of him before drawin' his own gun! It waz plumb downright
keerless o' him, an' some day he'll get it good an' plenty ef he don't
watch out!"

Then, seeing the look of white consternation in the girl's face, he shut
up like a clam, saying only that Ken could "take a plenty good keer o'
hisself, when he wanted to." She went away, wondering what manner of man
that could be who had not his own personal welfare constantly in mind,
that being proverbially the first law of nature. Her wonder increased
when, on casually mentioning her chance encounter with him, Mrs. Vaughan
had acquainted her with as much of Douglass's record as was common
property. It was so new to her, so abnormal in every particular when
compared with her own code of ethics, that she was a little bewildered.
She was shocked not a little at Mrs. Vaughan's frank enjoyment of the
watering-trough episode and the ensuing bravado of the dare-devil fellow
who had deliberately entered the lion's den to intensify the indignity
put upon her brother's outfit. Yet somehow the indomitable courage of
the man appealed to her strongly; all women love personal valor and this
was the most exaggerated example of it that had ever come to her notice.
She distinctly disapproved of the motive of it, but she blushed to think
how glad she was that he had come safely out of the jaws of death with
colors flying.

Strangely enough, she appreciated the Alcazar incident to the full, and
at her brother's graphic relation evinced no surprise. She could readily
understand this kind of courage and she only commended his tact. "He was
master of the situation," she remarked, with an insight into the facts
astonishing in one who had never in all her life heard a word spoken in
anger; "and it is absurd to think that he was ignorantly exposing
himself to inevitable death. He would have shot first in any event--and
I think he would have hit." A conclusion so prescient that her brother
gasped with astonishment.

"I guess your estimate of him tallies with mine, sis," he said
teasingly. "I fell in love with him at first sight."

"How perfectly absurd!" she returned, with a rebuking hauteur, and
deftly changing the subject proceeded to regale Mrs. Vaughan with the
details of New York's latest operatic sensation. But she relented enough
to clasp her soft white arm about her brother's neck just before
retiring that night and whisper:

"It was very lovely and noble of him to try and send you out of danger.
Oh! Bobbie, what would I have done if--"

Carter kissed her tenderly. "It was the whitest thing I ever saw,
Gracie, and I want you to try and help me make it up to him. The man is
a gentleman, too, no matter what his past has been. And with your aid we
will keep him such. Besides, our fortune is in his hands to all intents
and purposes and something tells me we are going to owe him much in the
days to come."

It may have been telepathy, and then again it may have only been
coincidence; but certain it is that at the very moment Grace Carter
knelt beside her little white bed, Ken Douglass sitting on the edge of
his bunk took from about his neck a slender gold chain to which was
attached a locket, opened it with trembling hands and laid his lips with
infinite tenderness and reverence on the mouth of the sweet-faced woman
pictured therein.

"Oh! Mother," he prayed, "help me to make good!"



CHAPTER IV

IN THE MIDST OF ALARUMS


Luxuriously hammocked in the delightful cool of the broad veranda
surrounding three sides of the C Bar ranch house, Grace Carter lay
dreamily watching the shadow-dance on the slope of the fast purpling
range. Outside, the sun devils were whirling maliciously, here and there
kicking up a dust-spout in the wake of the sadly-tormented breezlets
which foolishly ventured out in that July inferno. Overhead the sun was
herding his cloud flocks to their fold in the brassy west, wearily
dipping out of sight momentarily amidst their billowy fleeces. There was
an intolerable shimmer on the low-lying adobe flats to the east, and the
sea of alfalfa to the north drooped flaccidly in the furnace heat.

Her neglected novel lay limply on a bamboo tabour at her side and an
open letter lay where it had fallen unrecked on the veranda floor. On
the wide rail shelf blazed a glory of multi-colored cacti artistically
potted in harmoniously contrasting cool-gray jars. A luxuriant wistaria
at the porch angle behind her supplied the requisite foil for as perfect
a picture as ever filled the eye of mortal man, and Douglass, coming
noiselessly through the fetlock-deep dust of the driveway, reined up his
tired horse in eager admiration.

The girl, lulled to sleep by the languor of the hour, was very good to
look, upon and his eyes drank in her beauty greedily. Her hands, locked
together under the shapely head, were hidden in the wealth of golden
brown hair that somehow had escaped its fastenings and lay in an aureole
of glory about her delicately-chiseled face. The wide sleeves of the
thin lavender-tinted silk kimono had fallen away from her arms,
revealing their soft rounded contour and exquisite modeling. The
clinging stuff of her filmy gown betrayed every perfection of outline,
and peeping over one edge of the hammock was just a ravishing suspicion
of silk-stockinged foot and ankle, dainty as a child's. Her skin, tanned
golden tawny to the limit of the sun's daily caress, betrayed its true
coloring in the creamy white hollow of her uncovered throat, where the
treacherous fabric had failed in its trust. The lips, not too full but
rather of a gentle firmness, were slightly parted, revealing well-shaped
teeth, and the eyelashes and brows were long and beautifully arched.

As he sat unconsciously glowering at her, she moved slightly and the
kimono slipped to one side, exposing the bodice of thin stuff beneath.
Through its folds the rise and fall of her bosom were distinctly
perceptible. He whirled his horse with a deep-chested oath and rode
unseen to the stables. Taking something from his saddle-roll, he tiptoed
back to the veranda and without once looking at the sleeping girl laid
it on the open novel.

Waking an hour later, she chanced to look casually at the tabour. With a
little cry of pleasure she picked up the heart-shaped bit of moist moss
with its embedded cluster of mountain heart's-ease and her eyes were
very soft as she laid it to her lips. There was no uncertainty as to
their source; she knew that these were the first-offerings of the
season, procurably only in the hardly penetrable cañons of the range,
more than twenty dusty miles away, and she felt very grateful. She wore
them on her corsage that night at dinner and later, coming on him
smoking his post-prandial pipe under the stars, thanked him graciously.

As he muttered the conventional commonplaces of depreciation, his
gleaming eyes were riveted for a moment on the flowers. Something in the
intensity of his glance struck her like a blow; she paled and
instinctively covered the blossoms with both hands. Instantly her mind
reverted to her afternoon's siesta and her cheeks flamed with
consciousness. She was far from unsophistication; she had seen men look
so before but never with a similar acceleration of her heart-beats,
never with this fierce resentment which now coursed though her whole
being. She was quivering with a sense of vague outrage and her breath
came fast and hard. Then with the unaccountability of the unfathomable
feminine, she deliberately detached one of the dainty blooms and,
standing with the filmy laces on her bosom brushing against his chest,
deftly fastened it on the lapel of his coat. After all, the man had
ridden far that day for her pleasure, and she smiled inscrutably as she
recalled, on retiring that night, how his hands had clenched and his
breast heaved when she had given him the flower. The rest of the violets
were sadly wilted now and she threw them out of the window with a
sudden impatient anger.

But an hour later a great horned owl, watching from a fence post the
moonlit sward in front of the veranda in hopes of a possible mouse for
his belated supper, hooted his contemptuous derision of another
white-robed hunter groping in the shadows. And over at the bunkhouse a
man with self-revilement was fumbling with a spray of heart's-ease and
looking into vacancy.

When she came down to breakfast the next morning Douglass was already
far out on the range. He had thrown his whole heart and soul into his
work and the effect was already visible to the most casual observer. The
ranch grounds had been thoroughly policed, all the halting projects of
Matlock's régime had been spurred to finality, and cleanliness, method
and order had replaced the previous chaos and squalor of the C Bar.
Everything radiated the new manager's virility and energy. The renovated
ditches were glistening bank full with their life-giving floods; the
alfalfa and grain fields, now properly kept and irrigated, were billowy
seas of emerald fore-promise; everything betokened activity and thrift.
In three short months he had wrought wonders with the really excellent
material at hand and the C Bar was fast regaining its old-time prestige
as the best-ordered ranch west of the Divide.

Carter was openly enthusiastic over the wisdom of his choice of
managers, a wisdom which he shrewdly supplemented by giving Douglass
full sway in the conduct of affairs. At the latter's suggestion, he went
East in June to secure certain necessary machinery, and the letter
which had lain beneath her hammock the previous day was one written to
Grace by her brother announcing his intention to have their mother
accompany him on his return. The girl, interested by the novelty of her
new environment, had elected to remain on the ranch, laughingly
asserting that it was a precautionary measure in her brother's behalf,
as she was sure Douglass had designs on the picturesque old ranch house
and would tear down and rebuild it if not restrained by her presence.
The real truth was that she knew in his loyal respect for her he would
abstain from excesses in which he might be tempted to indulge in the
absence of that restraint. She was not quite sure of the moral fortitude
of this erratic young man, and even temporary interference with his work
was a contingency calamitous to the C Bar interests. Up to last night
she had felt only a great self-complacency over the result; but this
morning, toying with her usually much-relished berries and cream, she
was obsessed by the insistent thought that her self-congratulation was,
after all, a trifle premature. The longer she reflected, the more she
regretted that she had not gone back East with her brother. Not that she
was in the slightest degree apprehensive of any untoward futurity; it
was only that a new and unexpected factor had intruded itself into her
already perfected scheme for the restoration of her brother's
fortune--and the reclamation of Ken Douglass.

Women are usually creatures of one idea, and she was no exception to the
general rule; her whole mentality had been concentrated on this one
achievement, and here at the very outset the fair fabric of her dreams
was crumbling. She was oppressed with a sense of impending defeat that
grew more and more disquieting as she recalled the stories she had heard
of his indomitable will and pertinacity of purpose. She had been much
impressed by a remark made by old Hank Williams on the morning of their
first encounter, "Ken allus gits what he goes after!"

At the time she deemed it a very grand, almost heroic attribute, but
just now it was fraught with a new significance. Something in her
cogitations sent the blood to her face, then it receded, leaving her
pale. She pushed the untasted food away impatiently and rose from the
table. Going swiftly to her room, she took from between the leaves of
her diary a cluster of withered flowers and stepped to the open window.
In the very act of their contemptuous casting away she hesitated
irresolutely, looked at them once more compassionately and replaced them
in the morocco-bound booklet. Then with an air of renewed determination
she returned to her breakfast and ate everything comestible in sight.

That night when Douglass returned, he bore in his arms a tiny antelope
kid which he laughingly entrusted to her tender mercies. In his ride
over the range he had come upon one of the pitiful little tragedies
common to the great Outdoors with its unending struggle of the weak
against the strong and merciless. In a little hollow of the foothills
its mother, hamstrung by a pair of wolves and exhausted by her gallant
fight against the inevitable, was making a last frantic effort to
defend her offspring cowering between her feet. The revolver flashed
twice vengefully and then a third time mercifully, for the poor doe's
condition was hopeless. But of this third shot Douglass said nothing to
Miss Carter, simply saying that the doe had succumbed to her injuries.
Neither did he deem it advisable to tell her that with the economy and
thrift inseparable from plainsmen, he had sent the carcass of the
martyred mother to one of his outlying camps to eke out its larder, and
so save the otherwise necessary sacrifice of a valuable yearling for
camp meat. Nor did he mention the fact that this had occurred quite
early in the afternoon, necessitating his "packing" the helpless kid
about on his saddle for many weary miles.

The girl's eyes had filled at his simple recital and she cooed
assuringly to the kid, which nestled contentedly in her arms. But
something in her eyes and about her lips as he threw the wolf pelts at
her feet caused the man to look at her curiously. He had seen that
expression once before on the face of the wife of the dead sheepman when
some one had told her of the finding of a C Bar rider with a load of
buckshot through his heart some weeks after the assassination of her
husband. There had been no over-officious zeal displayed by the
authorities in their attempts to fix the responsibility of the man's
death, despite the fact that the sheepman's son possessed one of the
only three shotguns in the county, the deceased being reputedly a "bad
man" and notoriously the creature of Matlock. He it was who had assisted
in the fleecing of poor Braun, and the general consensus of opinion was
that "he only got what was coming to him!" The code of the range is as
drastic as it is simple.

"It's up to you now to mother this goat, Miss Grace," he said
whimsically; "I'll send a man in to Tin Cup to-morrow for a gunnysackful
of any pap-maker you nominate. We've got to assume the responsibility of
him, his mother having come to grief on your demesne. When you are ready
to christen him I'll get Red to stand godfather for him--that is, if you
have no other preferred sponsor in mind."

The girl looked up quickly; his tone seemed a bit patronizing and to her
mind altogether too familiar. It was an opportune time to inaugurate a
new order of things which all day she had been formulating.

"I shall name him now," she said, icily. "He shall be known as Buffo and
you are his sponsor."

"Buffo--a buffoon!" He laughed a little constrainedly. "Well, I think
the name is appropriate. He is a fool and so was his mother before him.
Otherwise they'd have never ventured in where naught but angels have any
license to tread."

She bit her lip in chagrin as he lifted his sombrero and rode
nonchalantly away. The intended rebuke had recoiled upon her and she was
furious at her impotence. Retreating to the kitchen, she somewhat curtly
ordered the cook--old Abigail Williams, sister to the postmaster, who in
order to preserve the proprieties had been engaged in that capacity--to
prepare some nourishment for her charge.

"We've got to feed the thing," she snapped in a tone strangely variant
from her endearing coo of a few minutes before.

Abbie nodded briskly: "I'll fix up a rag on a bottle of new milk. I've
raised 'em before. We bed two on em oncet--Hank ez thet foolish about
sich critters."

"It'll make quite a peart pet," went on the garrulous old body. "An' I
s'pose ye'll be fer givin' it sum name? Ourn was Belshazzar an' Sappho.
Hank got the buck's name outen a book where it said in slick soundin'
poetry as how Belshazzar was king an' Belshazzar waz lord. Thet buck
were sure the mos' uppity critter! Nuthin' waz good enuf fer him to
sociate with and he herded by hisself mos'ly. He waz allus on thu prod,
stompin' aroun' darin' thu other critters to fite. He waz powerful
or'nary, that Belshazzar, lordin' it over everybody an' allus huntin'
trouble.

"He waz mean to thu she-goat an' treated her scan'lous! The more she
tried to be sociable an' nice the more biggoty he got. She'd go up'n
nuzzle 'im an' he'd back off an' look at her scornful and walk away high
an' mighty-like on thu tips uv he's toes, jest like he's walkin' on
aigs. He waz allus hurtin' uv her feelin's but he didn't seem to care
none. An' thu poor critter would tag after 'im an' humor 'im ontil she
made me sick! If he got outen her sight she'd blat an' take on suthin'
drefful, an' one spring when he jumped thu fence an' went out
gallivantin' with thu wild ones fer a spell, she went loco an' actooly
cried tears! That's sure right. I seed 'em.

"That was the spring that Ken Douglass hit this range. One day when she
is actin' more foolish than, most he pats her on thu back an' calls her
'Sappho' an' spouts a lot o' hifalutin dago talk an' wipes her eyes with
his new silk han'kerchief--really! Tenderfeets air cu'r'ous critters an'
Ken acts loco a leetle hisself sumtimes. He takes a heap o' int'rest in
her after that, and fetches her apples n' things every time he goes to
Tin Cup. An' one day I hears that durn fool say to Sappho as how he
wishes he was a goat so that he could teach her to fergit her sorrer.
Did ye ever hear anythin' so plumb ridic-lous! Then one day he rides up
to thu gate an' says: 'Miss Abbie'--he kin be real polite when he
wants--'there's rejoicin' in Lesbos to-day. Belshazzar has come back!'
Then he rides off laffin, an' I gits my sunbonnit and hikes down to ther
pastur'. Sure 'nough, thar's thet fool buck, an' for the fust time
_he's_ nuzzlin' her! An' thet Sappho she waz so foolish happy that I
wanted to shake her."

Grace put the kid down very gently on the floor. "I had thought of a
name for him but--"

A shadow darkened the door. "Hello, Buffo. You getting your first
lesson, too?"

The girl stiffened instantly. "I shall call him that, after all. Thank
you, Mr. Douglass, for strengthening my resolution."

"And as his godfather I, of course, must be Momus," said Ken, nothing
abashed, though his eyes glittered. And in a not unpleasant if somewhat
strident voice, he mischievously sang:

    "Why gall and wormwood in a throat
    Designed for hydromel!
    Far better be a Buffo goat
    And court the booze bot-tel."

Her lips curled at what she mistook for an implied threat. With all the
hauteur she could summon to her aid, she swept him with her scorn. "Oh!
If you feel a really irresistible desire to get drunk," she said, "that
is a waste of talent far more appreciable by the critics of the Alcazar;
my brother, being unfortunately absent, will be desolated at missing
_this_ performance."

She regretted her temerity even before she had finished. His face seemed
to age as she looked. A man putting such indignity upon him, at first
view of that face, would have hastily laid his hand on his pistol-butt;
the girl placed hers tremblingly above her heart.

The man's self-restraint was wonderful. For an interminable moment which
seemed an age to the frightened women--for even old Abbie was blanched
with comprehension and stood with clasped hands and white lips--he was
silent. Then in a voice whose calmness made the girl shiver with an
undefinable fear, he said:

"That is twice to-day, Miss Carter, that you have been pleased to insult
me. I am most unfortunate in having incurred your disfavor. My intrusion
here was to acquaint you with the news that your brother, accompanied by
your mother, will be here to-morrow night, a rider having just brought a
telegram to that effect. It will take me but a few minutes to gather my
effects. I will submit a full account of my stewardship to Mr. Carter
to-morrow--from Tin Cup. It will be sufficiently full and comprehensive
enough to obviate the necessity of any explanations on your part. Have
I your permission to retire?"

Unable to think coherently she mutely nodded assent. Hat in hand, he
turned on the threshold. "The performance will begin at ten, to-morrow
night," he said. "Abbie, don't put any wormwood in Buffo's milk. It'll
make him uppish."

But the gods who dispose of man's proposals ordained that Douglass was
not to leave the C Bar that night. As he swung out into the moonlight
his nostrils were assailed with the pungent fumes of burning hay and a
man came running toward him.

"The stacks have been fired and the ditches cut! Red saw one of them and
is on his trail!" Afar in the starlight a pistol snapped viciously; it
was answered by a louder detonation, succeeded almost instantly by the
fainter whip of the pistol. Then after a few seconds' interim came yet
again the fainter report and all was silent.

"That's Red's .45," said the man with curt positiveness. "T'other must
have had a Winchester, and he didn't fire but one shot. Red shot last."
They were running full speed toward the burning stacks and Ken chose to
waste no breath in speculative reply. But he was seeing a different red
than that of the flaming hay as he recalled Williams's warning: "Look
out fer Matlock. He's a pizen skunk and he'll stoop to anythin' ter play
even." The fire being incendiary, admitted but one deduction, and he was
praying his gods to give this man into his hands.

"'Twan't Matlock," said Red tersely, in answer to the interrogation in
his comrade's eyes as he rode in to where they were standing helplessly
watching the destruction of what was fortunately the smallest stack on
the ranch, Ken's masterly directions executed by willing hands having
extinguished the others. "'Twer that mizzuble Mexican side-kicker o'
hisn, an' the damned varmint nearly got me. Shot his hoss an' he come
back with his rifle. Got him second shot."

"Yeh fired three," said the man who had summoned Douglass, tentatively.

Red took a chew of tobacco. "Yep. Only winged him an' he possumed on me.
Stuck his knife inter me but she glanced on a rib. He's daid now." His
voice was unemotional but his face was white. Douglass, watching him
sharply, laid his hand on the other's glove.

"Better get up to the shack, Red," he said quietly, "You've lost a lot
of juice."

The man smiled wanly, reeled In his saddle, and clutching fruitlessly at
the horn, slipped limply down into Douglass's supporting arms.
Subsequent examination revealed that he had also been wounded by the
Mexican's rifle shot. There was a ragged hole through the fleshy part of
his thigh and hemorrhage had been profuse. Declining all offers of
assistance, Douglass carried him to the bunkhouse and laid him on the
rough bed. Looking at the white face of the fellow before him, his mouth
resolved itself into a thin cruel line.

"By God, Matlock, you will pay in full for this!" He had unconsciously
sworn it aloud and the men gathered around the bed of their stricken
comrade knew that supreme sentence had been passed. They made no
comment, but as Douglass, rolling up his sleeves, bent to the clumsy but
efficient surgery that was to save Red's life, one of them nudged his
neighbor and said inconsequentially, "Red weighs good two hunnerd!" And
he looked admiringly at the ripples playing silkily under the bronze
satin of his foreman's arms.

But far out on the prairie, riding in headlong guilty haste from the
Nemesis that his craven heart dreaded as even his cowardice had never
dreaded anything before, Matlock shivered telepathically and turned in
his saddle. A startled night-fowl fluttered uncannily over his head and
he crouched almost to his saddle-bow with terror. The flutter of
Azrael's wings seemed very close!

An hour later, as Douglass emerged from the bunkhouse, old Abigail
hesitatingly accosted him. "Yuah to come up to thu house, Ken, right
way! Now don' yuh be foolish, boy; remember she's only a gel--an' young
at that!"

He patted the wrinkled hand laid on his arm but shook his head in grim
negation. "It isn't necessary, Abbie; you tell Miss Carter that it will
all be in the report to-morrow!" And he gently but firmly put aside her
restraining hand.

But the old woman was wise in her generation. "Look heah, Ken Douglass,"
she indignantly stormed; "don't yuh try no hifalutin with me. I ain't
goin' to be stood off with no such a bluff ez that! Who nussed yuh when
yuh got shot up by this yeah very mizzuble outfit las' summeh? Yuh come
along o' me without no moah talk. An' when yuh git theah yuh go down on
yuh stubboahn knees to that little angel an' promise thet yuh'll be
good."

He laughed quizzically. "Is that one of the conditions she imposes--that
getting down on my knees? I'm out of practice a little and my knees are
all blacked up from that fire. I'm afraid I'd soil that immaculate
carpet of hers."

"Yuh hev soiled a heap moah than her cyapet already," said the old woman
significantly, "an' yuh mind's been blacker than yuh knees. Did yuh
think she was one o' them dance-hall huzzies yuh've been herdin' with
all yuh mean life? An' up tha' she sits cryin'--"

"Crying!" said the man sharply, and without another word he strode after
the doddering old woman, who had knowingly turned even as she spoke.

As he entered the living-room the girl rose with an involuntary cry. His
hair, eyebrows and mustache had been badly singed, his face was
smoke-grimed and dirty, great holes had been burned in the thin shirt,
the flesh showing angrily red through the rents. He was in sharp
contrast with her own white daintiness as he stood there grim and
forbidding, but she thought she had never looked upon a manlier man.

"I inferred from what Abbie said that you wished to see me?" The tone
was cool and even but respectful.

"Yes--I wished--I thought--" she faltered incoherently, looking
appealingly at him. But he only waited impassively, and the girl
nervously clasped her hands.

"Tongue burned too?" snapped Abigail, with withering sarcasm, glowering
wrathfully at him; the girl went up to him quickly, her eyes luminous
with compassion.

"Oh! You are injured--you are suffering--I did not know--"

"It is nothing--merely a few slight scorches. Pray do not be concerned
about it. And I am glad to assure you that McVey will recover. The
bullet--" At the white terror which crept into the girl's face he
stopped abruptly, clipping the words between his teeth and cursing his
inadvertence.

"The bullet--McVey--I do not understand," she was wild-eyed now with
fear and her voice was very faint. Old Abigail with an incredibly quick
movement caught her around the waist.

"Sit down, honey, and we'll tell you about it. There! Thet's a dear.
Matlock an' one uv his critters fired the haystacks an' cut the ditches
so's Ken wouldn't hev no water to save 'em with. An' Red he see one uv
'em ridin' off an' runs him down an' shoots him up right! But the ornary
cuss shoots back an' Red gets it in ther laig an' thet's all they is to
it. Don't yuh worrit none; we only lost thu leetlest stack o' ther
bunch."

"And the other--the one who ran away?" asked the girl with quick
concern.

Abigail's lips curved in a grim smile. "Red shot three times. Once at
the hoss."



CHAPTER V

"HER HEART WONT BE BROKE NONE"


True to her intuition, he came to her, lying in the hammock waiting his
coming the next morning.

"I am afraid," he began apologetically, "that I will have to postpone my
departure for some time, after all. It is imperative that the ditches be
repaired, the crops needing immediate irrigation, and McVey's
indisposition leaves us very short-handed. Besides, I am personally
responsible for all these mishaps and must make them good."

His speech was almost contrite in its humility and his manner had lost
much of its assurance. It was a moment fraught with possibilities and
she was fully aware that the smallest concession on her part would pave
the way to reconciliation. But she did not know of the bitter travail in
which he had labored the livelong night, and the significance of his
closing words evaded her understanding.

Attributing all the foregone evils to Matlock's personal hatred of him,
and deeming himself therefore solely responsible for the damage
inflicted by that worthy, he had quixotically resolved to remain in
Carter's employ until his salary had accumulated to an amount sufficient
to recoup the latter for all the loss sustained. That end attained, he
would find Matlock--the rest was simple.

Nothing of this she knew, and yet she was conscious of a great
impellment to be kind to this man. She had half arisen with a gracious
word of thanks for his herculean labors in the behalf of her brother on
her lips, when, by some fatality, the morning wrap she was wearing
dropped from her shoulders. It was unfortunate that his eyes fell on the
instant. When he again raised them she had caught up the garment and
with a care so exaggerated that it sent the blood to his face, was
haughtily fastening it about her throat. Her intent was unmistakable and
he hardened like adamant. All too late she repented; that one second of
perversity had undone a whole night's chastening and his voice was as
cold as ice when he resumed:

"I will therefore be unable to meet your brother on his arrival. You can
say to him that he will lose nothing by last night's work. I am going
out to the ditch now and will not return until it has been fully
restored." Then with an almost imperceptible inclination of his head, he
left her without another look.

Turning uneasily in the hammock, she discovered for the first time that
the entrance to the bunkhouse was visible through the interstices of the
wistaria. The door was open to admit the solace of the balmy air to the
wounded man, whose pale face with its closed eyes was plainly
discernible in the semi-gloom of the darkened room. Shuddering slightly,
she put her hands before her eyes, lowering them at the very moment
that Douglass, belted and spurred, led his saddled horse up to the
door.

She watched him enter, noting that he removed his sombrero on crossing
the threshold. His every movement betokened care and caution, indicating
his solicitude not to awaken the sleeper. Unconsciously she admired the
sinuous, almost feline grace of the fellow who stood for quite a time
looking down on his stricken comrade. Then she was startled to see him
turn and raise his clenched fist in the air, his lips moving
convulsively, and she shrank from what was written on his face when he
again came softly out and mounted his horse. Ten minutes later she
watched a cloud of dust blotting the horizon on the crest of the little
rise to the north. When it had again settled, she went into her room and
came out with a pair of shears in her hand.

McVey, jaded and wan from the manipulations of the surgeon who had come
down overnight from Tin Cup, waked to find an exquisite bouquet of
freshly cut flowers in a quaint Japanese vase on the little stand beside
his bed. He had seen that vase before on the window-sill of Miss
Carter's room and he blinked incredulously at it. His wonder was only
exceeded by his embarrassment when, a few minutes later, that lady
herself in person entered the room, followed by Abigail, who bore a
platter of daintily prepared food.

"It's might good o' yuh, ma'am, too good!" he assured her in clumsy
gratefulness, as she rearranged his pillows after the refection. "But
yuh shouldn't go to so much trouble; I'd rest a heap easier in my mind
if I knowed you wasn't puttin' yuhself out none. But," reminiscently,
"that chicken soup were shore fine!"

"You shall have some every day until you are well," she beamed on him
from the doorway.

He thanked her with a gravity whose solemnity of effect was somewhat
offset by his next utterance. "Say, Miss Williams," he said seriously in
a stage aside, "when yuh cal'late I am well enough to stand it, yuh go
out an' git some other Greaser to come up here and shoot me some more!"

"Yuh shet yuah trap, Red McVey," snapped the vestal addressed
reprovingly, "an' rest yuah pore weak brain. Ain't yuh made trouble
enough already, gettin' yuhself shot up right here in thu thick o' thu
hayin' an' Ken short-handed as it was? What onaccountable idjits men is
anyway! Now yuh be good fer a spell!"

She flounced out with assumed asperity, halting at the threshold for a
last admonishing look. The big fellow, his head hung in abashment,
looked up pleadingly.

"Kiss me, mommer, an' I'll go to sleep!"

Routed horse, foot and dragoons, Abigail fled in confusion, and Red
grinned in self-complacency as Miss Carter's silvery laugh tinkled in
diminishing crescendo. Then he turned his face to the wall and really
fell asleep.

"Beats all," confided Abigail that afternoon, to Grace, watching her
deft manipulation of the dinner's pie crust, "what misonderstandable
fools these men critters be. Thar's thet Ken Douglas o'
yourn,"--watching slyly out of the corner of her eye the flushing face
and compressing lips of her auditor--"now 'tain't sca'cely six months
since he was sky-hootin' around yeah, wishful o' killin' every blessed
cowpuncha in this outfit; an' now they ain't ary one o' the pin-headed
dogies that ain't a beggin' to be allowed to do his killin' fer him! He
had quite a time makin' 'em promise not ter cut in on Matlock, las'
night. I hear 'm jawbonin' about it oveh to thu shack. But they finally
allows he's Ken's meat an' 'grees ter keep han's off. I'd feel some
sorry fer that Matlock ef he wa'nt sech a pizen skunk. I r'ally do wisht
he was moah of a man! Ken's too clean a boy to hev ter stomp out sech a
snake."

Miss Carter was not a woman of iron nerve and this dispassionate talk of
killing affected her visibly. As the old woman proceeded with her
disquieting recital, her face blanched, but with a great effort at
self-control she held her peace; this was evidently the hour of
revelations--and she had to know!

"But he has it ter do--he suah has! An' I wisht 'twas oveh. I doan
reckon Matlock will ketch him nappin'--Ken's eye tooths is cut--but yuh
nevah kin tell!" She sighed lugubriously and the girl's blood ran cold
in her veins. "Thar's allus a chanct--an' Ken is a heap keerless at
times. I hope he gits him soon!"

"But why?" said Grace unevenly, making a heroic struggle to retain the
composure that was fast deserting her. "You talk as if he were compelled
to kill this man."

"Well, hain't he?" replied Abbie, with naïve surprise in her voice, as
she stopped pinching the edges of a pie and looked up in astonishment.
"Hain't Matlock declar'd hisself? Hain't he bragged as how he'd cut thu
heart out o' Ken an' show it ter him? Didn't he crawfish like a cowardly
coyote when Ken called his bluff in thu Alcazar, an' then came sneakin'
around yeah in thu night an' buhn yuh haystacks? Why, what moah d'yuh
want him to do?" The indignation in her voice was genuine.

"But why--I cannot understand--" began the girl confusedly, "why is it
necessary for Mr. Douglass to personally undertake the punishment of
this wretch? Have you no laws that can be invoked to punish the one and
protect the other?"

"Laws!" snorted the old woman contemptuously, "what good would all the
laws be to Ken arter Matlock had him pumped full o' lead? Thar's only
one law fer rattlesnakes on ther range, honey--kill 'em befoah they gits
a chanct ter strike!" The leathery old face twitched venomously and she
slashed the pie top with suggestive vigor.

"But that would be murder!" gasped the girl, her face gray with horror.

"Murder, huh! An' what would it be if Matlock has his way? Didn't he
kill thet sheepherd--who whopped him fair an' squar'--in cold blood?
Didn't he jest nat'rally butcher thet pore Dutch boy arter fust
cripplin' o' his gun on ther sly, ther tre'cherous haound! Murder--!"

Her gray crest was erect and she was breathing audibly through
passion-pinched nostrils. She put her hand kindly on the girl's
shoulder. "Hit's got ter be one or t'other on 'em, honey. They hain't no
other way. An' out yeah whar wimmin 'n children air left alone a heap at
times hit's every good man's duty ter pertect his own. Did yuh heah what
happened ter thet sheepman's wife thet night arter they killed her man?

"Hit war one man done hit arter the rest was gone. He was masked, o'
cose, but all thu rest o' yuh outfit was at thu Alcazar--Matlock with
'em--so's ter prove a alleyby. Thu one that were shy was thu feller they
found on Hoss Creek a week later with nine buckshot in his rotten
heart." And then she avoided the girl's eyes as she whispered something
that brought Grace to her feet screaming with horror.

"Naow I ain't sayin'," she went on slowly, "thet Matlock is as low as
thet. T'other was a half-breed 'n some say a convick. But thar's no room
fer him on this range naow, an' he knows it. An' that kind o' man allus
goes bad. He's got it in specul fer Ken, an' hit's suah one er t'other
on 'em." And then she shot her last bolt mercilessly:

"Would yuh ruther he killed Ken?"

Outside somewhere a raven, scavengering indolently about the corrals,
croaked gutturally; never again as long as she lived would Grace Carter
hear without shuddering the uncanny dissonance of that foul bird. In the
silence of that suddenly oppressive room the ticking of the little cheap
alarm clock on the mantel beat upon her brain like the strokes of a
drum, seeming to her disordered mind to say "Kill-Ken!--Kill-Ken!"

She passed her hand numbly over her forehead, mechanically adjusting a
stray wisp of hair. She was dimly conscious of an agony of compunction
on the wrinkled face before her, but it excited in her only a dull
wonder. Why was Abbie looking so strangely at her? If only that tiresome
clock would cease its muttering! What was this strange thing now
happening to her, this slipping away of a part of herself, this new and
perturbing sense of sudden oldness and wisdom and--and heart-wrenching
fear! For a moment she plucked petulantly at the velvet band about her
throat; the room seemed reeling about her and she swayed unsteadily on
her feet.

With a cry of keen self-reproach, Abigail threw her arm around the
tottering girl and bore her into the darkened bedroom. When she emerged
later it was with a sorely troubled mien.

"I'm not quite settled in my mind thet I've done ther right thing in
tellin' her so suddenly. Still, since he's goin' ter do it she hed best
be prepared. Pore lamb! Why didn't Ken finish ther job in thu fust place
and be done with it! Now it'll come between 'em an' like as not she
won't hav' him on account of it. Ther Lawd do move in myster'ous ways
fer a fac'! An' they do say thet ther trail o' troo love is rough an'
crooked. An' them sech a well-matched span, too!"

Abigail had evidently jumped to conclusions of her own, in her
range-born simplicity overlooking the obvious disparity that a more
captious conventionality would have interposed between the respective
social planes of a society blossom and a "wild and woolly" cowpuncher.
And if she had drawn any comparisons they would have been indubitably
in favor of the latter. For in her environment she had acquired the
faculty of properly estimating the worth of a real man. And then, again,
Abigail was a woman, and there is a proverb about the contempt of
familiarity.

"I reckon 'twer ther heat," she opined barefacedly when the young woman,
a girl no longer since the ticking of that clock, expressed her
inability to account for her sudden indisposition. "I heve nevah fainted
mahself; reckon I wouldn't know how," with a grim attempt at jocularity.
"Nevah had the time, anyhow. Yuh feelin' peart again, honey?"

Grace assented languidly. The antelope kid, fed to repletion, was
blinking at her from his blanket nest in the corner. As she spoke he
arose and wabbled over to her side, laying his cool, moist muzzle
against her hand.

"Jest look at thet, now!" said Abbie delightedly. "Thu leetle cuss wants
ter be petted an' coddled. Well, he's like all other he-critters, got
ter be humored an' made much of, whether they desarve it or not. An' I
guess," with shrewd philosophy and a certain deliberate emphasis,
"thet's what we poor she-males was mos'ly created for. Take Hank, now.
He's a reg'lar baby about sech things--an' whines like a sick pup ef
he's overlooked in the slightest. Thar now, you Buffo!--lawks a mussy,
dearie, he's got yuh hand all slobbered up--you hont yuah hole! It don't
do to giv' 'em too much rope. Ef yuh do they's suah ter run on it an'
thar's trouble all raound. Feed 'em well, speak 'em kind, an' give 'em
theah haids on a hahd pull er in a tight place, an' they gentle quick,
an' easy an' come up pullin' arter every fall. But doan yuh never go to
crowdin' of 'em onreasonable at thu wrong time er they'll balk an' lay
down, er kick over thu dash-boahd an' run away, accordin' to thu natuah
o' thu brute. Yuh kin keep 'em up on thu bit when thu goin's good, but
doan spur 'em when they's excited 'n feelin' they cawn!

"Thu mos' on 'ems ondependable at times! some on 'ems loco all thu
time--thet kind espeshully" pointing toward the bunkhouse from which was
issuing the tinkle of a guitar to the accompaniment of a stentorian
wail:

    "Haow d-r-r-y I am! Haow d-r-r-y I am!
    Gawd o-h-h-nly knows haow-w-w dry I am!"

"Yuah takin' thet tuhn quite upsot me, and I done quite forgot thet no
'count Red. Heah him yowl! Long ways from daid yet, 'pears to me!"

Nevertheless, the cool hand laid on his hot brow was invested with a
motherly tenderness, and the chiding voice was gentle and kind.

"Yuh better go and lay in yuah hammock, dearie," she suggested to Grace,
"an' rest up a bit; I got a lot o' tidyin' up to do yeah." The room was
already painfully clean and the man on the bed knit his brows
quizzically.

"I do want my hair curled 'n' my mustache waxed 'n' some ody-kolone on
my hank-chy," he murmured plaintively. "I shore do!"

Abigail glared at him, but Grace, with a final pat to the pillows,
smiled indulgently. "Get well quickly; we need you too much; and it must
be dreadful to have to stay indoors in this weather." Then she went out
rather abstractedly, McVey's eyes following her with the wistfulness of
a dog's. Abbie, watching him, smiled satirically.

"Red, too!" she ejaculated mentally; "well, why not? He's a whole lot of
a man, hisself, an cats kin look at queens ef they likes. An' queens hev
a lot o' things ter be done fer 'em thet only men kin do. I wonder
now--!"

She looked at him speculatively, her lips tightening with a sudden
determination. The cowboy grinned with quick prescience.

"Spit it out, Abbie. I caint help myself."

"Red," she said quietly without an attempt at preamble, "will yuh kill
Matlock fer me?"

He stared his astonishment undisguisedly. There was absolutely no doubt
as to the seriousness of her question; the grim set of her jaws, the
anxiety in her eyes and general tenseness of muscle throughout the whole
lean body betokened that.

In this man's life surprises were not infrequent and now as ever he
displayed only the nonchalance characteristic of all typical
frontiersmen in moments of crisis. Something in her manner and attitude
repressed the almost irresistible desire to answer her humorously, and
his reply was grave to solemnity.

"Yuh see, Miss Abbie, we-all promised Ken thet we wouldn't cut in on
thet deal. But I'd jest love to oblige yuh, an' if yuh can square me
with the old man I'll take Matlock's trail soon as I can straddle m'
hoss agin. Yuh see, Ken's kinder got hes heart sot on doin' thet leetle
stunt hisself, an' he's apt to r'ar up an' sweat under thu collar when
anybody musses with hes things. Yuh onderstand how 'tis--"

She withered him with a measureless scorn: "Yes, I onderstan'. Yuah
afraid o' Matlock!" She turned to go. "An' I thought this was a man!"

"Stop a minnit, Miss Willi'ms!" The words were scarcely audible but she
wheeled instanter. He had not moved a muscle so far as she could detect
but she felt as though she had been clutched in a grasp of steel and
whirled on a pivot. But the erstwhile pallid face was now justifying his
nickname and his eyes were black with menace. "Thet's not eggsactly
squar' now, is it?" His voice was almost pleading, the trembling hands
alone betrayed the strain he was laboring under.

Mountain born and range bred, Abigail Williams was a woman of undaunted
courage, but even her invincible spirit recoiled momentarily from the
task she set herself. It was like plowing in a powder magazine with a
red-hot share, but she was only concerned with the end in view and,
deliberately considering the risk, employed the only means at hand.

"Squar' er raound," she said incisively, "It's thu mizzable truth. Ef it
wa'nt, yuh would take thu job offen Ken's ban's an' keep my lamb's heart
from breakin'!"

She could hear the beating of his heart in the absolute quiet that
followed her audacious words. When she dared to raise her eyes he was
very pale and wan but he met her pitying glance with a brave smile
although his lips were twitching.

"I reckon that I've been a bit thick-haided," he said simply. "I ought
have knowed thet you wa'nt the kind o' woman to take no sech mean
advantage of a feller. Yuh'll excuse _me_, Miss Abbie! Yuh see, I didn't
savvy the how o' things."

Abbie, torn with remorse and pity, was all woman again. In the reaction
she wished she had left her words unsaid and impulsively went over and
laid her hand on his. The cowboy covered it with his other bronzed paw
and for a long time neither spoke. It was McVey who broke the silence.

"I'll kill him, o' cose. Reckon it'll cost me me' job--an' then some!
It's goin' to be mahnst'ous hard to make Ken see it thu right way an'
he'll be some rambunctuous about it. He's awful sot in hes ways an' it's
goin' to be hard to explain. I'd shore hate to have some one play me
thet trick, I suttinly would!"

The woman was crying now and as the weak drawl ended she grew
hysterical. "Oh! Gawd, what hev I done?" she moaned under her breath;
then she frantically implored him to forget what she had said, insisting
that it was all a joke, that she was merely "tryin' to pay him back fer
his imperence" the night before. But Red smiled his entire conviction.

"Miss Abbie, don't yuh do it no moah, don't yuh, now! It shore ain't
yuah strong suit, yuh giv' yuah han' away. Lyin's man's work, an' a
powerful bad business it is, too! Gawd nevah intended a woman's lips to
be dirtied that away."

"An' besides, it's too late," he went on dispassionately. "Yuh've made
many things plain to me that I was too locoed to see before. But tell
me straight, is that true about her'n Ken?"

She nodded mutely, not daring to meet his eyes.

He looked long into the starlit sky, and Abbie, emboldened after a time
by his seeming composure, rose and bade him good night. He reached out
for the cigarette materials laid convenient to his hand.

"Guess I'll make a terbacco smoke." Abbie struck a match and he
luxuriously filled his capacious lungs. Then slowly exhaling the pungent
wreath he flicked the ash from the cigarette tip and tentatively
extended his sinewy arm. It was as devoid of tremor as that of a bronze
statue and he nodded his satisfaction.

"Her heart won't be broke none."

His voice was very calm and even.



CHAPTER VI

THE MAN AND THE WOMAN


At the junction of Horse and Squaw creeks, some seven miles from where
Grace Carter was lying in her hammock awaiting the arrival of her
brother and mother, Ken Douglass outspanned his weary scraper team and
called his day's work done. The damage had been of even greater
magnitude than he had feared and his most sanguine estimate placed the
time required for complete repairs at three more days.

He had impressed every available man and team into the service, leaving
only one young fellow at the ranch to do the choring inseparable to a
holding like the C Bar. Having outlined his plans and assigned to each
man his specific duty, he had personally plunged into the thick of the
work, driving his men only a trifle less strenuously than he did
himself. In consequence whereof it was a sore-muscled crowd that
ruefully rubbed their aching backs about the camp-fire that night,
quaintly profane after the manner of their kind.

"Gawd! But you make a bum driver, Punk," said one of them
dispassionately to a short, squat fellow who was anointing his blistered
hands with bacon drippings. "Yuh pushed so hawd on thu lines that yuh
raised cawns on that claybank's gooms. Was yuh thinkin' yuh was polin
dogies oveh to Glenwood again?"

Now Punk Dixon was a bit sensitive on the dogie question; while employed
in the engaging pursuit of prodding refractory yearlings up a loading
chute that spring his flimsy footing had given way, precipitating him
under the feet of two score frightened animals whose sharp hoofs had
reduced his brand new "chaps" to rags and himself to a sadly dilapidated
mass of incoherent blasphemy. But he grinned good-naturedly and wiped
the surplus grease off his hands over the head of his tormenter.

"Thar! That's better'n that pink axle-grease yuh been lavigatin' yuh
pore old coco with, Woolly," vigorously massaging the viscid fat into
the bald pate with his thumbs, much to the hilarious enjoyment of the
inconstant crowd who laughed even louder at the last victim's
discomfiture. It was a tradition that "Woolly" Priest had been born with
exceedingly long hair in plenteous supply, losing it in the stress of a
hard winter succeeding "thet awful calamity to Grand County," as the
narrator generously put it, by reason of a goat's having dined upon it,
mistaking it for wire grass! According to the veracious relator his head
had been so soft and mushy that the goat had "pulled the bristles out by
the roots 'n they wa'nt annythin' left fer a starter." Certain it is
that the shiny poll was entirely devoid of any hirsute covering at the
present time, despite its owner's unremitting applications of all the
patent nostrums he could get--the latest being an unguent built by Red
McVey's suggestion out of rattlesnake oil and Tobasco sauce!

