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diff --git a/30485-h/30485-h.htm b/30485-h/30485-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..248c6ad --- /dev/null +++ b/30485-h/30485-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10154 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" > +<head> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Rustler of Wind River, by G. W. Ogden.</title> +<style type="text/css"> + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + p {margin-top: 0.1em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.1em;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + p.caption {font-size:smaller;} + div.text {} + div.text p {text-indent: 1.0em;} + div.text p.ni {text-indent: 0em;} + p.center {text-align: center;} + h1,h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h1 {font-size:1.6em;} + h2 {font-size:1.4em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + p.dropcap, p.noindent {text-indent: 0em;} + span.dropcapt {margin-left: -0.5em;} + div.figcenter p {text-align: center;} + hr.spcl {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; margin-left:45%; margin-right:45%;} + + div.poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + div.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em;} + div.poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + hr.fn {width:3em; text-align:left; margin-left: 0; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; height:1px; border: none; border-bottom: 1px solid black;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + span.indent2 {text-indent:0; width: 0.8em; display: block; float: left;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + td.chalgn {text-align:right; margin-top:0; padding-right:1em;} + + /* defaults for epub and print */ + hr.pb {border: none; page-break-after: always; margin-top: 4em;} + .pagenum {display: none;} + .pncolor {color: inherit;} + + /* override for browser */ + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none; border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; + position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; + font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; + background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } +</style> + +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30485 ***</div> + +<div class='figtag'> +<a id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/f0001-img.jpg' alt='' title='' width='357' height='515' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“Ride Low—They’re Coming!”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.0em;margin-bottom:20px;'>THE RUSTLER<br />OF WIND RIVER</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger'>By G. W. OGDEN</p> + +<div style='margin:60px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' /> +</div> + +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:30px;'>WITH FRONTISPIECE<br />By FRANK E. SCHOONOVER</p> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>A. L. BURT COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>Publishers New York</p> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Published by Arrangement with A. C. M<span class='sc'>c</span>C<span class='sc'>lurg</span> & C<span class='sc'>ompany</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Copyright<br />A. C. McClurg & Co.<br />1917</p> +<hr class='spcl' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Published March, 1917</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;'>CONTENTS</p> +<hr class='spcl' /> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Strange Bargainings</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_STRANGE_BARGAININGS'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Beef Day</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_BEEF_DAY'>11</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Ranchhouse by the River</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_THE_RANCHHOUSE_BY_THE_RIVER'>28</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Man in the Plaid</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_THE_MAN_IN_THE_PLAID'>41</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>If He was a Gentleman</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_IF_HE_WAS_A_GENTLEMAN'>55</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Bold Civilian</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_A_BOLD_CIVILIAN'>66</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Throwing the Scare</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_THROWING_THE_SCARE'>81</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Afoot and Alone</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_AFOOT_AND_ALONE'>89</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Business, not Company</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_BUSINESS_NOT_COMPANY'>102</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>“Hell’s a-goin’ to Pop”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_HELLS_AGOIN_TO_POP'>119</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Señor Boss Comes Riding</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_THE_SEOR_BOSS_COMES_RIDING'>131</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>“The Rustlers!”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_THE_RUSTLERS'>147</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Trail at Dawn</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIII_THE_TRAIL_AT_DAWN'>160</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>When Friends Part</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIV_WHEN_FRIENDS_PART'>182</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>One Road</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XV_ONE_ROAD'>196</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Danger and Dignity</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVI_DANGER_AND_DIGNITY'>215</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Boots and Saddles</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVII_BOOTS_AND_SADDLES'>227</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Trail of the Coffee</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_TRAIL_OF_THE_COFFEE'>240</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>“I Beat Him to It”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIX_I_BEAT_HIM_TO_IT'>252</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Love and Death</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XX_LOVE_AND_DEATH'>268</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Man in the Door</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXI_THE_MAN_IN_THE_DOOR'>280</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Paid</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXII_PAID'>298</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Tears in the Night</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIII_TEARS_IN_THE_NIGHT'>303</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Banjo Faces Into the West</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIV_BANJO_FACES_INTO_THE_WEST'>312</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>“Hasta Luego”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXV_HASTA_LUEGO'>322</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>THE RUSTLER OF WIND RIVER</h1> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a id='CHAPTER_I_STRANGE_BARGAININGS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>STRANGE BARGAININGS</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>When a man came down out of the mountains +looking dusty and gaunt as the stranger did, +there was no marvel in the matter of his eating five +cans of cove oysters. The one unaccountable thing +about it was that Saul Chadron, president of the +Drovers’ Association, should sit there at the table +and urge the lank, lean starveling to go his limit.</p> +<p>Usually Saul Chadron was a man who picked his +companions, and was a particular hand at the +choosing. He could afford to do that, being of +the earth’s exalted in the Northwest, where people +came to him and put down their tribute at his feet.</p> +<p>This stranger, whom Chadron treated like a long-wandering +friend, had come down the mountain trail +that morning, and had been hanging about the +hotel all day. Buck Snellin, the proprietor—duly +licensed for a matter of thirty years past by the +United States government to conduct his hostelry in +the corner of the Indian reservation, up against the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' ></a>2</span> +door of the army post—did not know him. That +threw him among strangers in that land, indeed, for +Buck knew everybody within a hundred miles on every +side.</p> +<p>The stranger was a tall, smoky man, hollow-faced, +grim; adorned with a large brown mustache which +drooped over his thin mouth; a bony man with +sharp shoulders, and a stoop which began in the +region of the stomach, as if induced by drawing in +upon himself in times of poignant hunger, which he +must have felt frequently in his day to wear him down +to that state of bones; with the under lid of his left +eye caught at a point and drawn down until it showed +red, as if held by a fishhook to drain it of unimaginable +tears.</p> +<p>There was a furtive look in his restless, wild-animal +eyes, smoky like the rest of him, and a surliness about +his long, high-ridged nose which came down over his +mustache like a beak. He wore a cloth cap with ear +flaps, and they were down, although the heat of +summer still made the September air lively enough +for one with blood beneath his skin. He regaled himself +with fierce defiance, like a captive eagle, and had +no word in return for the generous importunities of +the man who was host to him in what evidently was a +long-deferred meal.</p> +<p>Chadron paid the bill when the man at last finished +packing his internal cavities, and they went together +into the hotel office which adjoined the dining-room.</p> +<p>The office of this log hotel was a large, gaunt +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' ></a>3</span> +room, containing a few chairs along the walls, a small, +round table under the window with the register upon +it, a pen in a potato, and a bottle of ink with trickled +and encrusted sides. The broad fireplace was bleak +and black, blank-staring as a blind eye, and the sun +reached through the window in a white streak across +the mottled floor.</p> +<p>There was the smell of old pipes, old furs, old +guns, in the place, and all of them were present to +account for themselves and dispel any shadow of +mystery whatever—the guns on their pegs set in +auger-holes in the logs of the walls, the furs of wild +beasts dangling from like supports in profusion +everywhere, and the pipes lying on the mantel with +stems hospitably extended to all unprovided guests. +Some of them had been smoked by the guests who +had come and gone for a generation of men.</p> +<p>The stranger stood at the manteltree and tried the +pipes’ capacity with his thick-ended thumb, finding +one at last to his requirements. Tall as Saul +Chadron stood on his own proper legs, the stranger +at his shoulder was a head above him. Seven feet he +must have towered, his crown within a few inches of +the smoked beams across the ceiling, and marvelously +thin in the running up. It seemed that the wind +must break him some blustering day at that place in +his long body where hunger, or pain, or mischance +had doubled him over in the past, and left him +creased. The strong light of the room found pepperings +of gray in his thick and long black hair.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' ></a>4</span></div> +<p>Chadron himself was a gray man, with a mustache +and beard like a cavalier. His shrewd eyes were +sharp and bright under heavy brows, his brown face +was toughened by days in the saddle through all seasons +of weather and wind. His shoulders were broad +and heavy, and even now, although not dressed for +the saddle, there was an up-creeping in the legs of +his trousers, and a gathering at the knees of them, +for they were drawn down over his tall boots.</p> +<p>That was Chadron’s way of doing the nice thing +when he went abroad in his buckboard. He had +saddle manners and buckboard manners, and even +office manners when he met the cattle barons in Cheyenne. +No matter what manners he chanced to be +wearing, one remembered Saul Chadron after meeting +him, and carried the recollection of him to the +sundown of his day.</p> +<p>“We can talk here,” said Chadron, giving the other +a cigar.</p> +<p>The tall man broke the cigar and ground part of it +in his palm, looking with frowning thoughtfulness +into the empty fireplace as the tobacco crushed in his +hard hand. He filled the pipe that he had chosen, +and sat with his long legs stretched out toward the +chimney-mouth.</p> +<p>“Well, go on and talk,” said he.</p> +<p>His voice came smothered and hoarse, as if it lay +beneath all the oysters which he had rammed into his +unseen hollow. It was a voice in strange harmony +with the man, such a sound as one would have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' ></a>5</span> +expected to come out of that surly, dark-lipped, thin +mouth. There was nothing committal about it, nothing +exactly identifying; an impersonal voice, rather, +and cold; a voice with no conscience behind it, +scarcely a soul.</p> +<p>“You’re a business man, Mark—”</p> +<p>“Huh!” said Mark, grunting a little cloud of +smoke from the bowl of his pipe in his sarcastic +vehemence.</p> +<p>“And so am I,” continued Chadron, unmoved. +“Words between us would be a waste of time.”</p> +<p>“You’re right; money talks,” said Mark.</p> +<p>“It’s a man’s job, or I wouldn’t have called you +out of your hole to do it,” said Chadron, watching +the man slyly for the effect.</p> +<p>“Pay me in money,” suggested Mark, unwarmed +by the compliment. “Is it nesters ag’in?”</p> +<p>“Nesters,” nodded the cattleman, drawing his +great brows in a frown. “They’re crowdin’ in so +thick right around me that I can’t breathe comfortable +any more; the smell of ’em’s in the wind. +They’re runnin’ over three of the biggest ranches up +here besides the Alamito, and the Drovers’ Association +wants a little of your old-time holy scare throwed +into the cussed coyotes.”</p> +<p>Mark nodded in the pause which seemed to have +been made for him to nod, and Chadron went on.</p> +<p>“We figger that if a dozen or two of ’em’s cleaned +out, quick and mysterious, the rest’ll tuck tail and +sneak. It’s happened that way in other places more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' ></a>6</span> +than once, as you and I know. Well, you’re the man +that don’t have to take lessons.”</p> +<p>“Money talks,” repeated Mark, still looking into +the chimney.</p> +<p>“There’s about twenty of them that counts, the +rest’s the kind you can drive over a cliff with a whip. +These fellers has strung their cussed bob-wire fences +crisscross and checkerboard all around there up the +river, and they’re gittin’ to be right troublesome. +Of course they’re only a speck up there yet, but +they’ll multiply like fleas on a hot dog if we let ’em +go ahead. You know how it is.”</p> +<p>There was a conclusiveness in Chadron’s tone as +he said that. It spoke of a large understanding +between men of a kind.</p> +<p>“Sure,” grunted the man Mark, nodding his head +at the chimney. “You want a man to work from +the willers, without no muss or gun-flashin’, or rough +houses or loud talk.”</p> +<p>“Twenty of them, their names are here, and some +scattered in between that I haven’t put down, to be +picked up as they fall in handy, see?”</p> +<p>“And you’re aimin’ to keep clear, and stand back +in the shadder, like you always have done,” growled +Mark. “Well, I ain’t goin’ to ram my neck into no +sheriff’s loop for nobody’s business but my own from +now on. I’m through with resks, just to be +obligin’.”</p> +<p>“Who’ll put a hand on you in this country unless +we give the word?” Chadron asked, severely.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' ></a>7</span></div> +<p>“How do I know who’s runnin’ the law in this dang +country now? Maybe you fellers is, maybe you +ain’t.”</p> +<p>“There’s no law in this part of the country bigger +than the Drovers’ Association,” Chadron told him, +frowning in rebuke of Mark’s doubt of security. +“Well, maybe there’s a little sheriff here and there, +and a few judges that we didn’t put in, but they’re +down in the farmin’ country, and they don’t cut no +figger at all. If you <i>was</i> fool enough to let one of +them fellers git a hold on you we wouldn’t leave you +in jail over night. You know how it was up there in +the north.”</p> +<p>“But I don’t know how it is down here.” Mark +scowled in surly unbelief, or surly simulation.</p> +<p>“There’s not a judge, federal or state, that could +carry a bale of hay anywhere in the cattle country, +I tell you, Mark, that we don’t draw the chalk line +for.”</p> +<p>“Then why don’t you do the job yourselves, ’stead +of callin’ a peaceable man away from his ranchin’?”</p> +<p>“You’re one kind of a gentleman, Mark, and I’m +another, and there’s different jobs for different men. +That ain’t my line.”</p> +<p>“Oh hell!” said Mark, laying upon the words an +eloquent stress.</p> +<p>“All you’ve got to do is keep clear of the reservation; +don’t turn a card here, no matter how easy it +looks. We can’t jerk you out of the hands of the +army if you git mixed up with it; that’s one place +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' ></a>8</span> +where we stop. The reservation’s a middle ground +where we meet the nesters—rustlers, every muddy-bellied +wolf of ’em, and we can prove it—and pass +’em by. They come and go here like white men, and +nothing said. Keep clear of the reservation; that’s +all you’ve got to do to be as safe as if you was layin’ +in bed on your ranch up in Jackson’s Hole.”</p> +<p>Chadron winked as he named that refuge of the +hunted in the Northwest. Mark appeared to be +considering something weightily.</p> +<p>“Oh, well, if they’re rustlers—nobody ain’t got +no use for a rustler,” he said.</p> +<p>“There’s men in that bunch of twenty”—tapping +the slip of paper with his finger—“that started +with two cows a couple of years ago that’s got fifty +and sixty head of two-year-olds now,” Chadron feelingly +declared.</p> +<p>“How much’re you willin’ to go?” Mark put the +question with a suddenness which seemed to betray +that he had been saving it to shoot off that way, as a +disagreeable point over which he expected a quarrel. +He squinted his draggled left eye at Chadron, as if he +was taking aim, while he waited for a reply.</p> +<p>“Well, you have done it for fifty a head,” Chadron +said.</p> +<p>“Things is higher now, and I’m older, and the +resk’s bigger,” Mark complained. “How fur apart +do they lay?”</p> +<p>“You ought to get around in a week or two.”</p> +<p>“But that ain’t figgerin’ the time a feller has to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' ></a>9</span> +lay out in the bresh waitin’ and takin’ rheumatiz in +his j’ints. I couldn’t touch the job for the old figger; +things is higher.”</p> +<p>“Look here, Mark”—Chadron opened the slip +which he had wound round his finger—“this one is +worth ten, yes, all, the others. Make your own price +on him. But I want it <i>done</i>; no bungled job.”</p> +<p>Mark took the paper and laid his pipe aside while +he studied it.</p> +<p>“Macdonald?”</p> +<p>“Alan Macdonald,” nodded Chadron. “That +feller’s opened a ditch from the river up there on my +land and begun to <i>irrigate!</i>”</p> +<p>“Irrigatin’, huh?” said Mark, abstractedly, +moving his finger down the column of names.</p> +<p>“He makes a blind of buyin’ up cattle and fattenin’ +’em on the hay and alfalfer he’s raisin’ up there +on my good land, but he’s the king-pin of the +rustlers in this corner of the state. He’ll be in here +tomorrow with cattle for the Indian agent—it’s beef +day—and you can size him up. But you’ve got to +keep your belly to the ground like a snake when you +start anything on that feller, and you’ve got to make +sure you’ve got him dead to rights. He’s quick with +a gun, and he’s sure.”</p> +<p>“Five hundred?” suggested Mark, with a crafty +sidelong look.</p> +<p>“You’ve named it.”</p> +<p>“And something down for expenses; a feller’s got +to live, and livin’s high.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' ></a>10</span></div> +<p>Chadron drew out his wallet. Money passed into +Mark’s hand, and he put it away in his pocket along +with the list of names.</p> +<p>“I’ll see you in the old place in Cheyenne for the +settlement, if you make good,” Chadron told him.</p> +<p>Mark waved his hand in lofty depreciation of the +hint that failure for him was a possible contingency. +He said no more. For a little while Chadron stood +looking down on him as he leaned with his pipe over +the dead ashes in the fireplace, his hand in the breast +of his coat, where he had stored his purse. Mark +treated the mighty cattleman as if he had become a +stranger to him, along with the rest of the world in +that place, and Chadron turned and went his way.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' ></a>11</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_II_BEEF_DAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>BEEF DAY</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Fort Shakie was on its downhill way in those +days, and almost at the bottom of the decline. +It was considered a post of penance by enlisted men +and officers alike, nested up there in the high plateau +against the mountains in its place of wild beauty and +picturesque charm.</p> +<p>But natural beauty and Indian picturesqueness do +not fill the place in the soldierly breast of fair civilian +lady faces, nor torrential streams of cold mountain +water supply the music of the locomotive’s toot. +Fort Shakie was being crept upon by civilization, +true, but it was coming all too slow for the booted +troopers and belted officers who must wear away the +months in its lonely silences.</p> +<p>Within the memory of officers not yet gray the +post had been a hundred and fifty miles from a railroad. +Now it was but twenty; but even that short +leap drowned the voice of the locomotive, and the +dot at the rails’ end held few of the endearments +which make soldiering sweet.</p> +<p>Soon the post must go, indeed, for the need of it +had passed. The Shoshones, Arapahoes, and Crows +had forgotten their old animosities, and were traveling +with Buffalo Bill, going to college, and raising +alfalfa under the direction of a government farmer. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' ></a>12</span> +The Indian police were in training to do the soldiers’ +work there. Soon the post must stand abandoned, +a lonely monument to the days of hard riding, long +watches, and bleak years. Not a soldier in the +service but prayed for the hastening of the day.</p> +<p>No, there was not much over at Meander, at the +railroad’s end, to cheer a soldier’s heart. It was an +inspiring ride, in these autumn days, to come to +Meander, past the little brimming lakes, which +seemed to lie without banks in the green meadows +where wild elk fed with the shy Indian cattle; over +the white hills where the earth gave under the hoofs +like new-fallen snow. But when one came to it +through the expanding, dusty miles, the reward of his +long ride was not in keeping with his effort.</p> +<p>Certainly, privates and subalterns could get drunk +there, as speedily as in the centers of refinement, but +there were no gentlemanly diversions at which an +officer could dispel the gloom of his sour days in +garrison.</p> +<p>The rough-cheeked girls of that high-wind country +were well enough for cowboys to swing in their wild +dances; just a rung above the squaws on the reservation +in the matter of loquacity and of gum. Hardly +the sort for a man who had the memory of white +gloves and gleaming shoulders, and the traditions of +the service to maintain.</p> +<p>Of course there was the exception of Nola +Chadron, but she was not of Meander and the railroad’s +end, and she came only in flashes of summer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' ></a>13</span> +brightness, like a swift, gay bird. But when Nola +was at the ranchhouse on the river the gloom lifted +over the post, and the sour leaven in the hearts of +unmarried officers became as sweet as manna in the +cheer of the unusual social outlet thus provided.</p> +<p>Nola kept the big house in a blaze of joy while +she nested there through the summer days. The sixteen +miles which stretched between it and the post +ran out like a silver band before those who rode +into the smile of her welcome, and when she flitted +away to Cheyenne, champagne, and silk hats in the +autumn, a grayness hovered again over the military +post in the corner of the reservation.</p> +<p>Later than usual Nola had lingered on this fall, +and the social outlet had remained open, like a +navigable river over which the threat of ice hung +but had not yet fallen. There were not lacking those +who held that the lodestone which kept her there at +the ranchhouse, when the gaieties of the season beckoned +elsewhere, was in the breast of Major Cuvier +King. Fatal infatuation, said the married ladies at +the post, knowing, as everybody knew in the service, +that Major King was betrothed to Frances Landcraft, +the colonel’s daughter.</p> +<p>No matter for any complications which might come +of it, Nola had remained on, and the major had +smiled on her, and ridden with her, and cut high +capers in the dance, all pending the return of +Frances and her mother from their summering at Bar +Harbor in compliance with the family traditions. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' ></a>14</span> +Now Frances was back again, and fortune had thrown +a sunburst of beauty into the post by centering her +and Nola here at once. Nola was the guest of the +colonel’s daughter, and there were flutterings in +uniformed breasts.</p> +<p>Beef day was an event at the agency which never +grew old to the people at the post. Without beef +day they must have dwindled off to acidulous shadows, +as the Indians who depended upon it for more +solid sustenance would have done in the event of its +discontinuation by a paternal government.</p> +<p>There were phases of Indian life and character +which one never saw save on beef day, which fell on +Wednesday of each week. Guests at the post +watched the bright picture with the keen interest of +a pageant on the stage; tourists came over by stage +from Meander in the summer months by the score to +be present; the resident officers, and their wives and +families—such as had them—found in it an ever-recurring +source of interest and relief from the tedium +of days all alike.</p> +<p>This beef day, the morning following the meeting +between Saul Chadron and his mysterious guest, a +chattering group stood on the veranda of Colonel +Landcraft’s house in the bright friendly sun. They +were waiting for horses to make the short journey to +the agency—for one’s honesty was questioned, his +sanity doubted, if he went afoot in that country even +a quarter of a mile—and gayest among them was +Nola Chadron, the sun in her fair, springing hair.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' ></a>15</span></div> +<p>Nola’s crown reached little higher than a proper +soldier’s heart, but what she lacked in stature she +supplied in plastic perfection of body and vivacity +of face. There was a bounding joyousness of life in +her; her eager eyes reflecting only the anticipated +pleasures of today. There was no shadow of yesterday’s +regret in them, no cloud of tomorrow’s doubt.</p> +<p>On the other balance there was Frances Landcraft, +taller by half a head, soldierly, too, as became her +lineage, in the manner of lifting her chin in what +seemed a patrician scorn of small things such as a +lady should walk the world unconscious of. The +brown in her hair was richer than the clear agate of +her eyes; it rippled across her ear like the scroll of +water upon the sand.</p> +<p>There was a womanly dignity about her, although +the threshold of girlhood must not have been far +behind her that bright autumnal morning. Her nod +was equal to a stave of Nola’s chatter, her smile worth +a league of the light laughter from that bounding +little lady’s lips. Not that she was always so silent +as on that morning, there among the young wives of +the post, at her own guest’s side. She had her hours +of overflowing spirits like any girl, but in some +company she was always grave.</p> +<p>When Major King was in attendance, especially, +the seeing ones made note. And there were others, +too, who said that she was by nature a colonel among +women, haughty, cold and aloof. These wondered +how the major ever had made headway with her up to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' ></a>16</span> +the point of gaining her hand. Knowing ones smiled +at that, and said it had been arranged.</p> +<p>There were ambitions on both sides of that match, +it was known—ambition on the colonel’s part to +secure his only child a station of dignity, and what +he held to be of consequence above all achievements +in the world. Major King was a rising man, with +two friends in the cabinet. It was said that he would +be a brigadier-general before he reached forty.</p> +<p>On the major’s side, was the ambition to strengthen +his political affiliations by alliance with a family of +patrician strain, together with the money that his +bride would bring, for Colonel Landcraft was a +weighty man in this world’s valued accumulations. +So the match had been arranged.</p> +<p>The veranda of the colonel’s house gave a view of +the parade grounds and the long avenue that came +down between the officers’ houses, cottonwoods lacing +their limbs above the road. There was green in the +lawns, the flash of flowers between the leaves and +shrubs, white-gleaming walls, trim walks, shorn +hedges. It seemed a pleasant place of quiet beauty +that bright September morning, and a pity to give it +up by and by to dust and desolation; a place where +men and women might be happy, but for the gnawing +fire of ambition in their hearts.</p> +<p>Mrs. Colonel Landcraft was not going. Indians +made her sick, she said, especially Indians sitting +around in the tall grass waiting for the carcasses to +be cut up and apportioned out to them in bloody +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' ></a>17</span> +chunks. But there seemed to be another source of +her sickness that morning, measuring by the grave +glances with which she searched her daughter’s face. +She wondered whether the major and Frances had +quarreled; and if so, whether Nola Chadron had been +the cause.</p> +<p>They were off, with the colonel and a lately-assigned +captain in the lead. There was a keener +pleasure in this beef day than usual for the colonel, +for he had new ground to sow with its wonders, which +were beginning to pale in his old eyes which had seen +so much of the world.