"Well," said one of the more optimistic among them as he kicked off his
boots preparatory to turning in after supper, "this yeah life might be
better, 'n it might be wuss. But I'm shore thankful fer this yeah leetle
ole baid, an' thu knowin' that I'm goin' to roll out of it to-morrow
mawnin' alive an' kickin'. They's a heap o' satisfaction in bein' able
to ante when yuh are called to eat!"

"An' thu daid don't eat none. Say, Hungry, haow d' yuh like to be
Braun?" The speaker was the friend of the dead man who had discovered
the mutilation of the revolver. The badinage ceased instantly and an
ominous silence fell upon the whole assemblage.

"Hungry" Thompson looked over to where Douglass was morosely glaring
over the demolished ruins of his spring's labor. Even through the murk
of the gathering night the clenched hands and swelling neck cords were
visible to that sharp eye.

"Haow d'yuh like to be Matlock?"

A match snapped sharply as some inveterate smoker kindled his cigarette.
A man sat bolt upright in his blankets and Hungry swore angrily. The
camp sank to rest but not exactly to sleep, as the occasional clearing
of a throat evinced. Eventually, when the fire had sunk to a heap of
smouldering coals, tired nature asserted itself and the men slept.

To Douglass alone came neither sleep nor rest. His mind was in a turmoil
of doubt and anger--doubt as to the nature of the strange obsession
under which he travailed, and anger directed chiefly against himself.
His hatred of Matlock was very bitter, but it was inconsequential in
comparison with his savage self-objurgation. He did not go to bed, as
common sense would have dictated and overwrought frame pleaded, but sat
by the dead coals smoking himself black in the face.

"What an egregious ass I am!" he reflected, reviewing his senseless and
stilted actions of the day before. "Here I am quarreling with the first
bread and butter that ever came my way with jelly on it. After all, I am
only a menial, Carter's hired man, and I presumed too far. What in the
devil's name is the matter with me? My hide ought to be thick enough by
this time, God knows! And yet that fool girl's little bodkin went
through it like an electric spark and cut to the marrow! Well, she's
taught me my place, all right, all right." He smiled his grim admiration
of her cleverness. "But it's too late. It's a pity, too, for I think I
could have made good."

It was characteristic of him that he never entertained even a momentary
thought of a possibility of reconciliation. He had told her what he was
going to do and that was settled business. It was going to be a little
rough on him to quit "broke"; it would take all his summer's wages to
recoup Carter for that hay and the loss of the men's time incurred in
the ditch mending. The fall round-up would be over by that time and work
is scarce for unattached cowpunchers in the winter. It meant "choring
for his board" until spring's activities widened the vista and the
prospect was uninviting to one of energetic temperament.

Even more characteristic was his utter lack of resentment of the young
lady's rebuke; he had "presumed too far" and got what was coming to him.
He was conscious that he had deserved it, in more ways than one. But
even as he admitted this to himself there crept again into his eyes a
something not altogether wholesome and reassuring to any woman arousing
it.

Of love so far he had known only two phases, the filial which is
specifically restricted, and the universal which is diametrically
diffused over so great an area that it is dubious whether it really
merits that high classification. For his parents he had entertained an
affection closely approximating idolatry, especially for his mother,
whom he had known best, his father having died in his early childhood;
he also had a certain affection for little children, for flowers, for
the more frail and helpless things of creation in general, that might be
dignified by the name of love but which more probably was merely the
indulgent patronage of all strong natures for things weaker than
themselves. At college he had made no special strong affiliations for
the simple reason that few of his fellow-students were strong enough,
physically, mentally, or morally, to greatly command his respect. And
all unknowing to him he had come away from school with a hunger in his
really affectionate heart that had not been appeased by precarious
contact with the unsatisfying elements among which his lines had been
cast. Not once in all his western career had he met with an affinitive
soul on which he might have leaned and so gained that chastening sense
of tender dependence without which no man ever yet attained happiness.

Women's beauty he admired, but their virtue he revered not at all; yet
he had a paradoxical respect for that quality, whenever he encountered
it, that first begat and ultimately conserved in him that anomalous
chivalry of the frontier which impels a man to the espousal of the under
dog's cause without hesitation. He would have fought instantly and to
the death for a woman insulted; but he would just as readily have sprang
to the aid of a man battling against unfair odds. Of conventionality he
had only a contemptuous disregard, taking the goods the gods gave
him--when altogether to his fastidious taste--when and where they
offered. The very recklessness displayed, and its all too frequent
indulgence and participation in by the objects of its incitation, had
made him calloused, and cynical to a degree very disastrous to a man of
his tender years. For at twenty-six it is befitting to take off one's
hat to a petticoat hanging on a clothes line, after the traditional
habit of Lord Chesterfield.

Let us not sit too hardly in judgment upon this red-corpuscled young
savage. The fires of youth burn fiercely into the natural sequence of
maturity's steady glow and senility's ashes. A boy's will is
proverbially the wind's will, and youth must have its fling. In a land
where every man is a law unto himself it is hard to fix limitations and
the tide of license rolls high. There is no caste on the frontier, and
the range of passion is as wide as the boundless horizon. He had been
tenderly received in high places before, and so there was nothing
incongruous in his quick desire for Grace Carter.

Something of this was passing through his mind now, but somehow it
savored of sophistry and he knit his brows. He had said or done nothing
to which the most hypercritical could logically take exceptions, yet her
resentment had been spontaneous and unmistakable.

"_Honi soit qui mal y pense!_" he muttered, and again his eyes held that
unlovely light. "One who divines, must feel--and she is only a woman
after all." But the conclusion was not altogether satisfying and he
shook his head. The cigarette was suddenly bitter in his mouth and he
threw it away impatiently.

"No, damned if I believe that, either! I don't know what I believe.
Guess I better hit the feathers." He rolled into bed, blinked sleepily
at the stars for a few minutes, and with an indifferent "What the hell
do I care, anyway!" fell asleep.

And in the hammock seven miles away she was making excuses for him. "He
is very impatient of restraint," she was thinking, "and probably I
misjudged him, he is so different from the others." Nevertheless a
sudden flash of anger kindled in her eyes; then, strangely enough, she
smiled softly into the starlight.

She had yet two hours to wait and the balmy stillness of the night was
conducive to reflection. Her thoughts went back to the scenes of her
former life and the people she had known in that vastly different
environment. Men had been plentiful. In that effete land of worrying
necessities the shrine of beauty, when allied with reputed wealth, has
many devotees; the Carters were known to be "cattle kings." She was
familiar with many types, and with the arrogance of all youthful women,
deemed herself an infallible judge of men and their motives. There had
been men of parts among her acquaintances: soldiers, merchants,
clergymen, writers, financiers, and fops galore. Some she had respected,
a few she had admired, many she had tolerated, but none she had loved.
She was generous in her estimation of their worth and strove to enthuse
over their many excellences, but to her irritation, suddenly realized
that she was weighing them all against a gray-eyed man in a fire-rent
shirt, with smoke-grimed face and singed hair.

She turned uneasily in her hammock, catching through the wistaria a
glimpse of the open door of the dimly-lit bunkhouse. She could see the
intermittent glow of Red's cigarette, and the glisten of the polished
steel in the holster, hung carelessly on his bed-post. Suddenly she was
infected by the magnificent extravagance of this western life, this
queer jumble of loyalty, pride, poverty, sacrifice, sin, strength,
suffering, fortitude and malignity. She felt a fierce satisfaction in
living where men begged for the privilege of killing the enemies of
their friends, and she felt almost grateful to Red for his savage
appreciation of the courage which had transformed Douglass from his
dearest foe into his dearest friend. She had even a greater reason to be
grateful to him, had she only known it.

"He must not leave," she said with a fine determination. "It will check
his career--and we owe so much to him. I am a super-sensitive little
fool and I will make amends. Bobbie said we must 'make it up to him' and
I will. He is a gentleman, and he will not make it hard for me."
Comforted by her intuitive assurance of that fact she laid her soft
cheek on the pillow at precisely the moment of Douglass's line
assumption of indifference, and fell asleep.

But out in the kitchen an old woman was awkwardly stroking the head of
an antelope kid. "I wonder ef I done right?" she mumbled. "I wonder!"



CHAPTER VII

BELSHAZZAR


In October the Colorado mountain lands are very beautiful. They lack, it
is true, the gorgeous coloring of the eastern Indian summer, with its
beauty of scarlets, crimsons, ochres, maroons and mauves, the western
color scheme being in half-tints of low tone. The barbaric splendor of
the eastern autumn is here reflected only in the evening skies and in
the glowing grays, blues, browns, blacks, bronzes and golds of the eyes,
hair and faces of the hardy mountaineers.

Over the foothills and valleys are spread tenderly the more delicate
tints of the Master's palette; the enveiling haze is golden instead of
purple, the tints of verdure and earth are softly subdued and blend
together with all the exquisite harmony of an old Bokhara rug. Even the
once-disfiguring alkali barrens appeal to the eye now, their velvet
cloaks of ash-of-roses contrasting most agreeably with the delicate
olive-grays and heliotropes of the sage and rabbit brush. Here and there
a belated Indian-shot flaunts its brilliant lance and over yonder a
cactus masks its treachery with a blush; an occasional larkspur or
gentian raises blue eyes from the gentle hill slopes, and down on the
plains the martial Spanish-bayonet parades its oriflamme. The whole
landscape has an underlying wash of burnt sienna, glowing warmly through
the superimposed color.

The forests are mysterious with silent flitting mouse-blue and
gray-tawny shadows, and the dim trails and passes are incised with the
quaint hieroglyphics which tell the story of the migrant deer. The oily
black-green splashes of spruce and fir, the silvery valance of the
aspens, and the ermine of the snow coronal against the puce of
protruding peaks in the higher ranges are the only decided colors in
mass. Of early mornings the mountain bases in the distances are billows
of smoked-pearl mist; as the light strengthens and the temperature
rises, the mist rises with it, dissipating gradually into thin wreaths
of dainty rose-pink, faint orange--and nothingness. In the as yet
undisturbed shadows the bold cliffs suggest to the imaginative mind
aggregations of uncut crystals; higher up, where they catch the downward
reflected rays of the warming sun, they are amber and wine-colored
topazes, and on the ice-capped summits they are scintillant as diamonds.
At midday the pure rarified air is a marvel of transparent clarity and
everything is as clear cut as a cameo.

It is not until late in the afternoon that the great mystery evolves.
All of a sudden one is aware of a decided and yet intangible change.
Imperceptibly but surely the temperature falls, the quality of light
alters, the heat shimmer is no more and a golden radiance replaces the
brazen glare of the sun; into the nostrils steals an indescribable
perfume, elusive and infrangible, the brown scent of autumn wafted to
the senses on the cool breath of the frozen heights above.
Instinctively the perceptions sharpen; this is the hour when beast and
bird bestir themselves and the vista is enlivened with a new animation.
Out of nowhere, seemingly, struts a sage hen with her brood; another and
yet another materializes under your feet until it seems as if the very
soil was being transmuted into patches of gray-speckled life. In the
apparent vacancy of that soft-swelling knoll to the west looms up the
phantom bulk of an antelope, disproportionately large and deceptively
black against the sun. A dun-colored heap of trash at the foot of a
sagebrush in the bight of the dry creek-bed below resolves itself into a
very live-looking coyote which blinks yearningly at the unattainable
venison on the knoll above, wistfully licks his chops and slinks evilly
in the wake of the grouse broods.

As the sun dips behind the detached mountain spurs in the west the
shadows grow slightly blue and the high lights intensify. By some
optical necromancy the clouds seem massed in the west, the whole eastern
sweep of sky being an unbroken wash of salmon pink, relieved by tinges
of apple-green at its nethermost edges. Against this tender background
the minutest details of the majestic Rockies stand out with such vivid
distinctness that one gasps with the wonder of it. Long after the low
lands have gloomed these heights glow with a glory indescribable, and
when it has finally passed one feels as though a glimpse of Heaven
itself had been vouchsafed to the soul torn with Life's torturing
skepticism.

But what words can describe, what brush portray the awful grandeur of
the western sky! Before that riot of color the eye falls abashed as did
those of Moses on the mount. The sublimity of it shrivels man's pitiful
egoism until he grovels in humility and awe. When God lays His hand upon
the sky the dimmest eye sees and the most skeptical heart believes!

She was saying as much in substance to him as they rode homeward in the
soft afterglow, her face transfigured by the reverence in her heart. He
assented gravely, his eyes dwelling admiringly upon her rare beauty. In
the hallowing light of the hour she was invested with a new charm to
this appreciative Pantheist and from some pigeon-hole of his
well-stocked and retentive memory called the almost-inspired voice of
old Ossian:

    "Fair was Colna-Dona, the daughter of kings,
        Her soul was a pure beam of light!"

Unconsciously he put his thought into words and the voice was very
gentle. She looked at him dubiously, almost apprehensively; it was hard
to differentiate between this man's cynicism and sincerity. Then she
dropped her eyes in rosy confusion, her heart leaping unaccountably.

"That was a false note the Psalmist struck," he went on quietly, "when
he sang of the wrath of his God. It were better he had dwelt only on the
sweeter quantity of His love. I am sorry for that devotion inspired only
by fear. _This_ is the manifestation best calculated to insure one's
keeping in the right trail." He swept his hand comprehensively toward
the western glory. "Men do not love the thing they fear--nor women
either." His tone was quizzical and challenging.

She looked up in sudden relief; this was more familiar ground and she
laughed with sudden audacity.

"How do you know?"

"About women? Well, I'll admit that was a bluff; but I know all about
men; I am one of them! The divinity that shapes our ends must kiss, not
kick!"

At this unconscious confirmation of old Abigail's sage conclusions her
laugh pealed out merrily. "Feed 'em well, speak 'em kind, an' give 'em
theah haids on a hawd pull er in a tight place," she quoted with
inimitable mimicry, and he grinned with quick understanding.

"Good old Abbie! I wonder who she loved enough to learn all that? And so
you've been taking lessons, too!"

"I thought we had done with that," she said almost pleadingly. "You make
it very hard for me!"

Instantly he was all contrition. "Forgive me! I shall not offend again."
She took his extended hand frankly and for a time they rode in silence.
The narrow cañon trail necessitated their riding very closely together
and occasionally his leathern chaps brushed against her. Once, as they
rounded an abrupt turn, the heavy revolver at his hip was jammed
painfully against her gauntlet; she merely shut her teeth and smiled.

They were returning from Tin Cup, whither they had gone in the morning
in company with Robert and his mother, who were leaving for the East.
The morning after his arrival at the ranch she had bravely told her
brother the whole circumstances of the preceding week, magnanimously
taking upon herself all the blame--in which truth compels us to say her
brother entirely agreed--and thereafter had ridden out to the camp of
the ditch repairers and patched up a truce with Douglass.

"I am only a tenderfoot," she had wisely begun, "and always have had an
unhappy faculty of doing the wrong thing unintentionally. You are a big,
strong, generous man, and you will hold no malice against a foolish
girl--!"

He capitulated instantly; but he was over-voluble in his reassurances
and somehow she divined that her apology had missed fire so far as it
affected his determination to leave when he had recouped her brother for
the losses he had unwittingly brought about. She was not for a moment
deceived by his studiously polite words but was too politic to betray
it. He had affected not to see the hand she had timidly extended in
amity and for that he would pay, later! There was much of old Bob
Carter's inflexible determination in this frail-looking daughter of his.

To her mother she had, curiously enough, said nothing about it. She had
even been unwise enough to impose secrecy upon her brother and Abigail
as to the cause of the conflagration and Red's mishap, forgetting that
Mrs. Carter was range bred and born, and that Nellie Vaughan was an
incorrigible gossip! It would not have added to her equanimity to have
known that inside of twenty-four hours her astute mother was in
possession of all the facts and considerably perturbed thereover. She
would, however, have appreciated the relief in her mother's eyes on her
first encounter with Douglass.

"Clean, manly and good to look at," had been her shrewd verdict.
"Thoroughbred stock, too. A good friend and a bad enemy! A good cowman
and a valuable accession all around. I really must congratulate Robbie.
But what is Grace's mysterious interest in him? She was very anxious not
to have me find out the facts about this latest outrage, poor dear! Was
it that she was afraid that I would be unduly exercised over a trifle
like this?"

She smiled somewhat grimly as her mind went back to that day when, over
her husband's unconscious form thrown at her feet by the benumbing
bullets of a gang of rustlers, she had emptied the magazine of his
Winchester to such effect that border men rode far out of their way to
take off their hats to "Bob Carter's pard." The recollection sent the
blood into the fine old cheeks and her hands were again clenched
retrospectively upon that shapely bit of walnut and steel which had
served her so well that day. Then the lips softened wondrously and a
great sweetness flooded her eyes. She was thinking how tenderly he had
kissed her powder-blackened hands and bruised shoulder, his heart
throbbing with love and wonder and pride of her.

She was very gracious to Douglass that night at dinner, leading him on
with skill to talk of himself, and drawing him out to a degree that
would have astonished him had he realized it. Under her charming
personality, quick and sympathetic intelligence and clever induction,
his reserve melted gradually and soon he was talking more freely than he
had ever done to human being before. When he had finally made his exit
she turned thoughtfully to her children.

"We want to be very judicious in our dealings with that young man. He is
of sterling quality, but super-sensitive and impulsive, and requires
handling with gloves of velvet. I think he is scrupulously honest, and I
should imagine inordinately brave--and vain! Do you know anything of his
antecedents?"

"Only that he is American born, of Scotch descent, mother," replied
Robert, "and that he was educated at Yale. He is a civil engineer by
profession, I believe, but he is hardly the kind of man from whom one
would attempt to force confidences. All I know is that he is the
pluckiest fellow in the world, and the most generous and considerate.
Why, one night at the Alcazar--?" and he proceeded to the eager relation
of his pet story.

She listened attentively, nodding her full comprehension. "That is what
I would have expected of him; I am seldom mistaken in my judgment of the
type. And I presume his services here are in every way satisfactory?
Well, let us make every consistent effort to retain him; such men are
scarce even in this land of good men. I suppose that the man Matlock has
left the country?"

"He has not been seen since the night of which I spoke. Ken seems to
have run him out for keeps!" His voice was distinctly boastful. "And if
he knows what is good for him he'll stay out!"

If Mrs. Carter, glancing casually at her daughter, noted the sudden
compression of Grace's lips, she made no comment thereon. She had
craftily wormed out of one of the men, the youngster detailed for
chore-work, the story of the men's agreement to leave Matlock's
punishment to Douglass. She understood the situation thoroughly, and, as
a typical range woman she approved of Douglass's determination. The
quarrel was eminently his, and upon him in person devolved its
settlement. What she could not understand was the distress in her
daughter's face as she said earnestly:

"I am not so sure that you have seen the last of him. Such men as he are
tenacious and revengeful; he fired our stacks, you remember! Don't look
so surprised, Robbie. It was very nice and thoughtful of you and Grace
to try to keep me from knowing, but your mother was born in this valley
and is still in full possession of all her faculties. Besides,
conversational topics are scarce, and your neighbors like to talk!" Then
as an after-thought, "I think Mr. Douglass is fully able to cope with
the situation!"

Later, as she stood by the window of her darkened room looking
abstractedly out into the beautiful night, she saw him enter the room
where Red lay strumming on his guitar. Approvingly she noted his quick,
springy stride, his alert, upright carriage, the whole sinewy grace of
him as he bent kindly over his comrade.

"What a splendid young animal it is," she mused smilingly, "one
eminently calculated to fill the eye of a romantic young girl. After
all, why should I interfere? As he said to-night, 'every one has to dree
his own weird!' Then again, she has known all kinds of men, and this in
all likelihood is merely a transient fancy bred of the novel environment
and will doubtlessly pass in due course." Her face grew serious,
however, as she recalled the concern in Grace's face at her reference to
Matlock's revengefulness. "Propinquity--and youth--and passion! A
precarious trio, indeed. Everything considered, I think I will take her
back with me," concluded this astute woman of the world.

She was, nevertheless, not unduly surprised at Grace's negation of that
proposal when it was broached the week before her mother's departure.
The young woman urged her very evident physical betterment since coming
to the ranch, and her great desire to witness that most spectacular of
range functions, the fall round-up. With the imposed condition that her
stay would not extend over the holiday season, her mother consented,
hesitatingly. But she took occasion, that very evening, to casually
bring Douglass under discussion, concluding a very generous estimation
of him with the significant words: "One can trust to an appeal to his
honor when every other means fail!" That she directed the remark
particularly to Grace, was doubtless without premeditation, and
assuredly called for no reply. Yet there was a certain resentment in the
girl's rather constrained answer:

"Do you think it probable that such an exigency will ever arise?"

The world-wise old woman looked thoughtfully at the flushed face,
thinking how singularly beautiful it was. Then she scanned the perfectly
proportioned figure beneath, its exquisite modeling revealed and
accentuated by the clinging silk fabric of the thin evening gown.

"Anything is probable to a man of his temperament," she said calmly.
"Strong natures like his are contemptuous of limitations and laugh at
ethical restrictions. That man, if I mistake not, will go straight to
his desire as a bullet to the mark, regardless of what stands between."

Robert laughed fatuously, missing entirely the drift of the
undercurrent. "You have certainly got him sized up right, Mater. Ken is
'sure chain lightin',' as Williams says."

"And if it be evil to stand in the path of a thunderbolt, how
inconceivably foolish to invite its stroke!"

The young man stared dubiously at her; all this seemed inconsequential
to him, this talk of thunderbolts and bullets. Did these foolish women
think that Ken Douglass was ass enough to expose himself recklessly to
either. In some respects the master of the C Bar was as unimaginative
and simple-minded as a new-born baby.

"Don't yuh worrit none about thundeh-strikes," interjected Abbie with
crisp assurance, entering the room in pursuit of the too-intrusive
Buffo, who every evening persisted in joining the family circle. "They
ain't goin' to be no thundeh-stawms so late in thu yeah; yuh suahly
know thet, Mis' Cahtah, yuh was bawn heah!"

The lady addressed smiled indulgently at her old friend. "I am hoping
that there will be no storms of any sort which will cause suffering and
misery to anybody, Abbie. Life is too short to be spoiled with
heartaches."

"Do you know whose property this is?" she asked Grace that night, coming
into her bedroom as she was preparing to retire. "One of the men found
it this morning just outside the main gate and brought it to me,
thinking it belonged to Robert. But the handwriting is not his, I know,
and I thought you might recognize it. There is no name on the fly-leaf."
She handed her a thin, long, morocco-covered notebook, which opened of
itself, as she laid it in the young lady's hand, at a place where the
leaves were separated by a withered flower. It was a long-dried mountain
heart's-ease, and, despite her efforts, her cheeks reddened consciously.
The writing on the pages was in verse and she recognized the bold, free
style at a glance. She had commented frequently on his firm, legible
script when auditing his accounts in company with her brother. And once
he had sent her a little formal note, asking if she had any commissions
for him to execute in Denver, where he had gone on some private business
shortly after her overtures at reconciliation. She had eagerly grasped
the olive branch so chillingly extended, and his matching of the silk
floss samples she sent him in reply was entirely to her satisfaction. It
is a question if she would have appreciated the grim humor of her
commission had she known his real mission to the capital city. He had
been informed, on more or less reliable authority, that Matlock had been
seen there a few days previously! The report proved to be false, and the
note was now enveloping a cluster of withered heart's-ease in her
sandalwood jewel case.

Without hesitation she identified the handwriting. "I think it must
belong to Mr. Douglass;" she said frankly, meeting her mother's eyes
without a particle of indecision. "I am quite familiar with his writing,
having helped Bobbie in auditing his accounts. And this flower, I think,
is one I gave him some months ago."

Mrs. Carter's eyes snapped with a fierce pride. She put her arm tenderly
about the velvety neck.

"Kiss me, dearie! You are very like your father, and he was the bravest
man God ever made!" At the threshold she turned; "I think it entirely
permissible--indeed, I much desire that you read that verse."

For the first time since her coming to the ranch, Grace Carter turned
the key in the door lock; then she laid the notebook on her dressing
table and completed her preparations for rest. Finally, she sat down on
the edge of the bed and opened the book. Carefully she removed the
flower and laid it on a silk handkerchief, folded for its reception. For
a time she sat looking at it reminiscently; then with a visible effort
she turned to the clearly-written pages.

She read with great deliberation, a second and then a third time, a hymn
to love, boyishly crude, but charged to the full with youth and
longing; no better and no worse, perhaps, than the average effusion of
twenty-six in love, not with woman but with love; authentic, and for
that reason sacred; overwrought, as became the heedless passion which
inspired it; self-revealing, but of sex and temper rather than of mind.
A few years back it would have shocked her; now, it made her think.

She replaced the flower, closed the book and thrust it under her pillow.
Far into the night she sat there, her arms clasped about her knees, her
eyes luminous but unseeing. Finally the night chill aroused her and she
slipped into bed.



CHAPTER VIII

THE PASSING OF A CLOUD


But that was a week ago and now she was riding homeward with him in the
moonlight. She had the notebook in the inside pocket of her riding
jacket, having decided to return it to him in person, and this had been
her first opportunity, he having been away for the whole of the previous
week on some range matter requiring his personal attention.

He had evidently dropped the book from his shirt pocket during his
struggle with the refractory gate, and on his return had interrogated
everyone on the ranch about it except the actual finder, that worthy
being absent at the time of his return on some errand for Miss Carter.
He was very anxious for its recovery for more reasons than one. It
contained some valuable memoranda about his range work; and then, again,
he had private reasons why none of the men should chance to fall afoul
of his metrical effusion. He was familiar with the coarse badinage of
the camp, a humor that respects no personage, however high his official
position, and the possibilities worried him.

He felt a great chagrin that he had as yet not been able to locate
Matlock. In his supersensitiveness he was obsessed with an entirely
unfounded impression that he was losing prestige among his men because
of the unavoidable delay. If they were to learn that he had been
farther guilty of the inexcusable weakness of writing verse of that
sentimental character, his cup of bitterness would be running over!

Imagine his unbounded relief when she handed it to him with the simple
remark: "I have something here belonging to you, I think." But almost
instantly he was filled with consternation. Had she by any miserable
chance read that verse! Intuitively she felt what was passing in his
mind and demurely fibbed for his reassurance: "Mamma recovered it--I
think she said it was found at the gate--and brought it to me. I knew it
was yours from the memoranda on the first page, but forgot to return it
before. I sincerely hope I have not caused you any inconvenience?"

He was almost vehement in his eagerness to assure her that it was
altogether a matter of no moment, but her eyes twinkled mischievously as
she noted the care with which he bestowed it in a safe place. "After
all, men are only boys grown up," she thought, and her regard for him
was ludicrously maternal. She felt an almost irresistible desire to
lecture him on the folly of his ways and the dangerous possibilities
attendant on the writing of erotic verse; she actually began a homily on
the uncertainty of life and one's logical duty of the enjoyment of
things actually in possession rather than the pitiable craving for the
unattainable. She had cleverly led up to it by enthusiastically admiring
the beauty of the perfect night and the understandable attraction that
these glorious surroundings had for everyone who came into intimate
contact with them.

Once, in the emphasizing of some vital point in issue, she impulsively
laid her gloved hand on his arm; the man started as if he had been stung
and she recoiled from the hunger in his eyes. The mothering of a lion
cub has its disadvantages, and thereafter her milk of human kindness
overflowed no more.

There was an evident suspicion evinced in the keen attention he was
paying to her words as she trenched on the delicate topic of logical
content with one's militant blessings, and she ingeniously proceeded to
disarm it.

"Why is it that among the thousands of susceptible and impressionable
souls that have reveled in these delights, not one has had the moral
courage to depict them in print? The labor would surely be one of love
and the inspiration never lacks."

"Possibly," he suggested, "it is a matter of sheer mental and literary
inability. But few have been endowed with the gift of Genius. And then,
again, authorship is necessarily an affair of leisure, and life is apt
to be strenuous in these hills." He turned in his saddle and laughingly
asked her: "How much time could your cowpunchers afford to devote to the
Muses, Miss Grace?"

"Genius knows no paltry restrictions of time and place," she said, with
some acerbity, "and I know of at least one of the men you mention who
has the ability if not the courage."

He winced a little at that and the cloud of suspicion grew denser. But
it was partly dissipated at her earnest inquiry: "Why do not you, a man
of keen discernment and liberal education, essay the task? I am certain
that you would achieve a great success."

"I have other work to do," he said, gruffly. "And I am not sure that I
find your suggestion at all complimentary. Am I to infer that in your
estimation I am blessed with an inordinate amount of leisure time?"

She shrugged her shoulders with wrathful impatience; he was a bigger
baby than she had thought. "That was gratuitous," she said, with a fine
show of indignation; "and you are not at all nice when you are
insolent." To her disgust he chuckled audibly, leaning over his pommel
in simulated humility.

"Lesson number three. I'm getting that 'liberal education' fast," he
murmured; "by and by I'll know enough to put into a book."

For the life of her she could not resist the temptation. "If you do,
don't write it in verse."

Instantly she regretted her temerity. "There are so few people who write
verse acceptably," she explained hurriedly, "and there are too many
ambitious things that die 'abornin',' as Abbie would say, from that very
reason. Prose has much more potentiality and is more acceptable to the
masses. Of course"--the tone was that of innocence personified--"if you
can do verse, that would be another matter. The essential thing is that
you do write the book. Will you? Please."

The voice was almost tenderly imploring; his brow cleared. He was almost
ashamed of his momentary distrust of her. In polite society people do
not read private documents; evidently this young woman had come
dangerously close to his rash misjudgment and he was properly penitent.

Still he was tormented by an insistent doubt. Why had she particularized
that first page of memoranda? With a fatuous attempt at diplomacy he put
his foot into it.

"Why should you assume so flatteringly that I have any literary
ability?" He thought the question almost Machiavelian in its adroitness.

She had her cue, now. "Well, your aptness at quotation from obscure
sources presupposes a wide range of reading, a retentive memory, and a
love for literature. Then, again, you have rare constructiveness
and--and--" her simulation of modest distress would have deceived even a
wiser man--"a horribly clever knack of impromptu rhyme, as I have
regretful reasons for knowing."

Poor Machiavelli! He was at her feet figuratively in an instant. "That
Buffo business! It was abominable of me! Don't judge me by a thing like
that. I can do better things. Will you let bygones be bygones, if I
plead guilty to the gentle impeachment and promise to let you criticise
my future efforts?"

She took his extended hand frankly. "Everything begins right here." She
gave thanks for a timely cloud's momentary obscuration of the moon as he
laid his lips on the tiny gauntlet. Then she impulsively urged her horse
into a gallop, and before the moon had emerged from behind the cloud,
they had crossed the ridge and the ranch lights twinkled in view though
still a good five miles away.

Up on the hillside above, behind a bowlder which commanded in easy range
the point where their compact had been sealed, a man lay fumbling a
rifle and fluently cursing the cloud which had so inopportunely spoiled
his aim. His vicious face was distorted with rage and fury, his mouth
foaming with passion.

"Damn you," he raved, shaking his clenched fist at the offending white
billow; "I'd got him if you had waited a second longer or crossed a
second sooner. Everything goes against me, and he's got all the luck.
I'll get him yet." And with hideous blasphemies trickling from his thick
lips, he again shook his fist impotently at the derisively smiling face
of the moon and slunk away to the horse tied in the shadows behind him.

In blissful ignorance of that narrowly averted calamity, the pair on the
other side of the ridge rode silently along in the restored moonlight.
The woman was very happy and loth to break the spell; the man whirling
in the maelstrom of a jumbled introspection. The victim of strongly
opposed currents, he drifted aimlessly in the sea of troubled thought,
seeing no shore and seeking none. Content to leave much to Chance and
more to Opportunity, he had hitherto let his destiny shape itself,
satisfied with merely aiding fate to the best of his physical ability as
the occasion offered; but now he was conscious of a growing incitement
to dictate his own future. The temptation to try and dominate things
was very strong. He had compelled the smaller ones to come his way when
he had so chosen, why not the greater ones. He glanced covertly at the
woman riding by his side; in the soft moonlight she was very fair.

It was she who first broke the silence, her words unconsciously
pandering to his suddenly-formed resolution.

"How splendidly you ride, Mr. Douglass!" Her admiration was frank and
sincere. "You have that horse under perfect control, and yet, if I am
not mistaken, he is the worst of the three 'outlaws' which all the other
boys have declared unridable. Abbie told me this morning that everybody
is afraid of them."

"Abbie tells you a great many funny things, I reckon," he said, with an
evasive grin, and she laughed reminiscently. "Well, old Highball here
isn't just what you might call love-inspiring, and the boys have kind o'
passed him up; they have too many other good gentle horses in their
strings to justify my letting them take any chances. But as to their
being 'afraid' of him, why that's all bosh. Cowpunchers who are afraid
of any horse don't hold their jobs long, Miss Carter."

"Yet you, yourself, take the very chances that you shield your men
from." The tone was severe and distinctly reproachful, albeit her heart
beat with an understanding pride. He shrugged his shoulders
deprecatingly.

"Well, the brutes have got to earn their keep, and hay is high this
year."

"Yes, about two inches, on that part of the public domain where this
particular brute ranges," she said scornfully. "He has not been in the
corrals for over two years, as I happen to know. I believe you overheard
what Abbie said, and are riding him out of sheer perversity. You don't
like to be thought afraid, do you?"

"No, ma'am," he said, so humbly that she laughed despite her resolve.
Then, with a sudden burst of confidence, "You see, he threw me last week
and kind o' upset my conceit, and it's been on my conscience ever since.
We just had to come to some definite conclusion as to who is bossing
this job. He's going to be a good horse now."

"Now, as to hating being thought afraid," he went on after a short
silence, "I guess every man thinks that way. And yet there is something
that every man fears, that he is more or less afraid of, if he is only
honest enough to admit it."

"And what are you afraid of?" There was much of incredulity and more of
curiosity in her audacious question.

"Myself." He answered quietly; she was very sorry she had asked.

Just as they reached the main gate they were joined by Red McVey; who
rode up from the opposite direction. He was riding another of the
"outlaws" and Douglass noted that fact with a certain displeasure; his
orders had been explicit about those horses. Red nonchalantly drawled an
explanation:

"We didn't expect yuh back to-night; Miss Willi'ms said yuh would stay
oveh in Tin Cup. Bud Vaughan was oveh to-day and said as how Miss
Nellie was sick, so Miss Willi'ms allows she'd go oveh an' sit with her
to-night. I'll tell yuh about the hoss lateh," he concluded in an
undertone to Douglass, whose look of keen inquiry changed to one of
concern at Grace's irrepressible exclamation.

"What is it?" His words were sharp and imperative. She was pale, but
perfectly composed. Then, for the first time in her life she
deliberately lied: "The horse crushed my hand against the gate; a mere
trifle, but it startled me."

"What are we going to do for something to eat?" she said in pretended
dismay. "I'm as hungry as a--a--"

"Tom-tit?" suggested Red drolly; she had, much to his abashment, once
caught him feeding one with crumbs of cake, embellishing his service
with profanely quaint ejaculations of delight.

"As a wolf," she averred decidedly, "and I haven't tried to cook since I
was a little girl."

"Oh, that'll be all right," said Douglass cheerfully. "Red, here, is a
wonder at making angel cake, and I can boil water without burning it, at
a pinch. If you can stand camp chuck for once we'll make out to take the
wire edge off your appetite, anyway."

"Oh, I've et," said Red hurriedly, the reference to that angel cake
filling him with apprehension. "Had supper oveh to Vaughan's. You two go
to wras'lin' yuh grub an' I'll take keer o' yuah hosses."

"Doan't yuh let him scoach thet wateh, Miss Cahteh," he volleyed as he
retreated in good order, much relieved at his narrow escape. "He's a
powahful wahm baby."

While she was changing her dress, Douglass got a fire going in the big
Charter Oak stove and filled the kettle with fresh water from the
spring. He brought over from the meat dive a generously big and tender
steak and fossicked about in the pantry until he found the egg basket.
There were a couple of tempting broilers lying on a platter, but he
concluded that Abbie had prepared these with a view to Miss Carter's
breakfast. He was grinding the coffee when she came in and she sniffed
the grateful aroma rapturously.

She was very simply attired in a loose-fitting white dress with short
sleeves, and about her slender waist was tied one of Abbie's huge
gingham aprons. Her riding Hessians had been replaced with a pair of
diminutive sandals which made a clicking little patter as she walked. He
had unconsciously rolled up his sleeves, camp-cook fashion, the better
to mix and mold the biscuit he contemplated making; the sight of her
bare arms reminded him of his own and he hurriedly lowered the sleeves
and began fumbling at the buttons. She came forward quickly and checked
him with a pretty gesture.

"Put them up again! Men always work better with their sleeves rolled up,
I have noticed, and all good cooks have them so. That's why I am wearing
this waist; I am going to help." She looked complacently at her round,
dimpled arms, then at the corded brawn of his. An irresistible impulse
sent her close to his side. "Why," she said, with a fine assumption of
wonder at the portentous discovery, "my arms are tanned as brown as
yours." And she coquettishly held hers so close to his in comparison
that they momentarily touched.

Through his veins there leaped a sudden fire as though his blood had
turned to molten lava; he trembled. Stricken with a sudden terror she
shrank away slightly, but her eyes never left his. The man was trying
for self-control, and she wisely waited. The best time to play with fire
is not when the coals are hottest.

"You, too, hate to be thought afraid." It was hardly more than a
whisper. "And your arms are very beautiful." Holding her wrists very
carefully, yet with a grip of steel, he bent forward and deliberately
kissed each arm in the dimpling hollows. Then he gently released them,
and turned once more to his coffee grinding.

So wise a man as Solomon declared, centuries ago, that the way of a man
with a maid was beyond even his great understanding; but the composite
intelligence of all the wise men that ever were or ever will be created
cannot elucidate the greater mystery of the ways of a maid with a man.
By all accepted rules and conventions, Miss Carter should have
ostentatiously wiped her arms with a lace handkerchief, extravagantly
casting it aside later with an air of loathing and disgust, and stalked
out of the room with superior dignity without deigning him even a
contemptuous glance. She did nothing of the kind. She merely laughed, a
silvery, tinkling, infectious little ripple whose contagion was
irresistible, and at his responsive grin the atmosphere cleared
instantly.

Her eyes fell upon the basket of eggs and she had a sudden inspiration:
"I am going to make waffles. Now if we could only achieve the regulation
fried chicken to go with it we should dine ideally."

"There are two in the pantry, ready to your hand," he replied eagerly.
She ran out excitedly, as if to verify the good news; but once in the
seclusion of the pantry her interest in the broilers moderated
unaccountably. She seemed more concerned with the hollows of her arms
and in her rapt inspection of them held them singularly close to her
face. Her cheeks were engagingly flushed and her lips moist when she
bore the fowls into the kitchen.

Douglass was inclined to be patronizing as she sat about her
waffle-building; what could this pampered society pet possibly know
about the plebeian craft of cookery? But his indulgence quickly changed
to surprised admiration as he watched her deft manipulations.

"How long has it been since you were a little girl?" She smiled her
quick delight at the implied compliment. "Oh, waffles are easy; Dad
always insisted on my making them for him and I had considerable
experience, and one does not exactly forget little things like that. How
long has it been since you were a little boy?"

"I am one to-night," he averred, dextrously filching the first
golden-brown disc as she laid it on the plate; as he danced about
trying to bolt the hot dainty she rapped him on the head reprovingly
with the huge spoon and they laughed with all the light-heartedness of
the foolish children they really were.

It was a memorable meal that they finally sat down to, and neither of
them ever forgot it. Sitting opposite to her in that comfortable old
kitchen--he had begged the privilege of eating there instead of in the
more formal dining-room--the man's heart was filling with a subtle
consciousness that it would be very pleasant to have her sit so always
throughout the days to come. It came to him with a certain shock,
nevertheless; in all his former associations with women, his emotions
had been of a distinctly different nature, and somehow the recollection
of them was not pleasing. He even felt a certain angry resentment of the
insidious charm of the comforting domesticity of his surroundings. What
right had an indigent pauper of a cowpuncher to aspire to a heaven like
this? It was only to her natural gentleness, her inherent graciousness,
possibly only to a passing indulgent whim, that he was indebted for the
favor she was showing. What had he, who would be penniless in another
month--for he still stubbornly adhered to his determination to recoup
his employer--to offer the mistress of the C Bar with its broad acres
and "cattle on a thousand hills"? All incredible as it may seem he
actually forgot for the moment that he had, unreproved, kissed her arms
a short half-hour before. It simply strengthened his resolution to get
away from an environment provocative of such disturbing reflections.

The woman was thinking how big and brave and strong he was, and how
integral a part of--how entirely he belonged in the plan of her
cogitations. She could imagine him always sitting there, a bulwark
between her and the evils of life, and she was very happy. She realized
how it would take time and diplomacy to leash this untamed tiger, to
bring into leading-strings this unbound Sampson who foolishly deemed
that the sum of Life was Delilah; but she was the daughter of "the
bravest man God ever made," and this was her Man. She knew it now beyond
the peradventure of a doubt, and looking at him as he sat there in all
his manly beauty, she thanked God for it.

His hand, outstretched toward the waffles, encountered hers, and he
paled.

It was very still and quiet in the room; even the little alarm clock on
the mantelpiece, unwound for once, lacking Abbie's careful hand, was
silent. He arose with cruel deliberation and walked around the table
toward her; she met him half way, all composure now, her hand extended.
The antelope kid, with a comical yawn, came and stood between them.

"I am so grateful for your many kindnesses to me to-day," she said
steadily, her eyes calm and unwavering. "I am more fatigued than I
thought. Good night--and pleasant dreams."

The kid butted him playfully as though to recall him to earth again; he
had stood such an unconscionable time holding her hand. The woman smiled
on him kindly again, and instantly he relinquished it.

"Good night," he said dully, his face the color of copper. He went to
the sofa where he had left his hat and holster and fumbled a while
uncertainly. He took up the Stetson, leaving the weapon untouched. At
the door he turned mechanically.

"Good night," he mumbled; "good night. And may you have no dreams at
all."

The antelope butted him again, scornfully, as he passed out.

Grace Carter stood for a moment in silent meditation. Then she went to
the sofa and drew the Colt from its sheath. With the weapon in her hand
she extinguished the light and went into her bedroom, locking the door
behind her.

When she had finished disrobing she laid the weapon on her reading stand
within reach of her hand when abed. For a while she lay very quiet,
open-eyed; then she arose, unlocked her door and replaced the revolver
in its sheath, leaving both lying where he had tossed them.

Over at the bunkhouse Douglass stood glaring at the imperturbable Red.
"I thought," said he ominously, "that my orders were that nobody should
ride those outlaws."

McVey, having finished the cigarette he was rolling, gave it a final
lick with his tongue, twisted the ends adroitly, struck a match, and
between tentative puffs, remarked:

"When they's nothing left in thu corral but one hoss I reckon it's ride
thet er go afoot. When I got back from Vaughan's this evenin' I found
thu pastur' bars down an' everything stompeded but thet buckskin
outlaw. Reckon he were too or'nary to trail with thu bunch an' cut
hisself out; ketched him in thu cow paddock."

Douglass carefully selected a cigarette paper and reached for the
tobacco pouch. The hand that held the lighting match was very steady.

"How do you size it up, Red?"

"Matlock," said the other, tersely. "Thu bars were not only down, but
dragged away more'n a rod. It were one man thet done it--his hoss shod
all around 'ceptin' left hind foot. 'Twere too dark to track after I
lost him in thu timber, but the whole cavvy is scattered to hell an'
gone. Say, Ken, I'm goin' to rue back on that promise; an' I don't see
as it's eggsactly fair on the other boys, either. S'posen sum of us was
to meet up with that skunk accidental: are we to let him slip jest
because yuh don't happen to be cavortin' around conteegious? I, fer one,
_won't_, an' right here I gives yuh notice."

"Besides," he drawled softly, "I've got a privut grutch agin him of my
own, an' I'm goin' to beat yuh to it if I kin."

The other shook his head deprecatingly. "Don't do anything rash, Red. I
preëmpted that right first. And my claim's been bearing interest ever
since."



CHAPTER IX

IN PART PAYMENT


The temporary loss of the horses was a twofold source of irritation to
Douglass. They had been gathered with much labor for the forthcoming
round-up and that work would all have to be done over again at quite an
expenditure of time, patience and money; for this he deemed himself also
responsible, and it added materially to the already large pecuniary
obligation which he had assumed.