</p> +<p>“Very likely we’ll see the minister’s wife there,” +said he, as they rode forward, “and if so, it will be +worth your while to take special note of her. St. +John Mathews, the Episcopalian minister over there +at the mission—those white buildings there among +the trees—is a full-blooded Crow. One of the pioneer +missionaries took him up and sent him back East +to school, where in time he entered the ministry and +married this white girl. She was a college girl, I’ve +been told, glamoured by the romance of Mathews’ +life. Well, it was soon over.”</p> +<p>The colonel sighed, and fell silent. The captain, +feeling that it was intended that he should, made +polite inquiry.</p> +<p>“The trouble is that Mathews is an Indian out of +his place,” the colonel resumed. “He returned here +twenty years or so ago, and took up his work among +his people. But as he advanced toward civilization, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' ></a>18</span> +his wife began to slip back. Little by little she +adopted the Indian ways and dress, until now you +couldn’t tell her from a squaw if you were to meet +her for the first time. She presents a curious psychological +study—or perhaps biological example of +atavism, for I believe there’s more body than soul in +the poor creature now. It’s nature maintaining the +balance, you see. He goes up; she slips back.</p> +<p>“If she’s there, she’ll be squatting among the +squaws, waiting to carry home her husband’s allotment +of warm, bloody beef. She doesn’t have to do +it, and it shames and humiliates Mathews, too, even +though they say she cuts it up and divides it among +the poorer Indians. She’s a savage; her eyes sparkle +at the sight of red meat.”</p> +<p>They rounded the agency buildings and came upon +an open meadow in which the slaughterhouses stood +at a distance from the road. Here, in the grassy +expanse, the Indians were gathered, waiting the distribution +of the meat. The scene was barbarically +animated. Groups of women in their bright dresses +sat here and there on the grass, and apart from them +in gravity waited old men in moccasins and blankets +and with feathers in their hair. Spry young men +smoked cigarettes and talked volubly, garbed in the +worst of civilization and the most useless of savagery.</p> +<p>One and all they turned their backs upon the +visitors, the nearest groups and individuals moving +away from them with the impassive dignity of their +race. There is more scorn in an Indian squaw’s back, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' ></a>19</span> +turned to an impertinent stranger, than in the faces +of six matrons of society’s finest-sifted under similar +conditions.</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft led his party across the meadow, +entirely unconscious of the cold disdain of the people +whom he looked down upon from his superior heights. +He could not have understood if any there had felt +the trespass from the Indians’ side—and there was +one, very near and dear to the colonel who felt it so—and +attempted to explain. The colonel very likely +would have puffed up with military consequence +almost to the bursting-point.</p> +<p>Feeling, delicacy, in those smeared, smelling creatures! +Surliness in excess they might have, but +dignity, not at all. Were they not there as beggars +to receive bounty from the government’s hand?</p> +<p>“Oh, there’s Mrs. Mathews!” said Nola, with the +eagerness of a child who has found a quail’s nest in +the grass. She was off at an angle, like a hunter on +the scent. Colonel Landcraft and his guest followed +with equal rude eagerness, and the others swept after +them, Frances alone hanging back. Major King was +at Nola’s side. If he noted the lagging of his fiancée +he did not heed.</p> +<p>The minister’s wife, a shawl over her head, her +braided hair in front of her shoulders like an Indian +woman, rose from her place in startled confusion. +She looked as if she would have fled if an avenue had +been open, or a refuge presented. The embarrassed +creature was obliged to stand in their curious eyes, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' ></a>20</span> +and stammer in a tongue which seemed to be growing +strange to her from its uncommon use.</p> +<p>She was a short woman, growing heavy and shapeless +now, and there was gray in her black hair. Her +skin was browned by sun, wind, and smoke to the +hue of her poor neighbors and friends. When she +spoke in reply to the questions which poured upon +her, she bent her head like a timid girl.</p> +<p>Frances checked her horse and remained behind, +out of range of hearing. She was cut to the heart +with shame for her companions, and her cheek burned +with the indignation that she suffered with the harried +woman in their midst. A little Indian girl came +flying past, ducking and dashing under the neck of +Frances’ horse, in pursuit of a piece of paper which +the wind whirled ahead of her. At Frances’ stirrup +she caught it, and held it up with a smile.</p> +<p>“Did you lose this, lady?” she asked, in the very +best of mission English.</p> +<p>“No,” said Frances, bending over to see what it +might be. The little girl placed it in her hand and +scurried away again to a beckoning woman, who +stood on her knees and scowled over her offspring’s +dash into the ways of civilized little girls.</p> +<p>It was a narrow strip of paper that she had rescued +from the wind, with the names of several men written +on it in pencil, and at the head of the list the name +of Alan Macdonald. Opposite that name some crude +hand had entered, with pen that had flowed heavily +under his pressure, the figures “$500.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' ></a>21</span></div> +<p>Frances turned it round her finger and sat waiting +for the others to leave off their persecution of the +minister’s wife and come back to her, wondering in +abstracted wandering of mind who Alan Macdonald +might be, and for what purpose he had subscribed +the sum of five hundred dollars.</p> +<p>“I think she’s the most romantic little thing in +the world!” Nola was declaring, in her extravagant +surface way as they returned to where Frances sat +her horse, her wandering eyes on the blue foothills, +the strip of paper prominent about her finger. “Oh, +honey! what’s the matter? Did you cut your +finger?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Frances, her serious young face lighting +with a smile, “it’s a little subscription list, or +something, that somebody lost. Alan Macdonald +heads it for five hundred dollars. Do you know +Alan Macdonald, and what his charitable purpose +may be?”</p> +<p>Nola tossed her head with a contemptuous sniff.</p> +<p>“They call him the ‘king of the rustlers’ up the +river,” said she.</p> +<p>“Oh, he <i>is</i> a man of consequence, then?” said +Frances, a quickening of humor in her brown eyes, +seeing that Nola was up on her high horse about it.</p> +<p>“We’d better be going down to the slaughter-house +if we want to see the fun,” bustled the colonel, +wheeling his horse. “I see a movement setting in that +way.”</p> +<p>“He’s just a common thief!” declared Nola, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' ></a>22</span> +flushed cheek and resentful eye, as Frances fell in +beside her for the march against the abattoir.</p> +<p>Frances still carried the paper twisted about her +finger, reserving her judgment upon Alan Macdonald, +for she knew something of the feuds of that +hard-speaking land.</p> +<p>“Anyway, I suppose he’d like to have his paper +back,” she suggested. “Will you hand it to him +the next time you meet him?”</p> +<p>Frances was entirely grave about it, although it +was only a piece of banter which she felt that Nola +would appreciate. But Nola was not in an appreciative +mood, for she was a full-blooded daughter of the +baronial rule. She jerked her head like a vicious +bronco and reined hurriedly away from Frances as +she extended the paper.</p> +<p>“I’ll not touch the thing!” said Nola, fire in her +eyes.</p> +<p>Major King was enjoying the passage between +the girls, riding at Nola’s side with his cavalry hands +held precisely.</p> +<p>“If I’m not mistaken, the gentleman in question +is there talking to Miller, the agent,” said he, nodding +toward two horsemen a little distance ahead. +“But I wouldn’t excite him, Miss Landcraft, if I +were you. He’s said to be the quickest and deadliest +man with a weapon on this range.”</p> +<p>Major King smiled over his own pleasantry. +Frances looked at Nola with brows lifted inquiringly, +as if waiting her verification. Then the grave young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' ></a>23</span> +lady settled back in her saddle and laughed merrily, +reaching across and touching her friend’s arm in +conciliating caress.</p> +<p>“Oh, you delightful little savage!” she said. “I +believe you’d like to take a shot at poor Mr. Macdonald +yourself.”</p> +<p>“We never start anything on the reservation,” +Nola rejoined, quite seriously.</p> +<p>Miller, the Indian agent, rode away and left Macdonald +sitting there on his horse as the military party +approached. He spurred up to meet the colonel, +and to present his respects to the ladies—a hard +matter for a little round man with a tight paunch, +sitting in a Mexican saddle. The party halted, and +Frances looked across at Macdonald, who seemed to +be waiting for Miller to rejoin him.</p> +<p>Macdonald was a supple, sinewy man, as he appeared +across the few rods intervening. His coat +was tied with his slicker at the cantle of his saddle, +his blue flannel shirt was powdered with the white +dust of the plain. Instead of the flaring neckerchief +which the cowboys commonly favored, Macdonald +wore a cravat, the ends of it tucked into the bosom +of his shirt, and in place of the leather chaps of +men who ride breakneck through brush and bramble, +his legs were clad in tough brown corduroys, and +fended by boots to his knees. There were revolvers +in the holsters at his belt.</p> +<p>Not an unusual figure for that time and place, +but something uncommon in the air of unbending +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' ></a>24</span> +severity that sat on him, which Frances felt even at +that distance. He looked like a man who had a +purpose in his life, and who was living it in his own +brave way. If he was a cattle thief, as charged, +thought she, then she would put her faith against +the world that he was indeed a master of his trade.</p> +<p>They were talking around Miller, who was going +to give them places of vantage for the coming show. +Only Frances and Major King were left behind, +where she had stopped her horse to look curiously +across at Alan Macdonald, king of the rustlers, as +he was called.</p> +<p>“It may not be anything at all to him, and it may +be something important,” said Frances, reaching out +the slip to Major King. “Would you mind handing +it to him, and explaining how it came into my +hands?”</p> +<p>“I’ll not have anything to do with the fellow!” +said the major, flushing hotly. “How can you ask +such a thing of <i>me?</i> Throw it away, it’s no concern +of yours—the memorandum of a cattle thief!”</p> +<p>Frances drew herself straight. Her imperious +chin was as high as Major King ever had carried +his own in the most self-conscious moment of his +military career.</p> +<p>“Will you take it to him?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“Certainly not!” returned the major, haughtily +emphatic. Then, softening a little, “Don’t be silly, +Frances; what a row you make over a scrap of blowing +paper!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' ></a>25</span></div> +<p>“Then I’ll take it myself!”</p> +<p>“Miss Landcraft!”</p> +<p>“<i>Major</i> King!”</p> +<p>It was the steel of conventionality against the flint +of womanly defiance. Major King started in his +saddle, as if to reach out and restrain her. It was +one of those defiantly foolish little things which +women and men—especially women—do in moments +of pique, and Frances knew it at the time. But she +rode away from the major with a hot flush of insubordination +in her cheeks, and Alan Macdonald +quickened from his pensive pose when he saw her +coming.</p> +<p>His hand went to his hat when her intention became +unmistakable to him. She held the little paper out +toward him while still a rod away.</p> +<p>“A little Indian girl gave me this; she found it +blowing along—they tell me you are Mr. Macdonald,” +she said, her face as serious as his own. “I +thought it might be a subscription list for a church, +or something, and that you might want it.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Miss Landcraft,” said he, his voice +low-modulated, his manner easy.</p> +<p>Her face colored at the unexpected way of this +man without a coat, who spoke her name with the +accent of refinement, just as if he had known her, +and had met her casually upon the way.</p> +<p>“I have seen you a hundred times at the post and +the agency,” he explained, to smooth away her confusion. +“I have seen you from afar.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' ></a>26</span></div> +<p>“Oh,” said she, as lame as the word was short.</p> +<p>He was scanning the written paper. Now he +looked at her, a smile waking in his eyes. It moved +in slow illumination over his face, but did not break +his lips, pressed in their stern, strong line. She saw +that his long hair was light, and that his eyes were +gray, with sandy brows over them which stood on +end at the points nearest his nose, from a habit of +bending them in concentration, she supposed, as he +had been doing but a moment before he smiled.</p> +<p>“No, it isn’t a church subscription, Miss Landcraft, +it’s for a cemetery,” said he.</p> +<p>“Oh,” said she again, wondering why she did not +go back to Major King, whose horse appeared +restive, and in need of the spur, which the major +gave him unfeelingly.</p> +<p>At the same time she noted that Alan Macdonald’s +forehead was broad and deep, for his leather-weighted +hat was pushed back from it where his fair, straight +hair lay thick, and that his bony chin had a little +croft in it, and that his face was long, and hollowed +like a student’s, and that youth was in his eyes in +spite of the experience which hardships of unknown +kind had written across his face. Not a handsome +man, but a strong one in his way, whatever that +way might be.</p> +<p>“I am indebted to you for this,” said he, drawing +forth his watch with a quick movement as he spoke, +opening the back cover, folding the little paper carefully +away in it, “and grateful beyond words.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' ></a>27</span></div> +<p>“Good-bye, Mr. Macdonald,” said she, wheeling +her horse suddenly, smiling back at him as she rode +away to Major King.</p> +<p>Alan Macdonald sat with his hat off until she was +again at the major’s side, when he replaced it over +his fair hair with slow hand, as if he had come from +some holy presence. As for Frances, her turn of +defiance had driven her clouds away. She met the +major smiling and radiant, a twinkling of mischief +in her lively eyes.</p> +<p>The major was a diplomat, as all good soldiers, +and some very indifferent ones, are. Whatever his +dignity and gentler feelings had suffered while she +was away, he covered the hurt now with a smile.</p> +<p>“And how fares the bandit king this morning?” +he inquired.</p> +<p>“He seems to be in spirits,” she replied.</p> +<p>The others were out of sight around the buildings +where the carcasses of beef had been prepared. Nobody +but the major knew of Frances’ little dash out +of the conventional, and the knowledge that it was +so was comfortable in his breast.</p> +<p>“And the pe-apers,” said he, in melodramatic +whisper, “were they the thieves’ muster roll?”</p> +<p>“He isn’t a thief,” said she, with quiet dignity, +“he’s a gentleman. Yes, the paper <i>was</i> important.”</p> +<p>“Ha! the plot deepens!” said Major King.</p> +<p>“It was a matter of life and death,” said she, +with solemn rebuke for his levity, speaking a truer +word than she was aware.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' ></a>28</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_III_THE_RANCHHOUSE_BY_THE_RIVER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>THE RANCHHOUSE BY THE RIVER</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Saul Chadron had built himself into that +house. It was a solid and assertive thing of +rude importance where it stood in the great plain, +the river lying flat before it in its low banks like a +gray thread through the summer green. There was +a bold front to the house, and a turret with windows, +standing like a lighthouse above the sea of meadows +in which his thousand-numbered cattle fed.</p> +<p>As white as a dove it sat there among the cottonwoods +at the riverside. A stream of water led into +its gardens to gladden them and give them life. Years +ago, when Chadron’s importance was beginning to +feel itself strong upon its legs, and when Nola was +a little thing with light curls blowing about her blue +eyes, the house had grown up under the wand of +riches in that barren place.</p> +<p>The post at Fort Shakie had been the nearest +neighbor in those days, and it remained the nearest +neighbor still, with the exception of one usurper and +outcast homesteader, Alan Macdonald by name, who +had invaded the land over which Chadron laid his +extensive claim. Fifteen miles up the river from +the grand white house Macdonald had strung his +barbed wire and carried in the irrigation ditch to +his alfalfa field. He had chosen the most fertile spot +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' ></a>29</span> +in the vast plain through which the river swept, and +it was in the heart of Saul Chadron’s domain.</p> +<p>After the lordly manner of the cattle “barons,” +as they were called in the Northwest, Chadron set +his bounds by mountains and rivers. Twenty-five +hundred square miles, roughly measured, lay within +his lines, the Alamito Ranch he called it—the Little +Cottonwood. He had no more title to that great +sweep of land than the next man who might come +along, and he paid no rental fee to nation nor state +for grazing his herds upon it. But the cattle barons +had so apportioned the land between themselves, and +Saul Chadron, and each member of the Drovers’ +Association, had the power of their mighty organization +to uphold his hand. That power was incontestable +in the Northwest in its day; there was no +higher law.</p> +<p>This Alan Macdonald was an unaccountable man, +a man of education, it was said, which made him +doubly dangerous in Saul Chadron’s eyes. Saul himself +had come up from the saddle, and he was not +strong on letters, but he had seen the power of learning +in lawyers’ offices, and he respected it, and handled +it warily, like a loaded gun.</p> +<p>Chadron had sent his cowboys up the river when +Macdonald first came, and tried to “throw a holy +scare into him,” as he put it. The old formula did +not work in the case of the lean, long-jawed, bony-chinned +man. He was polite, but obdurate, and his +quick gray eyes seemed to read to their inner process +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' ></a>30</span> +of bluff and bluster as through tissue paper before +a lamp. When they had tried to flash their guns on +him, the climax of their play, he had beaten them to +it. Two of them were carried back to the big ranchhouse +in blankets, with bullets through their fleshy +parts—not fatal wounds, but effective.</p> +<p>The problem of a fighting “nester” was a new one +to the cattlemen of that country. For twenty years +they had kept that state under the dominion of the +steer, and held its rich agricultural and mineral lands +undeveloped. The herbage there, curing in the dry +suns of summer as it stood on the upland plains, +provided winter forage for their herds. There was +no need for man to put his hand to the soil and +debase himself to a peasant’s level when he might +live in a king’s estate by roaming his herds over the +untamed land.</p> +<p>Homesteaders who did not know the conditions +drifted there on the westward-mounting wave, only +to be hustled rudely away, or to pay the penalty of +refusal with their lives. Reasons were not given, +rights were not pleaded by the lords of many herds. +They had the might to work their will; that was +enough.</p> +<p>So it could be understood what indignation +mounted in the breast of tough old Saul Chadron +when a pigmy homesteader put his firm feet down +on the ground and refused to move along at his +command, and even fought back to maintain what he +claimed to be his rights. It was an unprecedented +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' ></a>31</span> +stand, a dangerous example. But this nester had +held out for more than two years against his forces, +armed by some invisible strength, it seemed, guarded +against ambuscades and surprises by some cunning +sense which led him whole and secure about his nefarious +ways.</p> +<p>Not alone that, but other homesteaders had come +and settled near him across the river on two other +big ranches which cornered there against Chadron’s +own. These nesters drew courage from Macdonald’s +example, and cunning from his counsel, and stood +against the warnings, persecutions, and attempts at +forceful dislodgment. The law of might did not seem +to apply to them, and there was no other source equal +to the dignity of the Drovers’ Association—at least +none to which it cared to carry its grievances and +air them.</p> +<p>So they cut Alan Macdonald’s fences, and other +homesteaders’ fences, in the night and drove a thousand +or two cattle across his fields, trampling the +growing grain and forage into the earth; they persecuted +him in a score of harassing, quick, and +hidden blows. But this homesteader was not to be +driven away by ordinary means. Nature seemed to +lend a hand to him, he made crops in spite of the +cattlemen, and was prospering. He had taken root +and appeared determined to remain, and the others +were taking deep root with him, and the free, wide +range was coming under the menace of the fence +and the lowly plow.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' ></a>32</span></div> +<p>That was the condition of things in those fair +autumn days when Prances Landcraft returned to +the post. The Drovers’ Association, and especially +the president of it, was being defied in that section, +where probably a hundred homesteaders had settled +with their families of long-backed sons and daughters. +They were but a speck on the land yet, as +Chadron had told the smoky stranger when he had +engaged him to try his hand at throwing the “holy +scare.” But they spread far over the upland plain, +having sought the most favored spots, and they were +a blight and a pest in the eyes of the cattlemen.</p> +<p>Nola had flitted back to the ranchhouse, carrying +Frances with her to bring down the curtain on her +summer’s festivities there in one last burst of joy. +The event was to be a masquerade, and everybody +from the post was coming, together with the few from +Meander who had polish enough to float them, like +new needles in a glass of water, through frontier society’s +depths. Some were coming from Cheyenne, +also, and the big house was dressed for them, even +to the bank of palms to conceal the musicians, in +the polite way that society has of standing something +in front of what it cannot well dispense with, +yet of which it appears to be ashamed.</p> +<p>It was the afternoon of the festal day, and Nola +sighed happily as she stood with Frances in the ballroom, +surveying the perfection of every detail. +Money could do things away off there in that corner +of the world as well as it could do them in Omaha +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' ></a>33</span> +or elsewhere. Saul Chadron had hothouses in which +even oranges and pineapples grew.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron was in the living-room, with its big +fireplace and homely things, when they came chattering +out of the enchanted place. She was sitting +by the window which gave her a view of the dim gray +road where it came over the grassy swells from +Meander and the world, knitting a large blue sock.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron was a cow-woman of the unimproved +school. She was a heavy feeder on solids, and she +liked plenty of chili peppers in them, which combination +gave her a waist and a ruddiness of face like a +brewer. But she was a good woman in her fashion, +which was narrow, and intolerant of all things which +did not wear hoofs and horns, or live and grow mighty +from the proceeds of them. She never had expanded +mentally to fit the large place that Saul had made +for her in the world of cattle, although her struggle +had been both painful and sincere.</p> +<p>Now she had given it up, and dismissed the troubles +of high life from her fat little head, leaving Nola +to stand in the door and do the honors with credit +to the entire family. She had settled down to her +roasts and hot condiments, her knitting and her afternoon +naps, as contentedly as an old cat with a +singed back under a kitchen stove. She had no +desire to go back to the winter home in Cheyenne, +with its grandeur, its Chinese cook, and furniture +that she was afraid to use. There was no satisfaction +in that place for Mrs. Chadron, beyond the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' ></a>34</span> +swelling pride of ownership. For comfort, peace, +and a mind at ease, give her the ranchhouse by the +river, where she could set her hand to a dish if she +wanted to, no one thinking it amiss.</p> +<p>“Well, I declare! if here don’t come Banjo Gibson,” said she, +her hand on the curtain, her red face +near the pane like a beacon to welcome the coming +guest. There was pleasure in her voice, and anticipation. +The blue sock slid from her lap to the floor, +forgotten.</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s Banjo,” said Nola. “I wonder where +he’s been all summer? I haven’t seen him in an age.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?” Frances inquired, looking out at +the approaching figure,</p> +<p>“The troubadour of the North Platte, I call him,” +laughed Nola; “the queerest little traveling musician +in a thousand miles. He belongs back in the days +of romance, when men like him went playing from +castle to court—the last one of his kind.”</p> +<p>Frances watched him with new interest as he drew +up to the big gate, which was arranged with weights +and levers so that a horseman could open and close +it without leaving the saddle. The troubadour rode +a mustang the color of a dry chili pepper, but with +none of its spirit. It came in with drooping head, +the reins lying untouched on its neck, its mane and +forelock platted and adorned fantastically with vari-colored +ribbons. Rosettes were on the bridle, a fringe +of leather thongs along the reins.</p> +<p>The musician himself was scarcely less remarkably +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' ></a>35</span> +than the horse. He looked at that distance—now +being at the gate—to be a dry little man of middle +age, with a thirsty look about his throat, which was +long, with a lump in it like an elbow. He was a +slender man and short, with gloves on his hands, a +slight sandy mustache on his lip, and wearing a dun-colored +hat tilted a little to one side, showing a waviness +almost curly in his glistening black hair. He +carried a violin case behind his saddle, and a banjo +in a green covering slung like a carbine over his +shoulder.</p> +<p>“He’ll know where to put his horse,” said Mrs. +Chadron, getting up with a new interest in life, “and +I’ll just go and have Maggie stir him up a bite to +eat and warm the coffee. He’s always hungry when +he comes anywhere, poor little man!”</p> +<p>“Can he play that battery of instruments?” +Prances asked.</p> +<p>“Wait till you hear him,” nodded Nola, a laugh +in her merry eyes.</p> +<p>Then they fell to talking of the coming night, +and of the trivial things which are so much to youth, +and to watching along the road toward Meander for +the expected guests from Cheyenne, who were to come +up on the afternoon train.</p> +<p>Regaled at length, Banjo Gibson, in the wake of +Mrs. Chadron, who presented him with pride, came +into the room where the young ladies waited with +impatience the waning of the daylight hours. Banjo +acknowledged the honor of meeting Miss Landcraft +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' ></a>36</span> +with extravagant words, which had the flavor of a +manual of politeness and a ready letter-writer in +them. He was on more natural terms with Nola, +having known her since childhood, and he called her +“Miss Nola,” and held her hand with a tender lingering.</p> +<p>His voice was full and rich, a deep, soft note in +it like a rare instrument in tune. His small feet +were shod in the shiningest of shoes, which he had +given a furbishing in the barn, and a flowing cravat +tied in a large bow adorned his low collar. There +were stripes in the musician’s shirt like a Persian +tent, but it was as clean and unwrinkled as if he had +that moment put it on.</p> +<p>Banjo Gibson—if he had any other christened +name, it was unknown to men—was an original. As +Nola had said, he belonged back a few hundred years, +when musical proficiency was not so common as now. +The profession was not crowded in that country, +happily, and Banjo traveled from ranch to ranch +carrying cheer and entertainment with him as he +passed.</p> +<p>He had been doing that for years, having worked +his way westward from Nebraska with the big cattle +ranches, and his art was his living. Banjo’s arrival +at a ranch usually resulted in a dance, for which he +supplied the music, and received such compensation +as the generosity of the host might fix. Banjo never +quarreled over such matters. All he needed was +enough to buy cigarettes and shirts.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' ></a>37</span></div> +<p>Banjo seldom played in company with any other +musician, owing to certain limitations, which he +raised to distinguishing virtues. He played by “air,” +as he said, despising the unproficiency of all such as +had need of looking on a book while they fiddled. +Knowing nothing of transposition, he was obliged to +tune his banjo—on those rare occasions when he +stooped to play “second” at a dance—in the key +of each fresh tune. This was hard on the strings, as +well as on the patience of the player, and Banjo liked +best to go it single-handed and alone.</p> +<p>When he heard that musicians were coming from +Cheyenne—a day’s journey by train—to play for +Nola’s ball, his face told that he was hurt, but his +respect of hospitality curbed his words. He knew +that there was one appreciative ear in the mansion +by the river that no amount of “dago fiddlin’” ever +would charm and satisfy like his own voice with the +banjo, or his little brown fiddle when it gave out the +old foot-warming tunes. Mrs. Chadron was his +champion in all company, and his friend in all places.</p> +<p>“Well, sakes alive! Banjo, I’m as tickled to see +you as if you was one of my own folks,” she declared, +her face as warm as if she had just gorged on the +hottest of hot dishes which her Mexican cook, Maggie, +could devise.</p> +<p>“I’m glad to be able to make it around ag’in, thank +you, mom,” Banjo assured her, sentiment and soul +behind the simple words. “I always carry a warm +place in my heart for Alamito wherever I may stray.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' ></a>38</span></div> +<p>Nola frisked around and took the banjo from its +green cover, talking all the time, pushing and placing +chairs, and settling Banjo in a comfortable place. +Then she armed him with the instrument, making +quite a ceremony of it, and asked him to play.</p> +<p>Banjo twanged the instrument into tune, hooked +the toe of his left foot behind the forward leg of his +chair, and struck up a song which he judged would +please the young ladies. Of Mrs. Chadron he was +sure; she had laughed over it a hundred times. It +was about an adventure which the bard had shared +with his gal in a place designated in Banjo’s uncertain +vocabulary as “the big cook-quari-um.” It +began:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>Oh-h-h, I stopped at a big cook-quari-um</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>Not very long ago,</p> +<p>To see the bass and suckers</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>And hear the white whale blow.</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>The chorus of it ran:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>Oh-h-h-h, the big sea-line he howled and he growled,</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>The seal beat time on a drum;</p> +<p>The whale he swallered a den-vereel</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>In the big cook-quari-um.</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>From that one Banjo passed to “The Cowboy’s +Lament,” and from tragedy to love. There could be +nothing more moving—if not in one direction, then +in another—than the sentimental expression of +Banjo’s little sandy face as he sang:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' ></a>39</span></div> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>I know you were once my true-lov-o-o-o,</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>But such a thing it has an aind;</p> +<p>My love and my transpo’ts are ov-o-o-o,</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>But you may still be my fraind-d-d.</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>Sundown was rosy behind the distant mountains, +a sea of purple shadows laved their nearer feet, when +Banjo got out his fiddle at Mrs. Chadron’s request +and sang her “favorite” along with the moving tones +of that instrument.</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>Dau-ling I am growing-a o-o-eld,</p> +<p>Seel-vo threads a-mong tho go-o-ld—</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>As he sang, Nola slipped from the room. He was +finishing when she sped by the window and came +sparkling into the room with the announcement that +the guests from far Cheyenne were coming. Frances +was up in excitement; Mrs. Chadron searched the +floor for her unfinished sock.</p> +<p>“What was that flashed a-past the winder like a +streak a minute ago?” Banjo inquired.</p> +<p>“Flashed by the window?” Nola repeated, puzzled.</p> +<p>Frances laughed, the two girls stopping in the +door, merriment gleaming from their young faces like +rays from iridescent gems.</p> +<p>“Why, that was Nola,” Frances told him, curious +to learn what the sentimental eyes of the little musician +foretold.</p> +<p>“I thought it was a star from the sky,” said +Banjo, sighing softly, like a falling leaf.</p> +<p>As they waited at the gate to welcome the guests, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' ></a>40</span> +who were cantering up with a curtain of dust behind +them, they laughed over Banjo’s compliment.</p> +<p>“I knew there was something behind those eyes,” +said Frances.</p> +<p>“No telling how long he’s been saving it for a +chance to work it off on somebody,” Nola said. “He +got it out of a book—the Mexicans all have them, +full of <i>brindies</i>, what we call toasts, and silly soft +compliments like that.”</p> +<p>“I’ve seen them, little red books that they give +for premiums with the Mexican papers down in +Texas,” Frances nodded, “but Banjo didn’t get that +out of a book—it was spontaneous.”</p> +<p>“I must write it down, and compare it with the +next time he gets it off.”</p> +<p>“Give him credit for the way he delivered it, no +matter where he got it,” Frances laughed. “Many +a more sophisticated man than your desert troubadour +would have broken his neck over that. He’s +in love with you, Nola—didn’t you hear him sigh?”</p> +<p>“Oh, he has been ever since I was old enough to +take notice of it,” returned Nola, lightly.</p> +<p>“Oh, my luv’s like a falling star,” paraphrased +Frances.</p> +<p>“Not much!” Nola denied, more than half serious. +“Venus is ascendant; you keep your eye on her and +see.”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' ></a>41</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_IV_THE_MAN_IN_THE_PLAID'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>THE MAN IN THE PLAID</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>There was no mistaking the assiduity with +which Major King waited upon Nola Chadron +that night at the ball, any more than there was a +chance for doubt of that lively little lady’s identity. +He sought her at the first, and hung by her side +through many dances, and promenaded her in the +garden walks where Japanese lanterns glimmered +dimly in the soft September night, with all the close +attention of a farrier cooling a valuable horse.</p> +<p>Perhaps it was punishment—or meant to be—for +the insubordination of Frances Landcraft in +speaking to the outlawed Alan Macdonald on last +beef day. If so, it was systematically and faithfully +administered.</p> +<p>Nola was dressed like a cowgirl. Not that there +were any cowgirls in that part of the country, or +anywhere else, who dressed that way, except at the +Pioneer Week celebration at Cheyenne, and in the +romantic dramas of the West. But she was so +attired, perhaps for the advantage the short skirt +gave her handsome ankles—and something in silk +stockings which approached them in tapering grace.</p> +<p>She was improving her hour, whether out of exuberant +mischief or in deadly earnest the ladies from +the post were puzzled to understand, and if headway +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' ></a>42</span> +toward the already pledged heart of Major King +was any indication of it, her star was indeed ascendant.</p> +<p>Frances Landcraft appeared at the ball as an +Arabian lady, meaning in her own interpretation of +the masking to stand as a representation of the +“Thou,” who is endearingly and importantly capitalized +in the verses of the ancient singer made famous +by Irish-English Fitzgerald. Her disguise was sufficient, +only that her hair was so richly assertive. +There was not any like it in the cattle country; very +little like it anywhere. It was a telltale, precious +possession, and Major King never could have made +good a plea of hidden identity against it in this +world.</p> +<p>Frances had consolation enough for his alienation +and absence from her side if numbers could compensate +for the withdrawal of the fealty of one. She +distributed her favors with such judicial fairness that +the tongue of gossip could not find a breach. At +least until the tall Scotsman appeared, with his defiant +red hair and a feather in his bonnet, his plaid +fastened across his shoulder with a golden clasp.</p> +<p>Nobody knew when he arrived, or whence. He +spoke to none as he walked in grave stateliness among +the merry groups, acknowledging bold challenges and +gay banterings only with a bow. The ladies from +the post had their guesses as to who he might be, +and laid cunning little traps to provoke him into betrayal +through his voice. As cunningly he evaded</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' ></a>43</span></div> +<p>them, with unsmiling courtesy, his steady gray eyes +only seeming to laugh at them behind his green +mask.</p> +<p>Frances had finished a dance with a Robin Hood—the +slender one in billiard-cloth green—there being +no fewer than four of them, variously rounded, diversely +clad, when the Scot approached her where +she stood with her gallant near the musicians’ brake +of palms.</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>A flask of wine, a book of verse—and Thou</p> +<p>Beside me singing in the wilderness—</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>said the tall Highlandman, bending over her shoulder, +his words low in her ear. “Only I could be +happy without the wine,” he added, as she faced him +in quick surprise.</p> +<p>“Your penetration deserves a reward—you are +the first to guess it,” said she.</p> +<p>“Three dances, no less,” said he, like a usurer +demanding his toll.</p> +<p>He offered his arm, and straightway bore her off +from the astonished Robin Hood, who stood staring +after them, believing, perhaps, that he was the victim +of some prearranged plan.</p> +<p>The spirit of his free ancestors seemed to be in +the lithe, tall Highlander’s feet. There was no dancer +equal to him in that room. A thistle on the wind +was not lighter, nor a wheeling swallow more graceful +in its flight.</p> +<p>Many others stopped their dancing to watch that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' ></a>44</span> +pair; whisperings ran round like electrical conjectures. +Nola steered Major King near the whirling +couple, and even tried to maneuver a collision, which +failed.</p> +<p>“Who is that dancing with Frances Landcraft?” +she breathed in the major’s ear.</p> +<p>“I didn’t know it was Miss Landcraft,” he replied, +although he knew it very well, and resolved to find +out who the Scotsman was, speedily and completely.</p> +<p>“My enchanted hour will soon pass,” said the +Scot, when that dance was done, “and I have been +looking the world over for you.”</p> +<p>“Dancing all the way?” she asked him lightly.</p> +<p>“Far from it,” he answered, his voice still muffled +and low.</p> +<p>They were standing withdrawn a little from the +press in the room after their second dance, when +Major King came by. The major was a cavalier +in drooping hat, with white satin cape, and sword +by his side, and well enough known to all his friends +in spite of the little spat of mustache and beard. As +the major passed he jostled the Scot with his shoulder +with a rudeness openly intentional.</p> +<p>The major turned, and spoke an apology. Frances +felt the Highlander’s muscles swell suddenly where +her hand lay on his arm, but whatever had sprung +into his mind he repressed, and acknowledged the +major’s apology with a lofty nod.</p> +<p>The music for another dance was beginning, and +couples were whirling out upon the floor.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' ></a>45</span></div> +<p>“I don’t care to dance again just now, delightfully +as you carry a clumsy one like me through—”</p> +<p>“A self-disparagement, even, can’t stand unchallenged,” +he interrupted.</p> +<p>“Mr. Macdonald,” she whispered, “your wig is +awry.”</p> +<p>They were near the door opening to the illumined +garden, with its late roses, now at their best, and +hydrangea clumps plumed in foggy bloom. They +stepped out of the swirl of the dance like particles +thrown from a wheel, not missed that moment even +by those interested in keeping them in sight.</p> +<p>“You knew me!” said he, triumphantly glad, as +they entered the garden’s comparative gloom.</p> +<p>“At the first word,” said she.</p> +<p>“I came here in the hope that you would know +me, and you alone—I came with my heart full of +that hope, and you knew me at the first word!”</p> +<p>There was not so much marvel as satisfaction, even +pride for her penetration, in it.</p> +<p>“Somebody else may have recognized you, too—that +man who brushed against you—”</p> +<p>“He’s one of your officers.”</p> +<p>“I know—Major King. Do you know him?”</p> +<p>“No, and he doesn’t know me. He can have no interest +in me at all.”</p> +<p>“Very well; set your beautiful red wig straight +and then tell me why you wanted to come here among +your enemies. It seems to me a hardy challenge, a +most unnecessary risk.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' ></a>46</span></div> +<p>“No risk is unnecessary that brings me to you,” +he said, his voice trembling in earnestness. “I dared +to come because I hoped to meet you on equal +ground.”</p> +<p>“You’re a bold man—in more ways than one.” +She shook her head as in rebuke of his temerity.</p> +<p>“But you don’t believe I’m a thief,” said he, conclusively.</p> +<p>“No; I have made public denial of it.” She +laughed lightly, but a little nervously, an uneasiness +over her that she could not define.</p> +<p>“An angel has risen to plead for Alan Macdonald, +then!”</p> +<p>“Why should you need anybody to plead for you +if there’s no truth in their charges? What is a man +like you doing in this wild place, wasting his life in +a land where he isn’t wanted?”</p> +<p>They had turned into a path that branched beyond +the lanterns. The white gravel from the river bars +with which it was paved glimmered among the +shadowy shrubs. Macdonald unclasped his plaid +from his shoulders and transferred it to hers. She +drew it round her, wrapping her arms in it like a +squaw, for the wind was coming chill from the mountains +now.</p> +<p>“It is soon said,” he answered, quite willingly. +“I am not hiding under any other man’s name—the +one they call me by here is my own. I was a ‘son of +a family,’ as they say in Mexico, and looked for distinction, +if not glory, in the diplomatic service. Four +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' ></a>47</span> +years I grubbed, an under secretary in the legation +at Mexico City, then served three more as consul at +Valparaiso. An engineer who helped put the railroad +through this country told me about it down there +when the rust of my inactive life was beginning to +canker my body and brain. I threw up my chance for +diplomatic distinction and came off up here looking +for life and adventure, and maybe a copper mine. I +didn’t find the mine, but I’ve had some fun with the +other two. Sometimes I’d like to lose the adventure +part of it now—it gets tiresome to be hunted, after +a while.”</p> +<p>“What else?” she asked, after a little, seeing that +he walked slowly, his head up, his eyes far away on +the purple distances of the night, as if he read a +dream.</p> +<p>“I settled in this valley quite innocently, as others +have done, before and after me, not knowing conditions. +You’ve heard it said that I’m a rustler—”</p> +<p>“King of the rustlers,” she corrected.</p> +<p>“Yes, even that. But I am not a rustler. Everybody +up here is a rustler, Miss Landcraft, who +doesn’t belong to, or work for, the Drovers’ Association. +They can’t oust us by merely charging us +with homesteading government land, for that hasn’t +been made a statutory crime yet. They have to +make some sort of a charge against us to give the +color of justification to the crimes they practice on +us, and rustler is the worst one in the cattlemen’s +dictionary. It stands ahead of murder and arson in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' ></a>48</span> +this country. I’m not saying there are no rustlers +around the edges of these big ranches, for there are +some. But if there are any among the settlers up +our way we don’t know it—and I think we’d pretty +soon find out.”</p> +<p>They turned and walked back toward the house.</p> +<p>“I don’t see why you should trouble about it; this +plainly isn’t your place,” she said.</p> +<p>“First, I refused to be driven out by Chadron +and the rest because the thing got on my mettle. I +knew that I was right, and that they were simply +stealing the public domain. Then, as I hung on, it +became apparent that there was a man’s work cut +out for somebody up here. I’ve taken the ready-made +job.”</p> +<p>“Tell me about it.”</p> +<p>“There’s a monstrous injustice being practiced, +systematically and cruelly, against thousands of +homeless people who come to this country in innocent +hope every year. They come here believing it’s the +great big open-handed West they’ve heard so much +about, carrying everything with them that they +own. They cut the strings that hold them to the +things they know when they face this way, and when +they try to settle on the land that is their inheritance, +this copper-bottomed combination of stockmen drives +them out. If they don’t go, they shoot them. You’ve +heard of it.”</p> +<p>“Not just that way,” said she, thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“No, they never shoot anybody but a rustler, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' ></a>49</span> +way the world hears of it,” said he, in resentment. +“But they’ll hear another story on the outside one +of these days. I’m in this fight up to the eyes to +break the back of this infernal combination that’s +choking this state to death. It’s the first time in +my life that I ever laid my hand to anything for +anybody but myself, and I’m going to see it through +to daylight.”</p> +<p>“But there must be millions behind the cattlemen, +Mr. Macdonald.”</p> +<p>“There are. It seems just about hopeless that a +handful of ragged homesteaders ever can make a +stand against them. But they’re usurping the public +domain, and they’ll overreach themselves one of these +days. Chadron has title to this homestead, but that’s +every inch of land that he’s got a legal right over. +In spite of that, he lays the claim of ownership to +the land fifteen miles north of here, where I’ve nested. +He’s been telling me for more than two years that I +must clear out.”</p> +<p>“You could give it up, and go back to your work +among men, where it would count,” she said.</p> +<p>“There are things here that count. I couldn’t put +a state on the map—an industrial and progressive +one, I mean—back home in Washington, or sitting +with my feet on the desk in some sleepy consulate. +And I’m going to put this state on the map where it +belongs. That’s the job that’s cut out for me here, +Miss Landcraft.”</p> +<p>He said it without boast, but with such a stubborn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' ></a>50</span> +note of determination that she felt something lift +within her, raising her to the plane of his aspirations. +She knew that Alan Macdonald was right about it, +although the thing that he would do was still dim in +her perception.</p> +<p>“Even then, I don’t see what a ranch away off up +here from anywhere ever will be worth to you, especially +when the post is abandoned. You know the +department is going to give it up?”</p> +<p>“And then you—” he began in consternation, +checking himself to add, slowly, “no, I didn’t know +that.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps in a year.”</p> +<p>“It can’t make much difference in the value of +land up this valley, though,” he mused. “When the +railroad comes on through—and that will be as soon +as we break the strangle hold of Chadron and men +like him—this country will develop overnight. +There’s petroleum under the land up where I am, +lying shallow, too. That will be worth something +then.”</p> +<p>The music of an old-style dance was being played. +Now the piping cowboy voice of some range cavalier +rose, calling the figures. The two in the garden path +turned with one accord and faced away from the +bright windows again.</p> +<p>“They’ll be unmasking at midnight?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I can’t go in again, then. The hour +of my enchantment is nearly at its end.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' ></a>51</span></div> +<p>“You shouldn’t have come,” she chided, yet not +in severity, rather in subdued admiration for his reckless +bravery. “Suppose they—”</p> +<p>“Mac! O Mac!” called a cautious, low voice from +a hydrangea bush close at hand.</p> +<p>“Who’s there?” demanded Macdonald, springing +forward.</p> +<p>“They’re onto you, Mac,” answered the voice from +the shrub, “they’re goin’ to do you hurt. They’re +lookin’ for you now!”</p> +<p>There was a little rustling in the leaves as the +unseen friend moved away. The voice was the voice +of Banjo Gibson, but not even the shadow of the +messenger had been seen.</p> +<p>“You should have gone before—hurry!” she +whispered in alarm.</p> +<p>“Never mind. It was a risk, and I took it, and +I’d take it again tomorrow. It gave me these minutes +with you, it was worth—”</p> +<p>“You must go! Where’s your horse?”</p> +<p>“Down by the river in the willows. I can get to +him, all right.”</p> +<p>“They may come any minute, they—”</p> +<p>“No, they’re dancing yet. I expected they’d find +me out; they know me too well. I’ll get a start of +them, before they even know I’m gone.”</p> +<p>“They may be waiting farther on—why don’t +you go—go! There—listen!</p> +<p>“They’re saddling,” he whispered, as low sounds +of haste came from the barnyard corral.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' ></a>52</span></div> +<p>“Go—quick!” she urged, flinging his plaid across +his arm.</p> +<p>“I’m going—in one moment more. Miss Landcraft, +I’ll ride away from you tonight perhaps never +to see you again, and if I speak impetuously before +I leave you, forgive me before you hear the words—they’ll +not hurt you—I don’t believe they’ll shame +you.”</p> +<p>“Don’t say anything more, Mr. Macdonald—even +this delay may cost your life!”</p> +<p>“They’ll kill me if they can; they’ve tried it more +than once. I never know when I ride away whether +I’ll ever return. It isn’t a new experience, just a +little graver than usual—only that. I came here +tonight because I—I came to—in the hope—” he +stammered, putting out his hands as if supplicating +her to understand, his plaid falling to the ground.</p> +<p>“Go!” she whispered, her hand on his arm in +appeal, standing near him, dangerously near.</p> +<p>“I’ve got a right to love you—I’ve got a right!” +he said, the torrent of his passion leaping all curbing +obstacles of delicacy, confusion, fear. He flung the +words from him in wild vehemence, as if they eased +a pang.</p> +<p>“No—no, you have no right! you—”</p> +<p>“I’ll leave you in a minute, Frances, without the +expectation of ever seeing you again—only with the +hope. It’s mine to love you, mine to have you if I +come through this night. If you’re pledged to another +man it can’t be because you love him, and I’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' ></a>53</span> +tear the right away from him—if I come through +this night!”</p> +<p>He spoke rapidly, bending so near that his breath +moved the hair on her temple. She stood with arms +half lifted, her hands clenched, her breath laboring +in her bosom. She did not know that love—she had +not known that love—could spring up that way, and +rage like a flame before a wind.</p> +<p>“If you’re pledged to another man, then I’ll defy +him, man to man—I do defy him, I challenge him!”</p> +<p>As he spoke he stooped, suddenly, like a wind-bent +flame, clasped her, kissed her, held her enfolded in +his arms one moment against his breast. He released +her then, and stepped back, standing tall and +silent, as if he waited for her blast of scorn. It did +not come. She was standing with hands pressed to +her face, as if to cover some shame or sorrow, or +ease the throbbing of a soul-deep pain.</p> +<p>The sound of men and horses came from the corral. +He stood, waiting for judgment.</p> +<p>“Go now,” she said, in a sad, small voice.</p> +<p>“Give me a token to carry away, to tell me I have +not broken my golden hope,” he said.</p> +<p>“No, I’ll give you nothing!” she declared, with +the sharpness of one wronged, and helpless of redress. +“You have taken too much—you have taken—”</p> +<p>“What?” he asked, as if he exulted in what he +heard, his blood singing in his ears.</p> +<p>“Oh, go—go!” she moaned, stripping off one +long white glove and throwing it to him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' ></a>54</span></div> +<p>He caught it, and pressed it to his lips; then +snatching off his bonnet, hid it there, and bent among +the shrubbery and was gone, as swiftly and silently +as a wolf. Frances flew to the house and up the +stairs to her room. There she threw up the window +and sat panting in it, straining, listening, for sounds +from the river road.</p> +<p>From below the voices of the revelers came, and +the laughter over the secrets half-guessed before +masks were snatched away around the banquet table. +There was a dash of galloping hoofs from the corral, +the clatter of the closing gate. The sound grew +dimmer, was lost, in the sand of the hoof-cut trail.</p> +<p>After a little, a shot! two! a silence; three! and +one as if in reply. Frances slipped to her knees beside +the open window, a sob as bitter as the pang of +death rising from her breast. She prayed that Alan +Macdonald might ride fast, and that the vindictive +hands of his enemies might be unsteady that night by +the gray riverside.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' ></a>55</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_V_IF_HE_WAS_A_GENTLEMAN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>IF HE WAS A GENTLEMAN</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>“Don’t you think we’d better drop it now, +Frances, and be good?”</p> +<p>Major King reined his horse near hers as he spoke, +and laid his hand on the pommel of her saddle as if +he expected to meet other fingers there.</p> +<p>“You puzzle me, Major King,” she returned, not +willing to understand.</p> +<p>They were bringing up the rear of the tired procession +which was returning to the post from the +ball. Already the east was quickening. The stars +near the horizon were growing pale; the morning +wind was moving, with a warmth in it from the low +places, like a tide toward the mountains.</p> +<p>“Oh, I mean this play acting of estrangement,” +said he, impatiently. “Let’s forget it—it doesn’t +carry naturally with either you or me.”</p> +<p>“Why, Major King!” Her voice was lively with +mild surprise; she was looking at him as if for verification +of his words. Then, slowly: “I hadn’t +thought of any estrangement, I hadn’t intended to +bring you to task for one flirtatious night. Be sure, +sir, if it has given you pleasure, it has brought me +no pain.”</p> +<p>“You began it,” said he, petulantly. It is almost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' ></a>56</span> +unbelievable how boyishly silly a full-grown man +can be.</p> +<p>“I began it, Major King? It’s too early in the +morning for a joke!”</p> +<p>“You were wilful and contrary; you would speak +to the fellow that day.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” deprecatingly.</p> +<p>“Never mind it, though. Wilfulness doesn’t become +either of us, Frances. I’ve tried my turn at it +tonight, and it has left me cold.”</p> +<p>“Poor man!” said she, in low voice, like a sigh. +Perhaps it was not all for Major King; perhaps not +all assumed.</p> +<p>“Let’s not quarrel, Frances.”</p> +<p>“Not now, I’m too tired for a real good one. +Leave it for tomorrow.”</p> +<p>He rode on in silence, not sure, maybe, how much +of it she meant. Covertly she looked at him now and +then, thinking better of him for his ingenuous confession +of failure to warm himself at little Nola +Chadron’s heart-flame. She extended her hand.</p> +<p>“Forgive me, Major King,” she said, very softly, +not far removed, indeed, from tenderness.</p> +<p>For a little while Major King left his horse to +keep the road its own way, his cavalry hands quite +regardless of manuals, regulations, and military airs. +Both of them were enfolding her one. He might +have held it until they reached the post, but that +she drew it away.</p> +<p>There were some qualms of uneasiness in her breast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' ></a>57</span> +that hour, some upbraidings of conscience for treason +to Major King, of whom she had been girlishly fond, +girlishly proud, womanly selfish. That quick, wild +scene in the garden was not to be put away for all +those arraignments of her honest heart, although it +seemed impossible, recalled there in the thin hours +of that long and eventful night, like something remembered +of another, not of herself.</p> +<p>Her cheeks grew hot, her heart leaped again, at +the recollection of that strong man’s wild, bold words, +his defiant kiss upon her lips. She had yielded them +in the recklessness of that moment, in the force of +his all-carrying demand, when she might have denied +them, or sped away from him, as innocence is believed +to know from instinct when to fly from a destructive +lure.</p> +<p>Closing her eyes against the gray-creeping morning, +she saw him again, standing that moment with +her glove to his lips; saw him bend and speed away, +the cunning of his hunted ancestors in his swift feet +and self-eliminating form. A wild fear struck her, a +cold dread fell like ashes into her heart, as she wondered +how well he had ridden that night, and how +far.</p> +<p>Perhaps he was lying in his blood that hour, never +to come back to her again. Yet, why should it +matter so much to her? Only that it was a gallant +life gone out, whatever its faults had been; only the +interest that she might have in any man who had +danced with her, and told her his story, and spoken +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' ></a>58</span> +of his designs. So she said, confessing with the same +breath that it was a poor, self-deluding lie.</p> +<p>Back again in her home at the post, the day awake +around her, reveille sounding in the barracks, she +turned the key in her door as if to shut the secret in +with her, and bent beneath the strain of her long +suspense. She no longer tried to conceal, or to +deny to her own heart, the love she bore that man, +which had come so suddenly, and so fiercely sweet.</p> +<p>No longer past than the evening before her heart +had ached with jealous pain over the little triumph +that Nola Chadron had thought she was making of +Major King. Now Nola might have Major King, +and all the world beside that her little head might +covet. There was no reservation in the surrender +that she made of him in her conscience, no regret.</p> +<p>She reproached herself for it in one breath, and +glowed with a strange new gladness the next, clasping +the great secret fearfully in her breast, in the +world-old delusion that she had come into possession +of a treasure uniquely and singularly her own. One +thing she understood plainly now; she never had +loved Major King. What a revolution it was to +overturn a life’s plans thus in a single night! thought +she.</p> +<p>How easily we are astounded by the eruptions in +our own affairs, and how disciplined in the end to find +that the foundations of the world have withstood the +shock!</p> +<p>Chadron himself had not gone out after Macdonald. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' ></a>59</span> +He had been merry among his guests long after +the shots had sounded up the river. Frances believed +that the old man had put the matter into the +hands of his cowboys and ranch foreman, having no +sons, no near male relatives of his own in that place. +She did not know how many had gone in pursuit of +Macdonald, but several horses were in the party +which rode out of the gate. None had returned, she +was certain, at the time the party dispersed. The +chase must have led them far.