Then, he also regarded the malicious scattering of his horses as a
stigma on his care and watchfulness of his employer's interests, as well
as a personal affront and challenge to himself. It would be a sorry
reflection on his professional ability, as well as on his courage, and
he writhed in the shock to his really abnormal vanity. By established
code he should have "got" Matlock long ago; and now he would have to
defer the wiping out of that blot on his escutcheon until after the
season's work was over. In the cold fury of his bitter self-revilement,
he actually forgot the woman who had stirred his blood almost as
strongly a short half-hour ago.

The mischief had been made possible only by the fact that the day after
the horse round-up was ended he had indulgently granted a four days'
leave of absence to his entire force, excepting only McVey, who had
professed a lack of interest, to enable them to participate in a roping
and riding tournament over in South Park. His own and Red's temporary
absence to-day had given the perpetrator, of whose identity he had not
even a momentary doubt, the chance to do the contemptible trick, the
undoing of which would take a whole week's furious work with the
entailed strain on both men and horses. His provocation was very great.

The next day, working over the ground, he found the freshly-cast shoe of
the marauder's mount; it was a peculiarly constructed "blind-bar"
affair, and Matlock's horse, his own private property, taken with him
when he left the ranch, had a bad frog on his left hind hoof. His
conviction was made a certainty later when the blacksmith at Gunnison
identified the shoe as one that he had made for and attached to the left
hind foot of the deposed foreman's horse. The chain of evidence was
complete and conclusive.

By a rare bit of good fortune he discovered quite a large band of his
best horses quietly feeding in a little valley some three miles from the
house, and he quickly returned to the ranch, where he discussed with Red
the likelihood of their being able to corral it; it was a big contract
for two men, this particular band being a notoriously wild one and hard
to handle, and now the animals would especially resent a return to
durance vile after their previous week's confinement. But it meant an
indispensable factor to the ultimate recovery of the other horses,
without which, the outfit would be practically afoot. Red was logically
pessimistic.

"Three might do it, but two ain't got any more chanct than a snowball in
hell," was his opinion, and Douglass knew that he was right. It had
taken four of his best riders to turn the trick a week before. But the
other men were absolutely unavailable and long before their earliest
possible return this band of horses would be off to their favorite range
twenty miles or more away.

He determined to take a chance, saying hopefully, "Well, we might be
able to corral a part of them, anyway, and that would give us a few to
work with."

Miss Carter, coming to summon them to breakfast, was made acquainted
with the dilemma. "Can I be of any help?" she asked instantly. "I can
ride fairly well, and under your instructions may really be of some
assistance."

Douglass looked at Red doubtfully, but that worthy was for some
inscrutable reason, enthusiastically sanguine. "Why, shore yuh kin! Yuah
hosses wa'nt done up any to speak of by yuah pasear yiste'day, an' the
buckskin is fresh. That bunch is ourn."

"Oh, I am so glad," she cried eagerly. "I'll be ready before you get
saddled up."

She was flushed with excitement as they slowly cantered out, but paid
careful attention to Douglass's minutely detailed instructions as he
outlined his plan of campaign. Red looking admiringly at her skillful
handling of the rangy roan gelding, the kindling eyes and firmly
compressed lips, decided that she would "make good." He remarked as much
to Douglass, who nodded his conviction and said a word or two of
caution in an undertone:

"If they break back at the corral, see that she isn't in the way of the
big blue; you know his trick. If there should be any danger, shoot quick
and straight."

To Grace he said with frank admonition: "The leader of this bunch is a
big blue stallion which has a nasty habit of whirling about just as he
touches the corral gate; he will run over anything that opposes him when
he breaks back, and if he tries it to-day, ride to one side as fast as
you can. Don't try to stop him in any event. You understand?"

She merely nodded, her lips closing a bit more tightly. Then she smiled
a protest: "Please don't try to 'buffalo' me--I think that is the proper
word?--at the outset. This is my first round-up, you know. I'll 'make
good,' as Mr. McVey said a while ago."

Both men laughed heartily. "Red's whisper is a little stertorous,"
admitted Douglass, "but you remember what I say: fight shy of the blue
if he breaks." Down in his heart he knew that this woman would surely
"make good" in anything she attempted, but nevertheless, he saw to it
that the revolver slid easily and without a hitch in the holster, and
loosened up a few cartridges in his belt. Red had already taken that
precaution.

They circled the bunch without alarming it and with comparative ease
started it corralwards, the leader proving unusually tractable for the
nonce. Her roan was no novice at the business and covered his assigned
arc as gracefully as a swallow, to the great delight of the young woman
who was reveling in the pleasure of a new sensation. She wisely gave the
horse his head, and the intelligent beast repaid her good judgment by
cleverly heading off every straggler who essayed to dodge back to
liberty. She was really proving of decided assistance and Red waved her
a cordial encouragement from the left flank.

The horses were bunched closely together as they neared the corral gate,
the leader trotting easily and with apparently no concern, directly
towards the entrance. He was seemingly resigned to the inevitable and
the riders closed in sharply to urge them through. Grace was much elated
over her successful debut and gave a little exultant shout as the
massive head and shoulders of the blue stallion were momentarily framed
in the opening. She was inclined to be contemptuous of the ease with
which it had been accomplished, and in the relief of the thought dropped
her rein loosely on the roan's neck. At that exact moment the cunning
beast In the gateway whirled like a flash, lowered his head like a
snake, and darted back through the plunging throng which opened before
him as a dry pine butt splits to a stoutly driven wedge.

Owing to the dense smother of dust about the gateway, and the further
fact that the bunch, not missing their leader in its enveloping clouds,
were crowding through the opening into the corral, neither of the men
noted the maneuver of the stallion until he broke out of the press,
heading obliquely to one side, between Douglass and Miss Carter.

Then was she conscious of a hoarse cry that rang like the roar of an
anguished lion above the din of trampling feet:

"To the left! Get out of his way, for Christ's sake! To the left!"

Out of the dust blur, an animated lead-blue bullet, shot the great
stallion, his head held low, his body extended until his stomach brushed
the sagebrush beneath. The roan, taking the bit between his teeth,
turned as on a pivot, almost unseating his rider, and raced undirected
towards the exact point where the escaping animal could be best
intercepted, intent only on the well-understood work which was logically
his duty. It was his business to head off and turn back the fugitive,
and, unchecked by his helpless rider, who clung fearfully to her
saddle-horn in her extremity, he ran the race of his life, putting his
whole heart into the work, her light weight hampering him almost
negligibly.

The point of intersection was at least five hundred yards away, the
horses racing along the converging sides of an obtuse angle, the roan
some hundred yards in the lead; the point of convergence was just below
the brow of a little hill, and the roan, running in open ground, had the
advantage of the blue who was impeded by the thick sagebrush; he gained
rapidly, changing the locus of intersection thereby, and finally swung
at right angles across the stallion's course.

Grace had been vaguely conscious of a crackle of pistol shots and a
confused roar of profanely phrased implorations, but all her energies
were concentrated to the end of keeping her seat on that plunging roan
thunderbolt, whose speed was accelerated by the lashing reins which,
dropping from her nerveless hand, were now flapping against his sides.
Swinging in a beautiful arc of exactly the correct radius, the roan
headed the blue in triumph, his legs stiffening as he crossed the
latter's course, his hoofs tearing up the thin turf in a fifty-foot
furrow as he essayed a turn in order to forestall any side divergence of
the stallion. But the blue streak swerved not one iota.

With ears flattened against his head, eyes green with malignity and
pain, lips curled back and teeth bared to the gums, he charged directly
at the unbalanced roan, squealing fiendishly as he came. The gallant
gelding floundered ineffectually for a footing, fell directly in the
path of the infuriated beast, and threw his rider over his head.

Though dazed by her violent contact with the hard ground, Grace
instinctively struggled to her knees, raising one hand as if to ward off
that impending horror; twenty yards away the thudding hoofs beat on her
ear drums like a funeral knell, her lips parted in a soundless gasp,
then faintly as from a far distance she heard a dull concussion, felt a
crashing blow, and lost consciousness.

When her eyes opened again they were in close juxtaposition to a rough
tan-colored shirt whose coarse fiber rasped her cheek; the whole
universe seemed rocking with a gentle up and down motion as soothing as
the swing of her beloved hammock, but there was a curious numbness
across her chest and lower limbs like that induced by the pressure of
closely-encircling iron bands. Gradually it dawned upon her that she
was in the arms of a man who, carrying her weight with perceptibly no
effort, was running swiftly towards the house. One little shy upward
glance completed her inventory; she deliberately closed her eyes and
cuddled closer, so close that she could distinctly hear and count the
strong heart-beats against her temple. Nor did she open them again until
he had lain her on a sofa in the living room and bent solicitously over
her.

"Thank God!" The relief in his voice was somehow very sweet to her. "I
was afraid--tell me, are you hurt?"

"Only frightened, I think." The tone was effectively languid and
hesitating; she was loth to dissipate the tender concern in his eyes.
"But oh, the horror of it. I can scarcely realize that I am alive. Death
seemed so close." She hid her face, shudderingly. "Was the horse
killed?"

"The blue was," for some reason avoiding her glance, "but the roan is
all right. You had a very close call. Why did you try to head him?"

"Don't scold me, please!" she pleaded. "I could not help it; he bolted
when the other horse broke away and I lost my reins. I had no control
over him, whatever. How did I get here?" The question was a marvel of
innocent nescience. And how could he know that her heart was beating
even more furiously than his as he had held her close for those five
blissful minutes.

"I carried you," he said, simply. "There was no other way. Are you quite
sure that you are not injured? That brute's head was lying on your
shoulder when I picked you up. He must have struck you as he fell."

"I do feel sorely bruised," tentatively rubbing her side, "but I am
certain that is all." She arose and walked lamely across the room in
confirmation, then came back and sat down on the sofa. "How silly of me
to faint! And how kind of you to take such care of me! Was I _very_
heavy?"

"I've carried heavier women," he said, unthinkingly, and could have
bitten his tongue off in instant chagrin at his unfortunate slip. "You
see," he said with forced attempt at humor, "I make a business of
rescuing young damsels in distress and carrying them off to places of
safety."

"Really! How romantic!" hiding her sudden bitter anger under the mask of
persiflage. "I assume they all came through their difficulties as
happily as I?"

"I can't remember any of them dying," he said caustically; then with
deliberate malice: "None of them even pretended to faint."

The evil bolt, although all unwittingly shot, came close home and she
could have struck him in her shame and fury. How much did he know? And
how dared he couple her with those nameless creatures! Taken at a
disadvantage, the retort courteous failed her for once, and she was
devoutly glad for the timely intervention of Red, who thrust his carroty
shock into the door at that moment.

"Miss Cahtah," he said with solemn gravity. "I'm almighty glad yuh ain't
daid!" At her reassuring laugh of relief he added admiringly: "Yuh
suttinly are quick on yuh feets, ma'am! Thet hoss was goin' some when
yuh was standin' on yuah haid!" He had been quick to appreciate the
strain she was laboring under and Red's panacea for any suffering was to
make fun of it. She laughed again, a bit hysterically.

"Did I look particularly ridiculous?"

Red's protest was suspiciously grave: "Ridic'lous! suttinly not, ma'am.
Yuh looked just like a angel, floppin hes wings--upside down."

They all shouted at that, their hilarity exciting the antelope kid into
a rear charge upon Red, who used the incident to cover his retreat. He
turned at the door to impart some good news.

"We've got the whole bunch corralled. Reckon thu shootin' an' yellin'
you done, Ken, scared 'em in. I got thu bars up befoh I missed thu blue;
fact is I didn't see him break, thu dust were so thick."

A minute later he returned with the additional good; tidings that Abbie
was in sight; ten minutes more and he strode into the room, bearing in
his arms a struggling, scratching, scolding burden which he deposited
with much aplomb on the sofa besides Miss Carter.

"Reckon I'm some pumpkins on thu carry, mahself!" he said with much
unction, grinning at the scandalized Abbie, who was quaintly
anathematizing him. "No use yuh yowlin', Miss Abbie. The fashion's been
sot an' yuh cloth is cut. But yuh shore got to gentle up a heap or Ken,
yeah, will hev to do thu totin'."

Quick as a flash the old woman's arms went around Grace and the fair
head was pillowed upon her bosom.

"What is it, honey?" she cooed, gently stroking the silken hair and
entirely ignoring the men. The tensely strung nerves gave way and in the
reaction the tears were softly welling. The two cowpunchers sneaked out
sheepishly and once out of hearing, Red swore wonderingly.

"Well, I'm damned! Never peeped till it was all over with, and then
clapped on the water-works. Wouldn't that bust yuah cinche!"

Douglass smiled but said nothing. Actuated by a common impulse, both men
mounted their horses and rode over to where the blue stallion lay
doubled up in a thickening pool of scarlet. Dismounting, they gave the
dead beast a critical examination.

"Good shootin'!" said Red, touching approvingly six blue-black blots on
the muscular hip that could be covered with the open palm; "but the
range were too far--over two hundred, I reckon--and they had lost their
force. Stern on all thu time, wa'nt he?"

Douglass nodded. "I tried to break his hip but the bullets were spent at
that distance. This is what got him, Red." He touched an oozing puncture
just forward of the shapely shoulder. "Looks like a small caliber high
pressure to me; let's have it out."

Some minutes later both men were bending over a bit of metal lying in
Red's palm. They were very thoughtful and a curious expression was
playing over their faces. "It's a seven millimeter Mauser," said
Douglass, quietly, "and there's only one such gun on this range. It's a
pretty big payment on account, Red!"

McVey's lips hardened but he evaded the other's eye. "Let's get the
direction," he said, "and maybe we can work it out."

In an incredibly short time these experienced frontiersmen had not only
located the spot from which had been fired the shot that undoubtedly
saved Miss Carter's life, but Douglass had as well found the discharged
cartridge shell. It was a seven millimeter Mauser case, and Matlock was
the possessor of the only weapon of the kind on this range! Furthermore,
they found the depressions in the loose soil where he had knelt when
firing the shot. It was a good three hundred yards from where the horse
lay and Red once more said, "Damn good shoot in,' Ken! It's worth
remembering when the time comes. A six-shooter ain't deuce high against
that Dutch joker at long range."

Tracking the shooter's footprints back to the gully oil the other slope
of the hill, they were found to lead to where a horse had been tied. The
horse tracks showed that the beast had cast his left hind shoe!

Back-tracking still farther, they ascertained that the tracks had
proceeded to this spot from an eminence at the head of a wooded coulie
which commanded the valley where the horses had been found. To these men
it was as plain as a printed page that Matlock had followed their
movements unseen, finally establishing his position on the crest of the
little hill where the empty shell was found, a position that commanded
the corral and all the country likely to be traversed by the blue in
his attempt to escape!

"He figgered the blue would break back, and that you would try to turn
him," said Red. "Yuh have had a close call, son!"

"Yet he saved her," said Douglass, steadily. "That's a big payment, Red,
a big payment!"

"Yep!" answered McVey, noncommittally, "but only part payment."



CHAPTER X

THAT WHICH IS CÆSAR'S


The round-up was over, the marketable beef cut out and shipped, and life
at the C Bar had resumed the normality of quiet routine. From now until
spring the ranch labor would be nominal; a few weaklings to be fed and
nurtured through the rigors of winter, a few likely colts to be broken
and "gentled" against the next season's requirements, a few necessary
repairs to equipment and fences, much wood hauling for the long night's
consumption, and an engaging season of rest and recuperation for man and
beast.

All throughout the range there is a general reduction of working forces
at this period, the superfluous men seeking the larger towns for the
commendable purpose of putting into active circulation their season's
hoardings; that they are almost always obsessed with a weird delusion
that somewhere in the gilded halls of Chance the fickle dame Fortune
awaits their coming with a whole cornucopia of royal favors, aces by
preference, only insures the economy of time to that end. For whether
she smile or not, there be always dames and favors of price to reward
the ambitious; and to be lucky in love is even more expensive than to be
unlucky at cards. The process may be conditionally prolonged, but the
final result is always the same. By the time the grass greens again
they have been divested of everything, even of their cares, and are
ready to take up the broken threads of the endless chain that links them
indissolubly to the old traditions.

The C Bar outfit had narrowed down to four men besides Douglass. Red,
Woolly, Punk and a saturnine-faced Texan whose addiction to unique
expletives of an unconventional nature had secured for him the sobriquet
of "Holy Joe." The two latter were detailed to "riding fences" while Red
and Woolly did desultory choring and hauled wood.

Robert Carter had returned for the rodeo and he and Douglass had enjoyed
several hunting trips in company afterward; that is to say, the former
did, Douglass evincing a certain restlessness which he, however,
successfully strove to conceal from the younger man. He was all
impatience for the departure of Carter and his sister, for reasons that
he did not care to share with either, and he felt a positive relief when
the day of their leaving was definitely announced.

Carter had been vainly endeavoring to persuade him to accompany them,
and one night enlisted his sister s influence to that end; her gentle
insistence precipitated Douglass's proffer of repayment of the losses
incurred through Matlock's emity.

"I haven't either the time or means at my disposal for such a junket,"
he said with decision. "I alone am responsible for all the losses
occurring on this ranch of late, and there's just about enough due me on
salary account to square it up. I've got it all figured out here,"
producing a memorandum sheet, "and I think my estimate of the damage is
a fair one; I'd like your approval of it. It leaves a trifle over a
hundred left coming to me and I've got other and more urgent uses for
it. Besides, I've got work to do that can't be postponed."

Carter heard him in open-mouthed amazement, his astonishment changing
first to amusement, then to indignation as he gathered the drift of
Douglass's intent. Grace, suddenly comprehending many things previously
only hinted at, looked genuinely distressed and tapped nervously on the
carpet with her sandaled foot.

"Why, man, you're crazy!" shouted Carter. "Do you think for a moment
that I will permit you to even contemplate such an absurdity?"

"Pardon me," said Douglass, suavely; "the question of your permit does
not enter into the matter at all; and I've done all the thinking
necessary. I have had it under contemplation for a long time. This
business is going to be settled right here and now!" There was no
mistaking his determination and Carter was dumb-foundered.

"But--" he stammered, protestingly, "the thing is utterly inconceivable!
I could not even momentarily entertain such a preposterous proposal.
Why, supposing for argument's sake, that Matlock's private animosity to
you in person had brought this about, how does that inculpate you? And
if it did, do you think I would stand for your only taking a paltry
hundred dollars for a whole season's hard work, the best work ever done
on this range? Nonsense, old fellow; you've got another think coming!"

"Well, I'm thinking that a hundred odd is just what's coming to me, and
just what I'm going to get!" said Douglass, obstinately. "It'll be
plenty for what I am going to do with it."

Carter sprang up, stormily: "Don't be any more of an ass than God
intended you to be. Quixotism went out centuries ago. You're going to
get what's actually due you!"

"And that is a hundred odd, I believe you make it, Mr. Douglass?"
interrupted Grace, evenly, with a look of imperious warning at her
brother. "Can't you see, dear, that he is right! Now no more petty
bickering between you two foolish boys. Don't look so desolated, Bobbie;
Mr. Douglass does not intend this as a preamble to his resignation; he
is not going to leave us. There are no quitters on the C Bar."

"Let me write the check," she continued, in hasty trepidation, not
daring to look at the man she had so audaciously preëmpted to their
service. "Not a word, leave it to me!" she whispered tensely to her
brother, whose lips were again opening in protest. "For heaven's sake,
don't spoil it all!"

As she dipped the pen in the ink she hesitated: "Your given name, Mr.
Douglass? I have never learned it in full."

"Kenneth--Kenneth Malcolm," he said shortly. She bit her lip as she
wrote hurriedly; he was so deliciously pompous!

"And the exact amount?" He handed her the memorandum. "One hundred and
six dollars. Please approve this, Bobbie." She extended the paper to
her brother, pinching him viciously under the table as he hesitated.
"Quick!" she breathed, almost hissingly, and he scrawled the necessary
endorsement. Then she wrote the amount in the body of the check. Carter
signed it wrathfully, and she tendered it to Douglass with a smile.

"There! Now you are square with the world," she said, facetiously, but
her lips were tremulous with anxiety; he had been so distressingly
noncommittal as to that resignation!

"Not exactly with the whole world!" he said, grimly. "I've got a few
other trifling obligations to discharge before I can subscribe to that
flattering assumption."

"Don't think me ungrateful for your kindness," he continued, earnestly.
"I appreciate your invitation more than you know; but you see, this
would not go very far in luxurious old New York. It wouldn't more than
hardly pay my fare there, and really my presence here is imperative for
some indefinite time. I had no intention of resigning, but I am going to
ask the favor of a month's leave of absence. McVey is perfectly
competent to handle the outfit until my return."

"Take two months if you like," said Carter, cordially. "And while I am
not at all easy in mind about that money business, I respect your wishes
in the matter and we will consider that over and done with. But I insist
on your being our guest at the old home next year. I have your
promise?"

Douglass hesitated. "A great deal can happen in a year," he said,
quietly; "but if I am alive and other conditions serve I shall be
delighted."

Bobbie's manner was not quite so genial and complaisant to his sister
when they were again alone: "See here, sis, what the devil--!"

"For shame, Bobbie!" she said, with laughing remonstrance, stopping
further utterance with her soft palm. "Swearing isn't at all becoming to
small boys. You are contracting very bad local habits." But she
vouchsafed him no explanation whatever, merely rumpling his hair over
his eyes and kissing him on the tip of his nose.

The day of their departure Douglass accompanied them as far as Tin Cup,
where they would take the stage for Alpine. He was all cordiality to
Carter and deference to Grace, showing at his best all throughout the
pleasant ride. As she laid her hand in his at parting her eyes were full
of wistful entreaty:

"Be good to Buffo and my roan, and very, very good to yourself! I am
coming back in the spring and so will say _auf wiedersehen_, not
good-by. You will write me occasionally? It will be manna to me until I
can get back to 'God's country' again!"

His face brightened approvingly; "I like that! It is 'God's country,'
surely, even though abandoned for a space by its brightest angel. Come
back to us soon!"

"That was very sweet of you, and I am going to take it at full face
value," she said, steadily. "That is the first compliment you have ever
paid me and I am commensurably proud. But do you know"--her lips were
very close to his ear--"it seems funny somehow! I had rather--oh, dear!
I really can't help it!--but couldn't you manage to swear at me a
little, Ken!" Her face was a vivid scarlet and she laughed a little
hysterically. Before he had recovered from his astonishment she was in
the arms of Abbie, who, attended by Red, had just driven up in the
buckboard with the luggage.

She persistently avoided his eyes as she shook hands with Red. "Mr.
McVey," she said, laughingly, "we have so over-burdened Mr. Douglass
with responsibility for innumerable things that he won't have time to
take care of himself; will you kindly look after him for us?"

Red's jaws closed spasmodically at the appeal underlying her forced
levity; his grasp tightened ever so little but of other sign he was
guiltless. Then he turned and looked at Douglass with preternatural
gravity:

"I'm shore honahed, Miss Grace, with yuah commission! Yuh leave it to
me! I'll see he gits he's milk regulah an' goes to hes leetle baid at
seven every night. On yuah return I'll hand him oveh to you all wropped
up in cotton bats, tied with pink ribbon like thet about yuah naick,
thet is, purvidin' I kin rustle thu ribbon."

His meaning was unmistakable, and though blushing at his audacity, Grace
took up the gage. Deliberately unclasping the tiny golden heart, which
held the narrow band in place, she made a dainty little roll of the
silk, fastened the end with the jewel and laid it in Red's bronze paw.
Douglass, watching the little by-play with a curious interest, wondered
at the quiver in that iron fist which could hold the weight of a heavy
Colt's .45 with never a tremor.

Among the mail handed him later by old Hank was an official-looking
document dated Denver. It was from the office of the State Registrar of
brands and was almost laconic in its brevity:

"The brand O-O (left side); earmarks, square crop right, underbit left;
is registered in the name of Bartholomew Coogan. He claims residence at
Gunnison, and range in Gunnison County from Texas Creek to Quartz Creek.
Date of record May 1st, 1898."

He reread the letter three times with exceeding care, his eyes narrowing
to mere slits, then thrust it into an inner pocket. He was very
thoughtful on the homeward ride, his preoccupied air at the supper table
emboldening Punk to irreverent levity:

"These yeah partin's are shore deespiritin' things!" he observed,
lugubriously, to nobody in particular. "I don't wonder none thet gloom
has settled in one great gob oveh thu achin' souls of this yeah outfit.
Why, I'm so sad, mahself, thet I kin hawdly eat pie!" Nevertheless he
cast avaricious glances at Douglass's portion of that comestible and
later took advantage of his abstraction to filch the savory morsel.

"Yuh'll be sum sadder if yuh don't keep yuah hooks on yuah side of the
table!" warned Red, sinisterly, as he successfully repelled a similar
assault on his own reserves. "Yuh moon-faced pie-eater, what yuh got to
be sad about 'ceptin' thet yuh are alive?"

"Why," said Woolly, with well-feigned sympathy, "don't yuh know thet
Punk's hed a great sorrer? He's been yirrigatin' the hull dum ranch with
hes tears ontil yuh-ve gotter wear gum butes to git around in! Why, he's
weeped so hawd thet hes years has got washed clean for oncet!"

Holy chortled in blasphemous delight as Woolly went on: "Punk's been lef
stranded on thu shoals o' woe. He's stah o' happiness is sot 'an' thu
mune o' he's desiah won't rise no moah! Thu light has gone outen he's
young life an' he's tooken to writin' potery an' herdin' by hisself. He
was tooken thet way early this mawnin' an' hes mizzery hes been suthin'
scand'lous. He's made up a leetle pome all outen hes own haid thet would
make a Ute cry. Speak it for us, Punk, won't yuh!"

Punk sighed dolorously and rested his head on his bowed arms. Then he
raised it again and with a comical imitation of Douglass's abstraction
looked into vacancy. Holy was gurgling ecstatically, his delight finding
vent in a yell of irrepressible joy as Punk fumbled twistingly with his
bare upper lip in emulation of Douglass's impatient twirls of his
mustache.

His wandering thoughts recalled by that raucous guffaw, Douglass glared
with cold disfavor at the twain, somehow realizing that he was more or
less concerned in their horse-play. "What's the matter with you damn
fools?" he asked, incautiously.

Punk looked at him in anguished protestation, shook his head in hopeless
despondency and wailed:

"Oh! Gawd--haow _kin_ I stand it? Haow kin I?"

Woolly looked at Douglass reproachfully. "To be sworn at in thet
heartless way, an' him so young and gentle!" He put his arm
sympathetically about Punk's shoulders; Red's eyes were twinkling in
anticipation.

"Thar! thar! ole man! Don't yuh take it so hawd."

Punk laid his head wearily on Woolly's breast. Then as Holy and Red
almost cried in their hilarity, he clasped his hands and crooned with
heart-rending pathos:

    "'Tis sweet tu love--
    But oh! haow bitter
    To hev yuh gyurl
    Git up an' flit-ter!"

Douglass swore softly under his breath; then he looked meaningly at Red
and touched his throat carelessly. Red sobered instantly and felt of
something in the breast pocket of his shirt. His own fences were a
trifle shaky and the temper of this particular colt was proverbially
short and uncertain. He rose and went over to the water pail on the
bench behind Woolly as if to get a drink, turning with a world of
compassion in his eyes as Punk gasped faintly and sank back in Woolly's
arms.

Instantly he was beside the twain, a huge dipper full of water in his
hand. "Don't let him faint! don't yuh now, Woolly!" he yelled, in mock
consternation. "Heah, put this on hes pore brow!" and he deliberately
poured a quart of ice water down Punk's neck. The effect was as
remarkable as it was instantaneous.

Punk's head flew up spasmodically, catching Woolly's nose with a force
that tilted that worthy's chair backwards and sent them to the floor
locked in each other's arms. Tangled up with their chairs, the impact
was attended with such a series of excruciating bruises that both men
lashed out retaliatingly and in a second they were fighting like wolves.
Holy, leaning up against the wall for support, was convulsed with
ecstasy: "Bite him in thu flank, Woolly! Pull hes ha'r out, Punk! Oh!
Gawd! Let me die now!"

In the midst of the amenities entered Abbie with eyes aflame, a mopstick
in her hand. Without hesitation, she impartially belabored both the
combatants, calling frantically on Douglass and Red for aid. When their
combined efforts had finally pried the two men apart she turned
witheringly upon Douglass and lashed him with her scorn.

"A fine boss yuh be to let these coyotes tear each other to pieces! Ef
yuh cain't manage men any bettah than thet yuh bettah take yuh lettle
pen an' write potery fer a livin'. Maybe yuh'd git yuh name in thu
papehs that way!" Then she stopped suddenly, the flood of invective
dying on her tongue. The man's face was a livid gray, the teeth showing
blue through the thin white lips. She quailed before the unlovable smile
that distorted his mouth as he bowed ironically to her and went silently
out.

"What hev I done wrong, now?" she muttered, speculatively. "He seemed
touched on thu raw!" Her thrust had been a random one and entirely
without malice or specific reference; Abbie merely had a wholesome
contempt for rhymes and rhymsters in general and had inadvertently
exercised that contempt in lieu of other more opprobious taunt. But this
Douglass did not know; he leaped, instead, to a different and altogether
unworthy conclusion, one that sickened him to the depths of his strong
being and ultimately brought much unnecessary pain to another heart.

And yet, as he walked into the bunkhouse a few minutes later, no one
looking at the outward impassiveness of that calm face would have even
the remotest suspicion of the hell of resentful anger and outraged
vanity burning in his heart. His lip even twitched with indulgent
amusement as he watched Woolly and Punk solicitously binding up each
other's wounds, each with a studiously exaggerated commiseration of the
other's disfiguration.

"Gawd! Woolly, but yuh shore was playin' in luck when my haid hit yuh
beak 'stead o' my fist!" Punk said, comfortingly, wiping that
ensanguined member with a bit of wet burlap. Woolly grinned
acquiescently:

"Thet's so, Punk, thet's so! It were shore consid'rit o' yuh to jab me
with the softest thing yuh had. Ef yuh'll put a leetle skunk-oil on thet
chawed year o' yourn I guess it'll grow out again', er I kin eat off thu
otheh one to match it. Honest, son, I didn't aim to chaw off more'n a
foot, but my jaw slipped."

"Thet must hev been when I swatted yuh against thu table laig," said
Punk, regretfully. "Yuh know Ken has giv ordahs to kill everything with
thu lumpy jaw, an' yuh mug is shore a heap outer place. Does yuh teeths
track all right, old man?" The anxiety in his voice was very touching.

"They've kissed an' made up," explained Holy to Douglass, with
blood-curdling expletiveness. "Ain't they jest thu two mos' lovin'
waddies yuh eveh see?"

"When you two fellows get done monkeying with each other," said
Douglass, impatiently, "I have something to tell you." Something in his
tone enlisted their immediate attention. Red looked at him
inquisitively.

"It was only a bit of harmless hoss-play," he mumbled, apologetically.
"They didn't mean nuthin'." Douglass nodded indifferently. He had
already forgotten the incident in the consideration of more serious
things.

He took out of his pocket the letter he had that day received from
Denver. "It's from the brand Registrar's office," he said, shortly. "I
guess it clears up the mystery about that O Bar O brand." He read it
with slow deliberation and at the mention of Coogan's name they
exchanged meaning glances. Red whistled significantly. "Big Bart, eh!"
The others said never a word.

Douglass meditatively took out of his vest pocket a broad-leaded
indelible pencil with which he traced upon the margin of a newspaper the
characters which composed the Carter brand: "C--." As the others watched
him in silence he retraced them, closing up the ends of the first
character and adding another after the second. As amended the brand was
"O-O." There was no need of comment, for every man knew what his action
implied.

In the midst of an impressive silence he rolled and lighted a cigarette;
then he rose and strolled over to the fireplace, resting his arm on the
mantel shelf. Red waited expectantly but there was visible discomfort in
the uneasy demeanor of the other three men.

"Boys," said Douglass, slowly but with incisive distinctness. "When I
took charge here I was under the impression that the O Bar O brand was
owned by a man in Middle Park named Wistar, a friend of Mr. Carter's. I
was even so assured by two of the men most trusted by Mr. Carter--I
think you know to whom I refer--as well as by Mr. Carter himself, who
was evidently misinformed. I have reason to believe that every man of
this outfit, except McVey, knew differently, but I have no intention of
asking any embarrassing questions. I want to say, however, that I am
satisfied that since I came to the C Bar none of our old cattle have
been absorbed by the O Bar O.

"But our tally sheets for the three previous years show a strange
discrepancy with our present bunch; we are shy about five hundred head
of cows, and our increase has fallen off unaccountably. And in this
year's round-up I noticed a great many motherless calves and yearlings
in the O Bar O brand. As a matter of curiosity I took a chance and
killed a few of them, and here are the hides." He walked over to his
bunk and took from underneath it three partly dried skins which he
spread flesh side uppermost on the floor. To their experienced eyes
it was plainly evident that the animals had been rebranded, the
differently healed scars showing very plainly that the brands were
originally C-- afterwards altered to O-O.

"Every man in this room knows what this means; and every man also is
aware that Mr. Matlock and Mr. Coogan always have been on terms of
closest intimacy, it being the general impression that they are partners
in several enterprises. Now, boys, I respect a man who keeps his own
counsel at all times, and I am aware that when a fellow wants to know
anything he is expected to find it out for himself. Well, I have been
finding out enough to warrant my keeping you men on this job. I am sure
that you are all right. But the fellows I let out this fall won't come
back. I am going to see that there are a few more C Bar calves on the
range this year, and a few less O Bar O's. If I had been reasonably sure
of my premises before, the thing would have been straightened up long
ago; but as I am going to acquire the O Bar O brand myself in a few
days, it won't make any difference, as we will vent the brand and put
the cattle under it back where they belong, in the C Bar."

"One thing more," he continued dispassionately; "I expect every man who
works for this outfit to play the limit in his employer's interest. I
have set aside two thousand dollars out of our last sales to be used to
defend any man who finds it necessary to shoot up a few of the skunks
that are looting this range. I believe that you are all dependable men,
and your wages will be raised twenty-five per cent, after the first of
the month. McVey will act as assistant foreman, and you will take orders
from him. I think that's all," he said with a yawn, "except that Red
and I are going to Gunnison in the morning. You fellows keep tabs till
we get back; we'll be gone about five or six days."

He filled his pipe, a sure indication that he contemplated an extended
stroll, and scooped up a hot coal from the fireplace; at the door he
turned for a final word: "We will take those hides with us."

After he had gone the men sat for a long time in silence. Then Holy
swore enthusiastically: "By Gawd! fellers, that's a man!" Woolly felt of
his swollen jaw tenderly and turned in pretended amazement: "Why, was
yuh thinkin' he was a woman?"

Punk ceased operations on his cigarette and stared meditatively into the
fire. "Wonder haow he's goin' to ack-kwire that brand? Trade those hides
fer it, mebbe."

But Red McVey for once was silent. Going to his warbag he took therefrom
his spare gun; it had a soft leather scabbard of the kind designed for
wearing inside the coat under the left armpit. Very carefully he cleaned
and recleaned the already speckless weapon and oiled it anew; he then
bestowed a similar attention on the Colts in his belt, and filled both
bandolier and belt with fresh cartridges from an unbroken box. Of the
hides he made a neat package that would "ride" well on a pack-saddle.
Then he took down his guitar and a moment later the night was vocal with
the strains of "The Spanish Cavalier."

When his pipe was empty, Douglass went up to the office to write a
letter. The rapidity with which he wrote showed that he had perfectly
rehearsed its text. It was addressed to Robert Carter at his New York
residence:

     "DEAR MR. CARTER:--

     "I have just proved to my entire satisfaction that you have been
     systematically robbed by Matlock and certain of his confederates in
     your employ, for the past three years. The proof is indisputable
     and I am going to secure restitution if I can. By the time you
     receive this the matter will be definitely settled one way or the
     other.

     "The O-O brand is not owned, as you suppose, by Mr. Wistar, but by
     a side partner of Matlock's named Coogan, a saloon keeper and
     tin-horned gambler in Gunniston. Their game has been to not only
     alter your C-- into O-O, but to have your own men, confederates of
     Matlock's and working under his directions, brand your calves in
     that brand, killing the mothers when necessary. I figure that your
     losses have been at least one thousand head. I have discharged
     every man implicated or under reasonable suspicion, retaining only
     four whom I deem dependable. I did not acquaint you of these facts
     before your departure for reasons that do not matter.

     "Should I be fortunate in my endeavor I will report promptly.
     Should you not hear from me within the next two weeks you may
     assume that my attempt has been unsuccessful. In the latter event
     you had better place the matter in the hands of competent counsel;
     sufficient proofs can be easily supplied by the men now in your
     employ, and an examination of young cattle in the O-O brands will
     give you sufficient evidence for an action for damages."

On another sheet he wrote:

     "In case of my death from any cause, I hereby direct that all my
     effects be given to Red McVey if he be alive; if he be not, then it
     is my wish that they be divided among the other three boys employed
     at the time of this writing on the C Bar ranch."

     "BREWSTER."

He signed and sealed them in separate envelopes, directing both to
Robert Carter. Then he entrusted them to Abbie with the request that she
have the former mailed at once to New York, but to retain the latter
for two weeks before mailing. He was very explicit in his instructions
and enjoined her to carry them out in every particular. She was inclined
to ask questions but he calmly ignored them and went off to bed, after
informing her that he wanted breakfast at daybreak in the morning.

As he entered the bunkhouse the measured breaths from each bed were
those of placidly sleeping men and he undressed in the dark so as not to
disturb them. A single ray of moonlight lay across the room, hitting
squarely the peg in the post above Red's bunk. It lit up the two
revolvers hanging in their scabbards and Douglass smiled almost
affectionately in the direction of their owner. When Red "packed" that
extra gun he was enlisted for the whole war.

He went over and looked down kindly upon the stalwart sleeper. In the
relaxation of sleep the stern face was gentle and almost handsome. Was
he justified in taking this comely young fellow into the grim
uncertainty that lay ahead, into the jaws of the specter grinning
waitingly behind the red lights of Bart Coogan's gambling hell at
Gunnison? As he hesitatingly debated the question in his mind, Red
turned slightly and mumbled in his sleep: "All right, honey--for yuah
sake--"

Douglass, stepping back involuntarily, laid his hand upon the breast of
the shirt hanging under the guns; it encountered something round in the
flannel pocket, and instantly his face hardened. He went over to his own
bunk and laid down.

"You've got to sit in the game, Red, for her sake. We are in the same
boat and we've got to take our medicine. I wonder if she told old Abbie
about that ribbon, too. Well, maybe we'll give her something more to
laugh at before we are through." Then youth and healthful fatigue
asserted itself and he rolled over and went to sleep.



CHAPTER XI

FRENZIED FINANCE


Outside of a fixed determination to compel the restoration of the stolen
cattle, Douglass had no specific plans in mind as they rode away in the
gray dawn. His actions would be determined by the conditions that would
confront him at Gunnison, and he left much to what he deemed his luck,
but which in reality was rather his great capability and aptitude in
moments of crisis.

Of course, he would incidentally kill Matlock if justifying
circumstances permitted, but he was not a killer in cold blood and the
provocation would have to be amply sufficient. He resolved to let
Matlock make the first hostile demonstration, after which matters were a
thing of evolution purely; of the ultimate result he had not the
slightest apprehension.

Every fiber of him was tingling with resentment of what he deemed
Grace's duplicity; she had begged for his friendship and then had
maliciously exposed him to ridicule by showing that foolish poem to
Abbie, and the Lord only knew who else besides. She had made of him a
laughing stock of the whole community, a butt for the coarse witticisms
of his fellows, and the deeply-driven barb in his vanity rankled sore.
Of course, he opined, she had only been making a fool of Red, too, but
despite the old time-honored saw about misery loving company, he took
small comfort in the thought, being rather disposed to harsher judgment
of her for so unscrupulously playing upon that ignorant cowpuncher's
fatuous credulity. Red knew nothing of fine ladies and their heartless
machinations and it was a shame to encourage him in his hopeless folly.
No lady would take such cruel advantage of puerile innocence! It is
possibly apparent to the reader by this time that Mr. Douglass was
somewhat of an egotist, whose personal estimation of himself bulked
large in his stock in trade. If it be true that a man's vanity is the
real unit of the measure of his possibilities, then Ken Douglass, scaled
by the miles of his self-containment, might logically have aspired
beyond the stars. Not that he underestimated other men in the slightest;
he was quick to recognize and commend courage, fortitude, honesty and
skill in his compeers; indeed, he heartily despised anyone in whom these
primal qualities were not ingrained; but the ego was first in his cosmos
and when a man humbly urges that he is the equal of all other men it may
be set down as an axiom that he really thinks himself immeasurably their
superior. Now the world always accepts a man at his own valuation in
absence of evidence to the contrary, and he had vindicated his position
so far as his range work went; he was concededly the best rider, roper,
pistol shot and poker player in his circumscribed little world, and had,
besides, the enviable reputation of never "falling down" in anything he
essayed. In the flush of his present successes he entirely overlooked
his previous grievous failures, as is man's wont the world over; the
world was his own succulent oyster, and he, himself, the proper blade
for its opening. Therefore he arrogantly pitied Red's unsophistication;
at which the gods laughed.

As they rode along he made a clean breast of his dilemma. "It will have
to be largely a case of bluff," he confided, "and we must make it stick.
We have no time for lawing, and if we did, the shysters would get it
all. Bart isn't easily buffaloed and will put up a stiff fight. Of
course we've got the age on him--those hides are a strong card--but
we're not going to have a walk-over. I can't see my way clear just yet,
but it will work out as we go along. It sure won't be a picnic, but one
thing is certain; we'll either get those cattle or Matlock will have to
rustle a new partner."

Red shifted his cud and spat unerringly on the crest of a loco weed in
the trail. "D'yuh 'spose we'll meet up with Matlock there? Reckon
'tain't likely though." Through the labored indifference of his speech,
Douglass detected a certain restrained hopefulness and his face grew
serious.

"I want to talk to you about that, Red. We've got nothing that we can
fasten on him securely as yet, and we've got to go slow. Of course, if
we get him to rights, or if he makes any bad breaks"--the pause was
ominous. "But we don't want to raise any hell that we can't lay again.
I'm going to give him all the rope that the game will stand; I think,
however, that he has quit."

"Them kind nevah quits," said McVey sententiously, "an' yuh don't want
to take any fool chances, Ken. I seen a feller oncet thet was monkeying
with a rattler an' ketched 'im by thu tail. He got bit! Thu best way
with a pizen reptyle is to blow his damn haid off, 'specially one thet
yuh've pulled thu rattles offen."

They both grinned reminiscently at the reference to the Alcazar
incident, but Douglass winced at the thought that although he had
stopped Matlock's rattling for the time being, he had not neutralized
the venom of his silent bite. And it is hard to side-step an unheralded
stroke from behind.

"Well," he said unemotionally, "it's his first move."

"Hes last, yuh mean," muttered Red sotto voce, "fer I am to be first if
he bats hes eye." But aloud he merely said, "That's what," and took a
fresh chew of plug.

Douglass's perplexity as how his coup was to be executed increased with
every passing hour. He carefully formulated and as regretfully discarded
at least a hundred schemes, each of which appealed less and less to his
practical judgment as he critically reviewed them. Never in his
experience had he faced anything so intangible as the problem which now
confronted him. He was at a loss for a precedent, and what was still
worse, was in total ignorance of the laws governing the unique
conditions. Not that he cared a rap for the laws so far as they might
affect him personally, and he had an inborn contempt for conditions; but
he wanted that transfer of the brand to be legally absolute and without
recourse, and he did not want to involve Mr. Carter in the slightest
degree.

When they eventually reached Gunnison he went straight to the office of
the best lawyer in the town, a life-long friend of old Bob Carter, and
succinctly and forcibly laid all the facts before him. After listening
attentively to his explicit elucidation of the law in the case, and his
logical course of procedure in the premises, Douglass shook his head.

"That will take months of lawing and jawing and I want those stolen
cattle returned at once. It's got to be settled before I leave town, and
I won't consent to involving Carter in any long-drawn-out, expensive
litigation. There must be some way of settling it man to man. Will the
law protect a bill of sale made out to me or Red, here, if I win it in a
card game or force it out of him with a gun? That's what I want to
know."

The old practitioner chuckled at this ingenuous imputation of the law's
plasticity; his eyes twinkled in anticipation of the laugh he would
raise in chambers when he got a chance to spring that joke on his
dignified confreres. But his manner was gravity personified as he
earnestly assured this exceedingly straightforward young fellow that
much to his regret he would have to answer negatively.

"Even if you did get a sufficient and properly-drawn bill of sale out of
Coogan by either of the means you suggest, he could come back at you
with the 'baby act' and nullify the transfer by pleading no real
consideration and invoking the statute which declares gambling debts
noncollectible, in the first instance; and in the second, by setting up
the plea of unlawful stress and intimidation. In either case you would
lose out if he brought action."