</p> +<p>There was no way of knowing what the result of +that race had been. If he had escaped, Frances +believed that he would let her know in some way; +if he had fallen, she knew that the news of his death, +important as it would be to Chadron, would fly +as if it had wings. There was nothing to do but +wait, and in any event hide away that warm sweet +thing that had unfolded in beautiful florescence in +her soul.</p> +<p>She told herself that he must have escaped, or the +pursuers would have returned long before the party +from the post left the Chadron house. He had led +them a long ride in his daring way, and doubtless +was laughing at them now in his own house, among +his friends. She wondered what his surroundings +were, and what his life was like on that ranch for +which he risked it. In the midst of this speculation +she fell asleep, and lay wearily in dreamless repose +for many hours.</p> +<p>Sleep is a marvelous clarifier of the mind. It is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' ></a>60</span> +like the saleratus which the pioneers used to cast into +their barrels of Missouri River water, to precipitate +the silt and make it clear. Frances rose out of her +sleep with readjusted reasoning; in fear, and in +doubt.</p> +<p>She was shocked by the surrender that she had +made to that unknown man. Perhaps he was nothing +more than a thief, as charged, and this story +fixing his identification had been only a fabrication. +An honest man would have had no necessity for such +haste, such wild insistence of his right to love her. +It seemed, in the light of due reflection, the rude way +of an outlawed hand.</p> +<p>Then there came the soft pleading of something +deeper to answer for Alan Macdonald, and to justify +his rash deed. He had risked life to see her and set +himself right in her eyes, and he had doubled the +risk in standing there in the garden, defiantly proud, +unbent, and unrepentant, refusing to leave her without +some favor to carry away.</p> +<p>There was only a sigh to answer it, after all; only +a hope that time would bring her neither shame nor +regret for that romantic passage in the dusky garden +path. That she had neither shame nor regret in +that hour was her sweetest consolation. More, she +was comfortable in the security that the secret of +that swift interlude was her own. Honest man or +thief, Alan Macdonald was not the man to speak +of that.</p> +<p>Frances was surprised to find that she had slept +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' ></a>61</span> +into the middle of the afternoon. Major King had +called an hour ago, with inquiries, the maid reported. +There! that must be the major’s ring again—she +hoped she might know it by this time, indeed. In +case it was the major, would miss—</p> +<p>Yes; miss would see him. Ask him to wait. The +maid’s ear was true; it was the major’s ring. She +came bounding upstairs to report on it, her breath +short, her eyes big.</p> +<p>“Oh, miss! I think something must ’a’ happened +to him, he looks all shook!” she said.</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” said Frances, a little flutter of apprehension, +indefinable, cold, passing through her +nerves in spite of her bearing and calm face.</p> +<p>Major King had remained standing, waiting her. +He was handsome and trim in his uniform, dark-eyed, +healthy-skinned, full of the vigor of his young manhood. +The major’s face was pale, his carriage stiff +and severe. He appeared as if something might have +happened to him, indeed, or to somebody in whom +he was deeply concerned.</p> +<p>Frances knew that her face was a picture of the +worriment and straining of her past night, for it was +a treacherous mirror of her soul. She smiled as she +made a little pause in the reception-room door. +Major King bowed, with formal, almost official, +dignity. His hand was in the bosom of his coat, +and he drew it forth with something white in it as she +approached.</p> +<p>“I’m dreadfully indolent to belong to a soldiering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' ></a>62</span> +family, Major King,” she said, offering her hand in +greeting.</p> +<p>“Permit me,” said he, placing the folded white +thing in her outstretched fingers.</p> +<p>“What is it? Not—it isn’t—” she stammered, +something deeper than surprise, than foreboding, in +her eyes and colorless cheeks.</p> +<p>“Unmistakably yours,” he said; “your name is +stamped in it.”</p> +<p>“It must be,” she owned, her spirits sinking low, +her breath weak between her lips. “Thank you, +Major King.”</p> +<p>The glove was soiled with earth-marks; it was +wrinkled and drawn, as if it had come back to her +through conflict and tragedy. She rolled it deliberately, +in a compact little wad, her fingers as cold as +her hope for the life of the man who had borne it +away. She knew that Major King was waiting for a +word; she was conscious of his stern eyes upon her +face. But she did not speak. As far as Major +King’s part in it went, the matter was at an end.</p> +<p>“Miss Landcraft, I am waiting.”</p> +<p>Major King spoke with imperious suggestion. +She started, and looked toward him quickly, a question +in her eyes.</p> +<p>“I sha’n’t keep you then,” she returned, her words +little more than a whisper.</p> +<p>“Don’t try to read a misunderstanding into my +words,” said he, his voice shaking. Then he seemed +to break his stiff, controlled pose as if it had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' ></a>63</span> +a coating of ice, and expand into a trembling, white-hot +man in a moment. “God’s name, girl! Say something, +say something! You know where that glove +was found?”</p> +<p>“No; and I shall not ask you, Major King.”</p> +<p>“But I demand of you to know how it came in that +man’s possession! Tell me that—tell me!”</p> +<p>He stood before her, very near to her. His hands +were shaking, his eyes gleaming with fury.</p> +<p>“I might ask you with as much reason how it +came in yours,” she told him, resentful of his angry +demand.</p> +<p>“A messenger arrived with it an hour ago.”</p> +<p>“For you, Major King?”</p> +<p>“For me, certainly.”</p> +<p>She had no need to ask him whence the messenger +came. She could see the horsemen returning to the +ranchhouse by the river in the gray morning light, +in the triumph of their successful hunt. Alan Macdonald +had fallen. It had been Nola’s hand that had +dispatched this evidence of what she could but guess +to be the disloyalty of Frances to her betrothed. +If Nola had hoped to make a case with the major, +Frances felt she had succeeded better than she knew.</p> +<p>“Then there is nothing more to be said, Major +King,” said she, after a little wait.</p> +<p>“There is much more,” he insisted. “Tell me +that he snatched the glove from you, tell me that +you lost it—tell me anything, and I’ll believe you—but +tell me something!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' ></a>64</span></div> +<p>“There is nothing to tell you,” said she, resentful +of the meddling of Nola Chadron, which his own +light conduct with her had in a manner justified.</p> +<p>“Then I can only imagine the truth,” he told her, +bitterly. “But surely you didn’t give him the glove, +surely you cannot love that wolf of the range, that +cattle thief, that murderer!”</p> +<p>“You have no right to ask me that,” she said, +flashing with resentment.</p> +<p>“I have a right to ask you that, to ask you more; +not only to ask, but to demand. And you must +answer. You forget that you are my affianced wife.”</p> +<p>“But you are not my confessor, for all that.”</p> +<p>“God’s name!” groaned King, his teeth set, his +eyes staring as if he had gone mad. “Will you shame +us both? Do you forget you are <i>my affianced wife?</i>”</p> +<p>“That is ended—you are free!”</p> +<p>“Frances!” he cried, sharply, as in despair of one +sinking, whom he was powerless to save.</p> +<p>“It is at an end between us, Major King. My +‘necessity’ of explaining everything, or anything, to +you is wiped away, your responsibility for my acts +relieved. Lift your head, sir. You need not blush +before the world for me!”</p> +<p>Sweat was springing on the major’s forehead; he +drew his breath through open lips.</p> +<p>“I refuse to humor your caprice—you are irresponsible, +you don’t know what you are doing,” he +declared. “You are forcing the issue to this point, +Frances, I haven’t demanded this.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' ></a>65</span></div> +<p>“You have demanded too much. You may go +now, Major King.”</p> +<p>“It’s only the infatuation of a moment. You can’t +care for a man like that, Frances,” he argued, shaken +out of his passion by her determined stand.</p> +<p>“This is not a matter for discussion between you +and me, sir.”</p> +<p>Major King bowed his head as if the rebuke had +crushed him. She stood aside to let him pass. When +he reached the door she turned to him. He paused, +expectantly, hopefully, as if he felt that a reconciliation +was dawning.</p> +<p>“If it hadn’t been for you they wouldn’t have +discovered him last night,” she charged. “You betrayed +him to his enemies. Can you tell me, then—will +you tell me—is Alan Macdonald—dead?”</p> +<p>Major King stood, his stern eyes on the glove, +unrolled again, now dangling in her hand.</p> +<p>“If he was a gentleman, as you said of him once, +then he is dead,” said he.</p> +<p>He turned and left her. She did not look after +him, but stood with the soiled glove spread in her +hands, gazing upon it in sad tenderness.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' ></a>66</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_VI_A_BOLD_CIVILIAN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>A BOLD CIVILIAN</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Colonel Landcraft was a slight man, and +short of stature for a soldierly figure when out +of the saddle. His gray hair was thinning in front, +and his sharp querulous face was seamed in frowning +pattern about the eyes. His forehead was +fashioned on an intention of massiveness out of +keeping with his tapering face, which ran out in a +disappointing chin, and under the shadow of that +projecting brow his cold blue eyes seemed as unfriendly +as a winter sky.</p> +<p>Early in his soldiering days the colonel had felt +the want of inches and pounds, a shortage which he +tried to overcome by carrying himself pulled up stiffly, +giving him a strutting effect that had fastened upon +him and become inseparable from his mien. This air +of superior brusqueness was sharpened by the small +fierceness of his visage, in which his large iron-gray +mustache branched like horns.</p> +<p>Smallness of stature, disappointment in his ambition +for preferment, and a natural narrowness of soul, +had turned Colonel Landcraft into a military martinet +of the most pronounced character. He was the +grandfather of colonels in the service, rank won in +the old Indian days. That he was not a brigadier-general +was a circumstance puzzling only to himself. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' ></a>67</span> +He was a man of small bickerings, exactions, forms. +He fussed with civilians as a regular thing when in +command of posts within the precincts of civilization, +and to serve under him, as officer or man, was a chafing +and galling experience.</p> +<p>If ever there was an unpopular man in the service, +then that man was Colonel John Hancock Landcraft, +direct descendant—he could figure it out as straight +as a bayonet—of the heavy-handed signer himself. +His years and his empty desires bore heavily on the +colonel. The trespass of time he resented; the barrenness +of his hope he grieved.</p> +<p>There he was in those Septembral days, galloping +along toward the age limit and retirement. Within +a few weeks he would be subject to call before the +retiring board any day, and there was nothing in his +short-remaining time of service to shore up longer +the hope of advancement in rank as compensatory +honor in his retirement. He was a testy little old +man, charged for instant explosion, and it was generally +understood by everybody but the colonel himself +that the department had sent him off to Fort +Shakie to get him out of the way.</p> +<p>On the afternoon of the day following Nola +Chadron’s ball, when Major King returned to +Frances the glove that Alan Macdonald had carried +away from the garden, Colonel Landcraft was a passenger +on the mail stage from Meander to the post. +The colonel had been on official business to the army +post at Cheyenne. Instead of telegraphing to his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' ></a>68</span> +own post the intelligence of his return, and calling +for a proper equipage to meet him at the railroad +end, he had chosen to come back in this secret and +unexpected way.</p> +<p>That was true to the colonel’s manner. Perhaps +he hoped to catch somebody overstepping the line +of decorum, regulations, forms, either in the conduct +of the post’s business or his own household. For +the colonel was as much a tyrant in one place as the +other. So he eliminated himself, wrapped to the +bushy eyebrows in his greatcoat, for there was a +chilliness in the afternoon, and clouds were driving +over the sun.</p> +<p>His austerity silenced the talkative driver, and +when the stage reached the hotel the colonel parted +from him without a word and clicked away briskly +on his military heels—built up to give him stature—to +see what he might surprise out of joint at +the post.</p> +<p>Perhaps it was a shock to his valuation of his own +indispensability to find everything in proper form +at the post. The sentry paced before the flagstaff, +decorum prevailed. There was not one small particular +loose to give him ground for flying at the culpable +person and raking him with his blistering fire.</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft turned into his own house with +a countenance somewhat fallen as a consequence of +this discovery. It seemed to bear home to him the +fact that the United States Army would get along +very neatly and placidly without him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' ></a>69</span></div> +<p>The colonel occupied one wing of his sprawling, +commodious, and somewhat impressive house as official +headquarters. This room was full of stiff +bookcases, letter files, severe chairs. The colonel’s +desk stood near the fireplace in a strong light, with +nothing ever unfinished left upon it. It was one of +the colonel’s greatest satisfactions in life that he always +was ready to snap down the cover of that desk +at a moment’s notice and march away upon a campaign +to the world’s end—and his own—leaving +everything clear behind him.</p> +<p>A private walk led up to a private door in the +colonel’s quarters, where a private in uniform, with +a rifle on his shoulder, made a formal parade when +the colonel was within, and accessible to the military +world for the transaction of business. This sentinel +was not on duty now, the return of the colonel being +unlooked-for, and nobody was the wiser in that household +when the master of it let himself into the room +with his key.</p> +<p>The day was merging into dusk, or the colonel +probably would have been aware that a man was +hastening after him along the leaf-strewn walk as +he passed up the avenue to his home. He was not +many rods behind the colonel, and was gaining on +him rapidly, when the crabbed old gentleman closed +his office door softly behind him.</p> +<p>The unmilitary visitor—this fact was betrayed by +both his gait and his dress—turned sharply in upon +the private walk and followed the colonel to his door. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' ></a>70</span> +He was turning through the letters and telegrams +which had arrived during his absence when the visitor +laid hand to the bell.</p> +<p>No sound of ringing followed this application to +the thumbscrew arrangement on the door, for the +colonel had taken the bell away long ago. But there +resulted a clucking, which brought the colonel to the +portal frowning and alert, warming in the expectation +of having somebody whom he might dress down +at last.</p> +<p>“Colonel Landcraft, I beg the favor of a word in +private,” said the stranger at the door.</p> +<p>The colonel opened the door wider, and peered +sharply at the visitor, a frown gathering on his unfriendly +face.</p> +<p>“I haven’t the honor”—he began stiffly, seeing +that it was an inferior civilian, for all civilians, except +the president, were inferior to the colonel.</p> +<p>“Macdonald is my name. I am a rancher in this +country; you will have heard of me,” the visitor replied.</p> +<p>“Nothing to your credit, young man,” said the +colonel, tartly. “What do you want?”</p> +<p>“A man’s chance,” said Macdonald, earnestly. +“Will you let me explain?”</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft stood out of the doorway; +Macdonald entered.</p> +<p>“I’ll make a light,” said the colonel, lowering the +window-shades before he struck the match. When +he had the flame of the student’s lamp on top of his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' ></a>71</span> +desk regulated to conform to his exactions, the colonel +faced about suddenly.</p> +<p>“I am listening, sir.”</p> +<p>“At the beginning, sir, I want you to know who +I am,” said Macdonald, producing papers. “My +father, Senator Hampden Macdonald of Maine, now +lives in Washington. You have heard of him. I am +Alan Macdonald, late of the United States consular +service. It is unlikely that you ever heard of me in +that connection.”</p> +<p>“I never heard of you before I came here,” said the +colonel, unfavorably, unfolding the credentials which +the visitor had placed on his desk, and skimming them +with cursory eye. Now he looked up from his reading +with a sudden little jerk of the head, and stood +at severe attention. “And the purpose of this visit, +sir?”</p> +<p>“First, to prove to you that the notorious character +given me by the cattlemen of this country is +slanderous and unwarranted; secondly, to ask you +to give me a man’s chance, as I have said, in a matter +to which I shall come without loss of words. I am a +gentleman, and the son of a gentleman; I do not +acknowledge any moral or social superiors in this +land.”</p> +<p>The colonel, drew himself up a notch, and seemed +to grow a little at that. He looked hard at the tall, +fair-haired, sober-faced man in front of him, as if +searching out his points to justify the bold claim +upon respectability that he had made. Macdonald +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' ></a>72</span> +was dressed in almost military precision; the colonel +could find no fault with that. His riding-breeches +told that they had been cut for no other legs, his coat +set to his shoulders with gentlemanly ease. Only his +rather greasy sombrero, with its weighty leather band, +and the bulging revolvers under his coat seemed out +of place in the general trimness of his attire.</p> +<p>“Go on, sir,” the colonel said.</p> +<p>“I had the honor of meeting Miss Landcraft last +night at the masquerade given by Miss Chadron—”</p> +<p>“How was that, sir? Did you have the effrontery +to force yourself into a company which despises you, +at the risk of your life and the decorum of the assemblage?”</p> +<p>“I was drawn there,” Macdonald spoke slowly, +meeting the colonel’s cold eye with steady gaze, “by +a hope that was miraculously realized. I did risk my +life, and I almost lost it. But that is nothing unusual—I +risk it every day.”</p> +<p>“You saw Miss Landcraft at the ball, danced with +her, I suppose, talked with her,” nodded the colonel, +understandingly. “Macdonald, you are a bold, a +foolishly bold, man.”</p> +<p>“I saw Miss Landcraft, I danced with her, I talked +with her, and I have come to you, sir, after a desperate +ride through the night to save my life as the penalty +of those few minutes of pleasure, to request the +privilege of calling upon Miss Landcraft and paying +my court to her. I ask you to give me a man’s chance +to win her hand.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' ></a>73</span></div> +<p>The audacity of the request almost tied the colonel’s +sharp old tongue. For a moment he stood with +his mouth open, his face red in the gathering storm of +his sudden passion.</p> +<p>“Sir!” said he, in amazed, unbelieving voice.</p> +<p>“There are my credentials—they will bear investigation,” +Macdonald said.</p> +<p>“Damn your credentials, sir! I’ll have nothing to +do with them, you blackguard, you scoundrel!”</p> +<p>“I ask you to consider—”</p> +<p>“I can consider nothing but the present fact that +you are accused of deeds of outlawry and violence, +and are an outcast of society, even the crude society +of this wild country, sir. No matter who you are or +whence you sprung, the evidence in this country is +against you. You are a brigand and a thief, sir—this +act of barbaric impetuosity in itself condemns +you—no civilized man would have the effrontery to +force himself into my presence in such a manner and +make this insane demand.”</p> +<p>“I am exercising a gentleman’s prerogative, +Colonel Landcraft.”</p> +<p>“You are a vulture aspiring to soar among eagles, +sir!”</p> +<p>“You have heard only the cattlemen’s side of the +story, Colonel Landcraft,” said Macdonald, with +patience and restraint. “You know that every man +who attempts to build a fence around his cabin in +this country, and strikes a furrow in the ground, is +a rustler according to their creed.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' ></a>74</span></div> +<p>“I am aware that there is narrowness, injustice +even, on the drovers’ side,” the colonel admitted, +softening a little, it seemed. “But for all that, even +if you were an equal, and an honest man, the road to +Miss Landcraft’s heart is closed to assault, no matter +how wild and sudden. She is plighted to another +man.”</p> +<p>“Sir—”</p> +<p>“It is true; she will be married in the Christmas +holidays. Go your way now, Macdonald, and dismiss +this romantic dream. You build too high on the +slight favor of a thoughtless girl. A dance or two is +nothing, sir; a whispered word is less. If you were +the broad man of the world that you would have me +believe, you have known this. Instead, you come +dashing in here like a savage and claim the right to +woo her. Preposterous! She is beyond your world, +sir. Go back to your wild riding, Macdonald, and +try to live an honest man.”</p> +<p>Macdonald stood with his head bent, brows gathered +in stubborn expression of resistance. Colonel +Landcraft could read in his face that there was no +surrender, no acknowledgment of defeat, in that wild +rider’s heart. The old warrior felt a warming of +admiration for him, as one brave man feels for another, +no matter what differences lie between them. +Now Macdonald lifted his face, and there was that +deep movement of laughter in his eyes that Frances +had found so marvelous on the day of their first +meeting.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' ></a>75</span></div> +<p>“Perhaps her heart is untouched, sir, in spite of +the barricade that has been raised between it and the +world,” he said.</p> +<p>The colonel studied him shrewdly a little while before +replying.</p> +<p>“Macdonald, you’re a strange man, a stubborn +man, and a strong one. There is work for a man +like you in this life; why are you wasting it here?”</p> +<p>“If I live six months longer the world beyond these +mountains will know,” was all that Macdonald said, +taking up the papers which he had submitted to the +colonel, and placing them again in his pocket.</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft shook his head doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Running off other men’s cattle never will do it, +Macdonald.”</p> +<p>The door of the colonel’s room which gave into the +hall of the main entrance opened without the formality +of announcement. Frances drew back in quick +confusion, speaking her apology from behind the door.</p> +<p>“I ask your pardon, father. I heard voices here +and wondered who it could be—I didn’t know you +had come home.”</p> +<p>“Your appearance is opportune, Miss Landcraft,” +her father told her, with no trace of ill-humor. +“Come in. Here is this wild Alan Macdonald come +bursting in upon us from his hills.”</p> +<p>The colonel indicated him with a wave of the hand, +and Macdonald bowed, his heart shrinking when he +saw how coldly she returned his greeting from her +place at the door.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' ></a>76</span></div> +<p>“He has come riding,” the colonel continued, +“with a demand on me to be allowed to woo you, and +carry you off to his cave among the rocks. Show him +the door, and add your testimony to my assurance—which +seems inadequate to satisfy the impetuous +gentleman—that his case is hopeless.”</p> +<p>The colonel waved them away with that, and +turned again, with his jerky suddenness, to his telegrams +and letters. The colonel had not meant for +Macdonald to pass out of the door through which +he had entered. That was the military portal; the +other one, opening into the hall from which Frances +came, was the world’s door for entering that house. +And it was in that direction Colonel Landcraft had +waved them when he ordered Frances to take the +visitor away.</p> +<p>“This way, Mr. Macdonald, please,” said she, +politely cold, unfeelingly formal. For all the warmth +that he could discover in her voice and eyes, or in +her white face, so unaccountably severe and hard, +there might never have been a garden with white +gravel path, or a hot hasty kiss given in it—and +received.</p> +<p>In the hall the gloom of evening was deepened into +darkness that made her face indistinct, like the glimmering +whiteness of the hydrangea blooms in that +past romantic night. She marched straight to the +street door and opened it, and he had no strength in +his words to lift even a small one up to stay her. +He believed that he had taken the man’s course and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' ></a>77</span> +the way of honor in the matter. That it had not +been indorsed by her was evident, he believed.</p> +<p>“There was nothing for me to conceal,” said he, as +the door opened upon the gray twilight and glooming +trees along the street; “I came in a man’s way, as I +thought—”</p> +<p>“You came in a man’s way, Mr. Macdonald, to ask +the privilege of attempting to win a woman’s hand, +when you lack the man’s strength or the man’s +courage to defend even the glove that covers it,” she +said. Her voice was low; it was accusingly scornful.</p> +<p>Macdonald started. “Then it has come back to +you?”</p> +<p>“It has come back to me, through a channel that +I would have given the hand that wore it”—she +stretched it out as she spoke; it glimmered like a +nebulous star in misty skies there in the gloom before +his eyes—“to have kept the knowledge from!”</p> +<p>“I lost it,” said he, drawing himself up as if to +withstand a blow, “and in this hour I can plead no +mitigation. A man should have put his life down for +it.”</p> +<p>“It might have been expected—of a man,” said +she.</p> +<p>“But I ask you not to borrow trouble over the +circumstance of its return to you, Miss Landcraft,” +he said, cold now in his word, and lofty. “You +dropped it on the ballroom floor or in the garden +path, and I, the cattle thief, found it and carried it +away, to show it as evidence of a shadowy conquest, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' ></a>78</span> +maybe, among my wild and lawless kind. Beyond +that you know nothing—you lost it, that was all.”</p> +<p>In the door he turned.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Mr. Macdonald,” she said.</p> +<p>“If time and events prove so unkind to me that I +never come to a vindication in this country,” he said, +“just go on thinking of me as a thief and a wild +rider, and a man of the night. Good-bye, Miss Landcraft.”</p> +<p>She closed the door, and stood cooling from her +sudden resentment at seeing him there alive when her +heart had told her that he must be lying dead in the +dust of the river trail. She should not have been so +suddenly resentful, she now believed. Perhaps there +were mitigating circumstances which he would not +stoop to explain unasked. Her heart bounded with +the thought; warm blood came spreading in her +cheeks.</p> +<p>But Alan Macdonald was gone; misjudged and unjustly +condemned, she now believed, remorse assailing +her. Now the fault could not be repaired, for he was +not the man to come back. But there was much in +knowing that she had not been mistaken in the beginning; +comfort and pride in the full knowledge that +he was a <i>man!</i> Only a man would have come, bravely +and sincerely, in that manner to her father; only a +man would have put his hurt behind him like that and +marched away from her, too proud to stoop to the +mean expedient of begging her to allow him to explain.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' ></a>79</span></div> +<p>She sighed as she turned back into the room where +the colonel sat at his desk, but her cheek was hot, +her bosom agitated by an uplifting of pride. The +colonel turned, with inquiring impatience, a letter in +his hand.</p> +<p>“He is gone,” she said.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he nodded, shortly.</p> +<p>“I have just come back to tell you, father, that I +have broken my engagement with Major King, +to—”</p> +<p>“Impossible! nonsense!”</p> +<p>“To save you embarrassment in your future relations +with him,” she concluded, unshaken.</p> +<p>The colonel was standing now; his face reflecting +the anger that boiled in his breast.</p> +<p>“I tell you, miss, you can’t break your engagement +to Major King! That is out of your power, beyond +you, entirely. It rests with me, and with me solely, +to terminate any such obligation. I have pledged a +soldier’s word and a soldier’s honor in this matter, +miss. It is incumbent on you to see that both are +redeemed.”</p> +<p>“I’m in a mind to do my own thinking now, father; +I’m old enough.”</p> +<p>“A woman is never old enough to know her own +mind! What’s the occasion of this change in the +wind? Surely not—”</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft’s brows drew together over his +thin nose, making small glaring points of his blue +eyes among the gathered wrinkles and bristling hair. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' ></a>80</span> +He held his words suspended while he searched her +face for justification of his pent arraignment.</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” said he at last, letting his breath go +with the word, as if relief had come. “Put the notion +out of your head, for you are going to marry Major +King.”</p> +<p>“I tell you, father, you must adjust yourself to +my decision in this matter. I am not going to marry +Major King. I have told him so, and it is final.”</p> +<p>His own stubbornness, his own fire, was reflected in +her as she spoke. But Colonel Landcraft was not to +be moved from what he considered his right to dispose +of her in a way that he believed would be an honor to +the army and a glory to the nation.