"Supposin' he was daid an' couldn't get no action on hisself?"
interjected Red, softly.

The old lawyer, frontier-hardened as he was, started nervously. "You
surely don't contemplate any such--?"

"Any such what?" Red's face was a study in mild curiosity. "I was only
asking yuh a question."

The lawyer moistened his lips tentatively before replying. "That would
complicate matters very much--to all parties concerned. I hope,
gentlemen--"

"An' if thu bill o' sale was made out to me, an' I was to trade it off
to Ken, an' he was to tuhn it inter coin an' cache thu dough, what
then?" The drawling voice was a sinister purr and somehow the half-shut
eyes took on a feline expression. The lawyer suddenly achieved a new
interest in this inquisitive young man; he looked at him from under his
grizzled brows with professional appreciation.

"Why, you're a pretty fair shyster, yourself, Red," said Douglass
humorously; "that idea didn't occur to me. That could not possibly
involve Carter, could it?"

"No. But I trust--." The old man's voice was hesitating and tremulous.

    "O-h-h, put yuah trust in Jesus,
    An' yuh shall see thu Throne!"

chanted Red, nasally; adding as an after-thought: "Thu C Bar pays cash."

"And it wants to retain you, Mr. Brewster, as counsel in event of my
failure to accomplish the restitution of Mr. Carter's property,"
supplemented Douglass quickly. "You see, I've got to fight the devil
with fire. If I lose out you have full authority to thrash it out in
your own way. But I play my hand first."

"That's what," said Red laconically. "An' I'll keep cases on thu game."

At the request of Douglass the attorney drew up the correct form of a
bill of sale with notorial attest; he refused the fee tendered him,
saying: "I am glad to be of service to Bob Carter's boy. And if at any
time you need my aid, professional or otherwise, command me without
hesitation."

"Ken," said McVey oracularly, as they mounted their horses. "We're goin'
to win out. We've seed a honest law-sharp an' our systems hev stood thu
shock; an' we ain't been parted from our wealth none. I think thu Lawd
took thet way o' breakin' thu news to us, gentle like, thet Fawtune is
goin' to smile on us. Betcha we have pie an' ice cream feh suppah."

He was still more optimistic when he came in, an hour or so after supper
was over, to where Douglass sat thoughtfully smoking a cigar. His manner
was even jubilant as he struck a match and sucked vivaciously at the
proffered weed. "Matlock will be in town to-morrow; he was here
yiste'day an' him an' Bart has gone out huntin'; so they say; like as
not up ter sum lowdown meanness er 'tother; an' they're aixpected back
to-morrer evenin'. Luck is suttinly comin' ouah way.

"I thought I'd go projeckin' around a leetle so as to kinda size up thu
layout," he explained, "an' get a line on thu fo'thcomin' festivities.
So I nacherally draps in to thu Palace an' thu barkeep gits loquacious.
Was yuh thinkin' o' drinkin' a sarsaperiller with me?"

Time hanging heavy on their hands, the two cowpunchers strolled up the
street in the search of diversion; at the Shoo Fly dance-hall the
revelry seemed most promising and they went in to investigate. The usual
quota of frowsy, bedraggled women were in evidence, wearily swinging in
the eccentric mazes of a putative waltz or plying their blowsy victims
with the stuff that had already stolen their souls and later would steal
away what besotted senses they still held in precarious possession. It
was an old experience to both of them and they looked listlessly about
with the disinterestedness of bored familiarity.

Time was when these young men would have entered into the orgies with a
certain reckless aplomb; there were a few girls among the throng who had
not yet lost all their pristine comeliness, who still retained some few
pitiful shreds of the femininity that should have made of them the
loving wives and good mothers that Nature's God creatively intended; but
to-night none of them looked good to these two not usually
over-discriminative animals, intrepidly fresh as they were from pasture.

The whole thing jarred unaccountably upon both of them; Douglass looking
disgustedly at the tawdry surroundings, at the flushed faces and
professionally displayed charms, felt a great irritation at himself for
coming here. Unconsciously he was comparing this sickening
meretriciousness with the delightful reserve and dignity of another
environment, and he felt the quick shame of a schoolboy detected in his
first illicit adventure.

Red grunted telepathically: "Gawd, Ken, this yeah's a punk layout. Let's
go out wheah it's clean." They settled their score and were in the act
of rising when, McVey touched Douglass on the arm. A woman had just
entered by a side door and was looking at them with a strange
intentness.

"That's Coogan's woman," said Red, in a low voice; "Stunner, ain't she!
Wonder he stands fer her comin' here."

The woman came forward with a curious snake-like quickness and seated
herself at the adjoining table. She was a very striking creature,
evidently one of the higher class Mexicans occasionally still to be met
with on the Colorado frontier. She was not more than twenty-four or five
years old, with all the color and voluptuousness of the younger women of
her race. Her hair and eyes were of a peculiar blue-black color, her
complexion ordinarily very light olive with carmine cheek tints but now
exhibiting a pallor that only intensified the gleam in her big eyes. She
was neither painted nor powdered, as both men noted approvingly, and was
finely gowned in a modest, though expensive style. The only inharmonious
thing in her entourage was the blaze of the diamonds with which she was
lavishly bedecked.

She ordered brandy, and when it was brought drank it with reckless haste
and called for more. Twice was her glass refilled, and the fiery
stimulant flushed her face. At the third serving she paid the waiter
and shudderingly pushed the glass away with every evidence of disgust.

To Douglass, watching her out of the corner of his eye, for somehow, her
manner did not invite the leer customary on such occasions, she turned
suddenly:

"You are the Señor Douglass of Rancho C Bar?"

Her voice, though very musical and low-pitched, was tensely strained. As
it was apparent that her English, though correct, was labored, he
answered, hat in hand, in her own tongue:

"_A las pies de usted, Señorita._" (At your feet, Miss.)

She smiled gratefully, as much at his courteous consideration as in her
relief at his knowledge of her tongue and its social ethics.

"_Bese usted las manos, Señor._" (My hands for your kisses, Sir.)

Red looked his appreciation of her favor; they were very pretty hands,
and while he was not "up" in the flowery etiquette of sunny Spain, he
understood its language indifferently well. "Ken's shore thu luckiest
devil on yearth!" he muttered under his breath, enviously. It soon
developed, however, that his hastily-formed conclusions were at fault.
As he in duty bound slowly rose to his feet with a studious, "Well, I
must be goin'--see you lateh," she protestingly laid her hand on his
arm.

"But no, Señor. It is that I wish to have the speech wis you bot'--but
not here." She looked around in sudden alarm. "Can you to my room
graciously come? I live in the ho-tel." Her manner was pleading and
eager.

The eyes of the men met inquiringly. Red unostentatiously flecked a
speck of dust from a slight bulge in his coat under the left armpit.
Douglass tentatively placed his hand in the side pocket of his reefer.
Then as one man they both answered. "Why, certainly, Señorita."

"In an hour, then. Come carefully. Numero 9, the one mos' far in the
hall. I go first, now." And without further look at them she went out as
unobtrusively as she had entered. Red calmly confiscated her rejected
glass of brandy.

"Shame to waste good likker, 'specially when it's paid fer. What's yuh
ijea, Ken, a plant?"

"Damfino! She's all worked up over something, that's sure. Well, it's
all in the game." Then, with an inscrutable and not altogether pleasant
flicker in his eyes, "Not a bad looker, eh, Red?"

McVey emptied the glass. "Brandy's hell foh a woman," was his
enigmatical reply.

An hour later they gained her apartments unobserved, the hotel corridors
being deserted at that hour. She had changed her gown and received them
in a charming half-negligé of some filmy white stuff that set off her
dark beauty ravishingly. Her eyes were out-gleaming her diamonds but her
manner was quiet and composed.

They sat down and respectfully awaited her pleasure; but every article
in that room could have been accurately catalogued by either man. There
was only one door in the room besides the one through which they had
entered and that stood partly ajar, revealing beyond a luxuriously
furnished bedroom. A large double window gave down on the main street;
one-half of it was closely curtained, but the hangings of the other was
looped aside, and for a time she stood beside it looking down into the
squalid street. Suddenly she drew the curtains close and with a strength
hardly to be looked for in that slender wrist, whirled a heavy Morris
chair directly before them and seated herself.

For a full minute she regarded them intently through half-closed eyes
and then, addressing herself to Douglass, but keeping her eyes for the
greater part of the time on McVey, she said slowly in her soft mother
tongue:

"Your friend understands Spanish?"

"Sufficiently, Señorita," assured Red, "to follow your conversation."

"It is well," she said quietly, "but your address flatters me. I am
Señora, not Señorita." She held out her left hand with a curiously proud
gesture; on the third finger was a heavy plain band of dull gold.

"I am desolated--madame," said Red, instantly. Douglass bowed his polite
acceptance of the correction.

"Yes," she went on wearily, "I am a married woman, no matter what the
world, what _you_ may think. The ceremony was performed by the Jefe
Politico of Ameca, my natal town, though not solemnized by the church.
There was a witness, but he is dead now. It was Pedro Rodriguez, the man
you killed the night he and Señor Matlock burned the hay on your
rancho."

In the tense silence which followed, the ticking of Douglass's watch was
distinctly audible. Red's hand, fumbling with his watch chain, went up
swiftly to his armpit; but Douglass, interpreting her even intonation
more correctly, never moved a muscle. She smiled reassuringly at McVey:

"Nay, Señor. There is nothing to--to regret. He was a dog--and I love
you for it." The hand sank to his knee and he flushed slightly.

"I was only a young girl," she went on rapidly, "and he was as big and
as fair as his words. My mother was dead, my father engrossed with
business cares: he was owner of the 'San Christobal' mine. I met him at
night, for my father liked him not and forbade me. It was my first
affair, and I thought I loved him." She laughed, a mirthless sibilance
that was marvelously like a snake's hissing, her eyes hard and dry.

"I had a brother, an only one, Rafael. He was very dear to me and loved
me greatly. He was, of the mine--what do you name it, the one who holds
and pays the monies? Ah, mil gracias! the 'treasurer.' He was of the
lively the liveliest and played much at the cards. And Don Bartholomew
was of his friends the most esteemed. We knew not then that he made his
living so: he had come to buy lands, he said, and he had letters, many
from great men; they were not written by those whose names they bore as
I know now, but we of Mejico know little of such things and trusted him
fully.

"Then, one night, mi padre discovered me in his arms and there was much
sorrow. I was to the casa confined and to him was said that we should
see him no more. But you know our adage: '_No ay cerradura si es de oro
la ganzua_' (there is no lock but that will open to a golden key), and
Pedro Rodriguez, our servidor, was very poor. Like Eve, I listened to
the serpent's voice; I was very young."

She covered her face with her hands and again the silence fell; Red
licked his lips nervously: "The damned caterpillar!" he ejaculated. She
roused at that and her manner changed. She seemed to speak mechanically
and her words fell like drops of ice:

"One night he came in great haste and said that we must fly at once; a
great trouble had come to him and his life was in peril. I had to marry
him, you understand, and I had no other choice. We went to the
magistrate--he swore that we would be remarried by a priest of my faith
when we reached his land, and so I consented. My father was absent and
my brother--Oh! Rafael!" She broke down and sobbed bitterly. Red cursed
aloud.

Of a sudden she calmed; her eyes were hot but her voice was cold and
emotionless. "Not until yesterday did I know that on that very night he
had robbed my brother at cards and treacherously shot him dead when his
guilt was discovered. My father, thinking I knew all--God, give me
vengeance on this man--died two weeks ago, cursing me with his last
breath. I had it from an old acquaintance whom I met here all
unexpectedly yesterday morn. They never answered my letters you know,
and I dared not return. The child was dead born.

"The life with him has been hell. I had to live, and he was liberal in
his brutal way. Long ago I learned from Pedro that he was robbing you,
but for that I cared nothing. The men of your race have given me blood
and gall to drink, and the thought of your wrongs was bitterly sweet to
me; it would have been sweeter had your lives gone with it."

They looked at her entirely without resentment; this was something they
could understand. Douglass felt a great sympathy for her, but Red was
revolving something in his mind that made his eyes gleam evilly.

"Yesterday I upbraided him with the truth. God knows what I said, for my
heart was hot and I think I was mad. He was devil enough to admit all,
and taunt me with my helplessness. We are of a passionate blood, we
people of the South, and I tried--. Enough! He beat me--me, Dolores
Ysobel de Tejada! May his soul writhe in hell until I lave his accursed
lips!" Her venomous fury was not shrill and vociferous; instead, it was
cold and low-voiced, but Douglass breathed hard and Red clenched his
lips, watching it. She sprang impulsively to her feet and tore violently
at her bodice. As the thin silk ripped away they saw that arms, neck and
breasts were purple.

She came closer, thrusting her shame into their very faces. "See!" she
hissed, "the chivalry of the American gringo! Do you Yanquis treat all
your women so tenderly, caballeros?"

Douglass's face hardened resentfully. "We are not all Coogans, Señora.
Be seated, please, and for God's sake, cover up that horror! And
now--why do you tell us this?"

"So that you will kill him--for a price."

Red laughed harshly. "By Gawd! Madame Dolores Ysobel de Tajeda--or
Coogan, whatever yuah name is, I'd giv' a better price ef yuh was able
to tuhn yuhself into a man fer a couple o' minnits. What d'yuh take us
fer, greasers?" But Douglass, his own face very white and hard set,
asked quietly, with an eager interest in his calm voice:

"And the price, Señora?"

"I will give him into your hands," she said coolly, "I have letters,
some from Matlock, which he thought destroyed, and two from him to
Matlock which were missent and returned here. In his absence, I received
and kept them. I have also one from Rodriguez asking me for money and
threatening me with exposure if I denied him. They are enough to prove
your case and give you justification for killing him."

Douglass rose quietly. "You do me much honor, Señora. But I think your
acquaintance with American men is, after all, very inconsiderable." And
with a stiff inclination he left the room.

She ran after him impulsively but at the threshold of the door she
paused. Then she swiftly returned and gently pushed Red down into the
seat from which he had arisen. "Wait--a single little moment, Señor, I
beg of you. I will return immediately." She ran into the bedroom and he
heard a swift rustling. In ten minutes she returned, bearing in her
hands a packet of letters. She had in some marvelous way succeeded in
rerobing herself and was now arrayed in an exquisite tea gown which made
Red's eyes light up with admiration. Inwardly exulting at the success of
her experiment, she sat down close beside him on the divan and rapidly
opened the letters.

At her insistence he took them, though very reluctantly, and
perfunctorily scanned their contents. Then he reread them with
deliberate care, hesitated for a moment and then thrust them in his
breast pocket.

"I reckon I'll keep these for a few days at least; they may come in
handy."

"It is your right, Señor McVey. And now there is more that you must
know. They have sworn the death of yourself and friend: his because he
stands between them and their thefts and has brought to black shame the
man Matlock; yours because you did slay the jackal of my husband. Do you
know that in the hands of the sheriff there is a warrant for the arrest
of you both, sworn out by my husband, charging you with murder, and the
Señor Douglass with being accessory thereto? It is the plan to have you
in the weak jail confined--one single night will serve their
purpose--and when your friends come the next morning it will be too
late. The sheriff is a weakling, as you know--worse, he is as wax in the
hands of Bartholomew, who did win from him at cards much treasure that
is to the county belonging, though why that should be cause to make him
lick my husband's hand I can not understand. Maybe you, a man, do know?
And while two unarmed men are striving with those who will do my
husband's bidding--even now has he gone to summons them, your coming
being known to him through a spy who rode faster than you--yet others
will be sent to your rancho to burn and destroy."

McVey stifled a great oath. "You are givin' me straight dope?" His
strong hand was crushing her soft arm.

"As Heaven is my witness, Señor. I swear it by the memory of my dead!"

"Do you know when thu warrant is ter be served?" The question was curt
and imperative.

"At nightfall, as soon as Bartholomew arrives with his fellows."

For a while he deliberated in silence, but into the woman's eyes crept
triumph at sight of the grimly compressed lips and wrinkled brow. Then
as she watched it was commingled with another expression that boded ill
for the honor as well as the fortunes of Big Bart Coogan.

"I reckon I'll say adios, Señora," he said finally. "I have things to
attend to. When can I see you again?"

Her raven locks brushed his as she bent forward to look at the tiny
jeweled chatelaine watch on her bodice.

"It is yet scarcely ten of the clock," she murmured, coyly dropping her
eyes. "The night is young."

His veins ran fire. The woman was very beautiful.

Douglass nodded confirmation as Red told him her story five minutes
later. "Just got a tip myself from Barton," he observed calmly. Barton
was the clerk of the court from which the warrant had issued, and as it
happened, was an old college mate of Douglass and his personal friend.
He was not in sympathy with the ring of grafters dominating the county
offices, and had hastened to Douglass's enlightenment as soon as he
learned of his arrival.

"They don't aim to give you a chance to secure bail for at least one
night," he said significantly, "and while that may not mean anything in
particular, I thought you had better be put 'wise.' And I've taken the
liberty of asking Strang to send up three or four fellows from the Lazy
K to-morrow. Hope you won't think me officious, old man; I thought it
best to be on the safe side." Strang was a particular friend of both
men.

Douglass smashed his fist in silent gratitude. "Guess we'll manage to
give them a run for their money. Have a cigar?"

"I've got those letters, Ken," said Red casually. "Better read 'em oveh;
they shore are interestin' lit'rachure. Thu gettin' of 'em ain't
obleegated yuh none, an' mahself hawdly enough ter talk about. Naw, I
didn't promise ter cook hes goose," meeting the other's eyes squarely;
"I'm engagin' in anotheh kind o' frenzied fee-nawnce' altogetheh. Yuh
hunt yuh leetle baid an' gatheh strength fer to-morrer's
stren-u-hossity. I'm goin' on night-herd mahself."

Douglass wheeled sharply. "Yuh are not going to--?"

Red fumbled in the pocket of his shirt. "I'm agoin' ter ask yuh ter keep
suthin' fer me to-night." Without raising his eyes he laid in Douglass's
hand a small parcel wrapped in his best silk handkerchief. "I want ter
keep it clean!" he muttered.



CHAPTER XII

NOT STRICTLY ACCORDING TO PROGRAM


As they emerged from the dining-room the next morning they were greeted
by a short but sturdily built man whose deeply-set blue eyes lighted up
as he slapped Douglass familiarly on the shoulder. It was Dave Strang,
foreman of the Lazy K outfit on Cibolla Creek.

"Why, yuh old son of a gun, wheah d'yuah drap from?" asked Red, with a
portentous wink. Douglass had just informed him of Barton s message and
his remark was for the benefit of the loungers about the stove, among
whom he had reason to believe were some of Coogan's familiars. He deemed
it best to have them under the impression that the encounter was one of
pure chance; being an enthusiastic devotee at the shrine of "stud
poker," he believed in keeping inviolate the suit and value of his
buried card.

"Oh, just been atrailing and got plumb wore out fer a look at suthin'
besides sagebrush," answered Strang, easily; he had a few cards up his
sleeve, himself. "What brings yuh fellows inter thu tem'tations of thu
meetropoliss? Don't yuh know thet this is thu home of the devourin' lion
an' thu laih o' thu feroshus tigeh? Come an' look at yeh innercent selfs
in thu bottom of a glass!"

As they lined up at the bar Strang said quickly, in an undertone. "Six
of us heah by dark. What's thu game?"

"Come up to my room in an hour or two and I'll put you next," said
Douglass, cautiously; "some of this gang is keeping tab on us." Then he
turned to the crowd politely: "Will you gentlemen join us? This is on
me, Dave; no foolishness!"

After a few desultory commonplaces, during which Strang intimated that
he would be in town only a few hours, Douglass said, casually, "Drop in
and see us before you go out, Dave. Been a long time since we had a
talk." Strang looked doubtful.

"I only aim to stay till thu mail comes in an' I got a heap ter do.
Mebby I kin spah a few minnits." Then he treated the crowd in turn with
a nonchalant, "Well, so 'long!" hitched up his belt and strolled out.

Up at the post office he met them a few minutes later. "I'll be on deck
in your room in an hour. I'll go there first, ahead of you."

They found him there at the appointed time and he was soon in possession
of all the facts. Douglass's plan was quickly stated:

"We'll let them arrest us without any suspicious resistance. Of course
they'll make us give up our guns, but they won't get these," tapping his
pocket and belt; "we'll buy a pair of cheap guns for them to relieve us
of--our own guns will be in Barton's hands at noon. He will make some
excuse to come in and see us, bringing our guns with him. We have a
hundred shells apiece. I think their scheme is to shoot us first so as
to make sure, and hang us afterward so as to make it look like a
lynching. I think they will mostly all be greasers, friends of
Rodriguez, with a sprinkling of Coogan's curs to keep them to the work.
We may not need you boys, but we are sure thankful for your good will!
With eight of us it would be child's play."

"D'yuh reckon Matlock'll be among thu bunch?" asked Red, hopefully.

"Not he!" scornfully said Douglass. "He hasn't sand enough to face a
full-grown man's gun. He'll he down at the Palace with Coogan when the
fun starts, so as to establish an alibi. This is to be a Roman holiday,
you understand, with the 'Roman' spelled g-r-e-a-s-e-r! Pity to spoil
such a pretty scheme, eh?"

Just then there was a rap at the door. Red opened it and in entered one
Lew Ballard, on whose neck they fell with much profane acclamation. He
was United States Marshall for that district, an old cowpuncher and a
warm friend of the trio. He grinned comprehensively at the three
conspirators.

"What's this fairy story about a portending lynching that Barton's been
stuffing me with?" he asked, pleasantly. When they had told him he
slapped his thigh with enjoyment. "Say, it reads just like a book! Gawd!
to think I can't take a hand in it!" Then a thought struck him and he
roared. "Say, I've got a scheme that will put the cap-sheaf on the
stack!"

"First of all, I'll swear the whole bunch of you in as deputy United
States marshals. Then I'll arrest two of your boys, Strang, on some
charge or another and get them in jail a few minutes before the mob
comes. The other four you will hold in readiness outside. We'll switch
cells and when the greasers get inside we'll lock them up in your places
and you can go down and pass the time of day with your friend Coogan.
Gawd! won't he be glad to see you! I forgot to say that Barton has
already sent a rider over to the C Bar to put the boys wise to the gang
that's going down there. Gee, but this will be a great night for
Mexico!"

So it was arranged. The marshall went out and secured two extra
revolvers and the C Bar arsenal was turned over to Barton. Strang went
to instruct his men, and the two prospective victims pretended to get
royally drunk so as to allay any suspicion. They played their parts so
well that Coogan was completely taken in. With these two fools drunk it
was a veritable cinch, he thought. Matlock, for some occult reason, was
not so sanguine. He would be more at ease when it was all over and he
shrewdly made arrangements for a hasty departure in case of mishap.

It was nearly ten o'clock before the chicken-hearted sheriff deemed the
two cowpunchers sufficiently drunk enough to take chances with. At that
hour he valiantly descended upon the Red Light saloon with a full posse
and accomplished the arrest with scarcely any difficulty, the only
casualty being to the sheriff's nose, which Red could not help
flattening with the butt of his six-shooter.

Emerging from the jail after the incarceration of his prisoners, the
sheriff encountered Marshall Ballard in charge of two heavily-ironed
captives whom he was exultantly informed were two dangerous
counterfeiters. He overheard the marshall request the turnkey to place
them in the steel dungeon in the basement, as they were important
prisoners and very dangerous characters. He waited until the marshall
rejoined him and invited that official to have a night-cap, remarking
that he was tired and would "hit the hay" without unseemly delay. Could
he have known that at the moment of lifting his glass, Red McVey was
sitting astride of the turnkey's neck, industriously engaged in stuffing
his silk neckerchief into that worthy's capacious mouth, the Angostura
in his cocktail would have turned to gall.

Down at the Palace with exaggerated ostentation Coogan and Matlock were
seated in the main gambling room where their presence was very
conspicuous; Matlock was nervous, but veiled his agitation under a
stream of profanity that grew more and more vicious as the hours dragged
along. His subterfuge did not deceive his more hardened accomplice, who
looked at him with cynical contempt. Could Matlock have known the dark
thoughts brooking in the evil mind of the big gambler, he would have
sworn even more affrightedly.

"That cur is getting dangerous," Big Bart was thinking. "He'd squeal any
time to save his own cursed neck, and he knows too much! I'll attend to
his case when this affair blows over." From under his shaggy eyebrows he
regarded his confederate evilly; of genuine courage he had no dread, but
of this man's moral as well as physical cowardice he was growing more
and more afraid. The consummation of their present plot would only
plunge him deeper into the toils of the law if Matlock should, in case
of exposure, turn State's evidence. For another reason he was strangely
perturbed; that afternoon he had seen a face which was irritatingly
familiar but which he could not correctly place. In his avocation there
are only two facial classifications: those of absolute strangers, which
are to be studied with care, and those of people well known, which are
to be watched jealously. A gambler dare risk no middle path in the
physiognomy of his acquaintances; he must either know a face well or it
must be that of a total stranger. And for the life of him he could not
remember the time and place where he had formerly encountered it.
Somehow he felt a presentiment of coming evil and he chafed under it.
To-morrow he would make it his business to find out who and what that
dignified old Mexican was!

As he registered this mental resolution, the door opened and in walked
the object of his cogitations; he was accompanied by Lew Ballard and
another Mexican at sight of whom Coogan paled perceptibly. He knew them
both now! The elder man was Don Ramon Seguro, joint owner of the San
Christobal mine; the other was Don Luis Garcia, sheriff of Jalisco.

Coogan was no coward; he had been in many a tight place before and
escaped by reason of his brute courage and herculean strength. He
furtively felt of his hip pocket, then quietly arose and went forward
with extended hand. They had no proof of his killing Rafael de Tejada,
he thought rapidly; the only eyewitness, Pedro Rodriguez, was dead; and
he could fight extradition until such time as he could make his escape.
He resolved to brazen it out.

Affecting not to know the Mexicans, he shook Ballard's hand cordially.
"Ah, good evening, Mr. Ballard. I was just going to open a bottle in my
private office. Will your friends join us?" The marshall and his friends
would be delighted! Ballard nodded casually to Matlock as they passed
him. For some reason Coogan did not include him in the invitation.

At the moment of opening the wine they heard in the distance the faint
rattle of a fusillade of pistol shots. The Mexicans looked inquiringly
at Ballard but he dismissed the matter with a careless, "Oh, just some
drunken bunch of cowpunchers or railroad tarriers with more ammunition
than sense; that kind of thing is getting altogether too prevalent; the
authorities ought to put a stop to it! Say, that's a dandy bottle of
fizz, Coogan! Do you drink of the wines of Champagne much in Arneca,
Señores?" His Spanish was perfect, his voice and manner conventionally
pleasant. On Coogan's brow was the glisten of a dense perspiration;
Ballard covered his mouth with his hand to hide a cynical smile.

Just as the glasses were filled there came from the rear of the saloon
the rasping grate of a startled oath, succeeded by the hoof thuds of a
rapidly-ridden horse. Coogan, involuntarily pushing aside the window
blinds, cursed scornfully under his breath. "Got rattled and is hiking
out for the timber, the cowardly dog! That settles his hash!" The rider
was Matlock and he seemed to be in a hurry.

As Coogan turned his back the Mexican sheriff made a quick motion toward
his hip but Ballard warningly caught his arm. "Wait!" he breathed,
"there is much sport toward. There will be those here soon who will do
amusing things." Coogan flashed around in quick suspicion, angered to
think that for one moment he had foolishly relaxed his guard, but
Ballard was serenely lighting his cigarette at that of Don Luis and the
glass of Don Ramon was just descending from his lips.

When the wine was finished, Ballard insisted on ordering another bottle
at his expense; this was followed by a third at the insistence of Don
Luis. As the bubbles frothed over the crystal rims, Coogan, either from
pure nerve or fearful bravado, raised his glass. "A toast, gentlemen:

    "Here's to good health and untroubled mind;
    Here's to good luck and fame;
    Here's to the girl that is fair and kind;
    And here's to the man who is game!"

"A toast worthy of another bottle, especially the last clause," said an
approving voice in the doorway, and at sight of Ken Douglass standing
there smiling, Coogan's glass crashed on the floor as his hand flew to
his hip pocket.

"Easy, Bart!" There was no mirth in the eye gleaming menacingly behind
the sights of the heavy .44 aligned so steadily upon the heart of the
man into whose eyes had crept a superstitious terror at the sight of one
risen from the dead. "Put both your hands on the table! Both, I said!
There, that's more sensible! Mr. McVey, may I trouble you to remove that
exceedingly uncomfortable thing from Mr. Coogan's pocket? It seems to be
giving him a world of trouble and it will be in his way when he sits
down to talk with me."

Coogan's face was ashen as Red lounged languidly into sight; the sweat
poured down his cheeks in a stream and his lips opened and shut
convulsively. He was trembling all over as Red unconcernedly walked
behind him and relieved him of the weapon, which he put in his own
pocket. On Don Luis's face was a great contempt and Ballard was grinning
broadly.

"Now the derringers, Red, two of them, in his pants' pockets. You will
excuse the liberty, Mr. Coogan, but accidents will happen occasionally
and I wouldn't have you hurt yourself for the world! We are going to
have a quiet little gentlemen's game of cards, you and I, and we don't
want our foreign friends here to get a false impression about the ethics
of our great national game. Sit down, please!" Coogan dropped
nervelessly into his chair.

At a sign from Douglass, there entered into the room a cowboy bearing
three beef-hides which he laid on the table. As Douglass spread them
flesh side up the Mexicans looked significantly at each other; they were
both experienced cowmen and the altered brands told their own tale.

Upon the skins Douglass laid successively a handful of gold coin and a
packet of letters; opening the string which bound the latter he spread
them out separately so that their signatures were easily read by the
white-faced fellow sitting opposite to him. Then he turned to Strang,
who was standing in the door behind him, watching his actions with
deceptively mild interest.

"Dave, could you manage to get us a new deck of cards and something to
smoke?"

Strang soon returned with a box of really excellent cigars and an
unbroken package of cards. The former he had secured at the "Palace"
bar, Coogan's weeds being the best in the city, a thing characteristic
of all gambling hells whose whiskey and tobacco is always
unexceptionable, but the cards he bought at the little drug store across
the way. He had reason to be suspicious of the ornately-backed
pasteboards affected by the Coogan establishment.

In the combined gambling hall and bar adjacent to the private room, four
Lazy K cowpunchers were languidly lounging about with disconsolation
written all over their faces; but Strang's orders had been imperative,
so they had to content themselves with smoking innumerable cigarettes
and hoping that something might occur to enliven the monotony of their
vigil.

"It's up to yuh mugs to see that nobody gets offishus an' interrupts thu
perceedin's!" had been his instructions; nevertheless they irresistibly
gravitated toward the door of the private room, where they stood with
thumbs hooked in their belts in suggestive proximity to the butts of
their peacemakers.

Somehow the atmosphere was charged with expectancy and a strange
constraint had fallen on the usually boisterous throng. Something
unusual was taking place in that private room, but Big Bart's privacy
was a thing not healthy to violate; and then again there was something
peculiarly discouraging to idle curiosity in the grim faces of the
bronzed quartet just outside the door. There was not a man in that
assemblage who would not have given half of his hoard for one peep into
that room, and similarly there was not a man of them who for thrice that
consideration would have essayed such a breach of etiquette.

And up at the county jail another of the Lazy K outfit was cursing his
luck and sarcastically requesting a horde of wretches in the basement
dungeons to "holler a few, so's I kin use up a bunch o' these damn
hulls. Holler just oncet!"

In an unlighted room on the second story of the little hotel four short
blocks away, a woman sat crouched behind the curtains of a window which
commanded fully the Palace saloon. She was still dressed in the
inconspicuous dark robe in which she had watched the sadly aborted
attempt at the jail a short half-hour before. Feverishly had she
witnessed the stealthy approach of the scant dozen of slinking forms
which had silently stolen into the frowning portals which had
accommodatingly opened for their ingress; breathlessly had she waited
until there came the sound of savage oaths, muffled thuds and the clamor
of men in mortal combat. She had almost screamed in frantic apprehension
as the invading force had been suddenly reinforced by four other figures
with gleaming weapons in their hands. She would have called out warning
of this new and terrible peril to the now certainly doomed prisoners,
but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth and she only sobbed and
swayed in hysterical rage at the balking of her revenge. But suddenly to
her amazement there came forth seven men clad in vaquero costume, who
laughed boisterously and shot their revolvers aimlessly into the air.
She gave a sharp gasp of relief as she heard a familiar voice say with
unfeigned regret:

"Why, I've hed moah fun at a dawg fite! D'yuh reckon that theah was evah
ary white man, ceptin' he were sick er asleep, that passed in his chips
to sech a passd o' pulin' polecats like this yeah bunch we've jes' been
bendin' ouah guns ovah? Gawd! Ken, I'll stink o' gawlic fer a week! Ef
Coogan don't put up a betah scrap by hes lonesome than hes whole pack o'
peccaries did, why, I'm goin' to swap my ole hawg laig fer a putty
blowah an' hiah out on a sheep ranch whar they's suthin' doin'!"

And now she was waiting, waiting with a fierce impatience that bruised
the soft taper fingers gripping the jeweled hilt of a slender _cuchilla_
hidden in her bosom, waiting for the vicious crackle that would
mercifully appease the maddening insistence of those two dead men
calling from their graves in far-off Ameca.

For the greater part of an hour she shivered in an ecstasy of
expectation and fear. "Mother of God! What if they should let him escape
after all!" Clutching her stiletto, she ran vengefully out into the
night.



CHAPTER XIII

A LAUGH IN THE NIGHT


Dave Ballard was the only man in the room who immediately lighted the
cigar of Strang's passing; the others seemed indifferent to the
blandishments of the odorous goddess for the nonce. Big Bart, with the
forced composure of a trapped wolf waiting the next move of his captor,
nonchalantly chewed on his with affected indifference, but on his bull
neck the sinews stood out like whipcords. The man was no coward but just
now he was up against a game new to his great and diversified
experience, another man's game, the futility of "bucking" which is
proverbial even among layman. If it be true that the uncertainty of the
future alone makes living endurable, then Bart Coogan was just now
having the time of his life!

With his characteristic directness, Douglass came straight to the point
without delay:

"Mr. Coogan, I have just ascertained that you are the putative owner of
the O Bar O brand, the registry and record standing in your name. May I
presume so far as to ask whether the title is solely in you or is it a
partnership affair?" His tone was very respectful but business-like.

"While it's none of your damn business, I don't object to telling you
that I am the whole firm," said Coogan, insolently. "And I'd like to
know what in--!" He was beginning to get a grip on himself again and
resorted to bluster.

"Thank you!" said Douglass, quietly, restraining a great desire to send
his fist against that snarling mouth. "Now we'll get down to brass tacks
in a jiffy. In the brand referred to there are presently six hundred
head of cattle, six hundred and four, to be exact, including motherless
calves. Of this number more than two-thirds bear altered brands similar
to these." He pointed to the hides on the table: "May I ask how they
came into your possession?"

"You can't prove nothing!" snarled the cornered wolf, viciously. The
other smiled incredulously.

"No? Evidently you have not considered these," touching the letters,
significantly. "Well, we won't argue that point. The upshot of the
matter is that I have a proposal to make to you. I am anxious to acquire
the ownership of the brand myself, and as I have not got enough ready
money to buy it outright, what do you say to a little game of
freeze-out, with these for my stakes as against your bill of sale?" He
pointed to the heap on the table. "You'll be getting much the best of
it!"

For a moment the gambler glared fiendishly at the imperturbable man
facing him; his body was quivering all over with illy suppressed hate
and fury. He crouched like a wild beast preparing to spring, his hands
opening and closing nervously. Then out of the silence came the nasal
humming of Red:

    "Yeah's to thu gyurl thet is faih an' kind,
    An' yeah's to thu man who is game!"

The taunt stung him back to composure again. Every gambler is a fatalist
by nature; the chance was, after all, more than he had any logical right
to expect under the circumstances. And Big Bart Coogan was game to the
core of his calloused heart! With an admirable effort he recovered his
self-control, and the hand that held the lighted match to the fresh
cigar which Strang politely tendered him was as steady as a rock.

"Anything to oblige a fellow sport!" he said with a fine return to his
professional deference. "Have you a blank form about you, Lew?"

Ballard produced one already filled out; the gambler glanced at him
meaningly. "Got it all framed up, eh?"

"Framed up nothing!" said the marshall, indignantly. "If you win out
this business will be dropped. I think, myself, that you are in big luck
to get so favorable a deal! In his place I'd have settled it in another
way."

"Well," said Coogan, affably, as he scrawled his name with a fountain
pen at the bottom of the instrument, "after I've won out suppose you
take his place." Ballard jerked his head in instantaneous acquiescence.
"If you win out!" he assented, gravely. Then he summoned the bartender,
who was a notary public, to take Coogan's acknowledgment of signature;
the stakes were removed to a side table and the men cut for the deal,
each man was given ten chips.

In poker everything goes that can be made go; Coogan knew perfectly well
that there would be positively no interference on the part of the
spectators, no matter how open and vile his attempts to cheat his
antagonist. Douglass would be left severely alone in his self-defense,
and he resolved to employ every means at his command to win, and that
meant play of the foulest kind. Just so long as his opponent (for whom
by the way he very foolishly felt the professional's contempt of
amateurism) should not detect his crooked work, he would not be
interfered with by his victim's friends. He had never watched Douglass's
play before, but smiled confidently at what he mistook for awkwardness
when Ken clumsily shuffled the cards, the deal having fallen to him.

It was dealer ante and Douglass stayed when Coogan came in. The gambler
filled his hand, aces on sixes, on a three card draw. He passed the bet
and Douglass bet one chip; Coogan raised it two and Douglass called. The
latter had three queens and Coogan took the pot. He was quite certain of
his man now; this cowpuncher was either rattled and had lost his nerve,
or else he was an amateur of the rawest kind, it being evident from the
fact of his drawing only two cards that he had the three queens before
the draw, his other cards being a deuce and seven.

But his equanimity got a jar when Ken passed up the ante on his deal and
subsequently regained all his lost chips on his own deal. The hands were
astonishingly big for the stage of the game and the gambler essayed a
crooked play which apparently was not detected by Douglass. He was
vastly encouraged thereby and tried it repeatedly, winning only a chip
or two each time. Fortune seemed very capricious and at last both men
were again on even footing, each having in possession his full quota of
counters.

Emboldened by his previous successes in that line the gambler now went
about systematically holding out cards; he finally secured the four
aces, dealing Douglass a king full. When the latter called him all the
chips of both men were in the pot.

"What have you got?" The cowboy's voice was peculiarly clear, his manner
suave and courteous.

"What you got?" evasively retorted Coogan with a smirk.

"King full--_and_ a .44 to your nothing! Your sleeve is too tight for
this kind of work, Bart. I didn't think you'd dare try that on me; your
work is very coarse!" He swept the heap of chips to his side of the
table with the barrel of his revolver. "You'll find his real hand in his
sleeve, Red. No, not that one--there's where he has the knife; the cards
are in the left sleeve."

"Did you really think I was that easy?" he said reproachfully to the
discomfited gambler, as McVey laid the bowie and secreted cards on the
table. "Why, you've even misjudged your own hold-out--see!" He rapidly
took up his opponent's hand and spread them face up before the
astonished eyes of the gambler. There were only three, instead of four
aces, with a jack and deuce. "I had you beat on the showdown, Bart.
Really, I am surprised!" Then to the profane delight of Red, he
carelessly opened his hand, exposing the missing ace which he had
adroitly palmed. The spectators to a man laughed and after a moment
Coogan joined in the hilarity. He was really a man of big caliber and he
felt an unwilling admiration of this audacious youngster who had so
cleverly hoisted him with his own petard. Besides, there is a certain
wisdom of magnanimity in defeat.

"You've got me going and coming!" he admitted, laughingly; "I ain't got
no kick coming." But his eyes wandered uneasily to the letters and hides
on the floor and Douglass was generous.

He took the bowie knife and with three rapid circular slashes cut out
those parts branded; upon these he laid the package of letters and held
them out to the gambler together with his knife. He took them
mechanically, staring incredulously at the cowpuncher, who said not
unkindly:

"I reckon you've got more use for these than I have. But if I were you
I'd keep out of the cattle business; the game isn't worth the candle!"
Big Bart went over and tossed the bits of skin and the incriminating
letters into the heart of the little coal fire blazing in the office
stove. When they were finally consumed he turned to Red, who was nearest
the door.

"Call in all your outfit and tell Billy to send in a basket of wine."
With his own hand he filled the glasses and then turned to the waiting
throng with uplifted beaker:

"To the new owner of the O Bar O!"

They drank it vociferously and when the bottles were finally empty
Coogan passed around the cigars. Douglass, though fully aware of the
man's uncanny past, felt for the now apparently despondent wretch the
involuntary pity which the huntsman feels always for the dangerous tiger
which he has laid low after a titanic struggle. He tried to think of
some service that he could consistently render him; there was so much in
this man of gigantic frame and undaunted courage! He had shown himself
game to an incredible degree, and somehow the thought of that herculean
throat purpling in the noose of a Mexican rope was violently distasteful
to him. Impelled by a sudden impulse he went over to him and while
ostensibly bidding him good-by, contrived to whisper unperceived:

"My horse, a roan, is tied just under this window. Nothing on this range
can touch him! I'll hinder them all I can. Good luck to you!"

Over the man's face swept a great wonder. He tried to speak but the
words stuck in his throat; he dropped his eyes and gripped Ken's hand
hard.

"If I make it I'll live straight hereafter!" he mumbled, thankfully.
There is no man so brave but what chills on the threshold of the Valley
of the Shadow!

As Douglass turned laughingly to reply to some witticism of Ballard's
concerning "bloated cattle kings" and their liquorous obligations to the
common community, Coogan put his hands behind his back and with head
bowed as in deep meditation paced slowly toward the window. The Mexican
sheriff, resolutely interposed between him and the opening, drew his
revolver and curtly said: "Pardon! Señor Coogan, I would have speech
with you. I have here a warrant--"

He got no farther, having committed the fatal error of letting his man
get too close. With a leap like that of a charging tiger, the gambler
was upon him, one hand catching the wrist below the weapon, the other
falling with frightful force upon the olive temple. Under the impact of
their combined weight the flimsy window gave way like blotting paper and
both men were precipitated on the ground outside. With a pretense of
going to the sheriff's aid Douglass managed to trip up the marshall,
whose quickly-drawn weapon was harmlessly discharged in the floor, and
as the others stumbled and fell over his prostrate body Douglass managed
to get himself somehow wedged in the window, thus effectually preventing
any use of firearms.

As he struggled with exaggerated strenuosity to free himself from the
entangled debris, he saw Coogan gain his feet and run swiftly towards
the tethered horse; he saw the halter rope severed with one deft slash
of the bowie and the foot placed hastily in the stirrup. But the
triumphant vault into the saddle was never made; the animal, alarmed at
this summary and unusual method of release, was shying away from the man
who was trying in his frenzied haste to mount on the wrong side. As
Coogan hopped about with muttered oaths, trying to secure an effectual
footing, a dark, slender figure seemed to rise out of the ground at his
side. Douglass caught the blue gleam of polished steel in the moonlight
just above Coogan's neck, heard the soft thud of a well-driven blow; he
gave a great cry of warning but it fell upon unheeding ears. The man,
releasing his hold upon the horse, staggered blindly about, thrusting
savagely at random, a queer bubbling cry welling from his lips. Again
and again as the stricken giant reeled tottering about, came that
snake-like glide and merciless thrust until finally, his veins drained
of their vital flood, Coogan fell on his face in the crimsoned snow.

And then above the rush of hurrying feet, above the cries of blasphemous
wonder and alarm as the Palace vomited out its raucous filth, there
arose a cackling horror that Douglass would never forget as long as he
lived, the vacuous gibbering of Dolores Ysobel de Tejada, kissing her
blood-stained _cuchilla_ and screaming weird endearments to two dead men
in Jalisco.

Don Luis Garcia, a little giddy and tremulous from the effects of that
awful blow, wept remorsefully on the neck of McVey, who promptly
suggested vinous consolation. "_Ay de mi!_" he wailed, "why deed I heem
not keel so when that I the chance haddest! Now there will not the
hangin' be, and Señorita de Tejada--Ah, _pobre nina!_ She is what you
call heem 'off-the-nut.' It is to weep--she of the ver' firs' familee
was, and now--_Es muy lastima!_ Eet iss too damn bad!"

Red assented dolorously. "An' Matlock got away, too! Señor, it are shore
hell!" Then, remembering, he turned sharply aside so that the other
could not see the dull flush on his cheek as Conscience slapped him in
the face.

By the advice of Mr. Brewster, the lawyer, Douglass and McVey returned
to the jail and reincarcerated themselves therein. The entrapped
Mexicans were released with a series of warnings, so effectively phrased
by the Lazy K cowpuncher in charge of them, coupled by a few emphasizing
kicks impartially administered by him to each by way of self-consolation
for his having missed all the fun, that they took their permanent
departure for parts unknown without standing on the order of their
going. The turnkey, for obvious reasons, was only too glad to keep his
own counsel.

At the preliminary examination, which was held without delay, both men
were fully exonerated on the grounds of self-defense and were as
promptly discharged from custody. The bill of sale was duly recorded;
another transfer of the brand and its contents from Douglass to Carter
was executed and put on record, and relaxation was the logical order of
the day.

Douglass, suddenly remembering his promise to report the result of his
attempt, went up to the telegraph office and indited a brief message.

    "Won out. O Bar O brand recorded in your name."

He did not know that it had been preceded by another message to the same
address, sent by Warren Brewster in reply to one received from Carter,
and ascribed the unconcealed admiration of the girl operator to an
entirely different cause from that which actually inspired it. Evidently
his vanity had suffered no discouragement over night. But he only smiled
indulgently at her; she was a pale, anæmic, washed-out blonde and he had
but small regard for the type.

Back in their palatial New York home Robert Carter and his sister were
seated in the library, waiting with strained emotions for the ring of
the messenger boy who would bring the answer to a message flashed an
hour before to the far West. The man was visibly perturbed and ever and
anon strode impatiently to the window, watch in hand, cursing the
dilatoriness of telegraph companies in general and this one in
particular. The woman sat very quiet and thoughtful in a big cozy chair
before the open fire of sea coals, her head supported by one hand, the
other lying clenched upon two open letters in her lap. Her face was very
pale and there were lines of pain about the sensitive mouth. Her whole
attitude betokened a great nervous tension and the eyes were luminous
with dread. Mechanically she took up the letters and reread them for at
least the hundredth time that morning. They were the two written by
Douglass the night before his departure to Gunnison. It was evident that
Abbie had either exceeded or misunderstood his instructions as to the
posting of them, for they had arrived together in the same mail.

Once more she yielded to the fatal fascination of the shorter note: "In
case of my death--" this time she got no farther for the letters swam in
a blinding mist; her reserve broke down and she laid her head on the
cushioned arm of the chair. Robert came quickly to her side.

"Don't! For God's sake, don't, Gracie! We will know in a minute." He put
his arm tenderly around her. "There is absolutely nothing to apprehend;
he is a man among a thousand and too wise to take any foolish risks. It
is all right!" But his own agitation gave the lie to his brave assurance
and he started nervously as the door-bell clanged harshly.

He took the ominous yellow envelope from the hand of the pompous lackey
who presented it and almost tore the enclosure in twain as he wrenched
it from its flimsy covering. One hasty glance and he gave a great shout
of joy.

"Gracie--listen!"

     "Douglass secured bill sale from Coogan without trouble. Is well
     and hearty. Congratulations on your manager! He is a wonder!

     "BREWSTER."

As she hastily confirmed his reading the bell clanged again and the
obsequious waiter brought in Douglass's telegram. Quick as was the man,
the girl reached the salver first. With a composure that strongly
contrasted with her previous agitation, she handed it to her brother.

"It is from Mr. Douglass," she said calmly, "and confirms Mr. Brewster's
wire. After all we were needlessly exercised about the whole matter. I
had no idea that your friend had such a predilection for dramatic
effects." And to his open-mouthed consternation she swept out of the
room with a scornful smile on her face.

"Well, I'll be damned!" said Mr. Robert Carter, blankly, to the
dignified effigy in plush.

"Yessir," assented that functionary, gravely. "If you please, sir!"



CHAPTER XIV

A FAIR FIELD AND NO FAVORS!


It was very pleasant at the C Bar ranch when the bluebirds came again.
Under the magical touch of the revivifying spring the buds were bursting
with the sheer joy of living and the earth was soft with thankfulness.
The cool, balmy air of the lower mesas was rich with the delicate
fragrance of the greening things, and higher up the breath of the cañons
was faintly redolent of the balsamic incense of pine and fir.

The meadows, lush with the largess of the melting snow fields above,
resounded to the liquid gurgling of myriads of red and yellow-shouldered
blackbirds wheeling and swinging over them in clouds of parti-colored
animation; the streams, no longer mere empty stretches of thirsty sand
and dry white bowlders, were roaring the lusty pean of well-filled
bellies and over-flushed veins. Far and near the land was dotted with
slowly-moving cattle, nipping gratefully at the succulent grass tips,
their formerly lank and rough-haired flanks distended with the young
year's generous bounty. In the barnyards was a scurrying of yellow balls
of down as the clucking hens told of some juicy tidbit wriggling for
their delectation. Everywhere was new young life, and all things were
fat with promise.

Scoured by the strenuous hand of winter, the ranch premises were
delightfully clean and sweet; the fences and corrals, repaired and
new-built, looked trim, strong and capable; the ditches were running
bank-full in readiness for duty in the arid days to come. Everything
betokened thrift and good management, and Douglass, looking at it with
critical approvement, knew that so far he had made good.

"She nevah looked bettah," was McVey's satisfied comment as he sat on
his horse on the crest of the little divide overlooking the ranch. "Yuh
suah hev got thu layout well in hand. We'll hev hay to buhn this fall."

"There was too much burned last year," said Douglass grimly; "we'll try
to put it to better use this time. I wonder what's become of him." It
was the first reference he had made to Matlock for many weeks. Red spat
indifferently.

"Pulled hes freight fer good, I reckon. Mont Butler told me he saw him
in Laramie two weeks afteh yuh broke jail." Both men chuckled
reminiscently. "He were full o' talk, as usual, but I reckon thet hes
blowin' won't cause no cyclones in these yeah pahts. I feel real bad to
think thet he didn't stop long enough to say goo'by to me thet night."

As they rode slowly in to lunch, warned by the blowing of a horn in the
hands of the impatient Abbie, Douglass was unusually taciturn. As they
unbridled their horses in the barn he said suddenly:

"Red, I'm going to take my vacation to-morrow; will be gone for a month.
Day after to-morrow Mr. and Miss Carter will be at Tin Cup--got a
letter from him last week. I want you to go and meet them. Better take
the extra wagon for their luggage, as well as the buckboard and Miss
Carter's roan; she wants to ride in. The buckboard is for Carter and a
woman friend they are bringing with them. Of course you will be in
charge while I'm gone. I'm going prospecting and I'll stake you in if I
find a gold mine." He said it as a matter of course; these two had
become inseparable in most things.

Red grunted suspiciously; he was evidently not so well pleased with
prospective riches as he logically should have been.

"Yuh are shore yuh ain't goin' to try an' develop a lead mine in
somebody's haid oveh to Laramie?" His tone was almost peevish.

Douglass gave him a reassuring thump amidships. "Not this trip, old man.
I am going over to the head of the Roaring Fork to trace up some float I
found there two years ago. I'd like mighty well to have you come along,
but we both can't leave at the same time, you know."

"It's very rich float," he said that night as they sat discussing final
arrangements. "If I ever find that lead, Red, our working days are over.
How'd you like to be a bloated bond-holder, eh, old-timer?"

Red grinned skeptically. "I'm from Texas. Yuh've got ter put it in mah
hand."

"But in case we should strike it?" insisted the other with amused
curiosity.

Red hung his belt and scabbard on the peg above his bunk; then he hung
his sombrero over them, taking considerable time to their satisfactory
disposal. But his head was thrown well back and his reply was almost a
challenge in its curt incisiveness:

"Then I reckon I wouldn't have to baig what ribbons I took a fancy to."

Douglass's eyes narrowed to mere slits and he breathed very softly; then
his brows unbent again, and he laughed cynically. "That isn't very
complimentary to--to wearers of the ribbons, Red. Do you really think
money can buy that kind of thing?"

"No, I reckon it wouldn't in her case," said McVey slowly, "but it would
give a man thu right to sit in thu game." Then he raised his head
proudly, sincerity, truth and resolution glowing in every lineament of
his strong, bronzed face: "I love her," he said simply, "an' some day,
when I've got thu right to, I'm goin' ter tell her so. An' now that I've
been fool enough to let yuh fo'ce my hand, I wan't yuh to know that I
only ask a faih field an' no favohs. To hell with yuh mine."

He flung angrily out of the house, his spurs clinking as he went. For
quite a time Douglass sat in statuesque silence; then he, too, went out
into the night, wending his way to the office, where he wrote far into
the wee sma' hours. Finally he dismounted his fountain pen and reread
carefully the longer of the four documents on which he had been engaged.
They were respectively a complete report of the stewardship, a receipt
for one thousand dollars covering his four months' salary (he took that
sum in cash from the little safe), a short letter to Mr. Carter, and his
resignation. He sealed them all in one envelope, which he addressed and
confided to Abbie's care for prompt delivery to Carter on his arrival.
Then he went back to the bunkhouse and in ten minutes was fast asleep.

As he pulled out in the morning Red noted that the horses which he rode
and packed were Douglass's private property. Just before mounting he
said, holding McVey's fist in a cordial grip, his other hand upon the
brawny shoulder:

"Red, I have decided to make my vacation a permanent one. I am not
coming back. You are in full charge now and naturally will be retained
in that capacity. You are a square, straight, _white_ man, and I am
leaving you a free field. I wish you luck." He rode away, McVey watching
him out of sight with wonder and consternation written all over his
honest face.

Over at Tin Cup he tarried long enough to bait and rest his horses and
bid his friends good-by, confiding to them the scant information that he
was tired of ranch work and was going to try his luck at mining. He made
all kinds of exaggerated promises to little Eulalie as she clung to him
sobbingly, and solemnly pledged himself to kill a bear for Bud, who
wanted the hide to make a pair of _chaparejos_.

He remained over night in town, leaving rather late the next day. The
animals were fresh and the going good, nevertheless he did not get so
far away but what the sweet face of Grace Carter glowed almost life-size
in the field of his powerful prism binoculars as she sprang expectantly
out of the stage and looked eagerly around with a keen disappointment
growing in her eyes as McVey and Abbie alone appeared to welcome her.
He saw her shake hands cordially with the former and a sneer disfigured
his mouth; but it involuntarily dissipated as she was buried in the hug
of the old woman who was patting her on the shoulder and crying for joy.

He suddenly changed the focus of the glass as another face came in view;
Robert Carter was assisting a woman to alight and as she reached terra
firma the declining sun rays irradiated her face sharply. The man licked
his lips nastily: "Hell!" he muttered with a fierce regret, "why didn't
I know that this was coming? Guess I've overlooked the best bet of my
life." And that, with Ken Douglass, was a sin.

He watched them get under way for the ranch, and followed them with his
glass until the distance swallowed them up. He had a broadside view for
nearly the whole distance, as their course lay at nearly right angles to
his line of vision. Occasionally he looked at the equestrienne on the
prancing roan, but for the greater part of the time the lenses were
centered on the face and form of the woman in the buckboard.

For the first time in his life Red McVey had dodged a direct issue when
Carter had asked him why Douglass had not met them in person. In
response to that question he had equivocally replied that Douglass had
gone away on his vacation and had delegated the duty to him. He was
devoutly glad that he was not forced into particulars and avoided any
embarrassing questions by devoting himself assiduously to the baggage.

When he opened the envelope which Abbie handed to him after supper,
Carter's irritation passed all bounds. With a forced politeness he
excused himself to his guest and went into the office, where he was
shortly joined by his sister, who intuitively surmised that something
was wrong. He almost thrust the letter into her hand, asking angrily:

"What the devil is the meaning of all this?"

She scanned the page hurriedly, her face paling as she read. It was very
short, but concise:

     "DEAR MR. CARTER:--

     "In leaving your service I desire to thank you for the many
     courtesies enjoyed at your hands, and for the flattering confidence
     you have ever reposed in me. Enclosed please find a full statement
     of assets and liabilities which I ask you will confirm at your
     earliest convenience. I have done my best and I trust that my
     services have been satisfactory.

     "Mr. McVey is perfectly competent to assume full management of the
     outfit and I sincerely hope that you will consider him favorably in
     that connection; he is absolutely honest and dependable, and is,
     besides, by far the best cowman of my acquaintance. I am
     recommending him without either his knowledge or consent.

     "I have paid myself out of the funds in hand; please find voucher
     inclosed.

     "Wishing the C-- unbounded prosperity, and yourself the happiness
     and good fortune you deserve,

     Yours very respectfully,

     "KENNETH M. DOUGLASS."

Never a word as to his underlying reasons; not an intimation of his
future plans and purposes, not even a conventional word of farewell to
her. She laid the letter quietly on the table.

"Really, Robert, your question is astonishing," she said in cold
asperity to his reiterated demand. "How could I possibly know of the
reasons actuating Mr. Douglass? He has never taken me into his
confidence and so I am more in the dark than you, his professed best
friend, should logically be. Of course I share your regret at losing so
valuable an employé; but assuredly I am not responsible for it in any
way."

Then she swept out haughtily to the entertainment of her guest, leaving
him standing there furious and altogether unconvinced. He went over to
the bunkhouse to interrogate McVey, but could get no enlightenment from
that taciturn individual, who really knew nothing of Douglass's motives.
So the next morning he made a virtue of necessity and offered the
position to Red, who accepted it without comment, merely observing:
"I'll try to please yuh."

On leaving her brother, Grace went straight to Mrs. Brevoort with no
little embarrassment in her manner. She realized now that both she and
Robert had talked a great deal about their recalcitrant manager and she
was at a loss how to explain the anomalous situation. But she went the
best possible way about it, straight to the point.

"I am afraid that your proposed conquest of all the cowboys on the ranch
will have to be deferred in at least one particular instance, Connie,"
she said with a fine attempt at humorous condolence; "the most eligible
one, our manager, Mr. Douglass, having severed his connection with the C
Bar, so Bobbie informs me. I am genuinely sorry, for he was 'the noblest
Roman of them all'!"

It was cleverly done; so cleverly, in fact, that Constance Brevoort was
completely nonplused, astute as she was. Long ago she had arrived at a
conclusion not borne out by the seeming indifference of her hostess, who
was placidly smiling at the regal beauty in the cozy armchair before the
cheerful pinon fire. Under the cover of a pretended pout she watched
Grace sharply.

"I have not learned the particulars yet," continued Grace airily, "but I
rather suspect that he got forewarned somehow and has beaten a masterly
retreat while yet in possession of all his faculties. Seriously, dear, I
am sorry that you did not meet him; he is a very attractive man and a
forceful one. I am dubious of the outcome of a passage between you and
him, despite your proficiency in the gentle game of hearts." She was
laughing quite naturally now, if a little bitterly; there is much said
in jest that is meant in earnest.

Constance somehow detected the false note but gave no sign. She looked
up languidly. "Really, I am getting interested. Maybe it is only a
pleasure deferred. Is he handsome, this Sir Galahad of yours?" There was
a covert malice in the question that failed of its intent, for Grace
said steadily:

"Not handsome in the common acceptance of the term, perhaps, but the
manliest man I have ever seen."

"And you have seen so many," murmured the other comprehensively. "He
interests me more than ever. Is he irrevocably lost to me?"

"That," said Grace truthfully, "I cannot say. It's a small world, you
know, and strange things come to pass." She gave a little retrospective
pat to the head of Buffo, lying in her lap. "And some beautiful things
pass for ever." The antelope licked her cheek sympathetically as the
last sentence was breathed softly in his ear. Constance Brevoort,
unhearing that last piteous cry, smiled confidently.

"It will come to pass, without question. And then--who knows."

Carter entering at this juncture, the conversation was diverted to other
topics. Later that night as Mrs. Brevoort divested herself of the
surface paraphernalia of the sex, she smiled approvingly at the
revelations of the long cheval mirror in her dressing-room.

She was a handsome young matron of thirty, a perfect specimen of the
southern type of brunette, with black eyes and hair, and creamy skin.
Married at eighteen to Anselm Brevoort, a millionaire thirty years her
senior, she had lived the life of luxury and dissipation inseparable
from her social station, and was therefore naturally blasé and a bit
enervated. Yet, as she stood there in the soft candle light, uncoiling
her luxuriant masses of hair, it was evident that excesses had left no
traces on her splendid physique.

Her marriage had been one of convenience purely; she had from the very
beginning frankly disavowed any love for the man who made her the
mistress of his establishment and the custodian of his honor, and the
waning years had not brought any accession of the tender passion.
Brevoort was a very unemotional man at the best and was wholly engrossed
in his business affairs, living for the better part of his time at the
clubs or abroad. She was therefore thrown a great deal on her own
resources for amusement, and it must be admitted that she made the most
of the many opportunities accorded to every beautiful woman in her
sphere. Her natural pride and discriminativeness had served her among
temptations that would have been disastrous to a weaker nature.

So it was that at the end of her "dolorous dozen" as she whimsically
called her years of marital anomaly, she had run the gamut of every
danger incident to such a career and had escaped without a scar. And her
self-confidence was commensurably great. It was her laughing boast that
no man had ever given her a sensation other than those of charity and
weariness, and she was irritatingly frank in her expressions to that
effect, even to her victims. Her visit to the Carter ranch was merely a
caprice, occasioned by Grace's enthusiastic laudations of her pet
western plainsmen and her mischievous intimation that beyond the Rockies
was a world impregnable to even the prowess of this female Alexander.
Grace was not a little alarmed at the prompt acceptance of her
inadvertent challenge by the finished coquette, who really had no design
whatever on her protégés but only utilized it as an excuse to get away
for a time from an environment productive of ennui. She had heartily
tired of the silly game and really welcomed the distraction of a new and
unique experience.

Nevertheless, she had gaily laid a wager with Grace that she would, in
less than the allotted two-months of her stay, bedeck her belt with the
scalp of every cowpuncher within a radius of ten miles from the C Bar.
And when, as the day of their departure for the West approached, Miss
Carter realized that Mrs. Brevoort was in earnest, she wished that she
had been less urgent in her conventional invitation: it is ever a
dubious venture, this turning of one's pet preserve over to the
questionable mercies of a skillful and calloused hunter.

Well, there was no danger now, she was thinking with a sad sinking of
heart, as she looked wistfully at a cluster of long-dried heart's-ease
in her escritoire. It was over and done with, and that chapter of her
life was closed forever. For Abbie had, in a fit of self-reproach, told
her of her taunt on that eventful night and she had instantly divined
his thoughts and deductions. Her first impulse had been to write him and
indignantly deny--what? He had not given voice to any such belief in her
duplicity, and how was she to assume that he entertained such a thought
without giving color and grounds for his suspicion? And then, again, he
had not left any address and it would be impossible to reach him by
mail. She knew him well enough to know that he would never again look
upon her willingly in his foolish and unjustified resentment, and the
probabilities of a consistent explanation were all against her. He had
never written her one word during her eastern sojourn; his letters had
been all of a purely business nature, curt and brief, always addressed
to her brother and only containing the conventionally-required
remembrances to herself. And now the over-wide gulf was forever
unbridgable. In her desolation and heartache she cried herself to
sleep.



CHAPTER XV

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Constance Brevoort's two months had lengthened into five and it was now
October. Her experience had been unique and so diverting that the
attractions of the eastern metropolis had paled before the more virile
and exciting possibilities of this life primitive, and it had required
but slight persuasion on the part of the Carters to induce her to
prolong her stay until the time of their own return to New York.

The healthful outdoor life, to which she took with avidity, had worked
wonders for her really splendid and responsive constitution, and her
normal great beauty had been freshened and intensified to a degree that
made her conquest of the unsophisticated cowpunchers a thing of almost
unenjoyable ease. With the single exception of Red, who loyally
worshiped at the shrine of his first-loved divinity, every man for miles
around did open and unblushing homage to the bewitching goddess, who
found in their frank adoration a charm and satisfaction unknown to her
previous inane piracies on the placid shallows of the social millpond.
Out here on the high seas of unshackled independence, where every man
was a viking in his own right and cruised with unbridled license through
the deeps of his own will, each conquest was a victory to be written
large on the tablet of her vanity. In her own land she had found many
men who would languidly live for her favors; out here there was not one
who would not eagerly die for the privilege of carrying out her most
whimsical commands. And with womanly lack of philosophy she very much
preferred those who would die to those who would live.

Under the jealous ministrations of her Centaur swains she had developed
a great skill of horsewoman-ship, and in their company she and Grace
Carter had ridden the range thoroughly, leaving not one point thereof
unexplored. Each man vied with the other in the breaking of a safe mount
for her, and tradition has it that there were more gentle horses on the
range that year than had ever been known before on the whole western
slope. These extended rides were a Godsend for Grace, diverting her mind
from its cankering memories and bringing a new beauty to both face and
figure, until at last the amorous cowpunchers were frankly divided as to
the supremacy of the two women's respective charms. Red, alone, had no
indecision, either in thought or strenuous expression on that point.

"Thu black ain't in thu runnin' with thu bay; an' she ain't in her
class, nuther," had been his unequivocal opinion when approached on that
topic. "Thu one's good enough to put yuh wad on fer a quick spurt, but
yuh kin trus' yuah life on thu otheh. Thu filly fer me, every time." But
then Red was in love, and that always has a strongly modifying influence
on one's convictions. That he was nearly alone in his judgment may be
ascribed to the difference of tastes. And it may be stated as a curious
coincidence that most of the cowpunchers were blondes.

Not a word had been heard from Douglass since his departure and he had
actually passed out of the mind of Mrs. Brevoort altogether. When their
paths did finally cross, however, it was under conditions that stamped
him indelibly upon her mind and soul both.

She and Grace had ridden over to Tin Cup in the cool of the morning,
spending the day with Mrs. Blount. They had, on their return, essayed a
short cut through William's pasture field, with the intention of thereby
shortening the distance and evading the dust which hung in big yellow
clouds above a herd of cattle being driven up the county road.

In the field adjoining Grace saw, with an instantaneous recognition
which sent the color from her cheeks, a rider engaged in corralling a
pair of dusty pack-horses whose appearance betokened a long day's
plodding. There could be no mistaking that erect, lithe figure, or the
long, rangy "strawberry roan" he was so gracefully bestriding, and her
heart leaped at sight of him. Constance, following the direction of her
gaze, asked quickly:

"Who is that? What a superb seat he has!"

Even as her lips opened in reply, Grace saw Mrs. Brevoort's horse give a
frantic kick at something entangling his legs, then leap affrightedly
from side to side, while his rider screamed in terror. As he plunged
again Grace screamed in unison as she realized her companion's peril;
she never knew that at that moment of supreme dread she had
instinctively cried out the name of the rider in the next field,
conscious only of that terrible strand of barbed wire which was goading
Constance's horse to frenzy. It was a thing of all too common occurrence
in this land of wire fences; a loosely-coiled strand of the barbed steel
had been left lying in the high grass where some careless repairsman had
indolently flung it, and the horse had become hopelessly entangled in
its trap. Scared and anguished by the ripping barbs, the horse was
plunging madly about in his attempt to free himself from its cruel
fetters, momentarily approaching a greater danger, as in his struggles
he neared a high cut bank of the arroyo traversing the pasture.

At that shrill scream of "Ken! Ken!" the man whirled his horse about and
looked inquiringly in their direction; one lightning-like glance and he
sent the rowells home hard into the flank of the roan, which left the
ground in one mighty leap. Over the intervening twenty rods he came like
a thunderbolt, clearing the dividing fence by a good two feet as
Douglass lifted him to the jump and gaining the side of the plunging
horse just as the bank's edge crumbled under its feet.

He was not one moment too soon, for as his arm encircled Constance's
waist, her horse went floundering down to a broken neck on the rocks
thirty feet below. Even then for a few moments the issue was in doubt;
Mrs. Brevoort was an exceedingly well-nurtured young woman, and one
hundred and forty pounds of limp humanity is difficult to sustain with
one arm while on the back of a horse struggling to retain his footing
on the treacherous edge of a loose-earth precipice. But that arm had the
strength of a steel bar, and its possessor was the best horseman in a
land where all men rode for a living. Inside of ten seconds he was
dismounting in safety, still holding the fainting woman with that one
clasping arm.

As he touched the ground he placed the other arm around her
supportingly, her weight for the first time telling on him. On his
snatching her out of the saddle she had instinctively thrown her arms
about his neck, and they were still there; her head lay drooped upon his
shoulder and her loosened hair, whipping in the fresh breeze, was
stinging his cheek and blinding his eyes as Grace rode up and flung
herself from the saddle. There was a suggestiveness in the pose of the
two that went to her heart with a pang: they looked so lover-like, this
man with his arms about the clinging woman. For five long months she had
been schooling her heart to resignation in the conviction that they
would never meet in the flesh again, and here he had come back to
her--with another woman in his arms. In that moment she hated Constance
Brevoort with all the fervor of her strong young aching heart. For as
she stood there, torn by passion and pulsating with joy at the sight of
him whom she had deemed lost to her forever, she saw the black eyes
cautiously open and close again, the rose-red lips curve in a peculiar
smile, and the white arms tighten about Douglass's neck.

In the first fury of her jealous rage she could have killed them both
without compunction, but pride came to her rescue and as he gently laid
his burden down in the deep grass, reason reasserted itself. Taking
Constance's head in her lap, she said curtly:

"Get some water at once! There is plenty in the arroyo."

He was back in a half minute with his inverted sombrero full of the
tepid fluid which Grace rather unceremoniously poured over Mrs.
Brevoort's face and neck, sneering cynically at the well-simulated gasp
of returning consciousness that rewarded her efforts. At the second
douche Mrs. Brevoort's eyes opened a bit hastily; the water was a trifle
turbid as well as tepid, and Constance doubted the benefits of that
alkaline lotion on her zealously-preserved complexion. Grace smiled
grimly and emptying the remainder of the water out of his sombrero
handed it to him with exaggerated thankfulness.

He took it with a modest declaimer and turned to the readjustment of his
saddle which had been displaced during the rescue. Then he went to the
recovery of the accoutrements of the dead horse in the arroyo and when
he returned Mrs. Brevoort was in more appropriate condition to receive
his formal introduction and convey her gratitude for the supreme service
he had rendered. He evaded most of the latter by hastily riding back to
town in the hopes of securing her another mount. He returned with the
discomfiting report that there was not a single ridable animal
available, and suggested that the ladies return to Tin Cup and stay over
night, a rider being meanwhile sent to the C Bar ranch for a horse that
she could handle with safety. As it was already well along in the heel
of the day they were compelled to accept his advice and the return to
the hotel was soon effected.

He was all deference to Miss Carter throughout the evening meal and the
short succeeding hour of his company which he accorded them. He was
frank in his confession of failure to find the mineral deposits of which
he had been in search, although positive in his conviction that he would
be ultimately successful. He was exceedingly affable in his manner and
Grace was all sweetness in return. Constance Brevoort, watching the
little by-play, was genuinely amused; with the wisdom of the old serpent
she effaced herself as much as possible, and as soon as conventionality
would permit, excused herself and retired to her room, leaving the
leaven of her beauty to work in what she correctly judged to be warm and
fertile soil. It was a clever bit of strategy that would in nine out of
ten instances have been altogether successful and she smiled as she
looked into the little mirror.

"This one will be worth while," she mused aloud, her mouth full of
hair-pins. "But he will require different treatment from the others, and
will have to be handled carefully. But why did she say he was not
handsome? The man is as beautiful as a Greek god done in bronze. And he
has the strength of ten. He caught me up like a feather." She looked
with a strange admiration at the slight discoloration of the white flesh
where his arm had gripped her waist. "Yes, he will be worth while."

But fate had capriciously designed this to be the tenth instance; after
she had left the room an embarrassing silence had fallen upon the stuffy
little parlor and after awhile, Douglass rose diffidently and stalked
toward the door, mumbling some conventional excuse for his departure.
His hand was already on the door knob when his name, softly spoken,
caused him to turn instantly. Grace had also risen and was standing
beside the table with one hand partly extended and something very like
entreaty in her eyes.

"Tell me," she said without preamble, coming straight to the point, "why
did you leave the C Bar? My brother says you gave no reason; and I think
I have a right to know."

For the eternal half of a minute he regarded her with somber scorn. "I
guess you've got another think coming," he said with slangy
impoliteness. "When, and where, and how, and by whom was conferred upon
you the right to demand of me an accounting of my private affairs?"

Her bosom was heaving in hot resentment of his studied incivility and
her lips trembled with a fierce desire to give him scorn for scorn. But
she had too much at stake and another opportunity might not offer if she
let the present one escape her. So she wisely availed herself of woman's
best weapon and a tear glistened in her eye as she said humbly: "I
presumed too greatly; and I am fully rebuked. I have no right--not even
the right to expect courtesy and justice at your hands. Yet you are a
fair man, and some terrible mistake seems to have been made somehow.
Tell me, please, why did you leave us as you did?"

He answered her, Yankee-wise, with a counter question: "Why did you show
Abbie my poem?"

"Abbie--your poem--! I do not understand!" Her genuine wonder and
surprise made him feel uneasy. 'Could it be possible, after all, that
she was guiltless? If so--God! what a fool he had made of himself! He
crossed the room impulsively, and laying his hand on her shoulder,
looked squarely into her dewy eyes. She met his look bravely, then
gently removing his hand, walked in her turn to the door. He intercepted
her with a quick movement, his jaws squaring with determination.

"Let us have this thing out, here and now! Why did you deliberately make
a laughing stock of me by exhibiting that foolish bit of verse and so
expose me to the ridicule of the whole range? I want the truth."

"And you could think me guilty of that!" There was more of sorrowful
pity than indignation in the words and they cut him like a bullet. "Let
me pass, please. I have no further curiosity to satisfy."

He barred the way obstinately, a shamed contrition struggling with
sullen incredulity for the mastery. "Wait a minute," he said thickly.
"If I am wrong in this I humbly beg your pardon, but I am going to be
sure before I humiliate myself unnecessarily." Angry as she was, she had
much difficulty to repress a smile at the arrogance of his vanity.

"Abbie taunted me with writing poetry and the men joined in her
insinuations. Their only knowledge of my foolishness could have been
derived from one source--the notebook which I lost and which you
returned to me. There was no reference to it made before it came into
your possession. What was I to infer?"

"That book was handed to me by my mother, who, as I understand, got it
from one of the men who found it at the gate. He thought it belonged to
my brother and so gave it to her. I beg to assure you that no one saw or
handled it while in my possession but myself. And I certainly have not
discussed its contents with any one." Reading full belief in his eyes,
she recovered her composure instantly and thereafter had him on the
defensive.

"Was the poetry really as bad as all that?" she asked with such apparent
innocent naïveté that he was compelled against his will to smile
somewhat sheepishly.

"It was arrant nonsense," he confessed. And then, somewhat bitterly.
"Yet it was written in good faith, every word of it."

"Then I should like to read it," she said, with hypocritical interest.
"I am curious to learn what could be the nature of the impressions that
you could be impelled to perpetuate in verse."

"I thought you had no further curiosity to satisfy," he retorted
evasively, his suspicions now entirely dissipated. "And I do not care to
risk subjecting myself to any further indignities."

"That is very unkind of you." The reproof was gravely gentle. "My
interest is not that of mere curiosity, believe me. I prophesied once
that you could write poetry, remember. It would be a great pleasure to
read the vindication of my intuition. _That_ is woman's best trump card,
you know. Please."

She laid her hand on his arm and he fumbled irresolutely with his hat;
she smiled confidently, knowing well that he who hesitates with a woman
is lost. Although greatly against his inclination he took the book from
his inside pocket and put it in her hand, opened at the verse she was so
familiar with.

With a great pretense at its more convenient reading, she went over to
the lamp or the table; but it was really to hide a sudden trepidation
she felt at her own audacity in thus forcing his hand. In order to gain
time she reread it a second and then a third time. In the presence of
the man standing there silently waiting her judgment, the lines took on
a new and strange meaning, an intensity of pathetic appeal that filled
her eyes with tears. She made no attempt to conceal them as she returned
the booklet.

"I thank you," she said very gently. "It is my vindication--and my
answer as well. 'A great Love's ecstasy!' May it be yours--and without
the penalty."

Her face was drawn and wan, and the hand she extended to him as she bade
him good night trembled visibly. He took it in both his and for an
immortal second, happiness was very close to those two young people, had
they only known. But Cupid was ever a mischievous imp and one of his
arrows had only glanced; he laughed derisively and turned his back,
resolving to drive the shaft home mercilessly when time and longing had
worn to the quick this big simpleton's armor of obtuse vanity, as
Douglass, restraining a sudden mad desire to take this woman in his arms
and bruise her mouth with kisses, merely laid his lips respectfully on
the little hand and deferentially held open the door.

At the entrance of the hotel he encountered Red McVey, coming to assure
himself of the safety of the ladies. He had ridden out to meet them on
their return journey, as was his wont, and, meeting the rider sent for a
new mount for Mrs. Brevoort, had sent him on to the ranch with definite
instructions, electing himself to ride through to town and as a matter
of precaution, accompany them home the next day. The rider had not
mentioned Douglass's participation in the mishap, and his presence was
therefore a surprise to McVey, who was unaffectedly glad to see his best
friend again.

At the Alcazar, a little later, Red had a sapient suggestion to make:
"Befoh yuh squandah all thu gold yuh been diggin' outen yuh leetle ole
mine, Ken, on this yeah mad-wateh outfit, yuh betteh lay yuh a leetle
nest aig. Thu Vaughans want to sell theah ranch an' go east; reckon
twenty thousand would buy it, cattle an' all. If yuh got that much
denario in yuh jeans it's a mighty big bahgaln."

"Twenty thousand!" said Douglass derisively. "You haven't heard of a
lone cowpuncher about my size that's been holding up any banks or
treasure trains, have you? Twenty thousand! Why say, you old redheaded
funny-bone, I'm ashamed to tell you what I'd do for one-half that much
money, honest I am. I'm just seven bones to the good and I've come down
here to make it a couple of hundred, so's I can eat till the grass
comes. It's next year I'll be buying twenty thousand-dollar bargains;
the gold is there, all right, and I'm going to find it.

"I bought out a claim up there," he continued, "and who do you think
owned it first?" He chuckled at thought of the surprise he was going to
spring on Red. But his mirth got a sudden check as McVey nodded his head
knowingly.

"Yes, I heered about it; 'twer Matlock, an' he's been talkin' a heap
disrespec'ful about how he broke it off in yuh, oveh to Cheyenne. Says
as how he is seven hundred dollars nearer even with yuh. I didn't think
yuh'd let that coyote soak yuh thataway." His words were distinctly
reproachful. Douglass smiled mysteriously.

"Don't you worry about my soaking, old-timer. He'll talk even more
disrespectfully of himself about this time next year. That claim lies
lengthwise along the top of the ridge, on both sides of it, and so
constitutes the 'apex' of every vein below it throughout its full
length. I am perfectly aware that he salted it for my benefit with ore
taken from the Bonanza mine. I saw him doing it! But even if I hadn't
known all about it I wouldn't have been fooled. The formation is
entirely different from the Bonanza locality and any miner, let alone a
professional mining engineer as I happen to be, would have tumbled to
the salting at first sight of the stuff the fool scattered about the
place. And that apex controls the vein that this came from!" He fished
a bit of rock from his pocket and passed it to Red, whose eyes bulged
out as he looked. Through its center, from side to side, ran a ribbon of
dull yellow metal as wide as one's finger. Even to Red's unmetallurgical
eyes its identity was plain.

"Gold! Pure gold!" he murmured with respectful awe. Then his big paw
went out congratulatingly. "Shake! Gawd, ole man, but I'm shore glad!"

"What's a 'apex'?" he inquired of Douglass, some six hundred dollars
winner for the night, as he left the faro table and walked arm in arm
with him to the hotel. Douglass was very explicit in his explanation.

"Nearly all true fissure veins in these mountains are to all practical
intents and purposes vertical; that is, they run straight up and down
instead of lying horizontal. It naturally follows that, if they don't
pinch out before they get there, they come to the surface at or near the
top of the hill. The courts have decided that a claim located on the top
or 'apex' of such veins controls them to whatever depth they may run;
that is, an 'apex' claim holds all the veins under it clean down to
China! So the fellow who owns the 'apex' practically owns the whole
mountain for a space as long as the length of his claim. To make sure of
catching the apex of any veins in the hill I took up two extensions--one
on each side of the claim I bought from Matlock and his partner, so that
my holdings are fifteen hundred feet long by nine hundred feet wide; as
the hill crest is almost a knife-edge in sharpness I cover every vein
in it. And somewhere under the loose slide-rock on that hill lies the
lode from which this comes! Do you _sabe_ now?"

Red gurgled his full comprehension. "Why yuh damned ole foxy gran'pa! I
orter knowed thet yuh wouldn't let thet swab do yuh! But howd' yuh come
to be dealin' with Matlock? I been a heap oneasy in my mind about that."

"Well, it was this way: Two years ago his partner, old Eric Olsen, the
big Swede that Coogan bought the Palace from, you know, saw me
prospecting on that mountain and naturally figured that I had found some
good indications of mineral there or I would not be fooling around. So
they plotted to salt a claim or two and swindle me a bit, their own
prospecting of the ground revealing nothing at all. The whole mountain
side is covered with slide-rock and there is no mineral in sight. So,
calculating that a fool cowpuncher knew nothing about geology and so
would bite at anything he could see with his own eyes, they stole a lot
of rich ore from the Bonanza, over at Breckenridge, and salted her up
good! As it happened, they chose the very claim I wanted to file on, the
apex, and so I had to buy them out. I never came in contact with either
of them at all; I bought it through a mining broker. But for a whole day
I watched them through my field glasses salting the ground. The funny
part of it is that by a very little work--Olsen is a good man with a
drill and powder, you know--they did enough linear shafting to enable me
to patent the ground. And in the five months that I have been at work on
the extensions I have done enough work on each of them to patent them
also. That's what I wanted this six hundred for. In ten days I'll have
them patented, too, and then no one can jump them or cause me any
trouble when I come to work the leads which I am sure lie under my apex
claims."

On the first of the new year he received his patents from Washington;
and in the interim he had secured work that promised to put him in
sufficient funds to prosecute developments on his mining claims.



CHAPTER XVI

THE SONG OF THE WOLF


The next morning, yielding to McVey's urgencies, he consented to take
part in the fall round-up just at hand, working in the interests of the
C Bar outfit.

In the ensuing days of strenuous toil he worked harder than he had ever
done before in all his range experience, spurred with the idea that he
owed Carter some reparation for leaving his service so unceremoniously,
and his staunch yeomanry appealed particularly to Anselm Brevoort, who
had run out to see a rodeo and have a month's hunt with Carter. As the
best hunter among the C Bar men it naturally devolved upon Douglass,
after the range work was done, to act as guide to Brevoort and the
ladies, who developed a great interest in the sport.

It was upon one of these trips that Brevoort casually mentioned his
temptation to buy a ranch as an investment, asking Douglass's advice in
the matter. The latter expressing some diffidence in the premises,
Brevoort brought the point in issue to a definite focus by asking him if
he thought the price asked for the Vaughan holdings, twenty thousand
dollars, was excessive. Douglass thought it was excessively cheap, to
the contrary, and said so emphatically.

"I would gladly give thirty for it if I had the money. There are more
than twenty thousand dollars' worth of cattle in the VN brand without
counting the ranch lands, which are worth nearly as much more. I think
the Vaughans are loco to sell at the price!"

They had just finished luncheon and were lounging about a little spring
enjoying their post-prandial pipes. Mrs. Brevoort was dallying with a
dainty papelito and Grace was fussing with her pocket camera. Constance,
gracefully exhaling a perfumed wraith, looked significantly to her
husband, who gave an imperceptible nod and after a few thoughtful puffs
came to the marrow of his subject.

"That's Carter's opinion, too, and McVey thinks it a great bargain,
also. And as Mrs. Brevoort has taken a great fancy to the place for some
reason, I think I will take it; that is, if I can secure some competent
man to manage it for me. It would be a position of entire trust as I
know nothing of the business and would necessarily be unable to give it
scarcely any attention, my time being fully occupied otherwise. Are you
open to such an engagement, Mr. Douglass?"

Grace Carter, her attention apparently riveted upon some intricate
adjustment of her camera, scarcely breathed; Constance Brevoort,
flicking the ash from her cigarette, never moved an eyelash. In the
silence which followed the question, the champing of the horses on the
grain in their nose-bags sounded to the women like a threshing machine.

"I am much flattered!" said Douglass, slowly. "But I am afraid that I
will not be able to accept your offer. I have some mining interests to
look after and--"

"But I understood you to say that you would gladly give thirty thousand
dollars for it if you were in funds. That presupposes that you could
find the time if necessary," said Breevort, with humorous insistence.
"Look here, Douglass, I am not in the habit of loading myself up with
dubious investments, and I wouldn't give ten dollars for the whole
layout unless I can secure you as manager. In your hands I feel as
though I would get fair returns on my outlay. I am frank to say I have
'looked you up' as we say in town, and I want you to give it further
consideration before turning my offer down. As to your mining interests,
perhaps I could be of some assistance to you in that direction. Think it
over; I won't take no for an answer right off the reel."

As he was unsaddling the horses on their return that night, Miss Carter,
coming with some sugar lumps for her pet roan, stopped long enough to
shyly venture the hope that he would be able to become one of the
neighbors.

"The sale of their ranch will allow Nellie Vaughan to achieve the dream
of her life, an extended trip abroad, and one realizes so few of one s
dreams in this life, you know! Besides, you are part of the environment
to me. You really 'belong'! I do hope you will accept Mr. Brevoort's
proposal--for Nellie's sake!"

Very deliberately he hung the saddle on the rack. Then he came close to
her, looking very masterful and Strong in the white moonlight.

"Nellie is to be congratulated on the thoughtfulness of her loving
friends! But why should I, who am not one of them, take her into
consideration at all? Promiscuous philanthropy is not my forte. The
inducement is small. Have you nothing better to offer?"

"For our sakes, then;" she said ambiguously. "We will feel easier if you
remain on this range, feel more secure in our lives and property." He
flushed at the immensity of the compliment but ruthlessly forced her
hand.

"That's rather high, but still not enough. Bid again!"

"For _my_ sake!" It was nearly a whisper, but he heard. His eyes were
triumphantly bright as, deftly eluding his curving arm, she sped swiftly
away in the benign darkness. But it was a different glow from any which
had ever irradiated them before: This was that of a soft, sweet
tenderness that vaguely soothed even while strongly disconcerting him.
He was very quiet under the spell of it as he went into supper, and
noticeably distrait during the game of chess which he subsequently
played with Mrs. Brevoort in the big living room later on.

Beating him with ridiculous ease she declined another game, saying,
laughingly: "You are not in form to-night, Mr. Douglass, and I like
victories more difficult of achievement. Time was when I was content
with mere winning, no matter how easy the attainment of that end. But
this life out here has spoiled me for inanities forever. I have still
the insatiable desire for conquest, but now I want to go up against odds
and win, to bring into camp only opponents worthy of my steel."

"But that," he said, with conventional politeness, "is unthinkable.
There can be none entirely worthy of you!" She made a little _moué_ at
the wearisome compliment.

"Why do all men say the same things! I'm quite sure I've heard something
like that a hundred times before. In fact, I've come three thousand
miles to get away from it. Say something original, please, even if it be
something wicked!"

He looked at her queerly but she met his gaze with eyes as audacious as
her words. Over at the piano Grace was playing with much tender feeling
one of Chopin's delicious nocturnes; before the open fireplace, Carter,
Brevoort and McVey were discussing the possibilities of a well-managed
ranch. The big room with its happy combination of modern and primitive
amenities was the epitome of cheerfulness and comfort.

"Original? No man can say anything that is that. The possibilities were
exhausted centuries ago. Even. Sin is stereotyped. There have always
been women like you and men like me! What on earth could a man in my
position say to a woman in yours that would be acceptably wicked?"

She smiled inscrutably; there was no abstraction in his manner now. "And
yet you are so bold in other things!" she said, tauntingly. "To the
brave all things are possible."

From far out in the darkness came the weird, long-drawn, mournful howl
of some gaunt timber wolf foraging with his mate. It was very faint and
the others, deeply engrossed in music and money matters, were
unconscious of it. At its eerie repetition she laid her hand lightly on
his arm.

"Listen! That is something new to me at all events. What can it be?"

"Only 'the voice of one crying in the wilderness,'" he whimsically
quoted. "A gray wolf calling to his mate." He laid his hand
restrainingly on hers and leaned so close that his hot breath swept her
cheek.