</p> +<p>“You’ll marry Major King, or die a maid!” he +declared.</p> +<p>“Very well, father,” she returned, in ambiguous +concession.</p> +<p>She left him frowning among his papers. In his +small, tyrannical way he had settled that case, finally +and completely, to his own thinking, as he had disposed +of wild-riding Alan Macdonald and his bold, +outlandish petition.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' ></a>81</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_VII_THROWING_THE_SCARE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>THROWING THE SCARE</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Banjo Gibson arrived at Macdonald’s place +the following day, from Sam Hatcher’s ranch +across the river, bringing news that three homesteaders +on that side had been killed in the past two days. +They had been shot from the willow thickets as they +worked in their fields or rode along the dim-marked +highways. Banjo could not give any further particulars; +he did not know the victims’ names.</p> +<p>Macdonald understood what it meant, and whose +hand was behind the slaying of those home-makers of +the wilderness. It was not a new procedure in the +cattle barons’ land; this scourge had been fore-shadowed +in that list of names which Frances Landcraft +had given him.</p> +<p>The word had gone out to them to be on guard. +Now death had begun to leap upon them from the +roadside grass. Perhaps his own turn would come +tonight or tomorrow. He could not be more watchful +than his neighbors had been; no man could close +all the doors.</p> +<p>The price of life in that country for such men as +himself always had been unceasing vigilance. When +a man stood guard over himself day and night he +could do no more, and even at that he was almost +certain, some time or other, to leave a chink open +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' ></a>82</span> +through which the waiting blow might fall. After a +time one became hardened to this condition of life. +The strain of watching fell away from him; it became +a part of his daily habit, and a man grew careless +about securing the safeguards upon his life by and +by.</p> +<p>“Them fellers,” said Banjo, feeling that he had +lowered himself considerably in carrying the news +involving their swift end to Macdonald, “got about +what was comin’ to ’em I reckon, Mac. Why don’t +a man like you hitch up with Chadron or Hatcher, or +one of the good men of this country, and git out +from amongst them runts that’s nosin’ around in the +ground for a livin’ like a drove of hogs?”</p> +<p>“Every man to his liking, Banjo,” Macdonald +returned, “and I don’t like the company you’ve +named.”</p> +<p>They never quarreled over the point, but Banjo +never ceased to urge the reformation, such as he +honestly believed it to be, upon Macdonald at every +visit. The little troubadour felt that he was doing +a generous and friendly turn for a fallen man, and +squaring his own account with Macdonald in thus +laboring for his redemption.</p> +<p>Banjo was under obligation to Macdonald for +no smaller matter than his life, the homesteader +having rescued him from drowning the past spring +when the musician, heading for Chadron’s after playing +for a dance, had mistaken the river for the road +and stubbornly urged his horse into it. On that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' ></a>83</span> +occasion Banjo’s wits had been mixed with liquor, +but his sense of gratitude had been perfectly clear +ever since. Macdonald’s door was the only one in +the nesters’ colony that stress or friendship ever had +constrained him to enter. Even as it was, with all +the big debt of gratitude owing, his intimacy with a +man who had opened an irrigation ditch was a thing +of which he did not boast abroad.</p> +<p>Banjo made but a night’s stop of it with Macdonald. +Early in the morning he was in the saddle +again, with a dance ahead of him to play for that +night at a ranch twenty miles or more away. He +lingered a little after shaking hands with his host, +trying the violin case as if to see that it was secure, +and fidgeting in his saddle, and holding back on the +start. Macdonald could see that there was something +unsaid in the little man’s mind which gave him an +uneasiness, like indigestion.</p> +<p>“What is it, Banjo?” he asked, to let it be known +that he understood.</p> +<p>“Mac, did you ever hear tell of a feller named +Mark Thorn?” Banjo inquired, looking about him +with fearful caution, lowering his voice almost to a +whisper.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ve heard of him.”</p> +<p>“Well, he’s in this country.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure about that, Banjo?” Macdonald’s +face was troubled; he moved nearer the musician as +he made the inquiry, and laid his hand on his arm.</p> +<p>“He’s here. He’s the feller you’ve got to watch out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' ></a>84</span> +for. He cut acrosst the road yisterday afternoon +when I was comin’ down here, and when he seen me +he stopped, for I used to know him up north and +he knew it wasn’t no use to try to duck and hide +his murderin’ face from me. He told me he was +ranchin’ up in Montany, and he’d come down here to +collect some money Chadron owed him on an old +bill.”</p> +<p>“Pretty slim kind of a story. But he’s here to +collect money from Chadron, all right, and give him +value received. What kind of a looking man is he?”</p> +<p>“He’s long and lean, like a rail, with a kind of a +bend in him when he walks, and the under lid of his +left eye drawed like you’d pulled it down and stuck +a tack in it. He’s wearin’ a cap, and he’s kind of +whiskered up, like he’d been layin’ out some time.”</p> +<p>“I’d know him,” Macdonald nodded.</p> +<p>“You couldn’t miss him in a thousand, Mac. Well, +I must be rackin’ along.”</p> +<p>Banjo scarcely had passed out of sight when three +horsemen came galloping to Macdonald’s gate. They +brought news of a fresh tragedy, and that in the +immediate neighborhood. A boy had been shot down +that morning while doing chores on a homestead a +little way across the river. He was the son of one +of the men on the death-list, and these men, the +father among them, had come to enlist Macdonald’s +aid in running down the slayer.</p> +<p>The boy’s mother had seen the assassin hastening +away among the scant bushes on the slope above the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' ></a>85</span> +house. The description that she gave of him left +no doubt in Macdonald’s mind of his identity. It +was Mark Thorn, the cattlemen’s contract killer, the +homesteaders’ scourge.</p> +<p>It was a fruitless search that day, seeking old +Mark Thorn among the hills which rose brokenly a +few miles back from the river and climbed to the +knees of the mountains in ever-mounting surge. A +devil’s darning-needle in a cornfield would have been +traced and cornered as quickly as that slippery thin +old killer of men, it seemed.</p> +<p>As if to show his contempt for those who hunted +him, and to emphasize his own feeling of security, +he slipped down to the edge of the fenced lands and +struck down another homesteader that afternoon, +leaving him dead at the handles of his plow.</p> +<p>Those homesteaders were men of rare courage and +unbending persistency in the ordinary affairs of life, +but three days of empty pursuit of this monster left +them out of heart. The name of Mark Thorn in +itself was sufficient to move a thrill of terror and +repulsion. He had left his red mark in many places +through the land dominated by the cattle interests +of the Northwest, where settlers had attempted to +find lodgment. He had come at length to stand for +an institution of destruction, rather than an individual, +which there was no power strong enough to +circumvent, nor force cunning enough to entrap.</p> +<p>There never was a tale of monsters, wolf-men, +bloody-muzzled great beasts of dark forests, that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' ></a>86</span> +struck deeper fear into the hearts of primitive peasantry +than this modern ogre moved in the minds and +hearts of those striving settlers in the cattle lands. +Mark Thorn was a shadowy, far-reaching thing to +them, distorted in their imaginings out of the semblance +of a man. He had grown, in the stories +founded on facts horrible enough without enlargement, +into a fateful destroyer, from whom no man +upon whom he had set his mark could escape.</p> +<p>Little wonder, then, that fear for the safety of +their wives and children made the faces of these men +gray as they rode the sage, combing the hollows and +hills for the sight of old Mark Thorn. One by one +they began to drop out of the posse, until of the fourteen +besides Macdonald who had ridden in the hunt +on the second day, only five remained on the evening +of the third.</p> +<p>It was no use looking for Mark Thorn, they said, +shaking gloomy heads. When he came into a country +on a contract to kill, it was like a curse predestined +which the power of man could not turn aside. He +had the backing of the Drovers’ Association, which +had an arm as long in that land as the old Persian +king’s. He would strike there, like the ghost of all +the devils in men that ever had lived on their fellows’ +blood, and slink away as silently as a wolf out +of the sheepfold at dawn when his allotted task was +done.</p> +<p>Better to go home and guard what was left, they +said. All of them were men for a fight, but it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' ></a>87</span> +one thing to stand up to something that a man could +see, and quite another to fight blindfolded, and in +the dark. Catching Mark Thorn was like trying to +ladle moonlight with a sieve. The country wasn’t +worth it, they were beginning to believe. When Mark +Thorn came in, it was like the vultures flying ahead +of the last, devastating plague.</p> +<p>The man whose boy had been shot down beside the +little grass-roofed barn was the last to leave.</p> +<p>“I’ll stick to it for a year, Alan, if you think it’s +any use,” he said.</p> +<p>He was a gaunt man, with sunken cheeks and weary +eyes; gray, worn, unwashed, and old; one of the +earth’s disinherited who believed that he had come +into his rood of land at last. Now the driving +shadow of his restless fate was on him again. Macdonald +could see that it was heavy in his mind to +hitch up and stagger on into the west, which was +already red with the sunset of his day.</p> +<p>Macdonald was moved by a great compassion for +this old man, whose hope had been snatched away +from him by the sting of a bullet in the dawn. He +laid his hand on the old homesteader’s sagging thin +shoulder and poured the comfort of a strong man’s +sympathy into his empty eyes.</p> +<p>“Go on back, Tom, and look after the others,” +he said. “Do your chores by dark, morning and +night, and stick close to cover all days and watch for +him. I’ll keep on looking. I started to get that old +hyena, and I’ll get him. Go on home.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' ></a>88</span></div> +<p>The old man’s eyes kindled with admiration. But +it died as quickly as it had leaped up, and he shook +his long hair with a sigh.</p> +<p>“You can’t do nothin’ agin him all alone, Alan.”</p> +<p>“I think I’ll have a better chance alone than in +a crowd, Tom. There’s no doubt that there were too +many of us, crashing through the brush and setting +ourselves up against the sky line every time we rode +up a hill. I’ll tackle him alone. Tell the neighbors +to live under cover till they hear I’ve either got him +or he’s got me. In case it turns out against me, they +can do whatever seems best to them.”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' ></a>89</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_VIII_AFOOT_AND_ALONE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>AFOOT AND ALONE</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Mark Thorn had not killed anybody since +shooting the man at the plow. There were +five deaths to his credit on that contract, although +none of the fallen was on the cattlemen’s list of desirables +to be removed.</p> +<p>Five days had passed without a tragedy, and the +homesteaders were beginning to draw breath in the +open again, in the belief that Macdonald must have +driven the slayer out of the country. Nothing had +been seen or heard of Macdonald since the evening +that he parted company with Tom Lassiter, father +of the murdered boy.</p> +<p>Macdonald, in the interval, was hard on the old +villain’s trail. He had picked it up on the first day +of his lone-handed hunt, and once he had caught a +glimpse of Thorn as he dodged among the red willows +on the river, but the sight had been too transitory +to put in a shot. It was evident now that Thorn +knew that he was being hunted by a single pursuer. +More than that, there were indications written in the +loose earth where he passed, and in the tangled brushwood +where he skulked, that he had stopped running +away and had turned to hunt the hunter.</p> +<p>For two days they had been circling in a constantly +tightening ring, first one leading the hunt, then the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' ></a>90</span> +other. Trained and accustomed as he was to life +under those conditions, Thorn had not yet been able +to take even a chance shot at his clinging pursuer.</p> +<p>Macdonald was awake to the fact that this balance +in his favor could not be maintained long. As it +was, he ascribed it more to luck than skill on his +part. This wild beast in human semblance must +possess all the wild beast’s cunning; there would be +a rift left open in this straining game of hide and +seek which his keen eyes would be sure to see at no +distant hour.</p> +<p>The afternoon of that day was worn down to the +hock. Macdonald had been creeping and stooping, +running, panting, and lying concealed from the first +gleam of dawn. Whether by design on the part of +Thorn, or merely the blind leading of the hunt, +Macdonald could not tell, the contest of wits had +brought them within sight of Alamito ranchhouse.</p> +<p>Resting a little while with his back against a ledge +which insured him from surprise, Macdonald looked +out from the hills over the wide-spanning valley, the +farther shore of which was laved in a purple mist as +rich as the dye of some oriental weaving. He felt +a surge of indignant protest against the greedy +injustice of that manorial estate, the fair house +glistening in the late sun among the white-limbed +cottonwoods. There Saul Chadron sat, like some distended +monster, his hands spread upon more than he +could honestly use, or his progeny after him for a +thousand years, growling and snapping at all whose +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' ></a>91</span> +steps lagged in passing, or whose weary eyes turned +longingly toward those grassy vales.</p> +<p>There had been frost for many nights past; the +green of the summerland had merged into a yellow-brown, +now gold beneath the slanting sunbeams. A +place of friendly beauty and sequestered peace, where +a man might come to take up his young dreams, or +stagger under the oppression of his years to put them +down, and rest. It seemed so, in the light of that +failing afternoon.</p> +<p>But the man who sat with his back against the +ledge, his ears strained to find the slightest hostile +sound, his roaming eyes always coming back with +unconscious alertness and frowning investigation to +the nearer objects in the broken foreground, had +tasted beneath the illusive crust of that land, and the +savor was bitter upon his lips. He questioned what +good there was to be got out of it, for him or those +for whom he had taken up the burden, for many a +weary year to come.</p> +<p>The gloom of the situation bore heavily upon him; +he felt the uselessness of his fight. He recalled the +words of Frances Landcraft: “There must be millions +behind the cattlemen.” He felt that he never +had realized the weight of millions, iniquitous millions, +before that hour. They formed a barrier which his +shoulder seemed destined never to overturn.</p> +<p>There he was, on that broad heath, afoot and alone, +hunting, and hunted by a slayer of men, one who +stalked him as he would a wolf or a lion for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' ></a>92</span> +bounty upon his head. And in the event that a lucky +shot should rid the earth of that foul thing, how much +would it strengthen his safety, and his neighbors’, and +fasten their weak hold upon the land?</p> +<p>Little, indeed. Others could be hired out of those +uncounted millions of the cattlemen’s resources to +finish what Mark Thorn had begun. The night +raids upon their fields would continue, the slanders +against them would spread and grow. Colonel Landcraft +believed him to be what malicious report had +named him; there was not a doubt of that. And what +Frances thought of him since that misadventure of +the glove, it was not hard to guess.</p> +<p>But that was not closed between them, he told himself, +as he had told himself before, times unnumbered. +There was a final word to be said, at the right time +and place. The world would turn many times between +then and the Christmas holidays, when Frances was +to become the bride of another, according to the +colonel’s plans.</p> +<p>Macdonald was weary from his night vigils and +stealthy prowlings by day, and hungry for a hot +meal. Since he had taken the trail of Mark Thorn +alone he had not kindled a fire. Now the food that +he had carried with him was done; he must turn back +home for a fresh supply, and a night’s rest.</p> +<p>It did not matter much, anyway, he said, feeling +the uselessness of his life and strife in that place. It +was a big and unfriendly land, a hard and hopeless +place for a man who tried to live in defiance of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' ></a>93</span> +established order there. Why not leave it, with its +despair and heart-emptiness? The world was full +enough of injustices elsewhere if he cared to set his +hand to right them.</p> +<p>But a true man did not run away under fire, nor +a brave one block out a task and then shudder and +slink away, when he stood off and saw the immensity +of the thing that he had undertaken. Besides all +these considerations, which in themselves formed insuperable +reasons against retreat, there had been +some big talk into the ear of Frances Landcraft. +There was no putting down what he had begun. His +dream had taken root there; it would be cruel cowardice +to wrench it up.</p> +<p>He got up, the sun striking him on the face, from +which the west wind pressed back his hat brim as if +to let the daylight see it. The dust of his travels was +on it, and the roughness of his new beard, and it was +harsh in some of its lines, and severe as an ashlar +from the craftsman’s tool. But it was a man’s face, +with honor in it; the sun found no weakness there, no +shame concealed under the sophistries and wiles by +which men beguile the world.</p> +<p>Macdonald looked away across the valley, past the +white ranchhouse, beyond the slow river which came +down from the northwest in toilsome curves, whose +gray shores and bars were yellow in that sunlight as +the sands of famed Pactolus. His breast heaved with +the long inspiration which flared his thin nostrils like +an Arab’s scenting rain; he revived with a new vigor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' ></a>94</span> +as the freedom of the plains met his eyes and made +them glad. That was his place, his land; its troubles +were his to bear, its peace his to glean when it should +ripen. It was his inheritance; it was his place of rest. +The lure of that country had a deep seat in his heart; +he loved it for its perils and its pains. It was like +a sweetheart to bind and call him back. A man makes +his own Fortunate Isles, as that shaggy old gray poet +knew so well.</p> +<p>For a moment Mark Thorn was forgotten as +Macdonald repeated, in low voice above his breath:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>Lo! These are the isles of the watery miles</p> +<p>That God let down from the firmament.</p> +<p>Lo! Duty and Love, and a true man’s trust;</p> +<p>Your forehead to God and your feet in the dust—</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>Yes, that was his country; it had taken hold of +him with that grip which no man ever has shaken +his heart free from, no matter how many seas he has +placed between its mystic lure and his back-straining +soul. Its fight was his fight, and there was gladness +in the thought.</p> +<p>His alertness as he went down the slope, and the +grim purpose of his presence in that forbidden place, +did not prevent the pleading of a softer cause, and +a sweeter. That rare smile woke in his eyes and unbent +for a moment the harshness of his lips as he +thought of brown hair sweeping back from a white +forehead, and a chin lifted imperiously, as became +one born to countenance only the exalted in this life. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' ></a>95</span> +There was something that made him breathe quicker +in the memory of her warm body held a transitory +moment in his arms; the recollection of the rose-softness +of her lips. All these were waiting in the +world that he must win, claimed by another, true. +But that was immaterial, he told his heart, which +leaped and exulted in the memory of that garden path +as if there was no tomorrow, and no such shadow in +man’s life as doubt.</p> +<p>Of course, there remained the matter of the glove. +A man might have been expected to die before yielding +it to another, as she had said, speaking out of a +hot heart, he knew. There was a more comfortable +thought for Alan Macdonald as he went down the +long slope with the western sun on his face; not a +thought of dying for a glove, but of living to win +the hand that it had covered.</p> +<p>Chadron’s ranchhouse was several miles to the +westward of him, although it appeared nearer by the +trickery of that clear light. He cut his course to +bring himself into the public highway—a government +road, it was—that ran northward up the river, +the road along which Chadron’s men had pursued him +the night of the ball. He meant to strike it some +miles to the north of Chadron’s homestead, for he +was not looking for any more trouble than he was +carrying that day.</p> +<p>He proceeded swiftly, but cautiously, watching for +his man. But Mark Thorn did not appear to be +abroad in that part of the country. Until sundown +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' ></a>96</span> +Macdonald walked unchallenged, when he struck the +highway a short distance south of the point where +the trail leading to Fort Shakie branched from it.</p> +<p>Saul Chadron and his daughter Nola came riding +out of the Fort Shakie road, their horses in that tireless, +swinging gallop which the animals of that rare +atmosphere can maintain for hours. As he rode, +Chadron swung his quirt in unison with the horse’s +undulations, from side to side across its neck, like +a baton. He sat as stiff and solid in his saddle as +a carved image. Nola came on neck and neck with +him, on the side of the road nearer Macdonald.</p> +<p>Macdonald was carrying a rifle in addition to his +side arms, and he was a dusty grim figure to come +upon suddenly afoot in the high road. Chadron +pulled in his horse and brought it to a stiff-legged +stop when he saw Macdonald, who had stepped to +the roadside to let them pass. The old cattleman’s +high-crowned sombrero was pinched to a peak; the +wind of his galloping gait had pressed its broad brim +back from his tough old weathered face. His white +mustache and little dab of pointed beard seemed +whiter against the darkness of passion which mounted +to his scowling eyes.</p> +<p>“What in the hell’re you up to now?” he demanded, +without regard for his companion, who was +accustomed, well enough, to his explosions and expletives.</p> +<p>Macdonald gravely lifted his hand to his hat, his +eyes meeting Nola’s for an instant, Chadron’s challenge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' ></a>97</span> +unanswered. Nola’s face flared at this respectful +salutation as if she had been insulted. She jerked +her horse back a little, as if she feared that violence +would follow the invasion of her caste by this fallen +and branded man, her pliant waist weaving in graceful +balance with every movement of her beast.</p> +<p>Macdonald lowered his eyes from her blazingly +indignant face. Her horse was slewed across the +narrow road, and he considered between waiting for +them to ride on and striking into the shoulder-high +sage which grew thick at the roadside there. He +thought that she was very pretty in her fairness of +hair and skin, and the lake-clear blueness of her eyes. +She was riding astride, as all the women in that +country rode, dressed in wide pantaloonish corduroys, +with twinkling little silver spurs on her heels.</p> +<p>“What’re you prowlin’ down here around my +place for?” Chadron asked, spurring his horse as +he spoke, checking its forward leap with rigid arm, +which made a commotion of hoofs and a cloud of +dust.</p> +<p>“This is a public highway, and I deny your right +to question my motives in it,” Macdonald returned, +calmly.</p> +<p>“Sneakin’ around to see if you can lay hands on +a horse, I suppose,” Chadron said, leaning a little +in towering menace toward the man in the road.</p> +<p>Macdonald felt a hot surge of resentment rise to +his eyes, so suddenly and so strongly that it dimmed +his sight. He shut his mouth hard on the words +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' ></a>98</span> +which sprang into it, and held himself in silence until +he had command of his anger.</p> +<p>“I’m hunting,” said he, meeting Chadron’s eye +with meaning look.</p> +<p>“On foot, and waitin’ for dark!” the cattleman +sneered.</p> +<p>“I’m going on foot because the game I’m after +sticks close to the ground. There’s no need of naming +that game to you—you know what it is.”</p> +<p>Macdonald spoke with cutting severity. Chadron’s +dark face reddened under his steady eyes, and again +the big rowels of his spurs slashed his horse’s sides, +making it bound and trample in threatening charge.</p> +<p>“I don’t know anything about your damn low +business, but I’ll tell you this much; if I ever run +onto you ag’in down this way I’ll do a little huntin’ +on my own accord.”</p> +<p>“That would be squarer, and more to my liking, +than hiring somebody else to do it for you, Mr. Chadron. +Ride on—I don’t want to stand here and quarrel +with you.”</p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to clear you nesters out of there up +the river”—Chadron waved his hand in the direction +of which he spoke—“and put a stop to your rustlin’ +before another month rolls around. I’ve stood your +fences up there on my land as long as I’m goin’ to!”</p> +<p>“I’ve never had a chance to tell you before, Mr. +Chadron”—Macdonald spoke as respectfully as his +deep detestation of the cattleman would allow—“but +if you’ve got any other charge to bring against me +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' ></a>99</span> +except that of homesteading, bring it in a court. +I’m ready to face you on it, any day.”</p> +<p>“I carry my court right here with me,” said +Chadron, patting his revolver.</p> +<p>“I deny its jurisdiction,” Macdonald returned, +drawing himself up, a flash of defiance in his clear +eyes.</p> +<p>Chadron jerked his head in expression of lofty +disdain.</p> +<p>“Go on! Git out of my sight!” he ordered.</p> +<p>“The road is open to you,” Macdonald replied.</p> +<p>“I’m not goin’ to turn my back on you till you’re +out of sight!”</p> +<p>Chadron bent his great owlish brows in a scowl, +laid his hand on his revolver and whirled his horse +in the direction that Macdonald was facing.</p> +<p>Macdonald did not answer. He turned from +Chadron, something in his act of going that told the +cattleman he was above so mean suspicion on his +part. Nola shifted her horse to let him pass, her +elbows tight at her sides, scorn in her lively eyes.</p> +<p>Again Macdonald’s hand went to his hat in respectful +salute, and again he saw that flash of anger +spread in the young woman’s cheeks. Her fury +blazed in her eyes as she looked at him a moment, and +a dull color mounted in his own face as he beheld her +foolish and unjustified pride.</p> +<p>Macdonald would have passed her then, but she +spurred her horse upon him with sudden-breaking +temper, forcing him to spring back quickly to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' ></a>100</span> +roadside to escape being trampled. Before he could +collect himself in his astonishment, she struck him a +whistling blow with her long-thonged quirt across +the face.</p> +<p>“You dog!” she said, her clenched little white +teeth showing in her parted lips.</p> +<p>Macdonald caught the bridle and pushed her horse +back to its haunches, and she, in her reckless anger, +struck him across the hand in sharp quick blows. +Her conduct was comparable to nothing but that of +an ill-bred child striking one whose situation, he has +been told, is the warrant of his inferiority.</p> +<p>The struggle was over in a few seconds, and Macdonald +stood free of the little fury, a red welt across +his cheek, the back of his hand cut until the blood +oozed through the skin in heavy black drops. Chadron +had not moved a hand to interfere on either side. +Only now that the foolish display of Nola’s temper +was done he rocked in his saddle and shook the +empty landscape with his loud, coarse laugh.</p> +<p>He patted his daughter on the shoulder, like a +hunter rewarding a dog. Macdonald walked away +from them, the only humiliation that he felt for the +incident being that which he suffered for her sake.</p> +<p>It was not so much that a woman had debased +herself to the level of a savage, although that hurt +him, too, but that her blows had been the expression +of the contempt in which the lords of that country +held him and his kind. Bullets did not matter so +much, for a man could give them back as hot as they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' ></a>101</span> +came. But there was no answer, as he could see it +in that depressing hour, for such a feudal assertion +of superiority as this.</p> +<p>It was to the work of breaking the hold of this +hard-handed aristocracy which had risen from the +grass roots in the day of its arrogant prosperity—a +prosperity founded on usurpation of the rights of +the weak, and upheld by murder—that he had set +his soul. The need of hastening the reformation +never had seemed greater to him than on that day, +or more hopeless, he admitted in his heart.</p> +<p>For hour by hour the work ahead of him appeared +to grow greater. Little could be expected, judging +by the experiences of the past few days, from those +who suffered most. The day of extremest pressure +in their poor affairs was being hastened by the cattlemen, +as Chadron’s threat had foretold. Would they +when the time came to fight do so, or harness their +lean teams and drive on into the west? That was the +big question upon which the success or the failure of +his work depended.