"I wonder how brave, or wicked, you could really be, you wonderful
creature!" he murmured, insidiously. Her color heightened but she made
no reply. The pulse was very distinct in the veins of the soft little
warm hand lying tremulously beneath his. "Listen! There it is again, the
call of the Wild, the voice out of the Primitive inviting strong souls
back into the boundless realm of the great First Cause. Are you brave
enough to accept it, to go out and be the most gloriously fierce wolf of
them all?"

"Why," she exclaimed, with a labored vivacity that deceived neither of
them, "that is certainly original!"

"With--say with me for a running mate!" His voice was scarcely audible.

"And that is decidedly wicked!" She gently withdrew her hand. But there
was small reproof in the seductive smile playing about her red lips.
With the arrogance of the youthfully virile and strong he glanced
contemptuously at the slight figure before the fireplace, old and worn
and gray, debilitated with the fierce excesses of the chase after money;
then he looked at the radiant beauty of the voluptuous young woman
beside him and laughed grimly at the painful disparity between man and
wife.

"And they say marriages are made in heaven!" To his credit be it said
that he had intended the sneer to be mental only, but somehow or other,
perhaps telepathically, the woman bent her head and a wave of crimson
suffused her face.

"Wolves know no conventions," he went on with tense vehemence. "Out
there in the wild soul calls to soul, body leaps to body in the fitness
of true affinity. It is all Life, and therefore all Love; for Life is
Love incarnated. The senile moralists of Humanity, that least fit race
of all earthly animals, preach the equality of the sexes. As applied to
human beings that is a lie. It is only out there among the wolves that
She is the equal of He in all things, his mental, physical, psychical
and sexual peer. That is why the type is kept pure and eternal. The wolf
of twenty centuries hence will be fully the equal of the wolf of to-day.
And why? Because of the virtue of perfect natural selection--the fittest
to the fittest, without the let and hindrance of sickly sentimentality,
the unnatural joining by Man-god made crimes of the unfit to the fit.
Wolves breed wolves, with full powers of the highest enjoyment of Life
and Love. Humanity begets weaklings, cowards, driveling idiots whose
highest evolution is that shapeless thing called Hope, whose greatest
virtue is submission to the anomalies of civilization. Even you, who
could be the peer of any wolf that ever ran untrammeled--"

He stopped abruptly, ashamed of his vehemence, and somewhat abashed by
the indulgent if slightly satirical smile of his amused listener.

"Even if I could run, and howl, and go hungry; every man's hand, and
what is infinitely worse, every woman's tongue against me! And what
could the Wolf give me in exchange for this?" waving her hand around the
room comprehensively and incidentally fondling her jewels.

"He could give you something in exchange for _that_," he said, with a
sinister glance towards the fireplace and again she dropped her eyes.

He drew the chess board towards him and began mechanically arranging the
pieces. Then he swept them impatiently into a heap and made as if to
arise. She leaned forward suddenly and again laid her hand on his arm.

"The wolf subject is an interesting one to me. It is really a pity that
I will not be accorded an opportunity of studying them in their native
haunts. If it were not for your, to us, unfortunate obligations
elsewhere, I should devote quite a portion of my time to the pursuit of
more definite information about them."

His hot hand almost burned hers. "Why shouldn't you investigate the
matter if you want to? Your husband is going to buy the VN ranch!" In
silence more eloquent than words she gave him her hand.

After a few desultory minutes with the group about the fireplace, he
strolled over to the piano. Grace welcomed him shyly, her touch on the
keys a little uncertain as in compliance with her request he sang to her
accompaniment the Toreador song from Carmen. The request was an
inspiration on her part, she never having heard him sing before, and she
had preferred it only to cover her soft confusion as she suddenly felt
rather than saw his presence behind her. If his instant compliance had
surprised her, his execution of it was a revelation to everyone in the
room. He sang it easily and freely, a little raucously from lack of
practice, it is true, but with the power and richness of voice that made
even Constance Brevoort, hypercritical as she was in things musical, sit
breathless to its conclusion.

The silence which followed was first broken by Red. "Gee, Ken," he said
quaintly, "who'd ever thought yuh could beller so melojious as that!
Why, yuh're a reg'lah preemoh-johnny!" In the hilarity which this evoked
Grace said, reproachfully:

"And to think I never knew!"

He was almost boyishly elated at the implied compliment, and, at the
insistence of his audience sang several other operatic selections very
creditably. Then he turned in modest explanation to Carter's demand.

"We all sang a little at college, you know, and my mother was an
accomplished musician. It is four years since I last sang. You are
overkind to me."

"Do you not play as well?" impulsively asked Mrs. Brevoort. He shook his
head negatively.

"Only a few accompaniment chords that I smash out indifferently! and I
am dubious of my ability to do that after all these years of roping and
ditch digging."

Anselm Brevoort, watching him speculatively through a fragrant cloud of
cigar smoke, suddenly sprang a bomb. "Have you ever composed, Mr.
Douglass, written any songs, for instance? I have heard that you range
men have an aptitude in that direction."

Douglass surveyed him levelly for a moment, his face hardening with
quick suspicion. "I have done most things foolish, after the manner of
my kind, Mr. Brevoort," he said, curtly; "but I hardly think you would
find even a passing interest in anything I have accomplished in that
direction." Whereupon that astute financier subsided promptly, evincing
no further curiosity as to the poetic attainments of this uncomfortably
straight-speaking young personage. He was a very shrewd man and had long
since learned to respect the moods and idiosyncrasies of others.

But Constance, his wife, detecting the sharp irritation in Douglass's
voice, was seized with a malicious desire to know its cause; like her
husband she was thinking: "That caught him on the raw, somehow. I wonder
why?"

"You should allow your friends to be the judge of that, Mr. Douglass,"
she said, pleasantly. "I am quite certain myself that we should find
much more than a passing interest if we could induce you to favor us.
The songs inspired by this environment must naturally be full of color
and strength. I should very much enjoy hearing one."

"Upon your heads be it, then!" He seated himself at the piano. "This,"
he said, turning to Mrs. Brevoort, meaningly, "I call 'The Song of the
Wolf.'"

Through the silence of the room crept a queer, faint murmur like the
breath of an æolian harp or the sighing of the wind through far-off
pines. There was no attempt at harmonious arrangement and concordance;
it was rather a vague, erratic and intangible dissonance, a weird jumble
of soft discords that alternately pleased and pained. Gradually it
increased in volume, as the wind rises to the approach of a storm,
culminating finally in a thunderous crash of double bass. Then out of
the contrastive silence of the succeeding lull came unmistakably the
mournful howl of a wolf, wonderfully rendered by a few soft tremulous
touches of those strong yet sensitive fingers.

Another rolling crash, a diminishing rumble, and then the rich, deep
voice of the singer:

    "Child of the Wind and Sun, I glide
      Like a tongue of flame o'er the mountain's side.
    Wherever falleth my blighting tread
      Lie the whitening bones of the silent Dead.
          For trail of wrath
          Is my red-wet path
    From the Sea's low rim to the glaciers high,
          _Ai y-u-u--yu--yu-u-u-u!_
    I live the better that others die.
          _Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!_

    "Oh! sweet is the scent in the evening gale,
      Of the dun deer wending adown the trail
    Where I lie, grim ambushed, with bated breath,
      A gray lance couched in the hand of Death!
          At that maddening tang
          White-bared each fang,
    Dripping anon with ambrosia red;
          _Ai y-u-u--yu--yu-u-u-u!_
    Haste, sweetheart, to the feast outspread!
          _Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!_

    "But sweeter even than Life's rich wine,
      As, hot from the kill--ah-h! draught divine!--
    It trickles adown my ravished throat,
      Is my gaunt mate's deep-toned, chesty note.
          As o'er hill and plain
          She calls amain
    Till the welkin quivers with ecstasy:
          _Ai y-u-u--yu--yu-u-u-u!_
    'Oh come, Beloved, to Love and me!'
          _Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!_

    "Manlings spawned in the cities' slime.
      Weaklings, withered before your prime.
    What ken ye of the joys there be
      Of Life and of Love and of Liberty!
          Better hill and dell
          As free Ishmael
    Than the shackles of pomp and pageantry:
          _Ai yu-u-u--yu--yu-u-u-u!_
    Come out, oh! faint hearts, and howl with me!
          _Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!_"

In the storm of applause that rewarded his unique performance he rose
and went over to the fireplace.

"If you are still disposed to the purchase of the Vaughan holdings I
will accept your offer," he said to Brevoort. "But I must be free to
come and go at will. I am one of the wolves, you know!"

Brevoort nodded a brisk acquiescence. "That is perfectly satisfactory to
me. We will arrange the details."

McVey was genuinely pleased and said so; Carter rather grudgingly
extended his congratulations; he would rather Douglass were the manager
of his own estate. His grievance was still fresh and rankling.

Constance Brevoort, toying with the ivory chessmen, smiled
commiseratingly at the soft irradiation of Grace's face.



CHAPTER XVII

THE FROWNING GODDESS SMILES


It was arranged that the transfer of the VN interests should be made at
the last day of the year. The weather was still open and the days very
delightful, and Brevoort evincing a lively interest in Douglass's mining
venture, his wife proposed a junket over to the claims on the head of
the Roaring Fork, something less than forty miles away as the crow
flies. As the trip would have to be made over rather difficult trails it
was decided to go on horseback, the camp paraphernalia being loaded on
pack animals in charge of McVey, who somewhat eagerly volunteered his
services.

The trail led through a very rugged country alive with big game and
Brevoort was in the seventh heaven of a hunter's delight. For three days
the cavalcade slowly wended its way through scenery unequaled anywhere
on earth, and every minute was fraught with enjoyment. On the afternoon
of the third day, when they finally reached the rough claim-cabin
nestling in the giant spruces on the edge of a little sun-kissed park,
their delight was unbounded.

Artistic in nature, Douglass had selected a most charming spot for his
habitation. The little park, sloping to the westward, was knee-deep
with grass, studded with the belated blooms of the high altitudes. Down
one side purled a little brook, fed from a beautiful waterfall in easy
view from the cabin door. To the south lay the snow-capped purple
reaches of the Taylor Range over which they had just come, and to the
east, behind the cabin, towered the majestic grandeur of the
continent-dividing Rockies, the "Backbone of the World" in the poetical
phraseology of the Ute Indians. From the cabin door one looked over an
immense vista of mountain, plain, valley and river too exquisite for
description by words.

Having come leisurely and comfortably, all were in the proper frame of
mind and body for its enjoyment, and the scrupulously clean cabin came
in for its share of deserved encomiums. It was immediately given over
for the personal use of the ladies, who were delighted with the cozy
bunks and foot-deep mattresses of aromatic spruce needles. The men, as
much from preference as from necessity, spread their blankets under the
open sky.

The sportsman's instinct was strong in Brevoort, so he and Douglass went
out with their rifles, returning in less than an hour with a splendid
buck deer and a dozen grouse. The little stream had also yielded up to
Carter, who was an expert fly-fisherman, some two-score delicious trout,
and the resulting meal was one fit for the gods. All cowboys are from
necessity good cooks, and the fluffy, golden brown biscuits and fragrant
coffee of Red's making were unexceptionable.

Despite the chill of the evening they sat around a roaring camp-fire
until long after the moon rose, regaled by the quaint narratives of
McVey, who was a born raconteur. What added to their subtle humor
immensely was the fact that the embodied jokes were almost always turned
at his own expense. But the last of his relations brought tears into the
eyes of one woman at least, and made Douglass kick embarrassedly at the
glowing log heap until the sparks arose in an inverted cascade of fire.

"Theah is some people in thu wohld that seem just bawn foh trubble! They
are built a-puppos, like a woodpecker, an' mizzery nacherally poahs upon
'em when everybody else is so allfired happy that it hurts.

"I mind a fambly o' that kind which come oveh yeah from thu Picketwire
(Purgatoire River) three yeah ago. They was foah on 'em, two ole ones
an' a couple o' kids, boy 'n gyurl, 'bout sixteen yeahs ole, each."

"How old, each?" asked Douglass, artlessly.

"'Bout sixteen yeah ole, each, I said, an' I didn't stuttah, neither!
They was twinneds. Thu boy was tow-haided an' ornary; thu gyurl were a
roan, even redder'n me! I think she were thu freckledst critter I eveh
see, an' ugly! Say, honest, she was afeared to look inter a lookin'
glass an' every time she see her face axcidental she hollered!

"Thet outfit were shore onlucky! Fust theah hosses got into a loco
patch, an' one dawk night walked oveh a clift thinkin' it were thu aidge
o' a sun crack. Then theah cow gits lumpy jaw an' haster be shot. Thu
hekid tried to hold out kyards one night when Lem Bowers was feelin'
mean, an' it took thu waggin an' hawness to pay fer sawin off hes laig.
An' when he got so's he could mosey about agin, hes krutch got stuck in
thu frawg o' the railroad crossin' in Gunnison an' a freight train
mussed him up redic'lous!

"Naow yuh'd think thet thu two thousand plunks thu Company paid hes paw
fer dammitches was a purty faih standoff fer past hawdships, but thet
fambly's luck was suthin' scandalous! It were all in hunner dollah
bills, an' thu ole woman cached 'em in thu mattrass of her baid. Thu
mattrass were stuffed with wild hay, an' one day when thu ole woman were
out pickin' Oregan grape an' osho-root fer thu ole man's rheumatiz, a
burro loafered into camp an' et up thu hull shootin' match!

"The she-kid rustles a jawb as biscuit-shooter in a Swede beanery oveh
to Crested Butte, but she was so plum ugly thet she scahed away all thu
feeders an' thu boss sues her foh his come-back. Then she hikes out with
a tinhawn Greaser an' ketches thu small-pawx down to Taos, an' passes
out accordin'!

"One day thu ole man goes shy on meat and goes out huntin'. He don't see
no deer but he finds a mine--just hes dum luck, ye see; he were lookin'
fer chuck an' thu best he got was a stone! Well, he gits so axcited thet
he tries to break a chunk offen thu laidge with his gun butt, an' thu
blame ole shootin' iron jars loose an' blows hes fool wing off. Fawtuhn
were a leetle severe on thu ole fellah, don't yuh think? But he manages
ter git home with hes leetle ole hunk o' quawtz, tells thu ole woman
wheah he found it, an' petehs out, hisself. They's so pooh thet she had
ter go an' git hes gun so's ter be able ter sell it an' git enough
mazuma ter plant him with thu 'propriate trimmin's. Them kind is allus
great on perprieties!

"Well, she finds thu gun wheah he had drapped it on thu croppin's an'
brings it an' a hull apern full o' thu rock home with her. Then she
bawls it all out, foolish like, to ther neighbors; she hocks her weddin'
dress fer enough ter pay a rock-sharp fer a assay on thu truck--an' o'
cose thu durn skunk sneaks out an' jumps thu claim!"

He rolled a fresh cigarette and lit it with a red-hot coal juggled
deftly between his palms. Douglass kicked the fire impatiently and
yawned.

"Cut it short, Red! It's getting late. Of course she got so much gold
out of her mine that she took the yellow fever and swallowed her false
teeth, or was guilty of some other fantastic foolishness. You
incorrigible old faker, you are making that up as you go!"

Red looked undecidedly after him as he strode away in the moonlight in
the direction of the picketed horses. For a moment he hesitated, then he
flung a fresh log on the fire and began to untie his blanket roll.

"It is gettin' along about beddin' down time, fer a fac'." But there was
much of disconsolation in his voice. Red hated to spoil a good story.

"But the woman, the mine, finish your story!" came in rapid fire from
his audience. He fumbled with his "soogans" a moment, then came over and
looked thoughtfully into the fire.

"Thu fellah who jumped thu Las' Chance lode was a kind o' mine brokeh,
one o' thu damn sharks as is allus raidy to take a low down advantage of
thu mis-fort-unit an' helpless." Brevoort winced slightly and his wife
smiled behind her hand. "He had anotheh felleh workin' fer him, a real
white man! When this yeah las' felleh I'm tellin' yuh about finds out
what the brokeh cuss's game is, he done raises--well, he nacherally
buhns th' air! He acts real foolish about what he calls justice to the
ignerent an' weak, an' when hes bawss perposes to let him shaih in thu
profits an' holp do thu ole woman outen her rights, he jes' up an' bends
hes gun oveh thu dawg's haid--he's been on thu puny list eveh since!
Then he, thu white felleh, goes out, pulls up thu jumpah's stakes an'
re-locates thu mine in thu ole woman's name."

"That's a man after my own heart!" said Grace, enthusiastically. Red
seemed a little put out over her assertion but he bravely swallowed his
dose and continued.

"He's got a few hunnerd saved up and he makes it go far enough in
development work to git her a patent on it. Bein' a United States Deputy
he surveys thu claim hisself an' saves thet much. In sho't he makes her
claim good so's no one kin steal it from her, an' thet ole woman owns a
hat store, a ho-tel, a bank, an' foweh saloons in Gunnison now. She jes'
wallers in wealth!"

Again he turned to his blankets. Out in the white moonlight Douglass
stood looking over the silvered landscape, a retrospective bitterness
curling his lip.

"And the surveyor, the man who saved her mine and in reality gave her
this great wealth?" asked Grace, with a fierce wild pride burning in her
heart.

"Well," said Red, gravely, "I told yuh she was a critter bawn to
misfohtuhn. She went loco oveh thu thing, got in too much of a hurry,
an' sold out the claim, unbeknownst ter him who were managin' it fer
her, fer a measly hunnerd thousand, jes' two hours befoh he closed a
deal with a big Denveh outfit foh a quateh million. An' she got so het
up oveh her hawd luck thet she lost her memory an' couldn't remember
thet she was owin' him anything when they come ter settle up. Thet were
shore thu mos' unfawchinit thing 'at eveh happened to her. I reckon thet
she'll go to hell on account of it!"

"But why did he not bring suit for a just and proper accounting?" asked
Brevoort, impatiently. "He had a good case. The man must be a rank fool!
What has become of him?"

Red spat speculatively into the fire. "I reckon he kinda hated ter fuss
with a woman. He is a cow-punchaw now, an' all cowpunchaws is loco! Thu
las' time I see him he were glommerin' all by hes lonesome in a
moonlight jes' like this'n, an' I have an' ijea thet he were wishtful o'
kickin' somebody's pants."

The moon was high in the heavens when Douglass came back to the fire. It
had burned down to a heap of ruby coals and the others had long since
entered the land of Nod. He lighted a last cigarette, crouching over the
scant warmth as he smoked it.

Brevoort, not yet fully inured to the chill of these great heights,
shivered in his sleep despite his generous covering. Douglass took a
well-furred bearskin from his own bed and laid it gently over the
thin-blooded sleeper. Then he pulled off his high-heeled boots and
joined the silent majority. The gray mare was flicking her tail in the
east when he opened his eyes again.

For five blissful days there was much of hunting, fishing and exploring
of the charming neighborhood by the Carters and Brevoorts. Douglass and
McVey expended their time and energies mostly on the development of the
claims. But the covering of slide-rock was very thick and the vein
persistently eluded them. Probe and strip where they would nothing but
country-rock rewarded their efforts. Carter and Brevoort were inclined
to a kindly expressed skepticism as to the existence of the lode, and
even Red's optimistic faith in Douglass's good judgment was waning. The
women alone, for some occult reason, gave him cheering encouragement,
Grace in particular expressing her conviction of his ultimate success.

But up to the day preceding their intended departure nothing had
materialized to vindicate his expenditure of time and money. On the
morning of that day he had gone up alone to the shallow tunnel which he
was driving into the hillside near the top of the ridge, intending to
blast down a wide shelf of rock in the face of the adit in order to
"square up" his work and leave everything in ship-shape for the next
season's new operations.

He was using dynamite, the rock being very hard; and as this explosive
exerts its force most powerfully against the object of most resistance,
with an especial tendency to blow downward, he had merely placed a
couple of the cartridge sticks with detonaters and fuses attached on the
top of the shelf, covering them slightly with loose sand, depending on
the well-defined cleavage of the rock to accomplish his purpose. As it
happened to be the last of both powder and fuse supply on the claim, he
did not trim off the fuse as short as usual; it was about four times the
ordinary length, but as fuse is the least expensive item in such work he
was unusually extravagant in this single instance.

It is singular upon what strange things the pivot of fate and fortune
turns. Had he been ordinarily economical of that fuse these annals would
end grewsomely with this chapter. For, as he lighted the fuse and walked
leisurely out of the short tunnel, directing his steps toward a
sheltering abutment of the ledge which assured protection from the
flying fragments loosened by the explosion of the heavy charge, Grace
Carter slowly sauntered into view on the other side of the tunnel mouth,
her hands full of some mountain blooms which she had gathered on the
opposite slope of the ridge.

Neither saw the other until she stood directly in front of the
excavation. He was lighting his pipe, his back towards her; she,
thinking him to be about to leave the mine on his descent to the cabin,
gayly called out:

"What's your hurry?"

Not dreaming of her dangerous proximity to the tunnel's mouth, he turned
slowly, for the wind was fairly strong and he had not as yet secured a
satisfactory light. He was about forty yards away. For one
nerve-paralyzing second he was incapable of motion or speech. Then the
pipe clattered on the slide-rocks and he was leaping like a cougar over
the treacherous footing, a great cry bursting hoarsely from his white
lips:

"Run! For God's sake, run! Away from the tunnel!"

Dazed by the awful fear in his voice, and misinterpreting the only two
distinct words of his otherwise inarticulate command: "Run" and
"Tunnel," she bolted obediently into the yawning mouth of the
excavation. For a few seconds, with eyes blinded by the sudden
transition from sun-glare to comparative darkness, she did not perceive
the spluttering flare of the fuse. Then all at once came comprehension
and in the shock of it she was as a marble statue. Paralyzed with horror
at the awful death hissing there a scant five feet away, she seemed
rooted to the ground; for the life of her she could not move hand or
foot, standing numbly there waiting for the end. Each second seemed an
eternity before his coming. His coming--to what? To share the horrible
death that menaced her? She found her voice in one agonized scream of
warning, but even as it left her lips he came dashing into the tunnel,
shouting incoherent blasphemies and holding out both arms.

A pile of litter on the floor of the tunnel entrapped his foot. A
treacherous stone turned beneath his flying tread, and wildly striving
to regain his balance, he pitched forward to her feet, striking his head
on the rocks. He lay very still, a thin stream of blood trickling down
his forehead.

As a tigress protects her young, so did she cast her body between him
and the fiery serpent hissing on the rock, her one thought being for his
preservation. As she crouched above him there came vaguely into her mind
the remembrance of a story told her in the long ago by her father, the
story of a man who had saved his comrade by the plucking out of the
burning fuse from a blast which was on the point of killing the man
caught beneath some falling timbers. The details came painfully slow to
her dazed mind and over there the fuse was hissing ominously.

Suddenly it was all clear to her and unhesitatingly she sprang to the
shelf and clutched the smoking terror with both hands. One frantic tug
and the deadly dynamite was dangling before her; with the swiftness of a
swallow she reached the mouth of the tunnel and, summoning all her
strength for one mighty effort, cast it far down the mountain side. Then
she turned unsteadily and slowly groped her way, like one who is blind,
to the silent figure on the tunnel floor.

Everything was swimming about her in a confused whirl; with a great
effort she raised his head to her shoulder. A broad red stain spread
over her white bodice but her eyes were unseeing, her lips passing
searchingly over his face. As they found his mouth and rested there, a
sharp explosion, followed by a tremendous rumble, jarred the air.

As though awakened from sleep by that detonation, Douglass opened his
eyes. Her face was still upon his and he blinked uncomprehendingly. She
was crying softly, helplessly, and his face was wet with her tears.
Impulsively he put his arm around her and sat up erect.

With returning consciousness came remembrance and he cast his eyes
fearfully towards the shelf, springing to his feet as he did so, with
the girl firmly clasped in his arms. He took two steps towards the mouth
of the tunnel and safety. Then he looked again at the little innocuous
heap of sand; he passed his hand wonderingly over his eyes. There was a
dull smear on the bronzed finger backs and he noticed the stain on her
bodice.

"You are hurt!" His voice was husky with fear and sympathy. She shook
her head negatively, not trusting herself to speak. "But the blast--the
powder--where is it?"

"I threw it down the mountain side. You stumbled and fell. There was no
other way."

He felt of his head tentatively; then he looked again at the stain on
her bosom. He turned her face inquiringly to the light; upon lips and
cheek lay a red like that on the back of his hand. In the semi-twilight
his eyes grew luminous. Very tenderly he raised the tear-stained face
and looked reverently into the dewy pools brimming over with that which
made him close them with a kiss.

"Sweetheart!" he said softly. "Sweetheart!"

She put her white arms about his neck, and, clinging to him as though
she would never let go, cried as if her heart would break.

From the head of the waterfall where she washed the jagged wound in his
head, Douglass looking down to where she had thrown the dynamite, noted
that the whole hillside was changed in appearance. Where once had been a
shoulder-deep mass of loose slide-rock was now the bare face of the
mountain, out of which cropped a ten-foot wide ledge of parti-colored
rock which he instantly, even at that considerable distance, classified
as quartz. In that one comprehensive glance he divined the whole truth.
As a result of the violent explosion, the mass of loose rock had been
set in motion and an avalanche had ensued; the whole mountain side had
been denuded of its covering of detritus which now lay heaped up at the
base of the declivity.

In the clear light a sheen glittered over those portions of the ledge
where its surface had been freshly abraded by the mass of rock grinding
over it in the avalanche's descent; it was indubitably quartz, quartz in
place, the only body of it found in situ so far on that mountain. His
rich float had been of quartz gangue! Very quietly he turned and put his
arms about the girl, conviction growing every minute.

"Dearie, I think you have killed two birds with one stone. Do you see
that projecting ledge of rock yonder? I am certain it is the blind lode
I have been looking for. If it is, we will be rich beyond the wildest
dreams of avarice."

She laughed shyly and took his face between both pink palms.

"I am that already, Ken, dear." Very rich indeed was the treasure she
laid on his lips. He caught her up to him fiercely, his face as white as
the kerchief which she had bound about his brow. Unconsciously he was
bruising her soft flesh, but she gloried in the pain of it.

Red McVey, coming over the crest of the ridge to investigate the
explosion and the succeeding rumble of the avalanche which he had heard
while hunting on the other slope, paused abruptly at sight of that
tender tableau. Very cautiously, as one coming suddenly in the hunting
trail upon a dangerous beast who is as yet unaware of the hunter's
proximity, he took the rifle from his shoulder and cocked it, crouching
as he did so to avoid detection and to insure a better aim. But even as
his knee touched the ground a cold perspiration broke out all over his
body; the red left his vision, something clicked in his throat, and
licking his dry lips nervously, he lowered the hammer of his weapon and
backed over the ridge out of sight.

Hand in hand the twain picked their way carefully down to the ledge. By
a curious freak of chance the explosive had landed directly above the
outcrop, and the ground about was strewn with fragments torn off by the
concussion. One of the bits which Grace eagerly picked up was spangled
with dull yellow points.

The man with his hand on the ledge looked out dreamily into the blue
ether; the woman cuddled in the hollow of his arm looked only at him.



CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE HOUSE OF POTIPHAR


Mrs. Robert Carter was far too astute a politician to openly offer any
opposition to her daughter's devotion for Douglass, though fully
determined to unravel what she deemed a preposterous and altogether
undesirable entanglement.

Having herself fought the hard fight against the ogres of Poverty and
Adversity, she had no foolish illusions in the premises, and had long
ago resolved that her daughter should be spared the grim heartaches that
even love cannot wholly bar from the proverbial cottage. Her chief
ambition was to see Grace established in a position commanding at the
very outset all the amenities to which the girl had been accustomed from
childhood, both of her children having come after Carter pere had
achieved a substantial competence. There were many among the girl's
suitors who offered this and more, and she felt a bitter impatience with
the extravagance of youthful passion which now so perversely menaced all
her plans.

While cordially conceding the beauty of love in the abstract, the
concreteness of wealth and social position appealed far more potently to
the world-worn old woman, who temporarily forgot her own girlish
exaltations of days long gone in her apprehensions for her daughter's
future.

Never was woman better qualified or disposed to appreciate youthful
virility and sterling manliness; her personal esteem for Douglass was
very high, and had it not been for the, to her, insuperable bar of his
comparative poverty, she would have welcomed him with open arms. As it
was, she was very indulgently disposed towards him. If his mines really
developed into bonanza she would interpose no obstacle in his way. But
in her wide experience she had known all too many just as promising
prospects as his turn out miserable failures; when he had
incontrovertibly established the value of his claims it would be time
enough to consider his proposed alliance with her family.

All this she said to him with frank candor in a letter answering his
request for her sanction to his engagement to Grace.

"I will give you two years," she concluded, "in which to demonstrate
your ability to give her all the comforts to which she is accustomed. In
the interim I shall take her abroad, and if at the expiration of that
time you have 'made good,' and both of you are still of the same mind, I
will give you my blessing with all my heart.

"But it must be distinctly understood that until then I recognize no
manner of bond between you; she must be free to change her mind if she
so chooses. I have no objection to a friendly exchange of correspondence
between you during our absence, relying upon your honor to use no undue
coercion. Please regard these stipulations as imperative and final."

He sent her a rather constrained acceptance and so it was arranged.
Directly after the holidays Mrs. Carter and Grace sailed for Europe.

One balmy day in the following spring he was over at Tin Cup awaiting
the coming of the stage. Two days before he had been advised by letter
of the coming of the Brevoorts for a season's outing on their
lately-acquired ranch. He had rather expected a letter from Grace by the
same mail and was proportionately elated. Everything had gone well with
him in the new year. He had secured the services of an experienced and
altogether dependable miner, an old friend of his assaying days, to
develop his mining claims, and the reports were eminently satisfying.
With every foot of depth attained on the vein the ore grew better, and
the property was yielding enough values to pay for its extensive
exploitation. The ore chute, paying from grass roots down, was getting
wider and richer; two promising "blind leads" had been struck in
addition, and the opinion of all the visiting experts was that Douglass
had struck it exceedingly rich. Should the improvement continue, his
term of probation would be over before snow flew again. He did not need
many more tons of that honeycombed quartz to satisfy Mrs. Carter's most
stringent exactions.

He was therefore in a wonderfully complaisant frame of mind as old
Timberline Tobe reined in his leaders with a flourish before Blount's
hotel. Constance Brevoort, clad in an exceedingly well-fitting
traveling costume of neutral gray, smiled her delight as he went forward
with uplifted hands to assist her descent from the seat of honor on the
box beside the driver. Of the two other passengers inside the stage he
took small note; Brevoort could look after himself and be hand-shaken
later. Just now the woman engrossed his whole attention.

Stiffened doubtlessly by her necessarily cramped position on the box
throughout a half-day's jolting over rough mountain roads, she slipped
awkwardly from the wheel and landed plump in his arms, her lips brushing
his in her descent as he protectingly caught her close to save her from
falling. His face was crimson, possibly from over-exertion, as he slowly
released her. But even though the vice-like grip of his arms had been a
moment or two overlong, Mrs. Brevoort made no protest; she only smiled
at his discomposure and said somewhat ambiguously:

"Don't look so distressed, Mr. Douglass. I alone am to blame for that
slip; and there have been no consequences."

He took her extended hand and shook it heartily. Into his eyes there
crept a flicker of amusement tinged with audacity.

"I am not so sure of that," he said with pretended ruefulness, feeling
in the breast pocket of his shirt. "My cigars are demolished. Were you
really so glad to see me as all that?" She looked at him coquettishly
through half-closed lids.

"Can you doubt, remembering how I threw myself into your arms in the
recklessness of my transports?" She laughed unaffectedly, but underneath
the dimples of her peachy cheeks spread the veriest wraith of a soft
rose tint. For into his eyes had suddenly flamed something, a subtle
spark that burned down through her body's jeweled sheath like a
white-hot coal. A little frightened at the hot wave surging through her
veins she was betrayed into another indiscretion.

"And you," she murmured seductively, "are you glad to see me?"

"I'll tell you later, when I am calm enough to phrase my joy in more
conventional words than my present distraction permits." They both
laughed a little constrainedly and he turned to greet the man who had
just descended from the stage. Imagine his surprise to see, instead of
the shriveled form of the financier, the portly bulk of a grinning
white-headed old negro who was assisting an equally robust damsel of
like ebon complexion, but considerably less years, to alight from the
dusty vehicle.

Constance laughed at his frank bewilderment.

"Two family retainers from my girlhood's home, Uncle 'Rastus, my butler,
and Lucindy, his daughter, my cook. At the last moment Mr. Brevoort was
called away to Europe on business," she explained somewhat hurriedly.
"He hopes to be able to join us in time for the fall hunting."

It was characteristic of the man that he did not mumble the conventional
regrets over the defection of her husband; on the contrary, he did not
hesitate to express his pleasure.

"That's nice!" was his rather startling comment to which, however, she
took no exception, mischievously misinterpreting the reference of his
words.

"Yes, I know you enjoy those hunting trips," she said demurely, "and Mr.
Brevoort is even more enthusiastic. He says you are positively the most
indefatigable man in the chase that he ever met. Have you chased much
since we left?"

He glanced at her dubiously; she was the embodiment of naïve innocence
as she stood there struggling with her pearl-colored suedes, the
delicious color coming and going in her fresh, fair cheeks. He was not
at all sure of her, and he hesitated a little as he caught up her valise
and relieved her of her discarded wraps.

"I wonder if there was any double meaning in that?" he thought, watching
her out of the corner of his eye; but it was this man's creed, as has
been previously noted, to overlook no bets. Aloud he said:

"The open season ended the day you left, and I haven't been to town
since."

She bit her lip in discomfiture; there was a prematureness about this
frontier lance that made him exceedingly difficult to parry, skilled as
she was in the subtle art of fence. The insolent assurance of that
thrust through her guard angered and alarmed her.

"You will pay for that," she resolved mentally, wrathful at his coarse
arrogance. But her frown was only that of gentle wonderment as she
turned inquiringly. "The town! I do not understand. Is there any game to
be hunted there?"

"Only faro, and poker, and roulette, with other divertisements of divers
kinds and sorts," he said humorously. "But one does not have to hunt
much for any of them so far as my experience goes. Yet I've even left
the seductive tiger unbucked in his lair for over six long weary months.
I've been so good that even the very thought of it hurts."

"You poor thing," she said with mock compassion; "how your talents have
been wasted. What a pity that the virtue born of necessity is not
entitled to commendation."

"Is there any virtue entitled to that?" he asked shamelessly. She drew a
little apart from him, really shocked and not a little apprehensive.

"Certainly not that of Evolution," she said with some acerbity. "Against
the stone ax and brutal strength of the Cave Man, woman's helpless
trust, love and dependency are just as inadequate as it was in the
beginning, æons ago. But even barbarians can, with profit, learn the
lesson of decent forbearance."

"Stung!" His comical grimace and slangy confession of her sharper point
completely disarmed her and she sheathed her rapier with a smile. But
for the life of her she could not resist the temptation to bait this
good-natured bear.

"After all, we are only a step removed from the Primitive," she said
plaintively, "and in this wonderful environment of yours one comes
actually within touch. Here we are at swords-points already, and only a
few moments ago I was in your arms." Her heart was quaking at her great
audacity as he made a sudden movement that brought him so near that his
elbow grazed her shapely waist.

"Backward, oh! backward, turn, Time, in thy flight!" he hummed
longingly. Unconsciously she swayed towards him for the fraction of an
inch. She was even closer to the border-land than she had deemed.

Red McVey, coming for the mail, greeted them as they ascended the porch
steps of the little hostelry. She very graciously laid her hand in his,
and her face beamed with positive pleasure as he awkwardly congratulated
her upon her splendid appearance.

"Well, little ole N'Yawk ain't done you no hurt as I kin see. Reckon
I'll have to winter theah a spell mahself when mah caows come home," he
said enthusiastically. "Yuah lookin' purtier 'n a red heifer."

Douglass grinned at her rosy confusion. "You've got a good eye for
color, Red. But you ought to cultivate the virtue of forbearance, ought
he not, Mrs. Brevoort?" But she scornfully ignored him and was rather
profuse in her protestations to Red of her happiness at being back in
"God's country" again.

At the dinner table that night Douglass maliciously reverted to the
topic of forbearance. Turning to McVey he assumed a becoming gravity
which the twinkle in his eyes belied.

"Say, old-timer, Mrs. Brevoort is skeptical of we poor cowpunchers'
virtue; she thinks we have no power of forbearance. Can't you help me to
convince her that we often keep from doing wicked things just for the
pure love of being good."

Red, catching the mischievous note in his question, rose to the occasion
manfully.

"Why, yuh ain't thinkin' that bad of us, are yuh?" he said with
sorrowful reproach to Constance. "Indeed, ma'am, we are real gentle by
spells. Why, I mind las' yeah when I was ridin' fences foh thu C Bar I
got to thinkin' haow foolish it were o' me to keep hankerin' after thu
delusions o' thu Alcazah, an' to keep wantin' to go oveh theah
simultaneous an' waste my hawd eahned money on thu see-ductions o' thu
flowin' bowl. So I braces up, an' says to thu devil o' temptation, kinda
contemptuous-like, 'Hit thu back trail, Satan!'

"Every time I feels thu iniquity o' thust comin' on me I jes' swaps the
price o' a drink from my sack to a leetle ole terbacca bag I totes
especial foh thet puppos, and goes an' dips my beak in healthy alkali
wateh like a sensibul, fohbeahing Christian should. It were two bits
every time an' by thu time Chris'mas comes raound thu smoke bag were
plumb full. I suttinly fohboah a heap thet summah."

Genuinely interested at the simple relation, Constance asked
sympathetically: "And what did you do with the money so heroically
saved, may I ask?"

"Well, I had thu price O' nine bottles o' booze in thu bag when I
counted her oveh at Tin Cup on Chrismus eve. Theah's five bottles goes
to a gallon, yuh know, so I rattles thu bones with thu perfessor an' o'
cose I wins thu odd bottle. Then I blows six bits fer a two-gallon jug
an'--"

Constance glared at him severely. Douglass laid his head on the table
and cried.

The greater portion of the next day was spent by Constance in shopping
and resting after her wearisome stage ride. Douglass had some saddlery
matters to attend to and Grace's letter to answer. Red had volunteered
to drive 'Rastus and Lucindy over to the VN ranch with the luggage and
so it happened that Douglass and Mrs. Brevoort rode out together alone
in the pleasant evening to her home-coming.

They jogged along very leisurely, talking only the veriest commonplaces
after they had exhausted the more interesting topics of ranch and mine.
Curiously enough, neither referred once to Grace Carter, her name not
being mentioned throughout the whole journey. Toward the end of their
ride both man and woman grew strangely silent. The white May moon was
just peeping over the horizon as he dismounted before the door of the
ranch house to assist her to alight.

As she released her foot from the stirrup and held out her hands, from
somewhere far out on the prairie came the call of a wolf. Telepathically
both turned toward the moonlit plain awaiting the answering cry; as it
rang out in not unmusical cadence through the stilly night she shivered
slightly and her hands trembled in his warm grasp. He leaned toward her,
his eyes gleaming.

"Come," he said, masterfully. Shifting her left hand to his shoulder he
threw his arm about her waist and lifted her from the saddle. But before
her feet touched the ground he had gathered her up in his arms and was
striding towards the house. Taken by surprise, she clung to him
breathlessly, one arm still tightly clasped about his neck as he placed
her feet upon the threshold. Very gently she disengaged herself from his
embrace but made no effort to enter the house. He looked hungrily at her
full red lips for a second, then stooped and laid his own upon the hand
which he still retained.

"Welcome, oh, Queen, to your lair!" he said softly. "May you have good
hunting."

Then, sombrero in hand, he bowed again and turning abruptly left her
standing there silent in the white moonlight. Not until the shadows of
the corral had swallowed him up did she so much as move a muscle.

Unto him a half hour later came old 'Rastus with her invitation to dine.
When he finally joined her she was secretly relieved at the very
presentable appearance he made in the modest suit of gray negligee
which, he apologetically stated with engaging candor, was the nearest
approximation he could make to full dress. All other cowboys of her
acquaintance, while delightfully picturesque in their range costume, had
looked disappointingly commonplace and uninteresting when clothed in
civilized habiliments; but there was neither _gaucherie_ nor
self-consciousness about this exceedingly self-possessed young fellow,
whose evident familiarity with the niceties of etiquette came as an
agreeable surprise. Every slave to Convention is more or less a snob,
and she had been under the yoke a whole lifetime. Her relief at his
perfect deportment changed to an irritating sense of chagrin as she
realized her own obtuseness in not recognizing from the first that this
man had assuredly been bred, if not born, a gentleman. How was she to
know if he were not even mentally amused at her inexcusable lack of
perspicacity?

The truth of the matter was that Douglass thought nothing at all about
it; he was thinking only of how attractive this woman was--in a
different way from Grace Carter.

Old 'Rastus he had captivated instanter by his critical commendation of
the really superb wine which she had, whimsically, it must be confessed,
and to the secret indignation of the old darkey, ordered served. 'Rastus
had mumbled something about the casting of pearls, but he melted
instantly at Douglass's evident appreciation.

"Chateau Yquem, is it not, and of a vintage surely previous to '57!" he
averred with the confidence of a connoisseur, lovingly rolling the
delicious liquor under his tongue. "You are an exaggerated Lady
Bountiful, my dear Mrs. Brevoort. This is ambrosia for the gods rather
than a tipple for an obscure cowpuncher!"

"Yes, this Yquem has been in our cellars since '59; so Mr. Brevoort
informs me. I am extremely fortunate in having selected it since it
meets with your favor!" Her tone was sweetly sincere and he was
inordinately flattered. She on her part was not a little amazed at the
anomaly of a mere ranch hand's knowledge of rare old vintages and looked
at him with a new interest. He was surely going to be worth
exploitation!

When the cloth had been removed they adjourned to a little room which
had been fitted up as a den by Brevoort. Here the coffee was served, and
over her cigarette she watched him deftly preparing the cognac and
kirschenwasser with all the assurance of an epicure, the caraffe having
been set beside him by the old servitor as a matter of course; there was
no doubt now in 'Rastus's mind about this "cow-gentleman" being to the
manner born.

It being an unusually mild night, the windows, which faced on the open
prairie land to the north, were partly open. The air was sweet with the
fragrance of the purpling lucerne, punctuated by the aroma of her
Turkish tobacco. In the mellow light of the rose-tinted acetylene globe
suspended overhead everything was invested with a deliciously soft
warmth. Douglass, puffing luxuriously at his havana, was filled with a
great conviction that he had not been so happy for years. This was what
he would have when his mines were in bonanza and he had come to his own!
But try as he would, he could not permanently establish Grace's presence
on the divan over yonder; somehow the conditions did not lend themselves
concordantly. The woman furtively watching him smiled intuitively; he
was a very transparent young man, after all!

And yet how perfectly he fitted into the environment's scheme! In the
soft rose light his clean-cut aquiline profile was as perfect as a
well-chiseled cameo in red bronze. Vigor, strength and indomitable power
breathed from every well-balanced line of his well-knit frame.

"Fit, and ready, to fight for his strong young life!" she was thinking
admiringly, "a man among a thousand in these degenerate days. A 'running
mate' who would go far with the wolf of his choosing. I wonder what he
ever saw in that insipid goody-goody. She will tame him down to
mediocrity, never realizing what she is desecrating, what she is robbing
some other better-fitted woman of. She ought to have married Anselm!"

At the thought of her husband her face hardened. Very contemptuous did
she wax in her merciless comparison of him with the stalwart young
fellow sitting there so lordly in the arrogance of lusty manliness. Now
that it was too late she realized that she had sold herself for a price!
Of course Brevoort had paid, generously, magnificently, and without
demur; but how had she benefited thereby? To the end only of being the
leader of her social set, queen regnant of a symposium of sexless
degenerates with whom she had not one mental or physical desire in
common! The best proof of it was that she was here, far from their
wearying inanities and hollow gilded gauds by deliberate choice. Her
meditations terminated abruptly at this point; was that the real reason
of her coming? She turned to him with a curious shyness, thankful for
that rose-colored globe.

"You are fond of children, Mr. Douglass?" It was more an assertion than
a question. His face lit up rarely.

"I love them!" he said, simply. "They are the sweetest flowers in God's
garden!"

"Even as I do!" There was something strangely like a sob in her low
voice, but she had not meant him to hear. "I congratulate you on your
conquest of the little Blount girl; her adoration of you is actually
idyllic!"

"Oh, Eulalie and I have been sweethearts for ages," he said, laughingly.
"It was a case of love at first sight."

"Happy Eulalie!" she said, enviously. "She has been favored beyond the
computation of the gods. That beatitude falls to the lot of but few of
her sex."