</p> +<p>As he had come down from the hillside out of the +sunshine and peace to meet shadow and violence, so +his high spirits, hopes, and intentions seemed this +bitter hour steeped in sudden gloom. In more ways +than one that evening on the white river road, Alan +Macdonald felt that he was afoot and alone.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' ></a>102</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_IX_BUSINESS_NOT_COMPANY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>BUSINESS, NOT COMPANY</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Saul Chadron was at breakfast next morning +when Maggie the cook appeared in the dining-room +and announced a visitor for the señor boss. +Maggie’s eyes were bulging, and she did a great deal +of pantomime with her shapely shoulders to express +her combined fright, disgust, and indignation.</p> +<p>Chadron looked up from his ham and eggs, with +a considerable portion of the eggs on the blade of +his knife, handle-down in one fist, his fork standing +like a lightning rod in the other, and asked her who +the man was and what he wanted at that hour of the +day. Chadron was eating by lamplight, and alone, +according to his thrifty custom of slipping up on +the day before it was awake, as if in the hope of +surprising it at a vast disadvantage to itself, after +his way of handling men and things.</p> +<p>“<i>Es un extranjero</i>,” replied Maggie, forgetting +her English in her excitement.</p> +<p>“Talk white man, you old sow!” Chadron growled.</p> +<p>“He ees a es-trenger, I do not knowed to heem.”</p> +<p>“Tell him to go to the barn and wait, I’ll be out +there in a minute.”</p> +<p>“He will not a-goed. I told to heem—whee!” +Maggie clamped her hands to her back as if somebody +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' ></a>103</span> +had caught her in a ticklish spot, as she +squealed, and jumped into the room where the grand +duke of the cattlemen’s nobility was taking his refreshment.</p> +<p>Chadron had returned to his meal after ordering +her to send his visitor to the barn. He was swabbing +his knife in the fold of a pancake when Maggie made +that frightful, shivering exclamation and jumped +aside out of the door. Now he looked up to reprove +her, and met the smoky eyes of Mark Thorn peering +in from the kitchen.</p> +<p>“What’re you doin’ around here, you old—come +in—shut that door! Git him some breakfast,” he +ordered, turning to Maggie.</p> +<p>Maggie hung back a moment, until Thorn had +come into the room, then she shot into the kitchen +like a cat through a fence, and slammed the door +behind her.</p> +<p>“What in the hell do you mean by comin’ around +here?” Chadron demanded angrily. “Didn’t I tell +you never to come here? you blink-eyed old snag-shin!”</p> +<p>“You told me,” Thorn admitted, putting his rifle +down across a chair, drawing another to the table, +and seating himself in readiness for the coming meal.</p> +<p>“Then what’d you sneak—”</p> +<p>“News,” said Thorn, in his brief way.</p> +<p>“Which news?” Chadron brightened hopefully, his +implements, clamped in his hairy fists, inviting the +first bolt from the heavens.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' ></a>104</span></div> +<p>“I got him last night.”</p> +<p>“You got—<i>him?</i>” Chadron lifted himself from +his chair on his bent legs in the excitement of the +news.</p> +<p>“And I’m through with this job. I’ve come to +cash in, and quit.”</p> +<p>“The hell you say!”</p> +<p>“I’m gittin’ too old for this kind of work. That +feller chased me around till my tongue was hangin’ +out so fur I stepped on it. I tell you he was—”</p> +<p>“How did you do it?”</p> +<p>Thorn looked at him with a scowl. “Well, I never +used a club on a man yit,” he said.</p> +<p>“Where did it happen at?”</p> +<p>“Up there at his place. He’d been chasin’ me for +two days, and when he went back—after grub, I +reckon—I doubled on him. Just as he went in the +door I got him. I left him with his damn feet stickin’ +out like a shoemaker’s sign.”</p> +<p>“How fur was you off from him, Mark?”</p> +<p>“Fifty yards, more ’r less.”</p> +<p>“Did you go over to him to see if he was finished, +or just creased?”</p> +<p>“I never creased a man in my life!” Thorn was +indignant over the imputation.</p> +<p>Chadron shook his head, in doubt, in discredit, in +gloomy disbelief.</p> +<p>“If you didn’t go up to him and turn him over +and look at the whites of his eyes, you ain’t sure,” +he protested. “That man’s as slippery as wet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' ></a>105</span> +leather—he’s fooled more than one that thought they had +him, and I’ll bet you two bits he’s fooled you.”</p> +<p>“Go and see, and settle it yourself, then,” Thorn +proposed, in surly humor.</p> +<p>Chadron had suspended his breakfast, as if the +news had come between him and his appetite. He +sat in a study, his big hand curved round his cup, +his gaze on the cloth. At that juncture Maggie +came in with a platter of eggs and ham, which she +put down before Mark Thorn skittishly, ready to +jump at the slightest hostile start. Thorn began to +eat, as calmly as if there was not a stain on his +crippled soul.</p> +<p>Unlike the meal of canned oysters which he had +consumed as Chadron’s guest not many days before, +Thorn was not welcomed to this by friendly words +and urging to take off the limit. Chadron sat watching +him, in divided attention and with dark face, as +if he turned troubles over in his mind.</p> +<p>Thorn cleaned the platter in front of him, and +looked round hungrily, like a cat that has half-satisfied +its stomach on a stolen bird. He said nothing, +only he reached his foul hand across the table and +took up the dish containing the remnant of Chadron’s +breakfast. This he soon cleared up, when he rasped +the back of his hand across his harsh mustache, like +a vulture preening its filthy plumage, and leaned +back with a full-stomached sigh.</p> +<p>“He makes six,” said he, looking hard at Chadron.</p> +<p>“Huh!” Chadron grunted, noncommittally.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' ></a>106</span></div> +<p>“I want the money, down on the nail, a thousand +for the job. I’m through.”</p> +<p>“I’ll have to look into it. I ain’t payin’ for anything +sight ’nseen,” Chadron told him, starting out +of his speculative wanderings.</p> +<p>“Money down, on the nail,” repeated Thorn, as if +he had not heard. His old cap was hovering over +his long hair, its flaps down like the wings of a brooding +hen. There were clinging bits of broken sage on +it, and burrs, which it had gathered in his skulking +through the brush.</p> +<p>“I’ll send a man up the river right away, and +find out about this last one,” Chadron told him, +nodding slowly. “If you’ve got Macdonald—”</p> +<p>“If hell’s got fire in it!”</p> +<p>“If you’ve got him, I’ll put something to the +figure agreed on between you and me. The other +fellers you’ve knocked over don’t count.”</p> +<p>“I’ll hang around—”</p> +<p>“Not here! You’ll not hang around here, I tell +you!” Chadron cut him off harshly, fairly bristling. +“Snake along out of here, and don’t let anybody +see you. I’ll meet you at the hotel in the morning.”</p> +<p>“Gittin’ peticlar of your company, ain’t you?” +sneered Thorn.</p> +<p>“You’re not company—you’re business,” Chadron +told him, with stern and reproving eyes.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Chadron found Mark Thorn smoking into the +chimney in the hotel office next morning, apparently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' ></a>107</span> +as if he had not moved from that spot since their +first meeting on that peculiar business. The old man-killer +did not turn his head as Chadron entered the +room with a show of caution and suspicion in his +movements, and closed the door after him.</p> +<p>He crossed over to the fire and stood near Thorn, +who was slouching low in his chair, his long legs +stretched straight, his heels crossed before the low +ashy fire that smoldered in the chimney. For a little +while Chadron stood looking down on his hired +scourge, a knitting of displeasure in his face, as if +he waited for him to break the silence. Thorn continued +his dark reverie undisturbed, it seemed, his +pipestem between his fingers.</p> +<p>“Yes, it was his damn hired hand!” said Chadron, +with profound disgust.</p> +<p>“That’s what I heard you say,” acknowledged +Thorn, not moving his head.</p> +<p>“You knew it all the time; you was tryin’ to work +me for the money, so you could light out!”</p> +<p>“I didn’t even know he had a hired hand!” Thorn +drew in his legs, straightened his back, and came with +considerable spirit to the defense of his evil intent.</p> +<p>“Well, he ain’t got none now, but <i>he’s</i> alive and +kickin’. You’ve bungled on this job worse than an +old woman. I didn’t fetch you in here to clean out +hired hands and kids; we can shake a blanket and +scare that kind out of the country!”</p> +<p>“Well, put him in at fifty then, if he was only a +hired hand,” said Thorn, willing to oblige.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' ></a>108</span></div> +<p>“When you go ahead and do what you agreed +to, then we’ll talk money, and not a red till then.”</p> +<p>Thorn got up, unlimbering slowly, and laid the +pipe on the mantel-shelf. He seemed unmoved, indifferent; +apathetic as a toothless old lion. After a +little silence he shook his head.</p> +<p>“I’m done, I tell you,” he said querulously, as if +raising the question crossed him. “Pay me for that +many, and call it square.”</p> +<p>“Bring in Macdonald,” Chadron demanded in firm +tones.</p> +<p>“I ain’t a-goin’ to touch him! If I keep on after +that man he’ll git <i>me</i>—it’s on the cards, I can see +it in the dark.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you’re lost your nerve, you old wildcat!” +There was a taunt in Chadron’s voice, a sneer.</p> +<p>Thorn turned on him, a savage, smothered noise in +his throat.</p> +<p>“You can say that because you owe me money, but +you know it’s a damn lie! If you didn’t owe me +money, I’d make you swaller it with hot lead!”</p> +<p>“You’re talkin’ a little too free for a man of your +trade, Mark.” While Chadron’s tone was tolerant, +even friendly, there was an undercurrent of warning, +even threat, in his words.</p> +<p>“You’re the feller that’s lettin’ his gab outrun +his gumption. How many does that make for me, +talkin’ about nerve, how many? Do you know?”</p> +<p>“I don’t care how many, it lacks one of bein’ +enough to suit me.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' ></a>109</span></div> +<p>“Twenty-eight, and I’ve got ’em down in m’ book +and I can prove it!”</p> +<p>“Make it twenty-nine, and then quit if you +want to.”</p> +<p>“Maybe I will.” Thorn leaned forward a little, +a glitter in his smoky eyes.</p> +<p>Chadron fell back, his face growing pale. His +hand was on his weapon, his eyes noting narrowly +every move Thorn made.</p> +<p>“If you ever sling a gun on me, you old devil, it’ll +be—”</p> +<p>“I ain’t a-goin’ to sling no gun on you as long as +you owe me money. I ain’t a-goin’ to cut the bottom +out of m’ own money-poke, Chad; you don’t need +to swivel up in your hide, you ain’t marked for +twenty-nine.”</p> +<p>“Well, don’t throw out any more hints like that; +I don’t like that kind of a joke.”</p> +<p>“No, I wouldn’t touch a hair of your head,” Thorn +ran on, following a vein which seemed to amuse him, +for he smiled, a horrible, face-drawing contortion +of a smile, “for if you and me ever had a fallin’ out +over money I might git so hard up I couldn’t travel, +and one of them sheriff fellers might slip up on me.”</p> +<p>“What’s all this fool gab got to do with business?” +Chadron was impatient; he looked at his +watch.</p> +<p>“Well, I’d be purty sure to make a speech from +the gallers—I always intended to—and lay everything +open that ever took place between me and you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' ></a>110</span> +and the rest of them big fellers. There’s a newspaper +feller in Cheyenne that wants to make a book +out of m’ life, with m’ pict’re in the inside of the lid, +to be sold when I’m dead. I could git money for +tellin’ that feller what I know.”</p> +<p>“Go on and tell him then,”—Chadron spoke with +a dare in his words, and derision—“that’ll be easy +money, and it won’t call for any nerve. But you +don’t need to be plannin’ any speech from the gallus—you’ll +never go that fur if you try to double-cross +me!”</p> +<p>“I ain’t aimin’ to double-cross no man, but you +can call it that if it suits you. You can call it whatever +you purty damn well care to—I’m done!”</p> +<p>Chadron made no reply to that. He was pulling +on his great gloves, frowning savagely, as if he meant +to close the matter with what he had said, and go.</p> +<p>“Do I git any money, or don’t I?” Thorn asked, +sharply.</p> +<p>“When you bring in that wolf’s tail.”</p> +<p>“I ain’t a-goin’ to touch that feller, I tell you, +Chad. That man means bad luck to me—I can read +it in the cards.”</p> +<p>“Maybe you call that kind of skulkin’ livin’ up +to your big name?” Chadron spoke in derision, playing +on the vanity which he knew to be as much a +part of that old murderer’s life as the blood of his +merciless heart.</p> +<p>“I’ve got glory enough,” said Thorn, satisfaction +in his voice; “what I want right now’s money.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' ></a>111</span></div> +<p>“Earn it before you collect it.”</p> +<p>“Twenty-eight ’d fill a purty fair book, countin’ +in what I could tell about the men I’ve had dealin’s +with,” Thorn reflected, as to himself, leaning against +the mantel, frowning down at the floor with bent +head.</p> +<p>“Talk till you’re empty, you old fool, and who’ll +believe you? Huh! you couldn’t git yourself hung +if you was to try!” Chadron’s dark face was blacker +for the spreading flood of resentful blood; he pointed +with his heavy quirt at Thorn, as if to impress him +with a sense of the smallness of his wickedness, which +men would not credit against the cattlemen’s word, +even if he should publish it abroad. “You’ll never +walk onto the scaffold, no matter how hard you try—there’ll +be somebody around to head you off and +give you a shorter cut than that, I’m here to tell +you!”</p> +<p>“Huh!” said Thorn, still keeping his thoughtful +pose.</p> +<p>Man-killing is a trade that reacts differently on +those who follow it, according to their depth and +nature. It makes black devils of some who were once +civil, smiling, wholesome men, whether the mischance +of life-taking has fallen to them in their duty to society +or in outlawed deeds. It plunges some into +dark taciturnity and brooding coldness, as if they +had eaten of some root which blunted them to all +common relish of life.</p> +<p>There are others of whom the bloody trade makes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' ></a>112</span> +gabbling fools, light-headed, wild-eyed wasters of +words, full of the importance of their mind-wrecking +deeds. Like the savage whose reputation mounts +with each wet scalp, each fresh head, these kill out +of depravity, glorying in the growing score. To this +class Mark Thorn belonged.</p> +<p>There was but one side left to that depraved man’s +mind; his bloody, base life had smothered the rest +under the growing heap of his horrible deeds. Thorn +had killed twenty-eight human beings for hire, of +whom he had tally, but there was one to be included +of whom he had not taken count—himself.</p> +<p>As he stood here against the chimney-shelf he was +only the outside husk of a man. His soul had been +judged already, and burned out of him by the unholy +passion which he had indulged. He was as simple in +his garrulous chatter of glory and distinction as a +half-fool. His warped mind ran only on the spectacular +end that he had planned for himself, and the +speech from the gallows that was to be the black, +damning seal at the end of his atrocious life’s record.</p> +<p>Thorn looked up from his study; he shook his +head decisively.</p> +<p>“I ain’t a-goin’ to go back over there in your +country and give you a chance at me. If you git +me, you’ll have to git me here. I ain’t a-goin’ to +sling a gun down on nobody for the money that’s in +it, I tell you. I’m through; I’m out of the game; my +craw’s full. It’s a bad sign when a man wastes a +bullet on a hired hand, takin’ him for the boss, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' ></a>113</span> +I ain’t a-goin’ to run no more resks on that feller. +When my day for glory comes I’ll step out on the +gallers and say m’ piece, and they’ll be some big +fellers in this country huntin’ the tall grass about +that time, I guess.”</p> +<p>Chadron had taken up his quirt from the little +round table where the hotel register lay. He turned +now toward the outer door, as if in earnest about +going his way and leaving Mark Thorn to follow +his own path, no matter to what consequences it +might lead.</p> +<p>“If you’re square enough to settle up with me for +this job,” said Thorn, “and pay me five hundred for +what I’ve done, I’ll leave your name out when I come +to make that little speech.”</p> +<p>Chadron turned on him with a sneer. “You seem +to have your hangin’ all cut and dried, but you’ll +never go ten miles outside of this reservation if you +don’t turn around and put that job through. You’ll +never hang—you ain’t cut out in the hangin’ style.”</p> +<p>“I tell you I will!” protested Thorn hotly. “I +can see it in the cards.”</p> +<p>“Well, you’d better shuffle ’em ag’in.”</p> +<p>“I know what kind of a day it’s goin’ to be, and +I know just adzackly how I’ll look when I hold up +m’ hands for them fellers to keep still. Shucks! you +can’t tell me; I’ve seen that day a thousand times. +It’ll be early in the mornin’, and the sun bright—”</p> +<p>The door leading to the dining-room opened, and +Thorn left his description of that great and final day +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' ></a>114</span> +in his career hanging like a broken bridge. He +turned to see who it was, squinting his old eyes up +sharply, and in watching the stranger he failed to +see the whiteness that came over Chadron’s face like +a rushing cloud.</p> +<p>“Grab your gun!” Chadron whispered.</p> +<p>“Just let it stay where it is, Thorn,” advised the +stranger, his quick hand on his own weapon before +Thorn could grasp what it was all about, believing, +as he did, in the safety of the reservation’s neutral +ground. “Macdonald is my name; I’ve been looking +for you.” The stranger came on as he spoke.</p> +<p>He was but a few feet away from Thorn, and the +old man-killer had his revolvers buckled around him +in their accustomed place, while his death-spreading +rifle stood near his hand, leaning its muzzle against +the chimney-jamb. Thorn seemed to be measuring +all the chances which he had left to him in that bold +surprise, and to conclude in the same second that +they were not worth taking.</p> +<p>Macdonald had not drawn his revolver. His hand +was on the butt of it, and his eye held Thorn with a +challenge that the old slayer was in no mind to accept.</p> +<p>Thorn was not a close-fighting man. He never had +killed one of his kind in a face-to-face battle in all +his bloody days. At the bottom he was a coward, +as his skulking deeds attested, and in that moment he +knew that he stood before his master. Slowly he +lifted his long arms above his head, without a word, +and stood in the posture of complete surrender.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' ></a>115</span></div> +<p>Nearer the outer door stood Chadron, to whom +Macdonald seemed to give little attention, as if not +counting him in the game. The big cattleman was +“white to the gills,” as his kind expressed that state. +Macdonald unbuckled Thorn’s belt and hung his +revolvers over his arm.</p> +<p>“I knowed you’d git me, Macdonald,” the old +scoundrel said.</p> +<p>Macdonald, haggard and dusty, and grim as the +last day that old Mark Thorn had pictured for himself, +pushed his prisoner away from the chimney, +out of reach of the rifle, and indicated that he was +to march for the open door, through which the tables +in the dining-room could be seen. At Macdonald’s +coming Chadron had thrown his hand to his revolver, +where he still held it, as if undecided how far to go.</p> +<p>“Keep your gun where it is, Chadron,” Macdonald +advised. “This isn’t my day for you. Clear out of +here—quick!”</p> +<p>Chadron backed toward the front door, his hand +still dubiously on his revolver. Still suspicious, his +face as white as it would have been in death, he +reached back with his free hand to open the door.</p> +<p>“I told you he’d git me,” nodded Thorn, with +something near to exultation in the vindication of his +reading of the cards. “I give you a chance—no +man’s money ain’t a-goin’ to shut my mouth now!”</p> +<p>“I’ll shut it, damn you!” Chadron’s voice was dry-sounding +and far up in his throat. He drew his revolver +with a quick jerk that seemed nothing more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' ></a>116</span> +than a slight movement of the shoulder. Quick as +he was—and few in the cattlemen’s baronies were +ahead of him there—Macdonald was quicker. The +muzzle of Chadron’s pistol was still in the leather +when Macdonald’s weapon was leveled at his eyes.</p> +<p>“Drop that gun!”</p> +<p>A moment Chadron’s arm hung stiffly in that half-finished +movement, while his eyes gave defiance. He +had not bent before any man in many a year of +growing power. But there was no other way; it +was either bend or break, and the break would be +beyond repair.</p> +<p>Chadron’s fingers were damp with sudden sweat +as he unclasped them from the pistol-butt and let +the weapon fall; sweat was on his forehead, and a +heaviness on his chest as if a man sat on him. He +felt backwards through the open door with one foot, +like an old man distrustful of his limbs, and steadied +himself with his shoulder against the jamb, for there +was a trembling in his knees. He knew that he had +saved himself from the drop into eternal inconsequence +by the shading of a second, for there was +death in dusty Alan Macdonald’s face. The escape +left Chadron shaken, like a man who has held himself +away from death by his finger-ends at the lip of +a ledge.</p> +<p>“I knowed you’d git me, Macdonald,” Thorn repeated. +“You don’t need no handcuffs nor nothin’ +for me. I’ll go along with you as gentle as a fish.”</p> +<p>Macdonald indicated that Thorn might lower his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' ></a>117</span> +arms, having taken possession of the rifle. “Have +you got a horse?” he asked.</p> +<p>Thorn said that he had one in the hotel stable. +“But don’t you try to take me too fur, Macdonald,” +he advised. “Chadron he’ll ride a streak to git his +men together and try to take me away from you—I +could see it in his eye when he went out of that door.”</p> +<p>Macdonald knew that Thorn had read Chadron’s +intentions right. He nodded, to let him know that he +understood the cattleman’s motives.</p> +<p>“Well, don’t you run me off to no private rope +party, neither, Macdonald, for I can tell you things +that many a man’d pay me big money to keep my +mouth shut on.”</p> +<p>“You’ll have a chance, Thorn.”</p> +<p>“But I want it done in the right way, so’s I’ll git +the credit and the fame.”</p> +<p>Macdonald was surprised to find this man, whose +infamous career had branded him as the arch-monster +of modern times, so vain and garrulous. He could +account for it by no other hypothesis than that much +killing had indurated the warped mind of the slayer +until the taking of a human life was to him a commonplace. +He was not capable of remorse, any more +than he had been disposed to pity. He was not a +man, only the blighted and cursed husk of a man, +indeed, but doubly dangerous for his irresponsibility, +for his atrophied small understanding.</p> +<p>Twenty miles lay between the prisoner and the +doubtful security of the jail at Meander, and most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' ></a>118</span> +of the distance was through the grazing lands within +Chadron’s bounds. On the other hand, it was not +more than twelve miles to his ranch on the river. He +believed that he could reach it before Chadron could +raise men to stop him and take the prisoner away.</p> +<p>Once home with Thorn, he could raise a posse to +guard him until the sheriff could be summoned. Even +then there was no certainty that the prisoner ever +would see the inside of the Meander jail, for the +sheriff of that county was nothing more than one +of Chadron’s cowboys, elevated to office to serve the +unrighteous desires of the men who had put him +there.</p> +<p>But Macdonald was determined that there should +be no private rope party for Thorn, neither at the +hands of the prisoner’s employers nor at those of +the outraged settlers. Thorn must be brought to +trial publicly, and the story of his employment, +which he appeared ready enough to tell for the +“glory” in it, must be told in a manner that would +establish its value.</p> +<p>The cruelly inhuman tale of his contracts and +killings, his engagements and rewards, must be sown +by the newspapers far and wide. Out of this dark +phase of their oppression their deliverance must +rise.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' ></a>119</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_X_HELLS_AGOIN_TO_POP'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>“HELL’S A-GOIN’ TO POP”</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Chance Dalton, foreman of Alamito Ranch, +was in charge of the expedition that rode late +that afternoon against Macdonald’s homestead to +liberate Mark Thorn, and close his mouth in the +cattlemen’s effective way upon the bloody secrets +which he might in vainglorious boast reveal. Chadron +had promised rewards for the successful outcome +of the venture, and Chance Dalton rode with +his three picked men in a sportsman’s heat.</p> +<p>He was going out on a hunt for game such as he +had run down more than once before in his many +years under Chadron’s hand. It was better sport +than running down wolves or mountain lions, for +there was the superior intelligence of the game to +be considered. No man knew what turn the ingenuity +of desperation might give the human mind. The +hunted might go out in one last splendid blaze of +courage, or he might cringe and beg, with white face +and rolling eyes. In the case of Macdonald, Dalton +anticipated something unusual. He had tasted that +unaccountable homesteader’s spirit in the past.</p> +<p>Dalton was a wiry, tough man who rode with his +elbows out, like an Indian. His face was scarred by +old knife-wounds, making it hard for him to shave, +in consequence of which he allowed his red beard +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' ></a>120</span> +to grow to inch-length, where he kept it in subjugation +with shears. The gutters of his scars were +seen through it, and the ends of them ran up, on +both cheeks, to his eyes. A knife had gone across +one of these, missing the bright little pupil in its +bony cave, but slashing the eyebrow and leaving him +leering on that side.</p> +<p>The men who came behind him were cowboys from +the Texas Panhandle, lean and tough as the dried +beef of their native plains. It was the most formidable +force, not in numbers, but in proficiency, that +ever had proceeded against Macdonald, and the most +determined.</p> +<p>Chadron himself had bent to the small office of +spy to learn Macdonald’s intention in reference to +his prisoner. From a sheltered thicket in the foothills +the cattleman had watched the homesteader +through his field glasses, making certain that he was +returning Thorn to the scene of his latest crimes, +instead of risking the long road to the Meander jail.</p> +<p>Chadron knew that Macdonald would defend the +prisoner’s life with his own, even against his neighbors. +Macdonald would be as eager to have Thorn +tell the story of his transactions with the Drovers’ +Association as they would be to have it shut off. The +realization of this threw Chadron into a state which +he described to himself as the “fantods.” Another, +with a more extensive and less picturesque vocabulary, +would have said that the president of the Drovers’ +Association was in a condition of panic.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' ></a>121</span></div> +<p>So he had despatched his men on this silencing +errand, and now, as the sun was dipping over the +hills, all red with the presage of a frosty night, +Chance Dalton and his men came riding in sight of +Macdonald’s little nest of buildings fronting the road +by the river.</p> +<p>Macdonald had secured his prisoner with ropes, +for there was no compartment in his little house, built +of boards from the mountain sawmill, strong enough +to confine a man, much less a slippery one like Mark +Thorn. The slayer had lapsed into his native taciturnity +shortly after beginning the trip from the +reservation to Macdonald’s homestead, and now he +lay on the floor trussed up like a hog for market, +looking blackly at Macdonald. Macdonald was considering +the night ride to Meander with his prisoner +that he had planned, with the intention of proceeding +from there to Cheyenne and lodging him in jail. +He believed there might be a better chance of holding +him for trial there, and some slight hope of justice.</p> +<p>A hail from the gate startled Macdonald. It was +the custom of the homesteaders in that country, +carried with them from the hills of Missouri and +Arkansas, to sit in their saddles at a neighbor’s gate +and call him to the door with a long “hello-o-oh!” +It was the password of friendship in that raw land; +a cowboy never had been known to stoop to its use. +Cowboys rode up to a homesteader’s door when they +had anything to say to him, and hammered on it with +their guns.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' ></a>122</span></div> +<p>Macdonald went to the door and opened it unhesitatingly. +The horseman at the gate was a stranger +to him. He wore a little derby hat, such as the +cowpunchers despised, and the trappings of his horse +proclaimed him as a newcomer to that country. He +inquired loudly of the road to Fort Shakie, and Macdonald +shouted back the necessary directions, moving +a step away from his open door.</p> +<p>The stranger put his hand to his ear and leaned +over.</p> +<p>“Which?” said he.</p> +<p>At that sound of that distinctly-cowboy vernacular, +Macdonald sprang back to regain the shelter +of his walls, sensing too late the trap that the cowboy’s +unguarded word had betrayed. Chance Dalton +at one corner of the rude bungalow, his next +best man at the other, had been waiting for the +decoy at the gate to draw Macdonald away from his +door. Now, as the homesteader leaped back in sudden +alarm, they closed in on him with their revolvers +drawn.</p> +<p>There was the sound of a third man trying the +back door at the same time, and the disguised cowboy +at the gate slung his weapon out and sent a +wild shot into the lintel above Macdonald’s head. +The two of them on the ground had him at a disadvantage +which it would have been fatal to dispute, +and Macdonald, valuing a future chance more than a +present hopeless struggle, flung his hands out in a +gesture of emptiness and surrender.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' ></a>123</span></div> +<p>“Put ’em up—high!” Dalton ordered.</p> +<p>Dalton watched him keenly as the three in that +picture before the door stood keyed to such tension +as the human intelligence seldom is called upon to +withstand. Macdonald stood with one foot on the +low threshold, the door swinging half open at his +back. He was bareheaded, his rough, fair hair in +wisps on temples and forehead. Dalton’s teeth were +showing between his bearded lips, and his quick eyes +were scowling, but he held his companion back with +a command of his free hand.</p> +<p>Macdonald lifted his hands slowly, holding them +little above a level with his shoulders.</p> +<p>“Give up your prisoner, Macdonald, and we’ll deal +square with you,” Dalton said.</p> +<p>“Go in and take him,” offered Macdonald, stepping +aside out of the door.</p> +<p>“Go ahead of us, and put ’em up higher!” Dalton +made a little expressive flourish with his gun, evidently +distrustful of the homesteader’s quick hand, +even at his present disadvantage.</p> +<p>The man at the back door was using the ax from +Macdonald’s wood pile, as the sound of splintering +timber told. Between three fires, Macdonald felt his +chance stretching to the breaking point, for he had +no faith at all in Chance Dalton’s word. They had +come to get him, and it looked now as if they had +won.</p> +<p>When Macdonald entered the house he saw Thorn +sitting in the middle of the floor, where he had rolled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' ></a>124</span> +and struggled in his efforts to see what was taking +place outside.</p> +<p>“You’ve played hell now, ain’t you? lettin’ ’em git +the drop on you that way!” he said to Macdonald, +angrily. “They’ll swing—”</p> +<p>“Hand over that gun, Macdonald,” Dalton demanded. +They were standing near him, one on either +hand, both leveling their guns at his head. Macdonald +could see the one at the back door of his little +two-roomed bungalow through the hole that he had +chopped.</p> +<p>“I don’t hand my gun to any man; if you want +it, come and take it,” Macdonald said, feeling that +the end was rushing upon him, and wondering what it +would be. A bullet was better than a rope, which +Chadron had publicly boasted he had laid up for +him. There was a long chance if Dalton reached +for that gun—a long and desperate chance.</p> +<p>The man at the back door was shouting something, +his gun thrust through the hole. Dalton made a +cross-reach with his left hand for Macdonald’s revolver. +On the other side the cowboy was watching +his comrade’s gun pointing through the kitchen door; +Macdonald could see the whites of his eyes as he +turned them.</p> +<p>“Don’t shoot in here! we’ve got ’em,” he called.</p> +<p>His shifted eye told Macdonald that he was trusting +to Dalton, and Dalton at that moment was leaning +forward with a strain, cautiously, his hand near +Macdonald’s holster.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' ></a>125</span></div> +<p>Macdonald brought his lifted arms down, like a +swimmer making a mighty stroke, with all the steam +behind them that he could raise. His back-handed +blow struck the cowboy in the face; Macdonald felt +the flame of his shot as it spurted past his forehead. +The other arm fell short of the nimbler and more +watchful Dalton, but the duck that he made to escape +it broke the drop that he had held over Macdonald.</p> +<p>Macdonald’s hand flashed up with his own gun. +He drove a disabling shot through Dalton’s wrist as +the ranch foreman was coming up to fire, and kicked +the gun that he dropped out of reach of his other +hand. The cowboy who had caught Macdonald’s +desperate blow had staggered back against the foot +of the bed and fallen. Now he had regained himself, +and was crouching behind the bed, trying to cover +himself, and from there as he shrank down he fired. +The next flash he sprawled forward with hands outstretched +across the blanket, as if he had fallen on +his knees to pray.</p> +<p>Macdonald caught Dalton by the shirt collar as +he went scrambling on his knees after the revolver. +Dalton was splashing blood from his shattered wrist +over the room, but he was senseless to pain and blind +to danger. He sprang at Macdonald, cursing and +striking.</p> +<p>“Keep off, Dalton! I don’t want to kill you, +man!” Macdonald warned.</p> +<p>Careless of his life Dalton fought, and as they +struggled Mark Thorn undoubled himself from his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' ></a>126</span> +hunched position on the floor and snatched Dalton’s +revolver in his bound hands from the floor. His long +legs free of his binding ropes, Thorn sprang for the +door. He reached it at the moment that the man in +the disguise of a homesteader pushed it open.</p> +<p>Macdonald did not see what took place there, for +it was over by the time he had struck Dalton into a +limp quiet heap at his feet by a blow with his revolver +across the eyes. But there had been a shot +at the door, and Macdonald had heard the man from +the back come running around the side of the house. +There were more shots, but all done before Macdonald +could leap to the door.</p> +<p>There, through the smoke of many quick shots +that drifted into the open door, he saw the two cowboys +fallen with outflung arms. In the road a few +rods distant Mark Thorn was mounting one of +Chadron’s horses. The old outlaw flung himself flat +along the horse’s neck, and presented little of his +vital parts as a target. As he galloped away Macdonald +fired, but apparently did not hit. In a +moment Thorn rode down the river-bank and out of +sight.</p> +<p>Macdonald stood a little while in the middle of the +disordered room after re-entering the house, a feeling +of great silence about him, and a numbness in his +ears and over his senses. It was a sensation such as +he had experienced once after standing for hours +under the spell of Niagara. Something seemed to +have been silenced in the world.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' ></a>127</span></div> +<p>He was troubled over the outcome of that treacherous +assault. He felt that the shadow of the resultant +tragedy was already stretching away from there +like the penumbra of an eclipse which must soon +engulf those homesteads on the river, and exact a +terrible, blasting toll.</p> +<p>Dalton was huddled there, his life wasting through +the wound in his wrist, blood on his face from the +blow that had laid him still. The dead man across +the bed remained as he had fallen, his arms stretched +out in empty supplication. There was a pathos in +the fellow’s pose that touched Macdonald with a pity +which he knew to be undeserved. He had not meant +to take his life away in that hasty shot, but since it +had happened so, he knew that it had been his own +deliverance.</p> +<p>Macdonald stripped the garment back and looked +at Dalton’s hurt. There would be another one to +take toll for in the cattlemen’s list unless the drain +of blood could be checked at once. Dalton moved, +opening his eyes.</p> +<p>It seemed unlikely that Dalton ever would sling +a gun with that member again, if he should be so +lucky, indeed, as to come through with his life. The +bone was shattered, the hand hung limp, like a broken +wing. Dalton sat up, yielding his arm to his enemy’s +ministrations, as silent and ungracious as a dog. In +a little while Macdonald had done all that he could +do, and with a hand under the hollow of Dalton’s arm +he lifted him to his feet.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' ></a>128</span></div> +<p>“Can you ride?” he asked. Dalton did not reply. +He looked at the figure on the bed, and stood turning +his eyes around the room in the manner of one +stunned, and completely confounded by the failure +of a scheme counted infallible.</p> +<p>“You made a botch of this job, Dalton,” Macdonald +said. “The rest of your crowd’s outside +where Thorn dropped them—he snatched your gun +from the floor and killed both of them.”</p> +<p>Dalton went weakly to the door, where he stood a +moment, steadying himself with a hand on the jamb. +Macdonald eased him from there to the gate, and +brought the horses which the gang had hidden among +the willows.</p> +<p>“Tell Chadron to send a wagon up here after these +dead men,” Macdonald said, leading a horse to the +gate.</p> +<p>He helped the still silent Dalton into the saddle, +where he sat weakly. The man seemed to be debating +something to say to this unaccountably fortunate +nester, who came untouched through all their attempts +upon his life. But whatever it was that he +cogitated he kept to himself, only turning his eyes +back toward the house, where his two men lay on the +ground. The face of one was turned upward. In +the draining light of the spent day it looked as white +as innocence.</p> +<p>As Dalton drew his eyes away from the fearful +evidence of his plan’s miscarriage, the sound of hard +riding came from the direction of the settlement up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' ></a>129</span> +the river. Macdonald listened a moment as the +sound grew.</p> +<p>“That will be no friend of yours, Dalton. Get out +of this!”</p> +<p>He cut Dalton’s horse a sharp blow. The beast +bounded away with a start that almost unseated its +dizzy rider; the two free animals galloped after it. +Chance Dalton was on his way to Chadron with his +burden of disgrace and disastrous news. It seemed +a question to Macdonald, as he watched him weaving +in the saddle as the gloom closed around him and shut +him from sight, whether he ever would reach the +ranchhouse to recount his story, whatever version of +the tragedy he had planned.</p> +<p>Tom Lassiter drew up before Macdonald’s gate +while the dust of Dalton’s going was still hanging +there. The gaunt old homesteader with the cloud +of sorrows in his eyes said that he had been on his +way over to see what had become of Macdonald in +his lone hunt for Mark Thorn. He had heard the +shooting, and the sound had hurried him forward.</p> +<p>Macdonald told him what had happened, and took +him in to see the wreckage left after that sudden +storm. Tom shook his head as he stood in the yard +looking down at the two dead men.</p> +<p>“Hell’s a-goin’ to pop now!” he said.</p> +<p>“I think you’ve said the word, Tom,” Macdonald +admitted. “They’ll come back on me hard for this.”</p> +<p>“You’ll never have to stand up to ’em alone another +time, I’ll give you a guarantee on that, Mac.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' ></a>130</span></div> +<p>“I’m glad to hear it,” Macdonald replied, but +wearily, and with no warmth or faith in his words.</p> +<p>“And they let that old scorpeen loose to skulk +and kill ag’in!”</p> +<p>“Yes, he got away.”</p> +<p>“They sure did oncork a hornet’s nest when they +come here this time, though, they sure did!” Tom +stood in the door, looking into the darkening room +and at the figure sprawled across the bed. “He-ell’s +a-goin’ to pop now!” he said again, in slow words +scarcely above his breath.</p> +<p>He turned his head searchingly, as if he expected +to see the cloud of it already lowering out of the +night.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' ></a>131</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XI_THE_SEOR_BOSS_COMES_RIDING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>THE SEÑOR BOSS COMES RIDING</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Nola Chadron had been a guest overnight at +the post. She had come the afternoon before, +bright as a bubble, and Frances had met her with a +welcome as warm as if there never had been a shadow +between them.</p> +<p>Women can do such things so much better than +men. Balzac said they could murder under the cover +of a kiss. Perhaps somebody else said it ahead of +him; certainly a great many of us have thought it +after. There is not one out of the whole world of +them but is capable of covering the fire of lies in her +heart with the rose leaves of her smiles.</p> +<p>Nola had come into Frances’ room to do her hair, +and employ her busy tongue while she plied the brush. +She was a pretty bit of a figure in her fancily-worked +Japanese kimono and red Turkish slippers—harem +slippers, she called them, and thought it deliciously +wicked to wear them—as she sat shaking back her +bright hair like a giver of sunbeams.</p> +<p>Frances, already dressed in her soft light apparel +of the morning, stood at the window watching the +activity of the avenue below, answering encouragingly +now and then, laughing at the right time, to +keep the stream of her little guest’s words running +on. Frances seemed all softness and warmth, all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' ></a>132</span> +youth and freshness, as fair as a camellia in a sunny +casement, there at the window with the light around +her. Above that inborn dignity which every line of +her body expressed, there was a domestic tranquillity +in her subdued beauty that moved even irresponsible +Nola with an admiration that she could not put into +words.</p> +<p>“Oh, you soldiers!” said Nola, shaking her brush +at Frances’ placid back, “you get up so early and +you dress so fast that you’re always ahead of everybody +else.”</p> +<p>Frances turned to her, a smile for her childish +complaint.</p> +<p>“You’ll get into our soldiering ways in time, +Nola. We get up early and live in a hurry, I suppose, +because a soldier’s life is traditionally uncertain, +and he wants to make the most of his time.”</p> +<p>“And love and ride away,” said Nola, feigning a +sigh.</p> +<p>“Do they?” asked Frances, not interested, turning +to the window again.</p> +<p>“Of course,” said Nola, positively.</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>“Like the guardsmen of old England,</p> +<p>Or the beaux sabreurs of France—”</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>that’s an old border song, did you ever hear it?”</p> +<p>“No, I never did.”</p> +<p>“It’s about the Texas rangers, though, and not +real soldiers like you folks. A cavalryman’s wife +wrote it; I’ve got it in a book.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' ></a>133</span></div> +<p>“Maybe they do that way in Texas, Nola.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“Love and ride away, as you said. I never heard +of any of them doing it, except figuratively, in the +regular army.”</p> +<p>Nola suspended her brushing and looked at +Frances curiously, a deeper color rising and spreading +in her animated face.</p> +<p>“Oh, you little goose!” said she.</p> +<p>“Mostly they hang around and make trouble for +people and fools of themselves,” said Frances, in +half-thoughtful vein, her back to her visitor, who +had stopped brushing now, and was winding, a comb +in her mouth.</p> +<p>Nola held her quick hand at the half-finished coil +of hair while she looked narrowly at the outline of +Frances’ form against the window. A little squint +of perplexity was in her eyes, and furrows in her +smooth forehead. Presently she finished the coil with +dextrous turn, and held it with outspread hand while +she reached to secure it with the comb.</p> +<p>“I can’t make you out sometimes, Frances, you’re +so funny,” she declared. “I’m afraid to talk to you +half the time”—which was in no part true—“you’re +so nunnish and severe.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Frances, fully discounting the declaration.</p> +<p>No wonder that Major King was hard to wean +from her, thought Nola, with all that grace of body +and charm of word. Superiority had been born in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' ></a>134</span> +Frances Landcraft, not educated into her in expensive +schools, the cattleman’s daughter knew. It +spoke for itself in the carriage of her head there +against the light of that fair new day, with the sunshine +on the dying cottonwood leaves beyond the +windowpane; in the lifting of her neck, white as King +David’s tower of shields.</p> +<p>“Well, I <i>am</i> half afraid of you sometimes,” Nola +persisted. “I draw my hand back from touching you +when you’ve got one of your soaring fits on you and +walk along like you couldn’t see common mortals and +cowmen’s daughters.”</p> +<p>“Well, everybody isn’t like you, Nola; there are +some who treat me like a child.”</p> +<p>Frances was thinking of her father and Major +King, both of whom had continued to overlook and +ignore her declaration of severance from her plighted +word. The colonel had brushed it aside with rough +hand and sharp word; the major had come penitent +and in suppliance. But both of them were determined +to marry her according to schedule, with no weight +to her solemn denial.</p> +<p>“Mothers do that, right along,” Nola nodded.</p> +<p>“Here’s somebody else up early”—Frances held +the curtain aside as she spoke, and leaned a little to +see—“here’s your father, just turning in.”</p> +<p>“The señor boss?” said Nola, hurrying to the +window.</p> +<p>Saul Chadron was mounting the steps booted and +dusty, his revolvers belted over his coat. “I wonder +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' ></a>135</span> +what’s the matter? I hope it isn’t mother—I’ll run +down and see.”</p> +<p>The maid had let Chadron in by the time Nola +opened the door of the room, and there she stood +leaning and listening, her little head out in the hall, +as if afraid to run to meet trouble. Chadron’s big +voice came up to them.</p> +<p>“It’s all right,” Nola nodded to Frances, who +stood at her elbow, “he wants to see the colonel.”</p> +<p>Frances had heard the cattleman’s loud demand +for instant audience. Now the maid was explaining +in temporizing tones.</p> +<p>“The colonel he’s busy with military matters this +early in the day, sir, and nobody ever disturbs him. +He don’t see nobody but the officers. If you’ll step +in and wait—”</p> +<p>“The officers can wait!” Chadron said, in loud, +assertive voice that made the servant shiver. +“Where’s he at?”</p> +<p>Frances could see in her lively imagination the +frightened maid’s gesture toward the colonel’s office +door. Now the girl’s feet sounded along the hall in +hasty retreat as Chadron laid his hearty knock +against the colonel’s panels.</p> +<p>Frances smiled behind her friend’s back. The impatient +disregard by civilians of the forms which her +father held in such esteem always was a matter of +humor to her. She expected now to hear explosions +from within her father’s sacred place, and when the +sound failed to reach her she concluded that some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' ></a>136</span> +subordinate hand had opened the door to Chadron’s +summons.</p> +<p>“I’ll hurry”—Nola dashed into her own room, +finishing from the door—“I want to catch him before +he goes and find out what’s wrong.”</p> +<p>Frances went below to see about breakfast for +her tardy guest, a little fluttering of excitement in +her own breast. She wondered what could have +brought the cattleman to the post so early—he +must have left long before dawn—and in such haste +to see her father, all buckled about with his arms. +She trusted that it might not be that Alan Macdonald +was involved in it, for it was her constant +thought to hope well for that bold young man who +had heaved the homesteaders’ world to his shoulders +and stood straining, untrusted and uncheered, under +its weight.</p> +<p>True, he had not died in defense of her glove, but +she had forgiven him in her heart for that. A reasonable +man would not have imperiled his life for +such a trifle, and a reasonable woman would not have +expected it. There was a great deal more sense in +Alan Macdonald living for his life’s purpose than in +dying for a foolish little glove. So she said.</p> +<p>The white gossamer fichu about her throat moved +as with a breath in the agitation of her bosom as +she passed down the stairs; her imperious chin was +lowered, and her strong brown eyes were bent like +a nun’s before the altar. Worthy or unworthy, her +lips moved in a prayer for Alan Macdonald, strong +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' ></a>137</span> +man in his obscure place; worthy or unworthy, she +wished him well, and her heart yearned after him +with a great tenderness, like a south wind roaming the +night in gentle quest.</p> +<p>Major King, in attendance upon his chief, had +opened the door to Saul Chadron at the colonel’s +frowning nod. Without waiting for the password +into the mysteries of that chamber, Chadron had +entered, his heavy quirt in hand, gauntlets to his +elbows, dusty boots to his knees. Colonel Landcraft +stood at his desk to receive him, his brows bent in a +disfavoring frown.</p> +<p>“I’ve busted in on you, colonel, because my business +is business, not a mess of reportin’ and signin’ +up on nothing, like your fool army doin’s.” Chadron +clamped with clicking spurs across the severe +bare floor as he made this announcement, the frown +of his displeasure in having been stopped at the door +still dark on his face.</p> +<p>“I’m waiting your pleasure, sir,” Colonel Landcraft +returned, stiffly.</p> +<p>“I want twenty-five troopers and a cannon, and +somebody that knows how to use it, and I want ’em +right away!”</p> +<p>Chadron gave the order with a hotness about him, +and an impatience not to be denied.</p> +<p>“Sir!” said Colonel Landcraft, throwing his bony +shoulders back, his little blue eyes growing very cold +and unfriendly.</p> +<p>“Them damn rustlers of Macdonald’s are up and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' ></a>138</span> +standin’ agin us, and I tell you I want troopers, +and I want ’em on the spot!”</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft swallowed like an eagle gorging +a fish. His face grew red, he clamped his jaw, and +held his mouth shut. It took him some little time +to suppress his flooding emotions, and his voice trembled +even when he ventured to trust himself to speak.</p> +<p>“That’s a matter for your civil authorities, sir; +I have nothing to do with it at all.”</p> +<p>“You ain’t got—nothing—?” Chadron’s amazement +seemed to overcome him. He stopped, his eyes +big, his mouth open; he turned his head from side to +side in dumbfounded way, as if to find another to bear +witness to this incredible thing.</p> +<p>“I tell you they’re threatenin’ my property, and +the property of my neighbors!” protested Chadron, +stunned, it seemed, that he should have to stop for +details and explanations. “We’ve got millions invested—if +them fellers gobbles up our land we’re +ruined!”</p> +<p>“Sir, I can sympathize with you in your unfortunate +business, but if I had millions of my own at stake +under similar conditions I would be powerless to employ, +on my own initiative, the forces of the United +States army to drive those brigands away.”</p> +<p>Chadron looked at him hard, his hat on his head, +where it had remained all the time, his eyes staring in +unspeakable surprise.</p> +<p>“The hell you would!” said he.</p> +<p>“You and your neighbors surely can raise enough +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' ></a>139</span> +men to crush the scoundrels, and hang their leader to +a limb,” the colonel suggested. “Call out your men, +Chadron, and ride against him. I never took you for +a man to squeal for help in a little affair like this.”</p> +<p>“He’s got as many as a hundred men organized, +maybe twice that”—Chadron multiplied on the +basis of damage that his men had suffered—“and +my men tell me he’s drillin’ ’em like soldiers.”</p> +<p>“I’m not surprised to hear that,” nodded the +colonel; “that man Macdonald’s got it in him to do +that, and fight like the devil, too.”</p> +<p>“A gang of ’em killed three of my men a couple +of days ago when I sent ’em up there to his shack to +investigate a little matter, and Macdonald shot my +foreman up so bad I guess he’ll die. I tell you, man, +it’s a case for troopers!”</p> +<p>“What has the sheriff and the rest of you done +to restore order?”</p> +<p>“I took twenty of my men up there yisterday, and +a bunch of Sam Hatcher’s from acrosst the river was +to join us and smoke that wolf out of his hole and +hang his damn hide on his cussed bob-wire fence. But +hell! they was ditched in around that shack of his’n, +I tell you, gentlemen, and he peppered us so hard +we had to streak out of there. I left two of my men, +and Hatcher’s crew couldn’t come over to help us, +for them damn rustlers had breastworks throwed up +over there and drove ’em away from the river. +They’ve got us shut out from the only ford in thirty +miles.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' ></a>140</span></div> +<p>“Well, I’ll be damned!” said the colonel, warming +at this warlike news.</p> +<p>“Macdonald’s had the gall to send me notice to +keep out of that country up the river, and to run +my cattle out of there, and it’s my own land, by +God! I’ve been grazin’ it for eighteen years!”</p> +<p>“It looks like a serious situation,” the colonel admitted.</p> +<p>“Serious!” There was scorn for the word and its +weakness in Chadron’s stress. “It’s hell, I tell you, +when a man can’t set foot on his own land!”</p> +<p>“Are they all rustlers up there in the settlement? +are there no honest homesteaders among them who +would combine with you against this wild man and +his unlawful followers?” the colonel wanted to know.</p> +<p>“Not a man amongst ’em that ain’t cut the brand +out of a hide,” Chadron declared. “They’ve been +nestin’ up there under that man Macdonald for the +last two years, and he’s the brains of the pack. He +gits his rake-off out of all they run off and sell. Me +and the other cattlemen we’ve been feedin’ and supportin’ +’em till the drain’s gittin’ more’n we can +stand. We’ve got to put ’em out, like a fire, or be +eat up. We’ve got to hit ’em, and hit ’em hard.”</p> +<p>“It would seem so,” the colonel agreed.</p> +<p>“It’s a state of war, I tell you, colonel; you’re +free to use your troops in a state of war, ain’t you? +Twenty-five troopers, with a little small cannon”—Chadron +made illustration of the caliber that he considered +adequate for the business with his hands—“to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' ></a>141</span> +knock ’em out of their ditches so we could pick +’em off as they scatter, would be enough; we can handle +the rest.”</p> +<p>“If there is anything that I can do for you in my +private capacity, I am at your command,” offered +Colonel Landcraft, with official emptiness, “but I +regret that I am powerless to grant your request for +troops. I couldn’t lift a finger in a matter like this +without a department order; you ought to understand +that, Chadron.”</p> +<p>“Oh, if that’s all that’s bitin’ you, go ahead—I’ll +take care of the department,” Chadron told him, with +the relieved manner of one who had seen a light.</p> +<p>“Sir!”</p> +<p>If Chadron had proposed treason the colonel could +not have compressed more censure into that word.</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” Chadron assured him, comfortably; +“I’ve got two senators and five congressmen +back there in Washington that jigger when I +jerk the gee-string. You can cut loose and come into +this thing with a free hand, and go the limit, the +department be damned if they don’t like it!”</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft’s face was flaming angrily. He +snapped his dry old eyelids like flints over the steel +of his eyes, and stood as straight as the human body +could be drawn, one hand on his sword hilt, the other +pointing a trembling finger at Chadron’s face.</p> +<p>“You cattlemen run this state, and one or two +others here in the Northwest, I’m aware of that, +Chadron. But there’s one thing that you don’t run, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' ></a>142</span> +and that’s the United States army! I don’t care a +damn how many congressmen dance to your tune, +you’re not big enough to move even one trooper out +of my barracks, sir! That’s all I’ve got to say to +you.”</p> +<p>Chadron stood a little while, glowering at the +colonel. It enraged him to be blocked in that manner +by a small and inconsequential man. This he felt +Colonel Landcraft to be, measured against his own +strength and importance in that country. Himself +and the other two big cattlemen in that section of the +state lorded it over an area greater than two or three +of the old states where the slipping heritage of individual +liberty was born. Now here was a colonel +in his way; one little old gray colonel!</p> +<p>“All right,” Chadron said at length, charging his +words with what he doubtless meant to be a significant +foreboding, measuring Colonel Landcraft with +contemptuous eye. “I can call out an army of my +own. I came to you because we pay you fellers to +do what I’m askin’ of you, and because I thought it’d +save me time. That’s all.”</p> +<p>“You came to me because you have magnified your +importance in this country until you believe you’re +the entire nation,” the colonel replied, very hot and +red.</p> +<p>Chadron made no answer to that. He turned +toward the military door, but Colonel Landcraft +would not permit his unsanctified feet, great as they +were and free to come and go as they liked in other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' ></a>143</span> +places, to pass that way. He frowned at Major +King, who had stood by in silence all the time, like +a good soldier, his eyes straight ahead. Major King +touched Chadron’s arm.</p> +<p>“This way, sir, if you please,” he said.</p> +<p>Chadron started out, wrathfully and noisily. Half-way +to the door he turned, his dark face sneering in +contemptuous scorn.</p> +<p>“Yes, you’re one hell of a colonel!” he said.</p> +<p>Major King was holding the door open; Chadron +swung his big body around to face it, and passed out. +Major King saluted his superior officer and followed +the cattleman into the hall, closing the sacred door +behind him on the wrathful little old soldier standing +beside his desk. King extended his hand, sympathy +in gesture and look.</p> +<p>“If I was in command of this post, sir, you’d never +have to ask twice for troops,” he said.</p> +<p>Chadron’s sudden interest seemed to give him the +movement of a little start. His grip on the young +officer’s hand tightened as he bent a searching look +into his eyes.</p> +<p>“King, I believe you!” he said.</p> +<p>Nola came pattering down the stairs. Chadron +stood with open arms, and swallowed her in them as +she leaped from the bottom tread. Major King did +not wait to see her emerge again, rosy and lip-tempting. +There was unfinished business within the +colonel’s room.</p> +<p>A few minutes later Nola, excited to her finger-ends, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' ></a>144</span> +was retailing the story of the rustlers’ uprising +to Frances.</p> +<p>“Mother’s all worked up over it; she’s afraid +they’ll burn us out and murder us, but of course we’d +clean them up before they’d ever get <i>that</i> far down +the river.”</p> +<p>“It looks to me like a very serious situation for +everybody concerned,” Frances said. “If your +father brings in the men that you say he’s gone to +Meander to telegraph for, there’s going to be a lot +of killing done on both sides.”