"Are you voicing a personal grievance?" His eyes were full of amused
incredulity. She smiled a little bitterly but evaded his question.

"What do you hear from Grace?" she asked, inconsequentially. He was
sobered instantly.

"She is well; and enjoying herself, I gather from her last letter. They
are on the wing constantly, you know, and it was unusually short. They
are now headed for Venice, with a certain Lord Ellerslie in train. Do
you happen to know him?" There was a mild anxiety in his tone.

"Yare Ellerslie? Yes, I know him very well. One of England's 'best'
types; a fine gentleman of mildewed lineage. He Is immensely wealthy!"

"Oh! I say, don't rub it into a fellow!" he protested, laughingly, but
his eyes held a glitter that caught Constance's attention disagreeably.
She rather pitied Lord Ellerslie at that moment.

"Oh! he is perfectly innocuous," she hastened to assure him; "nearly
every designing mamma has given him up as impossible. His price is above
the rubies of any woman's offering!" Her lip curled scornfully. "His
_metier_ is platonics."

"And you don't believe in their possibility," he concluded, dryly. She
eyed him narrowly.

"Do you?"

"Not in their putative purity at any event. Of course, I am not a
competent authority and my circle of acquaintances is limited to people
of flesh and blood. Imagine such an absurdity as platonics between--"

"Between--?" she prompted audaciously, her seductive face close his.

"Between you and me, for instance!" he finished, calmly, his cool
demeanor betraying nothing of the seething volcano beneath that
unruffled surface. She rose somewhat precipitately and went over and
stood by the window.

Faint and eerie from the muffling mazes of some far-off coulie came
again the wolf cry. She turned shudderingly away.

"It sounds like the wail of a lost soul!"

"Calling to another affinitive soul, neither of them knowing or caring,
in the all-compensative ecstasy of their own making, that they have lost
anything at all! Do you imagine that fellow is mouthing platonics out
there?"

He had risen unconsciously and laid his hot hand on her bare arm; she
shrank from it as though it burned her and deliberately placed the table
between them. She rang the silver call bell.

"I can imagine nothing more to-night but that it is time to retire," she
said, humorously. Before he could reply, Lucindy entered, bearing a
salver on which was a glass of milk and a pitcher of water. Constance
gave him her hand in gentle dismissal.

"Go to bed, Wolf," she said, mischievously, "and dream of--of platonics,
as befits your rugged constitution. Personally, I am not equal to more
than the inspirations of milk-and-water--as yet!"

As he opened the door the wolf howled in the distance. He turned with a
smile of sinister significance as an answering call rang out in the
night.

The fair hand holding the diluting pitcher wavered a trifle. A few drops
of water failed of their destination and spattered on the table.



CHAPTER XIX

MUTUAL ASSISTANCE


It was three days before she saw him again, he having left at daybreak
for a distant part of the range where he went to investigate a
disturbing report of mysteriously disappearing cattle whose loss puzzled
the most astute of his men. The news had come in over night, and
reasoning that she would be a late riser after her fatiguing trip, he
merely wrote her a short note saying that he was suddenly called away on
urgent business and could not say just when he would return. He was,
however, very explicit as to the horses that he deemed safe for her use,
particularly recommending a bay filly which he had broken especially for
her personal service. He did not deem it necessary to say that the filly
was his own personal property, originally designed as a gift for Grace.

An inexplicable disappointment wrinkled her smooth brows as she read the
carelessly polite words; this was such a note as her husband might have
written and she tossed it aside impatiently. Somehow or other it seemed
like a rebuff, this cold formality after their intimate conversation of
the preceding night, and she resented it strongly. Had she, after all,
made so little impression on this springald despite her tacit
encouragement of him! Could it be possible that he was only maliciously
amusing himself at her expense, playing even a more skillful game than
she was capable of doing against such an unusual antagonist? This man
was vastly different from those of her previous experience and she was
far from her habitual calm as she musingly weighed the possibilities.

At her request the filly was saddled and she rode over the ranch,
critically inspecting her new possessions. It was an unusually
well-situated property, and under Douglass's strenuous management it had
assumed an entirely new aspect. Everything was in perfect order and her
eye dwelt in pleased approval on the countless evidences of his
handiwork. With professional care and exactness he had reduced
everything to a science, and although not as extensive as the C Bar
holdings it was plain to the most casual observer that Constance
Brevoort's ranch was a close second in pecuniary value and even excelled
it in point of desirability as a place of habitation. Its income, in
proportion to the respective investments, was at least twice as great as
that of the Carter property, and promised to become even greater under a
proposed change of policy now in Douglass's contemplation.

"It is a labor of love," she said appreciatively. "He could not have
worked more faithfully or assiduously had the property been his own.
What heights an ambitious soul could attain to if working in loving
conjunction with so strong an executive nature as his." For a while she
sat musing introspectively, a rapt smile on her beautiful face; then of
a sudden she was filled with an unreasonable anger at Grace Carter. "To
think of his being wasted upon a colorless entity like that chit!"

On her return to the house she sought the seclusion of the little den
and wrathfully consumed a half dozen cigarettes. When dinner was
announced she ate perfunctorily and at its conclusion sought the den
again. It was far into the night when she finally arose and sought her
bedchamber. As she turned down the silken coverlet her ear caught
faintly that for which she had been waiting since the moon rose. She
hesitated a moment and then went swiftly to the open window. The cry had
come from the east, in the direction of the mountains where Douglass was
at work. With a warm color rioting across her face she opened her mouth
and made a queer little gurgling noise in her throat.

On the night of his return, tired, dusty and with a sullen anger burning
in his heart, he somewhat curtly declined her invitation to dine,
pleading fatigue and the necessity of a conference with his men. His
tour of investigation had resulted in the discovery that very extensive
depredations were being made upon the VN herds by what was evidently a
well-organized and shrewdly commanded band of rustlers far more
audaciously aggressive than any of his previous experience. At an
audience which he requested the next morning, he urged the advantage of
the immediate adoption of the change in policy previously referred to.

This policy was to dispose of the rather mediocre lot of cattle at
present in the VN brand for cash, and with the proceeds purchase a
smaller bunch of high-grade stock, which could be close-herded and
ranch-fed at a largely decreased expense and with an increased revenue,
the VN conditions being peculiarly adapted to such a policy. She
unhesitatingly authorized him to use his own discretion absolutely in
anything connected with her interests and he immediately ordered a
round-up with that end in view. He had already arranged for the sale of
the cattle, he somewhat abashedly confessed to her secret amusement, and
at a price rather above current quotations. The change could be made
without either delay or loss and he was openly sanguine of the outcome
of his new plans. During his absence he had partly succeeded in rounding
up the cattle to be sold, and in ten days more he had delivered into her
hand the buyer's check covering the transaction. To her great surprise
it was for an amount some five thousand dollars in excess of the
original purchase price of the whole ranch; evidently her manager had
driven a very good bargain.

He did not think it necessary to tell her that he had caught the cowboys
of a big syndicate in the act of running a bunch of VN steers out of the
country under the pretense of a general round-up, or that he had gone
directly to the headquarters of the outfit with a rather peremptory
request that they buy the rest of the cattle together with the brand, a
suggestion that the guilty parties found it advisable to accept in view
of the direct evidence with which he confronted them of not only this,
but several other shady transactions of a similar nature. Nor was she
aware, until several days later, that in the course of a slight argument
which he had indulged in with one of the syndicate's men, whom he had
caught red-handed in the act of branding a VN calf whose mother lay in a
nearby gully with a bullet hole in her head, he had resorted to a little
"six-gun suasion" with the result that the other fellow was in the
hospital at Leadville, while Douglass nursed an ugly flesh wound in his
shoulder. The syndicate, composed largely of eastern men who for obvious
reasons could not afford to have their acts unduly ventilated, were very
glad to close with his rather excessive demands, backed as they were by
the smoothest-working gun and handiest shot on the range.

She made the discovery In a rather unexpected way. They were out riding
together one pleasant afternoon, and seduced by the magnificent going
and delightful weather had prolonged their pasear into the twilight
hours. On the return canter, Douglass's horse, affrightened by a
viciously whirring rattlesnake on which it narrowly escaped treading,
began to "pitch" violently and for a few minutes Constance was treated
to an exhibition of superb horsemanship which made her blood tingle. It
was an unusually severe and long-sustained struggle between horse and
rider, but the man conquered as a matter of course and the rest of the
journey was without incident.

She had acquired the knack of dismounting by placing one hand on his
left shoulder; in doing so, this evening, her bare hand encountered
something wet and sticky. At that moment the door opened and a flood of
light from the living-room illuminated them sharply. Looking curiously
at her wet hand Constance caught her breath with a gasp.

"It is blood!" she cried in horror. "You are hurt!"

Despite his muttered assurance that it was nothing to be alarmed about
she drew him into the living-room, where she became almost hysterical at
the black-red blotch on his thin tan-colored silk shirt. Almost before
he suspected what she was about she had unknotted the kerchief from
around his throat and hastily bared his shoulder. In the violent
plunging of the horse the clumsily-fixed bandage had become displaced,
the wound had reopened and was bleeding freely.

Although entirely unaccustomed to the sight of any kind of wounds, she
knew intuitively from the tiny blue-rimmed red puncture on the massive
shoulder that this was a gun-shot injury. She ran over to her work
basket and secured a pair of scissors with which she unhesitatingly cut
away the shirt from the collar downwards, exposing the ragged gash of
exit on the other side. To 'Rastus, watching her with open mouth and
protruding eyes, she said sharply:

"Water, and some clean linen cloths, quick!"

She was a different woman now, and her subsequent ministrations were as
deft and as effectual as those of a trained nurse. Very tenderly she
bathed the shoulder, wondering all the while at its contrastive
whiteness with the bronzed face and throat, marveling at the silky
rippling of the muscles beneath as he obediently flexed his arm at her
command. In less than ten minutes she had completed her surgery and in
five more he was again rehabilitated in garments fetched by 'Rastus
from his room in the bunkhouse. She would not hear of his attending to
the horses, but had one of the men summoned, to whom their care was
delegated. If she detected Douglass's dejected wink at the smiling young
fellow, she made no sign, saying merely that she would be pleased to
have him dine with her as she wished to discuss some business matters of
importance with him.

Not until they had adjourned to the den did she evince the slightest
curiosity as to the time and cause of his mishap. Then when he had his
cigar nicely under way she demanded imperatively:

"And now be good enough to tell me, please, who shot you--why, where and
when! I want the whole truth with no evasions."

Thus cornered, he told her the story in its most important details,
ending with a regret that he had caused her so much apprehension and
unnecessary trouble. Her eyes were bright with wonder and admiration
when he finished but she nodded approval.

"Served the wretch right!" she snapped. "I almost wished you had killed
him."

"Well, ma'am," he said apologetically, "I tried all I knew how, but my
horse bucked outrageously at his shot--he got his work in first, you
know--and he seemed quiet enough when I shot. If you say so, I'll go and
finish him." She smiled at the grim pleasantry, knowing it to be such.

"And in all probability get your other arm shot off! No, thanks, I
prefer you as you are."

He brightened at this amazingly, but a mischievous twinkle stole into
his eye. "I am glad to hear that. Now that I am acquainted with your
preferences, I'll see that I keep in this winged condition. And yet, do
you know that your predilection for one-armed men is a surprise to me."
He looked quizzically at her sudden confusion. "Most ladies are partial
to men with two good arms; but just so that you keep on preferring me I
am content, no matter how anomalous the conditions."

She lit another papelito and smiled mockingly at him. "That was very
clumsy. I must get you well as soon as possible, poor wolf. You run
rather indifferently on one leg. What can such a benighted Ishmael as
you possibly know of the partialities of ladies?"

"Not much," he confessed humbly, "and yet a few have been undeservedly
generous to me. I am eager to learn, however, if the opportunity be
graciously accorded me." She evaded his bold glance a little nervously.
For a one-legged wolf he was coming disconcertingly fast. The water was
getting rather deep for drifting, and in the face of this baffling
head-wind she promptly tried another tack.

"Tell me," she asked curiously, "of the most wonderful thing in your
certainly unique experience."

"You," he said promptly, and the crimson suffused her face. "I think you
are the most wonderful thing that could ever happen to any man. There
are times when I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses. Imagine
me, a common menial, sitting here in the lap of luxury, holding familiar
converse with a queen like you and not feeling in the least embarrassed,
drinking in your ineffable loveliness unchecked, unrebuked, unafraid,
as the desert sands thirstily absorb the heavenly ram, drunk with the
rich wine of your sympathy and maddened with the subtle delirium of your
personal charms."

His voice, low and tense in the beginning, was now vibrant; he had risen
and was leaning across the low table, his muscles quivering, yet the
woman felt not the slightest fear of him. On the contrary, she was
thrilling to the core with a mad joy that she wanted to shout from the
housetops. Her face was very pale, but her eyes were jet black and
sparkling with a flame that burned down to the steel of the man,
inciting him to recklessness, and he threw reason to the winds.

"Constance!" His whisper was hoarse with suppressed emotion. He walked
swiftly to her side and held out his arms appealingly. She was quivering
all over, her bosom heaving tumultuously. He bent over her slowly until
his hot breath scorched her cheek. "Constance!"

Panting like a wounded animal she sprang to her feet; at the touch of
his encircling arms she gave a tremulous little sigh and her head sank
on his shoulder. Very tenderly, but firmly, he put one hand beneath her
soft chin and forced her face upward toward his. Almost had his lips
touched hers, when, with a gasping cry, she put both her hands against
his chest and violently pushed him away.

"No! My God, no!" The words were a broken sob. "We are both mad! It
cannot be! Think of my husband, of Grace!"

"It's a little late to think of them now. And what do they, or the rest
of the whole world, signify to us?" Smiling confidently he again
approached her with outstretched arms, but she swiftly evaded him, and
snatched up a pearl-handled stiletto which she had been utilizing as a
paper cutter. At his grim smile of contempt she flung it down on the
table and laid her hand on the call bell. He gave a shrug and dropped
his arms.

"That is unnecessary," he said quietly. "Your pitiful fear is an
efficient safeguard against any further importunity. Courage is an
indispensable quantity in the composition of a wolf. I have been
ludicrously mistaken. May I hope that you will forgive and forget?"

"There is nothing to forgive, but neither of us must forget, again. Not
ever again!" She was struggling for composure, her hard-clenched hand
pressed against her heart. "I never dreamed--"

He laughed harshly. "You never dreamed that in the veins of men there
could be red, as well as white corpuscles? Were there nothing but
emasculates among your circle of acquaintance in the vaunted 'Four
Hundred'?"

Wincing at his coarseness as though it had been a blow, she went over
and leaned against the casement of the window, looking silently out at
the stars. After a time he took up his sombrero and moved toward the
door, pausing at the threshold to courteously bid her good night. At the
sound of his voice she turned quickly.

"Wait!" She motioned to an easy chair. "Sit down, please. There is
something which in justice to us both, must be said before you go." He
took the seat indicated and she turned again to the window. For quite a
time she stared mutely into the night, the man waiting in patient
silence. When she finally spoke it was in a tone so low that he had to
bend forward to catch the words.

"You were right when you said that I was afraid; but it is not
convention that has made me a coward. It is of myself that I am afraid,
the new, strange self that has evolved since I came here, a year ago,
filled with the pitiful conceit that I knew life--and men--thoroughly.

"Remember that I lived In a different world, in an artificial and
enervating atmosphere where nothing is real but Rank, nothing sweet but
Station, nothing precious but Money. As a girl I was sold to the highest
bidder; he gave me all that wealth and genealogy could give, and up to
six months ago I kept faith. Not one of the countless men with whom I
amused myself ever aroused in me even one moment's serious thought; for
twelve weary years I played at the inane game of platonics, with no
further effect than to come finally to regard the vaunted 'love' of the
poets as a libel on human intelligence. It had been proffered me in all
tongues, in all climes, at all times, by all sorts and conditions of
men; at first to my listless amusement and at last to my contemptuous
disgust. It was part of my strained and unnatural environment; I wore
these 'loves' on my sleeve as I wore hothouse orchids on my corsage,
finding their emanations as nauseous and unwholesome.

"I was fed on sweets of flattery and wine of adulation, when all the
time I was thirsting for pure affection, hungry for the strong meat of a
real love. Yesterday I heard one of your men singing a plaintive ditty
whose refrain absolutely portrays my miserable existence:

    "'A bird in a gilded cage'!"

She threw out her hand passionately, her eyes filling with tears. It was
with great effort that she recovered her self-control sufficiently to
continue.

"I never realized what possibilities Life held until six months ago.
Then for the first time I learned the difference in men--and the
bitterness that comes with knowledge acquired too late. The confession
may be unwomanly, but I glory in it. No, keep your seat." He had eagerly
arisen and was holding out his arms. "I have been disloyal to my husband
in the learning and this is part of my atonement."

She went over and stood beside him, breathing softly. In the subdued
light her pallor only accentuated her ravishing beauty. Douglass thought
he had never beheld so heavenly a thing. Very gently he leaned forward
and touched her hand but she as gently shook her head in negation.

"I was foolishly, criminally weak to come back here. But I had to see
you again. Oh! I am mad! mad! mad! I know only too well the nature of
the passion I have inspired in you, and the humiliation of it is the
bitterest part of my deserved punishment. Yet even your avid, brutal
lust is a thousand times dearer to me than the refined insipidity of any
other man's purest love. Stop! I say, or--!" She placed her hand
resolutely on the bell, her determination indubitable.

"It is the hour of my shame and you must know all. I had rather be your
running mate--Oh! you grand, lovable, vicious, merciless beast--than be
queen regnant in heaven. But that can never be. I am the wife of Anselm
Brevoort and you are the betrothed husband of another woman. But she
will breed you no wolves, my lost Ishmael; your getlings will be
bleating lambs. Ah, God! the shame of it!"

She struck the bell savagely as he sprang to his feet with a choking
cry.

"And, now that you know, I confidently invoke your honor, your clean
manliness, for my protection. You will help me against myself, will you
not, dear?"

"And who will help me?" he muttered hoarsely. The perspiration was
standing in white beads on his forehead. Swift as a flash she crossed
over to him and laid her hand trustfully on his arm.

"We will help each other, beloved. Good night."

But hours after he had succumbed to the seductions of his coarse
blankets she lay on her dainty bed with clenched hands and sleepless
eyes, trying to pierce the gloomy veil of futurity and tearfully
striving to reconcile a great misery with a greater joy.

"I love him! I love him!" she moaned passionately, "and if it were not
for that milk-and-water baby he would love me with all the savage
strength and intensity of his fierce nature. Oh! my Wolf, my strong,
wild Wolf! What can that vapid ninny offer you in comparison to what I
would give?"

She sat up erect, her eyes blazing in the darkness like those of a
hunted wild beast.

"She shall not--I swear it! Home, station, wealth, honor, body and
soul--I will sacrifice all! He is mine! mine! mine!" After awhile, in
sheer exhaustion of passion, she fell into a troubled sleep.

The next day he obtained leave of absence for a fortnight's inspection
of his mines. En route he mailed several letters entrusted by Mrs.
Brevoort, one of which was addressed to a woman in New York. She was one
of those inveterate gossips of high station who act as purveyors of
"exclusive information" to the society editors of the great fashionable
journals.

Some days later he stopped at Tin Cup for the ranch mail; it included a
rather short and unsatisfactory note from Grace, written hurriedly in
transit, announcing her party's embarkation on Lord Ellerslie's yacht
for a cruise on the Mediterranean. The girl was really homesick in
truth, but relying too implicitly on Love's divination had omitted to
make that fact clear, ending her missive with the ambiguous sentence: "I
wish we had never left home. I am so unhappy." It was the first
communication he had received from her for over six weeks. He did not
know that her customary budget, a sort of daily diary mailed once a
month, had gone down with the fated _Peruvia_ in mid-ocean, and he was
uneasy and resentful.

Mrs. Brevoort was out riding when he reached the ranch, so he merely
instructed 'Rastus to inform her of his return, and dined at the common
mess house. In the interim of waiting he glanced casually over the
contents of the New York papers which he had received in the mail.

Unto Constance Brevoort, awaiting him with a great trepidation in the
little den, came a white-lipped, stern-faced man with a paper crushed In
his hand.

"Read that!" he said curtly, pointing to a paragraph at the head of the
"Society Column." She caught her breath sharply but with no other
visible evidence of emotion held the paper up to the light. He watched
her grimly, a mirthless smile on his lips. With a well-simulated gasp of
horror she let the sheet fall on the floor and turned to him
breathlessly.

"It cannot be true! It is a lie! Oh! my poor friend!" Her voice was a
curious commingling of fear and exultation. The gossip had done her work
with artistic efficiency.

He picked up the paper and calmly read the paragraph aloud. It was short
but succinct:

     "We have it on indisputable authority that the engagement of one of
     Gotham's most lovely daughters, the beautiful Miss Grace Carter, to
     lord Yare Ellerslie, of ellesmere, Surrey, one of Britain's most
     eligible scions, will be formally announced on the return of his
     lordship's yacht from the Mediterranean, where he is at present
     cruising in company with his fiancée, her mother, and a party of
     mutual friends. It is said to be one of those delightful
     love-at-first-sight affairs, and society is all agog over the
     romantic outcome of what was merely intended to be a short pleasure
     trip. Lord Ellerslie is said to be immensely wealthy in his own
     right and will, besides, succeed to the title and vast estates of
     his father, the present earl. Miss Carter is a joint heiress of the
     millions of the famous 'cattle king,' Robert Carter. We understand
     that the honeymoon will include a cruise around the world in his
     lordship's magnificent yacht, which has been rechristened the
     'Gracie' in honor of his prospective bride."

He laid the paper down on the table and stood looking silently at It. It
seemed to the woman watching him nervously that he aged a dozen years
since she last saw him. She almost relented at the sight of his
fiercely-controlled misery, but she shut her teeth with determination.
One cannot make an omelet without the breaking of eggs. The game was a
desperate one, but she had everything at stake. She would play it out
and win.

She was about to speak when he looked up with a harsh laugh.

"Your nobleman wasn't so very 'innocuous' after all, it seems. Her
mother certainly lost no time. What is the accepted form of a letter of
congratulation on such occasions?"

"Oh! it cannot be true!" she faltered, evading his eyes unaccountably.
"There has been some terrible mistake!"

"And I have made It." He handed her Grace's little note. "This is the
amount of her correspondence in the last two months. It seems to clinch
the certainty of the glad tidings. And to think that I was fool enough
to imagine that there was one pure, true heart among your fair, false
sex." He turned upon her scornfully. "I wonder how much of what you said
the other night was a lie. It is a rare accomplishment, this clever
ability to turn an impending tragedy into a harmless comedy. Tell me,
how long did you laugh after I had gone?"

She paled, for his mood was a dangerous one and a single false move
might imperil everything. But she was a past-master of the gentle craft
of love-making and all her finesse had been to this very end. She had
calculated on the ease with which a heart may be caught in the rebound,
and her opportunity was at hand. And she knew now, with a certainty that
terrified and yet emboldened her, that she loved this man better than
life and that existence without him would be one eternal curse. She was
a brave woman and her hesitation was only momentary.

"Suffering has made you unjust, my friend," she said quietly. "I take
bitter shame to myself for having bared my heart so nakedly to you that
dreadful night, since it has been so pitiably unavailing. I did not
laugh that night--I cried. I only wish I could lie to you, dear. It
might be the means of conserving my honor and self-respect in those
hours of danger--the every hour I spend in your company. Must I abase
myself more? Must I tell you that I have prayed that this pain should
come to you so that I might comfort you with a love so tender, so
all-giving that you would blush in self-commiseration of your callow
infatuation for that foolish fledgling who deserted the eyrie of an
eagle for the flat commons of an English goose pasture? And now that the
measure of my shame is complete, go--and leave me to the agony of it.
Oh! my Wolf! my Wolf! I could have given so much, and so willingly! But
now I hate you! I hate you! Go, I say! Go!" She pointed imperiously to
the door with streaming eyes. "Will you go or must I summon the
servants?"

But with eyes flaming and extended arms he advanced Instead. With a
little cry of alarm she evaded him and took refuge on the divan, where
she cowered with covered eyes. With a strange forced smile he sank on
his knee beside her. Very gently he removed her hands from her face and
compelled her to look at him. She was quivering all over and her eyes
were gleaming like stars.

"What is the need of other servants when you have a loving slave here at
your feet? Connie! Connie!"

Afar in the distance rang a familiar cry; at the eerie sound their
pulses leaped in unison. The man put his whole soul into one fierce
appeal:

"Connie! my Queen!"

From without stole the answering call of the she-wolf.

With a soft little cry that was half a laugh, half a sob, she drew his
face down upon her bosom.



CHAPTER XX

A PASSAGE AT ARMS


At Brindisi, a month later, Grace found Douglass's letter awaiting her.
She kissed it furtively and thrust it in her bosom, reserving its
reading for the privacy of her room. Not until she had crept into bed
did she open the prosaic government-stamped envelope which he
methodically used. She always read his letters so, punctuating each
tender sentence with a kiss and going to sleep with It tucked In her
nightdress next her heart.

This was an unusually bulky enclosure and she hugged it in anticipation;
how sweet it was of him to devote so much of his time to her in his
busiest season. Passionately she pressed her lips to it again and with a
sigh of delight drew out--a single sheet of note paper enclosing a
closely-folded page of printed matter.

As though doubting her senses, she sat erect in bed and unfolded the
newspaper; there was nothing enclosed therein and with perplexity writ
large all over her face she turned curiously to the written sheet.

Slowly, as one in a daze, she read and reread it a dozen times; it was
very short and in nowise ambiguously phrased, yet she did not seem able
to grasp its meaning:

     "My congratulations on the speed and facility with which your very
     astute and clever mother has extricated you from what must
     certainly have been a very embarrassing entanglement. May you be as
     happy in your new exalted station as you once made me imagine I was
     going to be!

     "Owing you, as I do, not only my life but my fortune as well, for
     my mines are now in bonanza, I confess to even a greater
     indebtedness: you gave me a six-month of the only happiness I have
     ever known. But you would have rendered me an incalculably greater
     service had you left those dynamite cartridges undisturbed that
     day.

     "If in the mutations of time and chance you should ever have need
     of me, the life and fortune which you gave are at your command.
     Good-by."

In an agony of bewilderment she took up the newspaper, intuitively
seeking the Society Columns.

Mrs. Robert Carter, leisurely preparing for her night's rest in the
adjoining apartment, looked up with a pleasant smile as the
communicating door opened, a word of loving greeting on her lips. But
there was little of answering affection in the glittering eyes and white
face of the girl who, with clenched hands and dilating nostrils,
advanced upon her. Something in the unnatural demeanor of Grace alarmed
her and she nervously dropped her hair brush and rose to her feet.

"Gracie! What is It?"

Very deliberately the girl thrust the printed sheet Into her mother's
hand and in a calm voice demanded:

"Tell me, what part did you have in this?"

In astonishment the elder woman ran her eye hurriedly over the item the
rigid finger was pointing out; her face hardened with anger and
annoyance.

"None whatever, my child," she said with an evident truthfulness that
carried with it instant conviction. "I am as much surprised and pained
as you are. Instead of sanctioning such an alliance it would have
received my firmest opposition. Lord Ellerslie scarcely approximates to
my ideals of a son-in-law. This is the work of some contemptible
penny-a-liner with a superfluity of space to fill; it is not worth
refuting, dear; women of our station are always exposed to these petty
annoyances and this may have been written with the very object of
inciting our space-filling denial. Don't be unduly exercised over such a
trifle." And then a bit reproachfully, "You really could not think me
accessory to such a contemptible thing as that, daughtie?"

At the endearing diminutive the hardness left the girl's face and her
lips trembled pitifully. Unable to speak she mutely held out Douglass's
letter and the mother, comprehending, took her shelteringly to her bosom
while she read it. At its conclusion she patted the silken hair
caressingly.

"Don't worry, dearie," she said reassuringly. "A cablegram will set this
matter right. It is unfortunate that he should have seen this particular
paper." She paused abruptly, a sudden suspicion intruding itself. But
she did not voice it, and bent to the consolation of the now weeping
girl.

"Oh! Mummy," she sobbed, "I love him so! I love him so! Let us go home
before my heart breaks!"

Mrs. Carter took up the letter again. "My mines are now in bonanza," she
read.

"We will take the next steamer," she said quietly. "And upon second
thought I think we had better not cable. Better make your denial in
person; it will be more effective."

While Grace Carter was speeding homeward with a heavy heart, out at the
VN ranch Constance Brevoort was In a delirium of feverish happiness, and
Douglass, thrilled by her passionate abandon, had not yet tired. Upon
him she showered all the affection so long repressed; and her fervor and
intensity, which awed him not a little, was very flattering to his
vanity. Too subtly wise to risk wearying him with too great exactions on
his time, she was rather shy and disposed to hold him aloof, thus
skillfully shifting the onus of importunity on to his shoulders and so
keeping alive and burning the flame at which she had lighted all her
hopes. But in the occasional moments of their intimate communion she
flooded him with sweetness even as the "Serpent of the old Nile" washed
reason from the mind of Antony and laved his soul with living fire. Of
what the world might think or say, of her husband's fury and probable
revenge, of her friends Inevitable ostracism she thought with
indifference if at all; in this new-found happiness everything else was
lost. She lived entirely in the present, obstinately refusing to reckon
with the future. Once, when he hesitatingly broached the subject of
their future relations, she stopped his mouth with kisses and breathed
Into his ear the sophistry of the old Tent-maker of Naishapur:

    "Ah, fill the Cup; what boots it
       to repeat
    How Time is slipping underneath
       our Feet?
    Unborn TO-MORROW and dead
       YESTERDAY,
    Why fret about them if TO-DAY
       be sweet?"

She was very frankly in love with him, and he not at all with her. So
far as she was concerned he was simply a wolf, with a wolf's wild
desire. Of course, the situation had Its attractions, and the risks
incurred lent an added charm to this danger-loving young animal. He was
infatuated with her physically, but that was all. Of this she was fully
conscious, but with a hope born of desperation she determined to hold
him while she could; who knows what a day may bring forth? Anselm
Brevoort was getting old; she would be a very wealthy widow; and this
man, despite his very humble station, had been reared in luxury and had
a keen appreciation of the higher amenities. She was more than content
to drift, leaving the ultimate harbor in the lap of the gods.

The story of a rich strike spreads very rapidly in a mining region;
within three months after the explosion of that wild-flung dynamite all
the Rocky Mountain country was agog with marvelous tales of Douglass's
luck and a great rush of prospectors was made to the new Eldorado. At
the time of the discovery of the quartz ledge, at Douglass's suggestion,
Brevoort, Carter and McVey had conjointly located three extension claims
on the vein, and the two women, Grace and Constance, had also located
two claims in their joint names. The assessment work legally required to
hold these claims had all been done and the necessary excavations had
shown all the five extensions to contain values. The additional work
required to make the holdings patentable was rushed to completion, and
before the inrush of the prospective Midases had fairly begun, the
titles had been made incontestibly secure.

In the parlance of the camps Douglass's original discoveries "paid from
grass-roots down" and his exploitation work was all in high grade ore.
With the proceeds derived from its sale he installed a diamond drilling
plant with which he thoroughly prospected the formation within his
boundary lines with the result of indisputably establishing the
continuity of the rich deposits. So extensive and valuable did these
prove that he was fairly inundated with offers of purchase from the
shrewd representatives of various syndicates, the figures rising with
each successive bid as the vein was definitely proved. But the offers as
yet were scarcely half the amount which Douglass had sturdily demanded
for his holdings, although at his advice the two women and Red McVey
sold out their interests to a syndicate headed and promoted by Anselm
Brevoort. His good judgment was fully vindicated later, when, after
extensive exploitation the consolidated five extension claims barely
yielded ore enough to pay the purchase price, the real ore chimney being
confined inside Douglass's property. And as the three lucky venders
received in the neighborhood of one hundred thousand dollars each, with
only a nominal outlay for assessment work and patenting, the
transaction was very satisfactory to them.

Before sailing for Europe, Grace had at her brother's suggestion given
Douglass power of attorney for the handling of her interests, and he had
duly deposited her share of the proceeds to her credit in Denver's best
bank, notifying her brother of the disposition of the fund and
suggesting that it be retained there until her return, when it could be
presented as an agreeable surprise. Constance's share simply swelled an
already very respectable private banking account, and Red McVey had very
wisely taken Douglass's earnest advice and Invested his entire fortune
in Denver Tramway stock, eventually buying with the resultant dividends
a splendid ranch. But that is another story.

Brevoort's syndicate was composed altogether of European investors, and
that astute financier, fully aware of the great value of Douglass's
holdings, was in conference with his colleagues in London, urging their
acceptance of the cool million demanded by the hard-headed owner. The
day Grace Carter and her mother landed in New York on their homeward
passage he had finally achieved his point and immediately cabled
Douglass and his Denver banking correspondent to that effect,
authorizing the latter to make an initial payment of one-tenth of the
required amount to bind the transaction pending his immediate return to
complete the deal. At his earnest request Douglass left immediately on
receipt of his advice for Denver.

Considering the unattractive conditions at the ranch in event of his
absence for an indefinite time, it is scarcely to be wondered at that
Constance Brevoort elected to accompany him.

Three days after their arrival at the metropolis, Grace Carter
accompanied by her brother reached Denver on their way to the ranch,
having no intimation of the others' presence in the city. In order to
distract his sister's mind from her nervous brooding, Robert insisted
upon her attendance at the opera, the night of their arrival, and at her
listless acquiescence had procured box seats. It chanced to be Carmen,
with Calve in the title role. The assemblage was a brilliant one and
Calve was at her best. Always an emotional creature, Grace yielded to
the fascination of the story and had temporarily forgotten her own
troubles when she chanced to glance at the lower box immediately
opposite, into which had just entered a man and woman. The woman was
Constance Brevoort and her escort was Ken Douglass!

Even though clad in the conventional full dress in which she had never
before beheld him, there was no mistaking that lean, muscular form and
bronzed face. Eagerly she leaned forward, her lips parted and her face
flushed with excitement. How wonderful to find him here so unexpectedly;
it would shorten her agony at least five blessed days! But--but--why was
Constance with him? Unconsciously a chilling wave swept over her and she
drew back into the shelter of the box with a vague uneasiness tugging at
her heart. Carter, frankly interested in the voluptuous Carmen, had no
eyes except for the stage, and did not notice his sister's
perturbation. It is worthy of note that she did not call his attention
to the occupants of the other box.

For as she stealthily watched her betrothed husband's removal of
Constance's cloak there was something in the manner of both that drove
the color from her face. And when, in an intermission, as he leaned over
her, she saw Constance Brevoort's lips laid surreptitiously on his
throat, she gave a heart-broken gasp and nervously implored her brother
to take her back to the hotel.

All unconscious of the cause, and with never a look at the opposite box,
he instantly complied, reproaching himself with having subjected her to
this unadvisable strain on her nerves. On their arrival at their hotel
she pleaded a slight indisposition from weariness of travel and at once
retired.

With clenched hands and white face she lay staring into the darkness. It
was all plain to her now! For with an intuition that went straight to
the mark, she knew who was the instigator of the report of her
engagement to Lord Ellerslie; and she knew why! Curiously enough, she
attached no blame to him, but she felt a deep and increasing hatred for
the woman who had robbed her. There could be only one interpretation of
their relations and her whole nature resented it passionately. But her
love for him was very great and she was eager to give him the benefit of
the doubt, even while her whole sentience shrieked his guilt.

The next morning she called a bellboy and handed him a bank note upon
which lay a slip of paper.

"Find out for me, please," she said, with a forced smile, "the hotel
where these two friends of mine are registered, without letting them
know. I want to call upon them unexpectedly and surprise them." The lad
bowed his appreciation of her generosity and in less than a half hour
returned with the desired information. It was "dead easy to locate
swells of that kind," as he shrewdly remarked to an envious colleague
who had begrudged him that magnificent tip.

She was all honied complaisance when she called upon Constance that
morning immediately after breakfast, much to that lady's consternation
and surprise. For a moment Mrs. Brevoort was speechless and
panic-stricken, but she was an old campaigner and soon recovered her
composure. She professed her delight at the unexpected pleasure and then
boldly played a false card.

"Your coming was so unexpected, dear, that it has deprived me of my good
manners. I sincerely congratulate you on your engagement to Lord
Ellerslie. It was a great surprise to me; I was, er--under the
impression--"

Grace looked at her steadily, a cynical contempt faintly curling the red
lips. "Really! How strange! I should have imagined that my own surprise
would have been the greater, considering that, as you know, there was
not a word of truth in that announcement so maliciously dictated by some
contemptible wretch to subserve her own vicious purpose. By this time
our lawyers will have determined the responsibility for that pitiful
lie, although I have already a full conviction as to its authorship!
It's really dreadful, Connie! But, as mamma says, women of our station
are proverbially exposed to such annoyances. And people have absolutely
no regard for the probable consequences of their malicious gossip. Think
of what it would mean to you, dear, for Instance, if someone were to
mercilessly convey to Mr. Brevoort an insinuation that you had been
guilty of--of a great indiscretion! Think of the publicity, the scandal,
the shame of it; the loss of home, rank, station and friends."

Under the lash of the bitterly deliberate words Constance Brevoort
winced and cringed. This thing of white flame and quiet fury was
scarcely the "colorless entity" of her misplaced contempt. How much did
she really know, anyway? The doubt was cutting her soul into ribbons.

Summoning all her really great courage to her aid, she affected to treat
the matter humorously and gave an exaggerated little shiver of
deprecation. But all the time her heart was quaking with a fear of the
outraged girl before her. Yet she had all the proverbial courage--or Is
it the desperation--of the cornered wolf she knew herself to be, and
metaphorically bared her teeth.

"How dramatically grewsome your suggestion, _cherie_! It really gives me
the shivers! But supposing the absurdly impossible; what then? Don't you
know that the world and all its hollow shams are well lost for a love
like the one you are intimating?" It was a distinct challenge; one could
read it diviningly in the set lips and flashing eyes as well. But love
fights doggedly and unconqueredly long after volatile and ephemeral
passion has fled a stubborn field, and this was the love of the daughter
of "the bravest man God ever made."

"You are jumping at conclusions, dear," she said, with a careless
indulgence which made her hearer's jaws meet with a venomous click. "I
have intimated nothing, not even the possibility of your ever being
tempted by the arising of such a contingency. And yet, having had many
lovers--if the tales be true--you should be able to speak
authoritatively!"

If looks could have slain, the world would have been forever lost to
Grace Carter at that moment. It took Constance quite a time to control
herself sufficiently to avoid betraying her rage at this chit's insolent
assurance. When she did speak her words were sweetly vitriolic:

"One can imagine the shock Ellerslie's vanity will encounter when he
learns of that canard! Such things require so much explanation, too! I
am really sorry, dear, at your humiliating predicament. And what in the
name of Venus are you going to say in conciliation to Kenneth Douglass?"

Grace flinched pitifully at this double _touche_ of her adversary's keen
weapon, but her eyes glinted like burnished steel. The duel was to be _a
l'outrance_ now, and she put all her indignation and subtlety behind
her blow. The older woman had noted with a malicious pleasure a dull
flushing of the fair face and throat but had wrongly ascribed its cause.
The battle ground was her bedchamber, and over on a chair, carelessly
thrown, lay a man's light topcoat and a pair of gloves many sizes too
large for Constance's dainty hands! With a world of scornful meaning the
girl looked at the chair, and the eyes of the woman following the
direction of that glance, grew black with confusion.

"I think he has been sufficiently appealed to in the name of your patron
goddess," she said, icily, "and as for Lord Ellerslie, I rejected his
proposal even before I had learned of his relations with the author of
that despicable lie. As for Mr. Douglass--"

The words died on her tongue as the door, evidently communicating with
another room adjoining, suddenly opened and a well-known voice said
familiarly:

"Did I leave my coat and gloves in here last night, Connie? There would
be the devil to pay if the chambermaid--!"

Standing there in his shirt sleeves, Ken Douglass was, for the first
time in his reckless life, at a disadvantage too great for even his
conceded adroitness to overcome. In a coma of stupefaction, with horror
and shame written all over his gray-white face, he stood staring at the
pale, haughty face so relentlessly directed toward him. For a full
minute she held him on the rack of her scorn; then with a hard composure
in her voice, which accorded but poorly with the unutterable loathing
and aversion in her eyes, she said coldly:

"I am doubly fortunate in this rencounter. It saves much unnecessary
waste of time, and fatigue, and verbiage to find you here! In justice to
us both I have come all the way from Europe to tell you that my reported
engagement to Lord Ellerslie was a cruel lie!"

And without another word she swept proudly out of the room without
deigning one look at the woman cowering on the cushioned divan.

"Take me home, Bobbie!" she sobbed piteously to her brother, as she
clung forsakenly to him in their sitting-room. And further explanation
she would vouch him none, despite his bewildered implorations. "Take me
home; I want Mummy!"

That night after she had retired he picked up from the floor, where it
had fluttered unnoticed, a scrap of paper containing two names and a
hotel address. He stared at it uncomprehendingly and then a cold sweat
stood on his wrinkled brow. He went over to his dressing-case and took
out a shining nickel-plated revolver. Tiptoeing cautiously into his
sister's room he gently kissed the tear-stained face. Then he went out
very softly and called for a cab.

In the ordinary of the vast hostelry he found Douglass sitting on an
easy-chair, staring into vacancy. At his curt address the man looked up
wearily and gravely motioned him toward the elevator. It was noticeable
that neither offered to shake hands, despite the closeness of their
relations and the further fact that they had not met in better than half
a year.

In silence Carter strode after him until they reached Douglass's
apartments; then turning to the silent man before him, he sternly asked:

"What have you done to my sister?"

Douglass, leaning against the window jamb, looking out into the soft
summer night, made no reply. Carter crossed over fiercely and wrenched
him around.

"Answer me! Or by God, I'll tear it out of you with my hands!"

His breath was coming thickly but there was no fear in the eyes of old
Bob Carter's boy.

Douglass looked at him with apathetic wonder.

"I've lost her!" he answered dully. Carter looked at him with impatient
amazement, mingled with suspicion. Was the man crazy, or was this only a
weak attempt at evasion? He was going to know and that without any more
foolishness. Savagely he caught hold of the other's coat lapel and shook
him with an incredible strength.

"She came across an ocean and two continents to tell you that she was
true to you, damn you! And she has just cried herself to sleep! I want
the truth, do you hear!" His boyish face was convulsed with passion and
his whole effeminate body was aquiver.

"I've lost her!" repeated Douglass, unemotionally, offering not the
slightest resistance to the other's vehemence. "I've lost her!" as
though that were the Alpha and Omega of all things. Then he turned
fiercely to the younger man.

"What in hell do you want?"

The boy blazed back at him as fiercely, fumbling the weapon in his
pocket.

"I want the whole truth of this miserable thing--the whole truth! And if
you have made my sister suffer through anything unworthy, I want your
heart's blood as well! Damn you, are you going to speak?" He clutched
frantically at Douglass's throat. Very calmly the bronzed giant circled
his wrists with a grip of steel and held him off at arms' length.

"Sit down, Carter," he said in a normal tone. "It is your right to know
and you shall. I have wronged your sister! No, you fool, not in that
way!" as the boy struggled furiously in his vice-like grip. "But I am
deserving of any punishment you may choose to inflict." And without
preamble he told Carter the whole story, only suppressing the name of
the woman concerned.

At its conclusion the boy breathed easier and the truculence went out of
him entirely as Douglass laid his head on his arms and muttered
hoarsely:

"I love her! I love her! And now I've lost her!"

Bobbie Carter rose and put his hand on the brawny shoulder. His voice
was harsh with sympathy, after the fashion of man.

"You've been all kinds of a senseless ass, Ken," he said,
affectionately, his faith in his hero once more restored, "but it is not
as bad as I thought. You want to break off with Mrs.--" he had almost
betrayed his knowledge of that which Douglass had been chivalrously
trying to conceal--"with that woman, whoever she is, and in course of
time, after she has bawled her foolish little eyes out, Gracie will
forgive you. I know her like a book. I'm her brother, you know! Buck up,
old man! She'll make it hard for you, and you are going to get a bitter
lesson. But it will come out all right in time--If you don't go loco
again and spoil it all."

But all his pleading and remonstrances were unavailing with his sister
when he sought to effect a reconciliation. She had been irremediably
hurt, and, in her misery, actually hoped that she would never see him
again. She insisted upon returning home; and then consented to go on to
the ranch for a short, and, as she firmly resolved, a final visit!

Douglass, watching her as he thought unseen, the next morning at the
Union Depot, as she entered the west-bound train, was filled with a
great repentance and remorse. He did not know that she stood at the
proper angle to see his disconsolate face until the train pulled out. It
must be confessed, however, that it was a hard, unrelenting mouth that
scornfully curved as he strode away with depressed head as the train
glided out with accelerating speed.

"Like as not he will go straight back to that shameless creature as soon
as we are safely out of sight!" she thought, with stiffly-erected head.
And as a curious vindication of that strange quantity in women, which,
for lack of some better name, we term "intuition," we are truthfully
compelled to admit that is just exactly what he did!



CHAPTER XXI

A WIDENING CHASM


Ten days later Brevoort arrived in Denver and the deal was fully
consummated. As the possessor of a million, cowpunching lost its charms
for Douglass, who resigned his connection with the VN interests.

Brevoort, realizing his own inability to make a success of ranching
without expert assistance, made Douglass a very favorable proposition to
take over his ranch holdings, which was promptly accepted. Within thirty
days he had purchased a fine "bunch" of high-grade cattle, placing the
whole "outfit" under the efficient supervision of Punk Wilson, who,
reinforced by a trio of Lazy K boys, who transformed their allegiance to
Douglass, soon had matters running along swimmingly. The ranch was
thereafter known as the Circle D, that being Douglass's private brand.

Immediately upon taking possession of his new property he had made an
ineffectual overture towards Grace's conciliation; the girl, stung by
jealousy and smarting under a sense of his disloyalty, had scornfully
rejected his advances and the breach was wider than ever in consequence.
Yet her visit was prolonged far into the autumn, possibly because she
was determined not to give a clear field to Constance Brevoort, who had
also apparently become a fixture. All relations between the two women
had been severed irrevocably, each keeping to her own respective
bailiwick. Constance had, with a reluctant regard for the proprieties,
established herself at the Blounts, in Tin Cup, and after Grace's
contemptuous treatment of Douglass, he spent the major portion of his
time in the village. Brevoort, engrossed in his mining schemes,
gravitated between Tin Cup and the Roaring Fork, unseeingly.

Over at the C Bar the situation was fast growing intolerable to Grace
Carter. Although she would rather have died than admit it even to
herself, her love for Douglass only increased with every heart-wrenching
report of his recklessly open relations with the object of her deepest
hatred, which were constantly sifting down to her through the neighbors'
gossip. As their engagement had not been made public, she was spared the
irritating commiseration which would otherwise have been her uneviable
lot. All knowledge of it was fortunately restricted to Abbie, McVey,
Brevoort and his wife; for obvious reasons it gained no further
publicity. Therefore Douglass's affair was regarded enviously by the
other range men, and it must be confessed, rather indulgently by the
range women, who found not a great deal of fault with his conquest of
this supercilious "big-bug" who had weaned the hearts of their men away
from proper altars of devotion. Old Abbie, alone, was bitterly
vituperative of both the man and his condoning admirers.

"Why is it," she indignantly snorted to Mrs. Blount, on the occasion of
one of that lady's garrulous visits, "that all wimmen, even r'ally good
ones, have a kinda sneakin' likin' foah a rake? Thu worse thu mizzable
he-critters be, thu moah yuh giggle at theah nastiness! It's a wondeh to
me thet men eveh get married at all any moah. I disremembeh eveh hearin'
any she-male talkin' about thu goodness of any r'ally decent man,
married er single; but jest let some tur'ble mean-minded cuss get to
cuttin' capehs with some fool woman er tother, an' every ole brindle on
thu range chaws on thu cud of it like a dogie on May blue-joint; an' as
fer thu heifers, every blessed one on 'em purtends to be buffaloed if he
crosses theah trail an' skitteh away, lookin' back disap'inted if he
don't folleh an' try to raound 'em up. An' bimeby, when he gets good an'
plenty tiahed o' hell-ahootin' araound, he jes' ups an' nach'rally takes
hes pick o' thu cream o' thu bunch, leavin' thu skim milk fer better men
whose shoes he ain't fitten to lick!

"I don't know why," she went on regretfully, calmly ignoring the
indignant protest of her scandalized hearer, "an' I reckon Gawd,
Hisself, don't know eitheh, but we locoed wimmen allus love bad men a
heap better'n we do good ones. I've been seein' it all my life ontil I'm
got plumb ashamed o' my sect."

But to Grace, that night, she said inconsistently, her gray crest
bristling with impatience:

"Honey, anything in this wohld that's worth havin' is worth fightin'
foh! Yuh are no Cahteh if yuh stand foh anybody's runnin' off yuah
stock. Neveh yuh mind haow wild an' ornary he 'peahs to be just now,
that fool boy is a thorrerbred at heart, and the best on 'em go loco by
spells. Thu betteh the breed, thu worse they bolt when things go wrong,
but they are mighty good critters to have in yuah brand! Thu trouble is
that you been feedin' him on bran mash when he's system was ahollerin'
foh star-shavin's! Ken Douglass ain't no yeahlin' no moah, honey; he
ain't no child to be tooken' an' raised like we did Buffo; he's a strong
man an' wants strong meat with salt an' peppeh on it. An' long's he's
not robbin' yuah lahdeh what yuh gotta kick about?"

But she turned her head away as the girl said bitterly:

"And you, too? It Is part of the Divine scheme, then, that only women
should keep themselves pure and sweet and clean in order to merit the
beatitudes of 'holy' matrimony! Delilah gets the kernel, and Ruth the
husks! You shameless old woman! To think that _you_ would dare preach
such a wickedness with unblushing face!"

"Dearie," said the old woman slowly, "Theah's been Delilahs eveh since
theah's been Samsons an' they allus will be. I reckon Gawd made 'em to
kinda take thu aige offen men's sharp desiah so as to keep it from
cuttin' puah hearts apaht. Yuh cain't change natuh, lammie; wild oats
will be agrowin' long afteh thu second comin' o' Christ! But theah allus
sown in wild an' waste places as is right an' fitten, an' thu seed runs
out in time. Thu betteh growths need pureh soil, an' men wisely sow
theah good seed in the clean gahdens that Gawd intended thu otheh kind
o' wimmins' hearts to be. Yuh kin allus cook betteh, too, on thu steady
heat of thu coals afteh the flame O' fierce fiah has buhned itself out,
an' thu brand that holds a man bites deepeh if it's heated In the
glowin' heart of Love afteh thu flame an' smoke of passion has drifted
away.

"Theah's things In a man's natuh that's gotta be buhned out; yuh cain't
prune 'em away. An' like measles, mumps an' small-pox, it's bettah to
happen when he's young. When that Brevoort critter has trimmed Ken's
lamps so's they'll burn steady without flickerin' he'll light up yuah
life foh all time, honey. An' she's almost got thu jawb done, or I miss
my guess! Yuh take my advice, an' when he comes cavortin' about yeah
again within ropin' distance get yuah string on him and corral him foh
keeps. He'll be good from now on if you give him thu chanct. An' if yuh
don't, he'll run rampageous to the bad--an' yuh'll be to blame!"

And the wise old woman was even wiser than she knew. At that very
moment, Douglass, looking at a picture that should have logically
thrilled him to the core, was travailing in a morose discontent quite
incompatible with his environment. The woman for whose sake he had
imperiled all that a man holds dear, was sitting opposite him on the
hotel veranda In the soft moonlight, with little Eulalie cuddled closely
to her. Every full, round line of her betokened her perfect fitness for
maternity and the motherhood implanted in every woman's heart was softly
irradiating her face as she bent caressingly over the sleeping child.
Intended by Nature as a mother of soldiers, here by the caprice of fate
she was fostering the weak offspring of another less fit, denied
woman's highest mission, debarred from Nature's most noble function. And
he had but to say the word!

For that afternoon, in an agony of passion, she had whispered a
temptation in his ear, clinging to him with all the seductiveness in her
nature:

"Let us go away, dear, anywhere, anywhere, so that we are together!
There will be a separation without any publicity, for he is very proud;
and he really never cared! Make me the wife and mother that Nature
intended me to be; give me the fulfillment that is every woman's due!"

It came to him with a shock, for he had been living only in the
enjoyment of the present. Brought face to face with the eternal future,
he realized a great unpreparedness, abnormal as it was disquieting. He
had answered her evasively, with a politic tenderness that satisfied her
temporarily; but he knew that her insistence was only deferred, and his
answer was not ready. And to-night he was cursing the inevitable
brutality that he knew he would ultimately be compelled to exercise.

For even as his soul yearned at the tender appeal of that picture most
exquisite to man, the mothering of a child, the beauteous face before
him was replaced by another, reproachful and haughty yet fair with a
purity and beauty indescribable, the patrician mouth trembling and the
sweet eyes brimming with appeal. Sharply he shut his teeth and sat
erect.

Only one woman in the world should be mother to his children--and that
woman was not the beauty crooning softly to that sleeping babe! He had
lost her for a little while but he would find her, and the way back
into her favor! And having found her, at whatever bitter cost, he would
never let her go again! He resolved that on the morrow he would ride
over to the C Bar and grovel in abasement at her feet if need be.

The woman sitting opposite him shivered telepathically and a tear fell
on the face of the child.

"He is weighing me against her," she thought, fearfully, "and I am
afraid--afraid! But I will not give him up! Oh, my God! I can not!"

And down at the C Bar Grace was crying to her heart:

"Will he come? Will he come?"

But it was Red McVey who came awooing in the soft dusk of the succeeding
evening, his handsome face bright with a great love, his six feet of
stalwart manliness begroomed with appropriate care. He was far from
possessing his ordinary confidence, but he came bravely to the point and
the girl's eyes held as much pride as they did sympathy for him.

"Your love is an honor to me," she said, gently. "I am proud to have
inspired such a feeling in so grand a man, and I shall thank God on my
knees for it to-night! But it is impossible, my dear friend; you will be
generous and spare me explanations--"

"Don't cry!" he said, gently, but his face was very white and drawn. "I
understand. Yuh are shore they ain't any hope. I'd wait foh yeahs?"

"No, dear friend, there is none. I do not think I shall ever marry. And
I am going away to-morrow."

She held out her hand and he bent awkwardly over it. Very softly he
pressed his lips upon the little pink palm. Then he stood erect, still
holding the fluttering fingers in both his bronzed hands.

"Yuh will neveh know what yuh've been to me," he said, gravely, "and
what yuh will always be to me still. It's goin' to hurt a little, of
course; but I'll have my dreams, and that's something. And I'm shore
yuah friend as you said. Gawd make yuh happy!"

Then he went quietly out, carefully closing the door behind him. The
girl waited until the last echo of his firm steps had died away. Then
she sat down beside the table, laid her face on her arms and cried
bitterly.

It never occurred to either of them that he had made no reference to her
engagement to Douglass, whose severance he could not possibly have known
except by deduction.

The next afternoon he drove her over to a point where the stage could be
intercepted without going to Tin Cup. She desired to avoid the
possibility of a chance meeting with Constance Brevoort or Douglass,
despite an almost irresistible temptation to see him for the last time.
In ten days more she was aboard an ocean liner, her mother
unquestioningly complying with her request for a continental tour,
wisely leaving the girl to her own time in the matter of explanations.
Besides, she had adroitly drawn out of Robert enough to confirm her
suspicions, and she was unqualifiedly glad to encourage any distractions
for the pale girl whose eyes were heavy with misery. As Grace expressed
no preference she decided on Egypt, and the departure was made without
unnecessary loss of time.

Had Grace gone direct to Tin Cup that day, instead of intercepting the
stage some twenty miles out, or if the driver had been a more loquacious
man than "Timberline," she would have been spared many heartaches at the
price of a sickening terror. For the day before, the man that she loved,
bleeding and senseless, had been carried into the hotel at Tin Cup,
where a white-faced, wild-eyed woman sat by his bedside waiting the
arrival of the doctor, stonily facing a despair too great for words.

With the firm intention of riding out to the C Bar that afternoon to
make a last appeal to Grace for forgiveness and reconciliation, Douglass
had rather reluctantly accompanied Constance for her morning's
constitutional on horseback. Divining his intention in some mysterious
manner known only to the loving jealous, she had determined to frustrate
his purpose by making her ride unusually long, thus keeping him with her
until too late to reach the C Bar that night. She was fighting for time,
and every moment of delay was vital, she having been informed of the
intended departure of Grace within the next few days. If she could
manage to prevent their meeting before that time the chasm between the
two would become permanently unbridgable.

Some ten miles out of town, in a magnificent cañon, reachable only by a
somewhat difficult trail, was an exquisite little spot well known to
both. It was one of their favorite rendezvous in the trout-fishing
season, where they stopped to fry the delicious fish and boil the coffee
indispensable to an _al fresco_ luncheon. Hither, too, they had come on
other innumerable occasions when absolute privacy was the desire of
both, and it was to this place of tender associations and more or less
compelling memories that she diplomatically led the way. Here, in the
great outdoor temple of this pantheist's loving, with no other goddess
to divert him from her own homage, was the place of all places to regain
her fast waning influence over him. If she could only hold him for a
little time longer success was assured.

Cleverly disregarding his taciturnity she kept up a merry chatter as
they rode along, finally drawing him skillfully into a discussion of the
geological features of the interesting region which they were slowly
traversing; like every mining expert he was a bit professionally
pedantic on this subject, and to this woman of abnormally clear
perceptions it was a positive pleasure to him to impart the really great
information with which his mind was stored. Once she got him warmed up
to his subject he waxed enthusiastic in his dissertation on dykes,
fissures, blanket veins and the like, even riding out of their course to
point out confirming formations and collect specimens of their
characteristic components. By the time they reached the embowered little
glade in the cañon his sullenness was completely dissipated, and he
kissed her very passionately as he lifted her from her horse. There was
much of the old fire in him as she clung distractingly about his neck,
and her eyes gleamed with triumph.

So absorbed had they become in each other that neither noticed the
slinking figure which stole out of the glade at the sound of their
approach, or the charcoal of a hastily-extinguished fire swirling in the
eddies of the little pool. And mercifully they did not know, as they
stood there in close-held rapture, drinking with clinging lips the Lethe
of all things save love, that twenty feet away, from the vantage of a
dense clematis tangle veiling a clump of dwarf box-elder, a pair of evil
eyes burned above a snarling mouth, as a grimy hand drew cautiously back
the firing bolt of a Mauser.



CHAPTER XXII

THE RENUNCIATION


Ballard, riding ahead of his posse, reined in his horse sharply at the
head of the trail leading down to the stream as a shot crackled
viciously in the depths of the cañon below. There was no mistaking that
crisp, whip-like report of a small-calibered, high-pressure rifle
cartridge, and he wondered much that it was not accompanied by the whine
of the long metal-cased bullet about his ears. For the last twenty-four
hours had he been in momentary expectation of that sinister song, of a
possible succeeding agony of blindness, for he realized that he was now
in the hands of the gods, and more or less at the mercy of the desperate
man whom he had been relentlessly pursuing for the last three days, a
man who would just as relentlessly kill him if the opportunity offered,
a man who knew every inch of these mountain fastnesses in which he had
taken refuge in his last extremity.

But despite all hazards of ambush he had kept doggedly on the trail, and
now he was within reach of his quarry. Hurriedly directing two of his
best mounted followers to cover the cañon's mouth below, and the
remaining two to guard the only other possible exit above, he rode at
breakneck speed down the precipitous trail, spurred to recklessness by
a woman's wailing scream.

Four days before, the Gunnison Express had been boarded at a watering
tank, some fifty miles out of the city, by a particularly villainous
band of desperadoes who, not content with looting the passengers, mails
and express matter, had maliciously aggravated their crime with murder,
deliberately shooting down the conductor and express messenger after the
robbery had been accomplished. It was an unheard-of brutality, the men
being helpless, unarmed and unresisting, and pursuit of the wretches had
been so prompt and successful that every member of the gang, save the
one now in the cañon before him, was presently decorating a series of
telegraph posts on the outskirts of the city, their captors having given
them but exceedingly short shrift. And one of them, in an unavailing
attempt to enlist the mercy of his grim executioners, had confessed that
Matlock was the leader of the gang; but with characteristic cowardice
had refrained from personal active participation in the robbery, merely
directing their operations from a safe distance as arch plotter. His
trail was soon found and had been skillfully followed so far by the
expert marshal, whose long experience in trailing cattle on the cow
range had made him one of the best trackers in the mountains.

Ballard was at a loss to account for the fatal recklessness of that
shot. Matlock must certainly have known that It would betray his
whereabouts and he was far too shrewd a villain to so unnecessarily
expose himself to the risk of possible capture. There was but one
explanation, and the marshal sent the spurs home with a great foreboding
at heart.

"He _had_ to fire that shot!" was the quick conjecture. "But why? He is
either in a tight place or else Is up to some fearful deviltry. That was
certainly a woman's cry!" He was using both spur and cuerto now, and his
gallant horse was responding grandly.

But before he reached the little glade, the echoes wakened to a rumbling
roar at the duller concussion of a revolver shot. Then followed that
most unnerving thing, the mourning of a woman for her dead. With a
magnificent leap the horse cleared the brawling torrent and in the edge
of the glade Ballard checked him with a savage oath. Flinging himself
from the saddle, he ran eagerly forward, pulling his revolver as he
went.

In the middle of the glade, beside a little spring which bubbled up
amidst the grass, sat a stylishly-gowned woman holding to her bosom the
head of his best friend. Across the white forehead trickled down a thin
crimson stream which sadly stained and discolored the fawn-colored
riding habit and left its grewsome horror on the lips passionately
pressed to those of the man lying so still and quiet in her rocking
arms.

And ten feet away, with his sightless eyes staring up at the blue sky,
his shirt still smouldering from a powder burn above his heart, lay
Matlock, still clutching the Mauser in his stiffening hand.

Douglass, on dismounting, had picketed the horses and thrown himself at
full length on the grass with his head in Constance's lap. She had
temporarily regained dominion over him and was deliriously happy in
consequence, lavishing upon him all the tenderness of her really
unselfish affection. With tact she induced him to talk of his earlier
life and its vicissitudes, and in the relation he was so frank and
confiding that he was invested with a new glory in her sight. Of his
amours he was considerately reticent, his innate chivalry prompting him
to repress anything which would give her pain, and she was wise enough
to refrain from any embarrassing questions. Their communion was
intimate, and she had not been so happy in many months.

Then by some unfortunate vagary she chanced to refer to his first
difficulty with Matlock, asking him for the real facts in the case, and
the man crouched in the clematis gnashed his teeth at Douglass's
contemptuous reflections upon his cowardice.

"Oh, I took no particular risk," Douglass said carelessly; "the man was
not only a cowardly cur, but a blundering fool as well, as was plainly
shown in his foolish sale of that apex mine. Why, he might just as well
have got the million out of it that I did, if he had been honest and
only ordinarily intelligent. I knew the vein was there all the time, and
I really think he had a suspicion of it. But his great mistake was his
insane hatred of me, and he bungled his revenge badly. He really thought
he was cleverly swindling me, when the fact was that he was playing
directly into my hand."

He laughed scornfully and drew down the fair head to his.

"Let us forget about the fool. I had sworn to kill him once, but now
that he was unconsciously the cause of all my good fortune I feel only
pity for him."

Over in the clematis the sun was gleaming on a polished tube of steel
that was leveled directly at his heart, the eyes aligned along its
sights malignant with insane fury. But the finger crooked about the
trigger was restrained by a fiendish thought and with a chuckle Matlock
waited.

The distance was absurdly short and at that range he could clip the head
of a match. Just two more inches of elevation of that hated head and he
could send the jacketed bullet shearing just through the bridge of the
aquiline nose, splitting both eyeballs and blinding his enemy for the
little space of life he would thereafter accord him. It would be passing
sweet to have that helpless, sightless thing listen unseeingly to his
maltreatment of the woman.

At that moment his horse, which had been picketed some distance away in
the brush, discovered the presence of the two horses in the glade and
gave a loud whinny of salutation. Douglass was on his feet in a second,
his hand upon his revolver butt. The presence of another horse in that
cañon was a suspicious thing and as he inclined his head toward the
direction from which the whinny had come, his sharp eye discerned the
gleam in the clematis.

Instantly the gun leaped from its scabbard, but in the moment of its
release there came a faint haze from the leafy screen, a sharp report,
and Douglass pitched forward, face down, beside the little spring, the
revolver falling from his nerveless hand directly into the lap of the
screaming woman.

Baffled of his proposed torture, and intent now only on making sure of
the man he feared even in death, Matlock came running forward, working
the bolt of his rifle as he ran. At the side of his victim he paused and
thrust the muzzle of the weapon against the motionless head. He would
not bungle this job, at any rate.

But even as his finger closed about the trigger, Constance Brevoort was
upon him with a spring like that of a lioness fighting for her mate, her
arms fully extended and both hands clutching the butt of the heavy .44
Colt. Instinctively he raised his weapon to fend off this new and
unlooked-for antagonist; but he was a moment too late. As the flame
leaped from the muzzle to his breast he numbly lowered the rifle, turned
half around, and walking forward a few steps, clutched blindly at the
air and sank limply to the ground. One spasmodic struggle in which he
turned over on his back and then he lay very still, his mouth distorted
by a ghastly grin.

At Ballard's signaling call, he was hastily rejoined by his posse and a
hurried examination of Douglass's wound was made. The bullet had entered
the skull just above the left temple, making its exit at the back of the
head just where the parting of the hair ended. From all appearances it
had passed directly through the upper portion of the brain, and Ballard
shook his head hopelessly. But the heart was still beating vigorously
and there was a very perceptible pulse.

A rider was dispatched instantly to the nearest ranch, some two miles
away, for a conveyance, returning quickly with a buckboard. A rude
stretcher was improvised, on which Douglass was tenderly carried to the
head of the trail, and with his head in Constance's lap he was carefully
but quickly driven to the hotel. A dozen riders were soon scouring the
suburbs for the doctor, who was out making his round of daily calls, and
just at noon he came riding post-haste. As it most fortunately happened,
he was a practitioner of ability and experience, having filled for years
the responsible position of operating surgeon in one of the East's most
famous hospitals.

"It's an extra thousand on the side from me if you save him, Doc," said
Ballard earnestly. "Don't you let my pard die!" The surgeon paused long
enough from his examination to give him an assuring hand-grip.

"That was superfluous, Ballard," he said quietly. "He is my friend,
too." And there was an appeal in the eyes of Constance Brevoort that
outweighed all the treasures of Golconda.

Ballard, looking at her sympathetically, suddenly received an
inspiration. Taking her quietly to one side he coughed apologetically
and finally stammered out:

"I don't want to butt in, Mrs. Brevoort, but there will have to be a
more or less rigid investigation of this affair by the coroner
and--well, there is no use of your being put to any annoyance or
embarrassment. And I reckon you really _don't_ know what happened after
Ken was shot. The coroner is a friend of ours and will not deem It
necessary to question you at all; you will not have to appear at the
inquest. It's a lucky thing I happened to get there in time to kill
Matlock before he could do any further mischief."

He looked meaningly at her and she gasped with relief and wonder as the
significance of his words dawned upon her.

"And you would do that for me, a stranger!" she said incredulously. "How
noble you are!"

"Well," he said slowly, confused by the gratitude streaming from her
eyes, "you are a friend of his, and I think he would prefer it so. So
don't discuss the matter at all with anyone; just stand 'em all off
somehow. Say you fainted when the first shot was fired. And let me do
all the explaining. I was justified in doing it in my official capacity,
you know, and my statement will end the matter."

And so the world was none the wiser. In the days to come two others were
to learn the truth, and to these four alone was It restricted for all
time. That night after the inquest the body of the dead desperado was
taken to Gunnison, and Justice was satisfied.

To the woman waiting in the darkened room that afternoon it seemed an
age before the surgeon returned with the implements necessary for the
operation he had promptly determined on. Ever and anon she would look
fearfully at her hands and shudder at what she thought she saw there. It
would be easier to bear if she could only be assured that it had not all
been in vain; the figure on the bed lay so alarmingly still. A dozen
times she placed her ear to his heart to convince herself that it was
still beating.

The door creaked shrilly on its rusty hinges and the doctor entered.
After him followed Blount and Ballard, bearing between them a long deal
table requisitioned from the dining-room. Raising the curtains, the room
was flooded with a strong white light, in which the table was placed.

When the wounded man had been removed thereto, the surgeon turned to
Constance.

"All operations are more or less attended with unpleasant features,
Madam," he said kindly. "Had you not better retire?"

She begged piteously to be allowed to remain, even insisting upon her
ability to render any necessary assistance. But he saw her shudder of
apprehension as he opened the case of glittering instruments and he
hesitated dubiously. She clasped her hands in prayerful entreaty and he
turned to his work.

A few skillful strokes of the scalpel and he nodded his satisfaction.

"Merely a scalp wound with a slight depression of the parietal bone," he
said reassuringly. "It will require trephining but that is at the worst
only a minor operation. As soon as the pressure on the brain is relieved
he will recover consciousness. The bullet did not penetrate the skull at
all, being deflected by its acute angle of impact. It was an exceedingly
close call, but in six weeks he will never know he was shot at all,
provided no unforeseen complications arise."

A half hour later Douglass opened his eyes. His vision was still
uncertain and he blinked uncomprehendingly at the white faces about him.
Then he caught sight of the woman kneeling at the bedside in an agony of
thanksgiving, her face hidden in her hands. He half rose from the table
where he was lying and held out his arms pleadingly through the mists
that clouded brain and eyes alike:

"Gracie, sweetheart, forgive--!"

As he fell back fainting in the arms of the irate doctor, who was taken
unawares by his patient's unexpected action, and who was savagely
cursing his own remissness in not having strapped him to the table, the
woman rose from her knees and with one hand pressed to her heart,
tottered unsteadily towards the door. Ballard, springing to her
assistance, recoiled at the hopeless despair and misery written on that
face. At the threshold she hesitated a moment, steadying herself with
one hand braced against the casing. Then of a sudden she turned and
walked firmly to the table; disregarding the surgeon's indignant
remonstrance, she leaned over the unconscious man and laid her lips on
his. For a full minute she held them there, her form as motionless as
his, then with the slowness of one who is wearied unto death, she raised
her head and stood with closed eyes beside him.

The men's faces were averted and their heads bowed as she went silently
out. For not a one of them but was fully conversant with her relations
to Douglass, and one of them at least knew of his engagement to Grace
Carter.

But all of them were awed by the tragedy of this woman's misspent love,
all reverently silenced by the atoning sacrifice offered up in that
heart-breaking kiss of renunciation.

A week later when Douglass had regained full consciousness he was
informed that Mr. and Mrs. Brevoort had returned to New York. He felt
not a little hurt at her unceremonious departure without a word of
farewell to him and was inclined to be morose and splenetic during the
succeeding fortnight of convalescence. From Red McVey he had learned of
Grace's departure on the day of his mishap, and was much relieved to
know that she was probably unaware of his injury at the time of leaving,
it being very doubtful if she had even heard of it up to the present
time; her foreign address being unknown to any of her western friends,
there had been no interchange of correspondence, and local happenings of
this nature were not of sufficient Interest to the eastern public to
receive insertion in the New York papers. At least that is what he
thought, forgetting that a robbery of the mails is an item of universal
interest and also overlooking the fact that he was now a millionaire,
whose attempted assassination by a ringleader of the desperadoes had
been the welcome justification for glaring scare-heads in all the
metropolitan dailies. It would have cut him to the quick had she been
cognizant of his trouble and evinced no interest. He was also cynically
resentful of Constance's apparent defection, ungenerously attributing it
to her fear of being compromised.

Imagine his contrition when Ballard one day sought him out and
delivered unto him an envelope addressed in Constance's familiar dainty
chirography, admitting its detention for over three weeks by her express
command.

"I was not to give it to you until you were fairly off the puny list,"
said the marshal gravely, "and there is something else that you should
know before you read that letter."

And he proceeded to relate without any embellishment the facts in the
matter of Matlock's taking off, supplementing them with other details of
interest to the man who sat for hours after his friend had gone in
bitter self-communion. It was quite dark when he went supperless to his
room and opened the cream-tinted envelope.

The hours came and passed unrecked, and the gray dawn found him still
sitting by the rickety little table, head in hands, poring dully over
the lines that to his disordered fancy seemed written in her heart's
blood.

     "I am going away to-morrow, out into the pitiful Nothing in which
     all things end; and soon I will be even less than a memory to you.
     It is best so, for I would not have you hampered by a single regret
     in your enjoyment of the happiness that the future holds for you.

     "You owe me nothing, although I have given you all--and gloried in
     the giving. For you at least vouchsafed me, through barred windows,
     a glimpse into the sanctuary where such as I may not enter. I
     realize now that it was impossible for me to have ever entered into
     the holy of holies; and yet, dear, can you blame me for hoping?

     "I know now that I could never have entered fully into your life;
     the clay of my being leans too awry for that. But am I to blame for
     the shaking of the Potter's hand? I sought with all the assiduity
     of a weak woman's love, but there was a door to which I never
     found the key, a veil behind which I could not peer. Yet to me was
     given the rapture of the outer temple--and it was the bread of
     life.

     "Be generous to me in this, the hour of my bitter atonement, and
     believe that my love was as pure and unselfish as it is possible
     for a woman to give. The proof of it is that I am giving you up now
     when I know that by a little finesse I could pull you down to hell
     with me. For I have spilled the Red Wine for you, my Wolf, and the
     reek of it would have been a bond and heel-rope between us.

     "It is because of my love for you that I am giving you up, giving
     you into the hands of another woman. I have been but a flame to
     you, burning out the dross from your nature so that she might pour
     into her heart's crucible only the pure gold. God grant she mold
     the chalice aright.

     "And now farewell while I have yet strength to say it. Forget me if
     you can. But if from the heights you ever look backward and
     downward, and in the sea of memory catch one faint reflection of
     me, let the thought be a kindly one.

     "For oh, Man, who was more than God to me, I loved you too well!"

Very reverently he kissed the letter, then burned it in the flame of the
smoky lamp. It was a long and weary ride to the nearest telegraph office
at Gunnison, yet he never dismounted from his staggering horse until he
heard the clicking of the sounders in the dingy little office.

"My life is yours alone," he wrote firmly; "let me make amends. Will you
mold the chalice?"

Feverishly he strode up and down his apartment at the hotel until her
answering wire was laid in his hand:

"You are even more noble than I thought, and shall have your reward.
Grace waits you at Cairo. Have written her all that she must ever know.
Go at once and God bless you both!"

He left that night for the East, and at the house of the Brevoorts
learned that Mr. Brevoort and his wife had taken their departure two
days before on an extended tour of the Orient. Yes, Mrs. Brevoort had
left an enclosure for him.

It contained only a little note from Grace Carter to Constance and in
his misery he could not understand why the latter had urged him to go to
Cairo:

"I forgive you, even as I think God has forgiven you," Grace wrote, "for
I, too, have been whirled in the maelstrom of his irresistible passion.
I do not presume to sit in judgment of you, for you have given him his
life--and at what an awful price! May God grant you forgetfulness, the
boon that has been denied me."

Underneath this was written in Mrs. Carter's angular hand:

"I found this on my daughter's table the day after she was stricken down
by brain fever, and an investigation of her correspondence shows it to
have been intended for you. Now that the danger is passed and she is on
the way to recovery, I send it to you with my contempt. Deem yourself
fortunate that it is not my curse, instead."

On the forward deck of the great ocean grayhound that was cleaving the
waters at record speed, a man stood that night with his face turned ever
to the East. It would be ten days more before he could kiss the hem of
her garment in supplication, ten days of hell in whose torturing fires
his soul shriveled with a sickening fear.

If he had lost her, after all!



CHAPTER XXIII

BELSHAZZAR COMES BACK TO STAY


In her apartments at the Grand Hotel de Esbekie-yeh in Cairo, a
wan-faced girl was looking wearily out over the splendid panorama spread
before her. In the heel of the afternoon the level rays of the sun were
gilding parti-colored minarets of mosque and palaces with barbaric
splendor. In the distance the Shoubrah palaces gleamed even more
fairy-like than usual; the Abbasieyeh camps were astir with multi-hued
life, and on its frowning rock the distant citadel was a gem in red
bronze.

On the bosom of the world's most mysterious river, the brown sails were
gleaming like the wings of great birds, and inshore the graceful lateens
under the dipping shadoofs were closely folded as they lay at rest. Over
beyond Ghizeh loomed the Pyramids which she was to visit on the morrow,
the Sphinx in its majesty between. It was fairyland, in truth, the most
gorgeous riot of color and mystery in the whole world, and yet she saw
it not. The languorous air was heavy almost to oppression with the
blended odor of jasmine, orange, citron, and the thousand and one
flowers of the myriad gardens, mingled with the reek of the bazaars and
the indescribable breath of the Nile. And yet she was all unconscious of
it.

For in the nostrils of her introspection there was only the spicy tang
of lemonias and sagebrush, and the eyes of her soul saw only a little
glade embowered with artemesia and clematis, nestled deep in the
forbidding cleft in the Rocky Mountains, many thousand miles away. A
glade where lay a dead man with the snarl of baffled hatred petrified on
his discolored lips, and another wounded almost to death, his head
clasped close to the bosom of a woman whom she should be logically
hating as woman was never hated before.

And yet in the heart of her there was only pity for the woman, whose
letter lay in her lap. For the hundredth time she read the tear-stained
words, feeling a new accession of tenderness at each transcribed sob:

     "Yesterday, at the 'horse-shoe bend' in Lost Cañon, I killed the
     man called Jasper Matlock, after he had shot Kenneth Douglass from
     ambush. Mr. Douglass was not injured seriously, but at the time I
     thought him dead. Somehow I found his revolver in my hands and the
     man was making a second attempt.

     "Mr. Ballard--ah, the great hearts of these
     westerners--magnanimously sought to shield me from the consequences
     and publicity. As though all the publicity in the world mattered
     now.

     "I have wronged you, but in one thing only: the lie about your
     engagement to Ellerslie. That was my doing. In everything else I
     had the justification of every law of Nature; I loved him far
     better than you could ever do, and he was logically mine if I could
     but win him. I was ready and eager to sacrifice all, while you in
     your pitiful selfishness and egotism turned from the glory laid at
     your feet and yielded him nothing. Oh, you fool! You poor, weak
     fool! To deny him even the small assurance of your vain little
     body, when you should have found, as I did, ecstatic exaltation in
     letting him trample on my soul.

     "Oh! child, in your wealth of possession be generous and give me a
     little of your kindness, a little of your forgiveness. I have so
     little, so little of him. I know now that I have never even had
     his respect, at times barely his tolerance. And, God help me, I
     loved him so. Can you understand when I say that I love him even
     the more that he was always greater than the manifold arts I
     exercised upon him? That all my sacrifices, my tenderness, my
     adoration gave him out apathetic amusement? I was ever but a toy to
     divert him from the agony your neglect caused him and any other
     woman as fair would have sufficed as well.

     "To my shame be it said that I knew it all the time; but I was
     hoping against hope. To-day I go away from here, and from him,
     forever. He will come to you as certainly as the iron flies to the
     magnet, and he will be suffering, penitent and purified. My share
     of him has been the coarse dross of passion that must be skimmed
     from the crucible of every strong man's hot heart; yours will be
     the refined gold of his soul's first and last real love. For God's
     sake, child, play with happiness no more, lest you lose it as I
     have done.

     "In the bitterness of the days to come it would lessen the pain if
     I thought you could ever come to forgive me. I can see to write no
     more. Mayhap these tears will in time wash out the stain on my
     soul. That on my hands I must see forever. It is the visible proof
     of my atonement, for by it I gave back his life to you."

The paper was wet with her tears as she thrust it into the bosom of her
dress. Beside the open window she knelt and prayed for the peace of a
troubled soul. But it could never be--this home-coming of her lost love.
Her heart, too, was dead; the feet of her idol had crumbled and the
glorious fabric of her dreams was dust. The yellow drifting sands of the
Libyan desert shimmering before her aching eyes were no more dry and
lifeless than the dead love moldering In her heart. Never again would
her pulses leap at the sound of his voice or her senses reel at his
touch. That was as much a thing of the past as Thebes, Luzor, Karnak and
Athor out yonder, a dead thing buried in the ashes of a murdered hope.

Over in the aridity of the eternal desert, where for ages she had
watched in contemptuous silence the petty tragedies enacted on the worn
old stage of Life by the gibbering puppets who call themselves Man, the
woman-breasted Sphinx, touched by the shadow of a passing cloud, smiled
cynically into the vacancy of the everlasting East.

Two hours after her carriage had entered the airline avenue from Ghizeh
to the Pyramids, the incoming train from Alexandria bore into the
composite Bedlam called "Masr el Kahira" a bronzed young American at
sight of whom more than one _yashmak_ fluttered eagerly as its dark-eyed
owner beamed approval of this handsome _giaour_. Even the lounging
pith-hatted Englishmen nodded their appreciation of this lithe Yankee
who so hurriedly bounded up the steps of Shepheard's Hotel and spoke
imperiously to the Maitre d' Hotel of that famous hostelry.

Money is everything in Cairo, and Lord Frederick Chillingham of H. R. M.
Hussars was open in his admiration of the horsemanship of the newcomer
as, a short half-hour afterward, Douglass, mounted on a superb barb,
swept out into the square. How he obtained accouterments and that
magnificent mount in so short a time is a mystery only known to the
smiling factotums who bowed and scraped their enjoyment of one of the
most princely _douceurs_ that had ever been lavished upon them.

"Cowboy, b'gad!" drawled the honorable Freddie knowingly to a fair-faced
young English girl who was watching the rider with a degree of interest
rather distasteful to the stalwart guardsman. "I wonder now where the
beggar got that horse. Best looker I've seen in Egypt."

"Best lookers, you mean, Freddie," corrected the girl mischievously;
"but how do you know he is a cowboy?"

"By the seat of him," tersely explained the blond giant. "Rides straight
up, grips with his thighs, don't know he's got stirrups; and don't need
them, either. Those Yankees can ride no end!" he concluded grudgingly.
"This one seems to be in a rush!"

But once out on the tawny stretch that lay between him and his heart's
desire, Douglass checked the swallow-like flight of that wonderful
blue-blood and paced more leisurely along in profound meditation. He was
not at all sure of his reception. What was he going to say in pleading
to his outraged queen? What God-given words would be vouchsafed him to
offer in palliation? He groaned at thought of the hopelessness of it.
What had he deserved but her contemptuous scorn!

He licked his lips nervously and a cold sweat broke on his brow despite
the stifling heat that beat up in shimmering waves against his face. He
fumbled a moment in the bosom of his shirt, and prayed for the second
time in many years:

"Oh! Mother, help me!"

Suddenly, to the trained far-seeing eyes sweeping that cheerless waste
hungrily, appeared a faint speck of color on one of the sand dunes at
the base of the Sphinx. With eyes fixed unwaveringly upon it he put the
barb at full speed. What he would do, what he would say--all hesitation
dropped away in his fierce desire to look into her eyes once more, to
hear that sweet voice again, though it were only to send him hurtling
down into the hell of his deserts.

Grace Carter, sitting alone in the carriage, watched listlessly the rest
of her party kodaking at a distance the immobile face of the Great
Mystery. But she saw them as in a dream and ere long she was looking,
with a heart as old and cold and dead as that of the grim Mistress of
the Nile, as far and unseeingly into the west as the Sphinx stared into
the east.

Before her fast-misting eyes blazed one line in Constance's letter:

"For God's sake, play with happiness no more!"

It would be easy to obey that prayer, she thought bitterly, for never
more would happiness come anigh her. Afar in the desert a sand spout
flared up, whirled along feverishly for a few minutes, and was gone. She
watched it with a strange fascination and muttered brokenly:

"Just like his love, fierce, threatening, grand and evanescent. And yet
I was to blame! Oh, why did I ever let him go?"

The twanging of some stringed instrument in one of the Bedouin black
tents clustered about the base of the Sphinx woke a long-forgotten chord
and she mechanically crooned the words of a song that once wailed a
heart misery as great as hers:

    "'Could you come back to me, Douglass, Douglass,
      Back with the old-time smile that I knew?
    I'd be so faithful and loving, Douglass!
      Douglass, Douglass, tender and true!

        "Could you come back with--'"

Her voice broke and she buried her face in her hands, her form convulsed
by a paroxysm of tears. Then to her numbed senses came vaguely another
remembrance of the buried past, frantic hoof-beats. For a second she
cowered as she had done on that awful day, then she turned with a sigh
of relief to welcome, this time, the end of all things. Through her
tear-blinded eyes she saw the blue stallion sweeping down upon her but
she never flinched. God was going to be kind after all.

But even as the lean head ranged beside her, the foam splattering on her
bosom as she involuntarily covered her eyes with her hands, from out of
Chaos came a cry:

"Gracie, forgive--!"

Slowly she dropped her hands and stared incredulously. What was this
wonder that had come to her in the moment of death? She tottered
unsteadily, swaying to and fro like a wind-tossed leaf. As in a fog she
saw him there with arms extended, waiting to carry her across the dark
ford.

Then, by God's mercy, her brain cleared and she knew.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the Court of Europe's greatest prince men strive with each other
doing honor to the beautiful wife of the new American Ambassador, Anselm
Brevoort.

"As good as she is beautiful, God bless her!" was Frederick, Lord
Chillingham's enthusiastic eulogy one night when her name was mentioned
at the United, and his comrades silently drank her health standing.

"As pure and as cold as the stars above, God bless her!" sighs the
silver-haired Ambassador, looking wistfully at her where she sits with
her protégé, little Eulalie Blount, in her lap, patiently explaining
that the tail makes all the difference between O and Q.

"I love oo, Tonnie!" lisps the little tot kneeling by her little white
bed. And the woman, clasping in her bosom a tiny satin bag containing a
common yellow telegraph blank on which are written a few now
undecipherable words, looks dry-eyed into the night and wonders.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the marshal's office at Gunnison, over their cigars and a big-bellied
bottle, Red McVey and Ballard are looking reminiscently at a Mauser
hanging on the wall.

"I reckon that were thu best jawb yuh evah done, Lew," says the cowboy
with much conviction.

Ballard, dropping his eyes unaccountably, hesitates long over his
selection of a fresh weed.

"What the hell else was there to do?" he says gruffly. But the recording
angel, looking kindly and indulgently at the honest face, smiles softly
and forgets the pen in his hand.

For a long time the men smoke in a silence more eloquent than words.
Then Ballard shifts the threads in the loom.

"That's a great kid that Ken's got, I hear. Think I'll take a pasear
over there with you when you go back and look at his points."

"That kid!" says Red enthusiastically. "Say, Lew, hush! He's thu biggest
thing on thu range. Why, thu damn leetle cuss actooly kin make fists
already, an' he jes' nacherally pre-empts my ole hawg laig every time I
goes there. Thu han'le is good to cut his teeths on, Ken says, an' he
kin eat it cleah off if he wants. I m thinkin' o leavin my spah gun foh
him to nibble on at odd times."

"An' Ken?"

There is a certain diffidence in the sturdy fellow's voice. Red looking
at him with a world of reassurance in his laughing blue eyes, grins
broadly.

"Hell!" he says succinctly. "Yuh go oveh theah and watch hes eyes
follerin' of her. When a man gits through playin' thu goat he gin'rally
feels some obligated to act sheep foh a spell, so's to even up thu
deal."

       *       *       *       *       *

Over at the Circle D ranch a broad-shouldered man in flannel shirt and
"fair leather" _chaparejos_ lies sprawled on the veranda beside a
low-hung hammock in which is lying a brown-haired woman. Pressed to her
lips is a spray of mountain heart's-ease, and In her heart is the
sweeter ease of mountains removed. The man is dusty and saddle-worn,
but in his heart is a great Peace.

Tenderly he lays his lips on the hand shyly touching his bronzed cheek
and the woman crimsons with pleasure. For a long time they lie in
understanding silence, then the grave rich voice of the man says:

"Tell me, sweetheart, do you never long for the pleasant gayety, the
diversions, the distractions of your old social world? Are you really
happy and content here in this circumscribed little sphere?"

She slips quickly from the hammock to the floor beside him and draws his
head up to her bosom.

"Do I ever long? Yes, sweetheart, I have wept with longing--for the hour
of your daily return. I have sighed--for the coming of the dusk that
would bring you home to baby and me! I have pined--for the music of the
hoof-beats that would thrill me if they passed over my grave."

From the little nursery comes the lusty insistence of a child clamoring
for his desires. Very gently she releases herself from his embrace. Then
this Madonna of the Range goes proudly to the mothering of her
first-born.

Old Abigail, hastening likewise to obey that imperious summons, smiles
approvingly as the man, catching at the garment trailing above his face,
lays his lips to its hem.

"I kinda reckon," she says softly to herself, "that Belshazzar has come
back to stay!"





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Song of the Wolf" ***

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