</p> +<p>“Father says he’s going to clean them out for +good this time—they’ve cost us thousands of dollars +in the past three years. Oh, you can’t understand +what a low-down bunch of scrubs those rustlers are!”</p> +<p>“Maybe not,” Frances said, giving it up with a +little sigh.</p> +<p>“I’ve got to go back to mother this morning, right +away, but that little fuss up the river doesn’t need +to keep you from going home with me as you promised, +Frances.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t mind, but I don’t believe father will +want me to go out into your wild country. I really +want to go—I want to look around in your garden +for a glove that I lost there on the night of the ball.”</p> +<p>“Oh, why didn’t you tell me?” Nola’s face seemed +to clear of something, a shadow of perplexity, it +seemed, that Frances had seen in it from time to +time since her coming there. She looked frankly and +reprovingly at Frances.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' ></a>145</span></div> +<p>“I didn’t miss it until I was leaving, and I didn’t +want to delay the rest of them to look for it. It +really doesn’t matter.”</p> +<p>“It’s a wonder mother didn’t find it; she’s always +prowling around among the flowers,” said Nola, her +eyes fixed in abstracted stare, as if she was thinking +deeply of something apart from what her words expressed.</p> +<p>What she was considering, indeed, was that her +little scheme of alienation had failed. Major King, +she told herself, had not returned the glove to +Frances. For all his lightness in the matter, perhaps +he cared deeply for Frances, and would be more difficult +to wean than she had thought. It would have +to be begun anew. That Frances was ignorant of +her treachery, as she now fully believed, made it +easier. So the little lady told herself, surveying the +situation in her quick brain, and deceiving herself +completely, as many a shrewder schemer than she, +when self-entangled in the devious plottings of this +life.</p> +<p>On the other hand there sat Frances across the +table—they were breakfasting alone, Mrs. Landcraft +being a strict militarist, and always serving the +colonel’s coffee with her own hand—throwing up a +framework of speculation on her own account. Perhaps +if she should go to the ranch she might be in +some manner instrumental in bringing this needless +warfare to a pacific end. Intervention at the right +time, in the proper quarter, might accomplish more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' ></a>146</span> +than strife and bloodshed could bring out of that +one-sided war.</p> +<p>No matter for the justice of the homesteaders’ +cause, and the sincerity of their leader, neither of +which she doubted or questioned, the weight of numbers +and resources would be on the side of the cattlemen. +It could result only in the homesteaders being +driven from their insecure holdings after the sacrifice +of many lives. If she could see Macdonald, and +appeal to him to put down this foolish, even though +well-intended strife, something might result.</p> +<p>It was an inconsequential turmoil, it seemed to +her, there in that sequestered land, for a man like +Alan Macdonald to squander his life upon. If he +stood against the forces which Chadron had gone to +summon, he would be slain, and the abundant promise +of his life wasted like water on the sand.</p> +<p>“I’ll go with you, Nola,” she said, rising from +the table in quick decision.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' ></a>147</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XII_THE_RUSTLERS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>“THE RUSTLERS!”</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>“I’ve stood up for that man, and I’ve stood by +him,” said Banjo Gibson, “but when a man +shoots a friend of my friend he ain’t no friend of +mine. I’m done with him; I won’t never set a boot-heel +inside of his door ag’in.”</p> +<p>Banjo was in Mrs. Chadron’s south sitting-room, +with its friendly fireplace and homely things, including +Mrs. Chadron and her apparently interminable +sock. Only now it was a gray sock, designed not +for the mighty foot of Saul, but for Chance Dalton, +lying on his back in the bunkhouse in a fever growing +out of the handling that he had gone through at +Macdonald’s place.</p> +<p>Banjo had arrived at the ranch the previous evening. +He was sitting now with his fiddle on his +knee, having gone through the repertory most +favored by his hostess, with the exception of “Silver +Threads.” That was an afternoon melody, Banjo +maintained, and one would have strained his friendship +and shaken his respect if he had insisted upon +the musician putting bow to it in the morning hours.</p> +<p>“Yes,” sighed Mrs. Chadron, “it was bad enough +when he just shot cowboys, but when it come to +Chance we felt real grieved. Chance he ain’t much to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' ></a>148</span> +look at, but he’s worth his weight in gold on the +ranch.”</p> +<p>“Busted his right arm all to pieces, they tell me?”</p> +<p>“Right here.” Mrs. Chadron marked across her +wrist with her knitting needle, and shook her head +in heavy sadness.</p> +<p>“That’ll kind of spile him, won’t it?”</p> +<p>“Well, Saul says it won’t make so much difference +about him not havin’ the use of his hand on that side +if it don’t break his nerve. A man loses confidence +in himself, Saul says, most always when he loses the +hand or arm he’s slung his gun with all his life. He +takes the notion that everybody’s quicker’n he is, +and just kind of slinges back and drops out of the +game.”</p> +<p>“Do you expect Saul he’ll come back here with +them soldiers he went after?”</p> +<p>“I expect he’ll more’n likely order ’em right up +the river to clear them rustlers out before he stops +or anything,” she replied, in high confidence.</p> +<p>“The gall of them low-down brand-burners standin’ +up to fight a man on his own land!” Banjo’s indignation +could not have been more pointed if he had +been a lord of many herds himself.</p> +<p>“There comes them blessed girls!” reported Mrs. +Chadron from her station near the window. Banjo +crossed over to see, his fiddle held to his bosom like +an infant. Nola and Frances were nearing the gate.</p> +<p>“That colonel girl she’s a up-setter, ain’t she?” +Banjo admired.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' ></a>149</span></div> +<p>“She’s as sweet as locus’ blooms,” Mrs. Chadron +declared, unstintingly.</p> +<p>“But she’s kind of distant; nothing friendly and +warm-hearted like your little Nola, mom.”</p> +<p>“She’s a little cool to strangers, but when she +knows a body she comes out.”</p> +<p>Banjo nodded, drawing little whispers of melody +from his fiddle-strings by fingering them against the +neck.</p> +<p>“I noticed when she smiles she seems to change,” +he said. “It’s like puttin’ bow to the strings. A +fiddle’s a glum kind of a thing till you wake it up; +she’s that way, I reckon.”</p> +<p>“Well, git ready for dinner—or lunch, as Nola +calls it—they’ll be starved by this time, ridin’ +all the way from the post in this chilly wind. I’m +mighty afraid we’re goin’ to have some weather before +long.”</p> +<p>“Can’t put it off much longer,” Banjo agreed, +thinking of the hardship of being caught out in one +of those sweeping blizzards, when the sudden cold +grew so sharp that a man’s banjo strings broke in +the tense contraction. That had happened to him +more than once, and it only seemed to sharpen the +pleasure of being snowed in at a place like Alamito, +where the kitchen was fat and the hand of the host +free. He smiled as he turned to the kitchen to wash +his face and soap his hair.</p> +<p>They passed a very pleasant afternoon at the +ranchhouse, in spite of Mrs. Chadron’s uneasiness on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' ></a>150</span> +account of their defenseless state. At that season +Chadron and his neighbors could not draw very +heavily on their scattered forces following the divided +herds spread out over the vast territory for the +winter grazing.</p> +<p>The twenty men gathered in a hurry-call by +Chadron to avenge the defeat of Chance Dalton, +who had in their turn been met and unexpectedly repulsed +by the homesteaders, as Chadron had related +in his own way to Colonel Landcraft, were lying in +camp several miles up the river. That is, all that +were left of them fit for duty after the fight. A +good many of them were limping, and would limp for +many a day.</p> +<p>They were waiting the arrival of the troops, which +they expected with the same confidence Mrs. Chadron +had held before Nola brought her an explanation that +covered the confusion of refusal.</p> +<p>Neither of the young women knew of the tiff between +the colonel and Chadron, for the colonel was a +man who kept his family apart from his business. +Chadron had not seen fit to uncover his humiliation to +his daughter, but had told her that he was acting on +the advice of Colonel Landcraft in sending to his +friends in Cheyenne for men to put down the uprising +of rustlers himself.</p> +<p>So there were comfortable enough relations between +them all at the ranch as the day bent to evening and +the red sunset changed to gray. Banjo played for +them, as he had done that other afternoon, and sang +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' ></a>151</span> +his sentimental songs in voice that quavered in the +feeling passages. Chadron had not left anybody to +guard the house, because he knew very well that +Macdonald considered nothing beyond defense, and +that he would as quickly burn his own mother’s +roof above her head as he would set torch to that +home by the riverside.</p> +<p>“Sing us that dreamy one, Banjo,” Nola requested, +“the one that begins ‘Come sit by my side +little—’ you know the one I mean.”</p> +<p>A sentimental tenderness came into Banjo’s face. +He turned his head so that he could look out of the +window into the thickening landscape beyond the +corral gate, gray and mysterious and unfriendly now +as a twilight sea. Nola touched Frances’ arm to +prime her for the treat.</p> +<p>“Watch his face,” she whispered, smiling behind +her hand.</p> +<p>Banjo struck the chords of his accompaniment; +the sentimental cast of his face deepened, until it +seemed that he was about to come to tears. He sang:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>Come sit by my side litt-ul dau-ling,</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>And lay your brown head on my breast,</p> +<p>Whilse the angels of twilight o-round us</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>Are singing the flow-ohs to rest.</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>Banjo must have loved many ladies in many lands, +for that is the gift and the privilege of the troubadour. +Now he seemed calling up their vanished faces +out of the twilight as he sang his little song. What +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' ></a>152</span> +feeling he threw into the chorus, what shaking of +the voice, what soft sinking away of the last notes, +the whang of the banjo softened by palm across the +strings!</p> +<p>The chorus:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>O, what can be sweet-o than dreaming</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>Tho dream that is on us tonight!</p> +<p>Pre-haps do you know litt-ul dau-ling,</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>Tho future lies hidded from sight.</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>There was a great deal more of that song, which +really was not so bad, the way Banjo sang it, for +he exalted it on the best qualities that lived in his +harmless breast; not so bad that way, indeed, as it +looks in print. Frances could not see where the joke +at the little musician’s expense came in, although +Nola was laughing behind his unsuspecting back as +the last notes died.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron wiped her eyes. “I think it’s the +sweetest song that ever was sung!” she said, and +meant it, every word.</p> +<p>Banjo said nothing at all, but put away his instrument +with reverent hands, as if no sound was worthy +to come out of it after that sweet agony of love.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron got up, in her large, bustling, hospitable +way, sentimentally satisfied, and withal +grossly hungry.</p> +<p>“Supper’ll be about ready now, children,” she +said, putting her sock away in its basket, “and +while you two are primpin’ I’ll run down to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' ></a>153</span> +bunkhouse and take some chicken broth to Chance +that Maggie made him.”</p> +<p>“Oh, poor old Chance!” Nola pitied, “I’ve been +sitting here enjoying myself and forgetting all about +him. I’ll take it down to him, mother—Banjo he’ll +come with me.”</p> +<p>Banjo was alert on the proposal, and keen to go. +He brought Nola’s coat at her mother’s suggestion, +for the evening had a feeling of frost in it, and attended +her to the kitchen after the chicken broth as +gallantly as if he wore a sword.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron came back from her investigations +in the kitchen in a little while to Frances, who waited +alone before the happy little fire in the chimney. She +sighed as she resumed her rocking-chair by the window, +and crossed her seldom idle hands over her +comfortably inelegant front.</p> +<p>“It’ll be some little time before supper’s ready to +set down to,” she announced regretfully. “Maggie’s +makin’ stuffed peppers, and they’re kind of slow to +bake. We can talk.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” Frances agreed, her mind running +on the hope that had brought her to the ranch; the +hope of seeing Macdonald, and appealing to him in +pity’s name for peace.</p> +<p>“That thievin’ Macdonald’s to blame for Chance, +our foreman, losin’ the use of his right hand,” Mrs. +Chadron said, with asperity. “Did Nola tell you +about the fight they had with him?”</p> +<p>“Yes, she told me about it as we came.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' ></a>154</span></div> +<p>“It looks like the devil’s harnessed up with that +man, he does so much damage without ever gittin’ +hurt himself. He had a crowd of rustlers up there +with him when Chance went up there to trace some +stock, and they up and killed three of our cowboys. +Ain’t it terrible?”</p> +<p>“It is terrible!” Frances shuddered, withholding +her opinion on which side the terror lay, together +with the blame.</p> +<p>“Then Saul went up there with some more of the +men to burn that Macdonald’s shack and drive him +off of our land, and they run into a bunch of them +rustlers that Macdonald he’d fetched over there, and +two more of our men was killed. It looks like a +body’s got to fight night and day for his rights now, +since them nesters begun to come in here. Well, we +was here first, and Saul says we’ll be here last. But +I think it’s plumb scan’lous the way them rustlers +bunches together and fights. They never was known +to do it before, and they wouldn’t do it now if it +wasn’t for that black-hearted thief, Macdonald!”</p> +<p>“Did you ever see him?” Frances asked.</p> +<p>“No, I never did, and don’t never want to!”</p> +<p>“I just asked you because he doesn’t look like a +bad man.”</p> +<p>“They say he sneaked in here the night of Nola’s +dance, but I didn’t see him. Oh, what ’m I tellin’ +you? Course you know <i>that</i>—you danced with +him!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Frances, neither sorry nor ashamed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' ></a>155</span></div> +<p>“But you wasn’t to blame, honey,” Mrs. Chadron +comforted, “you didn’t know him from Adamses +off ox.”</p> +<p>Frances sat leaning forward, looking into the fire. +The light of the blaze was on her face, appealingly +soft and girlishly sweet. Mrs. Chadron laid a hand +on her hair in motherly caress, moved by a tenderness +quite foreign to the vindictive creed which she +had pronounced against the nesters but a little while +before.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid you’re starved, honey,” she said, in +genuine solicitude, thus expressing the nearest human +sympathy out of her full-feeding soul.</p> +<p>“I’m hungry, but far from starving,” Frances +told her, knowing that the confession to an appetite +would please her hostess better than a gift. “When +do you expect Mr. Chadron home?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, honey, but you don’t need to +worry; them rustlers can’t pass our men Saul left +camped up the valley.”</p> +<p>“I wasn’t thinking of that; I’m not afraid.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron chuckled. “Did I tell you about +Nola?” she asked. Then, answering herself, before +Frances could more than turn her head inquiringly; +“No, of course, I never. It was too funny for anything!”</p> +<p>“What was it?” Frances asked, in girlish eagerness. +Mrs. Chadron’s smile was reflected in her face +as she sat straight, and turned expectantly to her +hostess.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' ></a>156</span></div> +<p>“The other evening when she and her father was +comin’ home from the postoffice over at the agency +they run acrosst that sneak Macdonald, afoot in the +road, guns so thick on him you couldn’t count ’em. +Saul asked him what he was skulkin’ around down +this way for, and the feller he was kind of sassy +about it, and tried to pass Nola and go on. He had +the gall to tip his hat to her, just like she was low +enough to notice a brand-burner! Well, she give +him a larrup over the face with her whip that cut +the hide! He took hold of her bridle to shove her +horse out of the way so he could run, I reckon, and +she switched him till he squirmed like a puppy-dog! +I laughed till I nearly split when Saul told me!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron surrendered again to her keen appreciation +of the humor in that situation. Frances +felt now that she understood the attitude of the cattlemen +toward the homesteaders as she never had +even sensed it before. Here was this motherly +woman, naturally good at heart and gentle, hardened +and blinded by her prejudices until she could discuss +murder as a thing desired, and the extirpation +of a whole community as a just and righteous deed.</p> +<p>There was no feeling of softness in her breast for +the manful strivings of Alan Macdonald to make +a home in that land, not so much for himself—for it +was plain that he would grace a different world to +far better advantage—but for the disinherited of +the earth. To Mrs. Chadron he was a thing apart +from her species, a horrible, low, grisly monster, to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' ></a>157</span> +whom the earth should afford no refuge and man +no hiding-place. There was no virtue in Alan +Macdonald; his fences had killed his right to human +consideration.</p> +<p>In a moment Mrs. Chadron was grave again. She +put out her hand in that gentle, motherly way and +touched Frances’ hair, smoothing it from her forehead, +pleased with the irrepressible life of it which +sprung it back after the passage of her palm like +water in a vessel’s wake.</p> +<p>“I let on to you a little while ago that I wasn’t +uneasy, honey,” she said, “but I ain’t no hand at +hidin’ the truth. I am uneasy, honey, and on pins, +for I don’t trust them rustlers. I’m afraid they’ll +hear that Saul’s gone, and come sneakin’ down here +and burn us out before morning, and do worse, maybe. +I don’t know why I’ve got that feelin’, but I have, and +it’s heavy in me, like raw dough.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe they’d do anything like that,” +Frances told her.</p> +<p>“Oh, you don’t know ’em like we do, honey, the +low-down thieves! They ort to be hunted like wolves +and shot, wherever they’re found.”</p> +<p>“Some of them have wives and children, haven’t +they?” Frances asked, thinking aloud, as she sat +with her chin resting in her hand.</p> +<p>“Oh, I suppose they litter like any other wolves,” +Mrs. Chadron returned, unfeelingly.</p> +<p>“<i>Si a tu ventana llega una paloma</i>,” sang Maggie +in the kitchen, the snapping of the oven door coming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' ></a>158</span> +in quite harmoniously as she closed it on the baking +peppers. Mrs. Chadron sighed.</p> +<p>“<i>Tratala con cariña que es mi persona</i>,” sounded +Maggie, a degree louder. Mrs. Chadron sat upright, +with a new interest in life apart from her uneasy +forebodings about the rustlers. Maggie was in the +dining-room, spreading the cloth. The peppers were +coming along.</p> +<p>Somebody burst into the kitchen; uncertain feet +came across it; a cry broke Maggie’s song short as +she jingled the silver in place on the cloth. Banjo +Gibson stumbled into the room where the low fire +twinkled in the chimney, reeling on his legs, his +breath coming in groans.</p> +<p>Maggie was behind him, holding the door open; +the light from the big lamp on the dining-table fell +on the musician, who weaved there as if he might +fall. His hat was off, blood was in his eyes and over +his face from a wound at the edge of his hair.</p> +<p>“Nola—Nola!” he gasped.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron, already beside him, laid hold of him +now and shook him.</p> +<p>“Tell it, you little devil—tell it!” she screamed.</p> +<p>Frances, with gentler hand, drew Banjo from her.</p> +<p>“What’s happened to Nola?” she asked.</p> +<p>“The rustlers!” he said, his voice falling away in +horror.</p> +<p>“The rustlers!” Mrs. Chadron groaned, her arms +lifted above her head. She ran in wild distraction +into the dining-room, now back to the chimney to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' ></a>159</span> +take down a rifle that hung in its case on a deer prong +over the mantel.</p> +<p>“Nola, Nola!” she called, running out into the +garden. Her wild voice came back from there in a +moment, crying her daughter’s name in agony.</p> +<p>Banjo had sunk to the floor, his battered face held +in his hands.</p> +<p>“My God! they took her!” he groaned. “The +rustlers, they took her, and I couldn’t lift a hand!”</p> +<p>Frances beckoned to Maggie, who had followed her +mistress to the kitchen door.</p> +<p>“Give him water; stop the blood,” she ordered +sharply.</p> +<p>In a moment she had dashed out after Mrs. +Chadron, and was running frantically along the +garden path toward the river.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' ></a>160</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XIII_THE_TRAIL_AT_DAWN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>THE TRAIL AT DAWN</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Frances stopped at the high wire fence along +the river bank. It was dark there between the +shrubs of the garden on one hand and the tall willows +on the other, but nothing moved in them but her own +leaping heart. She called Mrs. Chadron, running +along the fence as she cried her name.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron answered from the barn. Frances +found her saddling a horse, while Maggie’s husband, +an old Mexican with a stiff leg, muttered prayers in +his native tongue as he tightened the girths on another.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron was for riding in pursuit of Nola’s +abductors, although she had not mounted a horse in +fifteen years. There was no man about the place +except crippled old Alvino, and wounded Dalton +lying in the men’s quarters near at hand. Neither +of them was serviceable in such an emergency, and +Banjo, willing as he would be, seemed too badly hurt +to be of any use.</p> +<p>Frances pressed her to dismiss this intention. +Even if they knew which way to ride, it would be a +hopeless pursuit.</p> +<p>“There’s only one way to go—towards the +rustlers’ settlement,” Mrs. Chadron grimly returned.</p> +<p>She was over her hysterical passion now, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' ></a>161</span> +steadied down into a state of desperate determination +to set out after the thieves and bring Nola back. +She did not know how it was to be accomplished, but +she felt her strength equal to any demand in the +pressure of her despair. She was lifting her foot +to the stirrup, thinly dressed as she was, her head +bare, the rifle in her hand, when Frances took her +by the arm.</p> +<p>“You can’t go alone with Alvino, Mrs. Chadron.”</p> +<p>“I’ve got to go, I tell you—let loose of me!”</p> +<p>She shook off Frances’ restraining hand and turned +to her horse again. With her hand on the pommel +of the saddle she stopped, and turned to Alvino.</p> +<p>“Go and fetch me Chance’s guns out of the bunkhouse,” +she ordered.</p> +<p>Alvino hitched away, swinging his stiff leg, with +laborious, slow gait.</p> +<p>“You couldn’t do anything against a crowd of +desperate men—they might kill you!” Frances said.</p> +<p>“Let ’em kill me, then!” She lifted her hand, as +if taking an oath. “They’ll pay for this trick—every +man, woman, and child of them’ll bleed for what +they’ve done to me tonight!”</p> +<p>“Let Alvino go to the camp up the river where +Mr. Chadron left the men, and tell them; they can +do more than you.”</p> +<p>“You couldn’t drive him alone out of sight of the +lights in the house with fire. He’d come back with +some kind of a lie before he’d went a mile. I’ll go +to ’em myself, honey—I didn’t think of them.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' ></a>162</span></div> +<p>“I’ll go with you.”</p> +<p>“Wait till Alvino comes with them guns—I can +use ’em better than I can a rifle. Oh, why don’t the +man hurry!”</p> +<p>“I’ll run down and see what—”</p> +<p>But Alvino came around the corral at that moment. +He had stopped to light a lantern, in his peculiar +Mexican mode of estimating the importance of time +and occasion, and came flashing it in short, violent +arcs as he swayed to swing his jointless leg.</p> +<p>Frances led out the other horse and was waiting +to mount when Alvino came panting up, the belt with +its two revolvers over his arm. Mrs. Chadron jerked +it from him with something hard and sharp on her +tongue like a curse. Banjo Gibson came into the +circle of light, a bandage on his head.</p> +<p>“I didn’t even see ’em. They knocked me down, +and when I come to she was gone!”</p> +<p>Banjo’s voice was full of self-censure, and his feet +were weak upon the ground. He began to talk the +moment the light struck him, and when he had finished +his little explanation he was standing beside +Mrs. Chadron’s saddle.</p> +<p>“Go to the house and lie down, Banjo,” Mrs. +Chadron said; “I ain’t time to fool with you!”</p> +<p>“Are you two aimin’ to go to the post after help?” +Banjo steadied himself on his legs by clinging to the +horse’s mane as he spoke.</p> +<p>“We’re goin’ up the river after the men,” Mrs. +Chadron told him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' ></a>163</span></div> +<p>“No, I’ll go after the men; that’s a man’s job,” +Banjo insisted. “I know right where they’re camped +at, you couldn’t find ’em between now and morning.”</p> +<p>There was no arguing Banjo out of it, no brushing +the little man aside. He was as firm as a man three +times his weight, and he took Mrs. Chadron by the +arm, like a son, and led her away from the horse with +a manner at once so firm and yet considerate that it +softened her stern heart and plunged her into tears.</p> +<p>“If you bring Nola back to me I’ll give her to +you, Banjo! I’ll give her to you!” she sobbed, as +she belted him with Chance Dalton’s guns.</p> +<p>“If any reward in this world could drive me +through hell fire to lay my hands on it, you’ve named +it,” he said.</p> +<p>Frances saw that Mrs. Chadron could be reasoned +with now, and she was grateful to Banjo for his opportune +arrival. For the night was vast and +unfriendly over that empty land, and filled with a +thousand shudderful dangers. She was afraid of it, +afraid to leave the lights of the house behind her +and ride out into it, no matter for all the peril that +poor little Nola might be facing in that cruel hour.</p> +<p>Banjo rode away. They stood clinging to each +other in the dim circle of Alvino’s lantern-light, +listening to his horse until the distance muffled its +feet on the road.</p> +<p>Frances was chilled with the horror of that brigandish +act. Every movement of the wind in the +bushes made her skin crinkle and creep; every sound +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' ></a>164</span> +of animals in barn and corral was magnified into +some new danger. Mrs. Chadron was in far worse +state, with reason, certainly, for being so. Now that +the stimulation of her first wild outburst had been +exhausted, she stood wilted and weak, shivering with +her hands over her eyes, moaning and moaning in +piteous low wail.</p> +<p>Frances took the lantern from old Alvino’s shaking +hand.</p> +<p>“Let’s go and look for their tracks,” she suggested, +forcing a note of eagerness into her words, +“so we can tell the men, when they come back to +pick up the trail, how many there were and which +way they went.”</p> +<p>“Oh, if Chance was only able to go after them, if +he was only able!” Mrs. Chadron wailed, following +Frances as she hurried along the wire fence that cut +the garden from the river.</p> +<p>“It was somebody that knowed the lay of the +land,” Mrs. Chadron said, “for that gate down there +back of the house is open. That’s the way they come +and went—somebody that knowed the lay of the +land.”</p> +<p>Frances felt her heart die within her as the recollection +of another night in that garden flashed like +red fire in her mind. There was a picture, as she +stopped with closed eyes, struck cold and shuddering +by a fear she dared not own, of one flying, bent into +the shadows, along the garden path toward that gate. +Someone who knew the “lay of the land!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' ></a>165</span></div> +<p>“Did you hear something?” Mrs. Chadron whispered, +leaning close to her where she had stopped, +stock-still, as if she had struck a wall.</p> +<p>“I thought I—I—saw something,” Frances +answered, in faint, sick voice.</p> +<p>The white gate was swinging as the invaders had +left it, and in the soft ground beyond it they found +tracks.</p> +<p>“Only one man!” said Mrs. Chadron, bending +over.</p> +<p>“There’s only one track,” said Frances, her +breath so feeble, her heart laboring so weakly that +she believed that she must die.</p> +<p>Alvino came up, and took the lead in tracking, with +the aptness for that trick that goes with primitive +minds such as his. Even in the farthest glimmer of +the light he could pick up the trail, and soon he led +them to the willows where the ravisher’s horse had +been concealed.</p> +<p>“One shoe was lost,” said he, pointing, “left one, +hind foot.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron stood looking in the direction that +the rider had gone with his precious burden, her eyes +straining into the dark.</p> +<p>“Oh, if I’d ’a’ come down here place of saddlin’ +that horse!” she lamented, with a pang for her lost +opportunity.</p> +<p>“He’d have been gone, even then—I was past +here and didn’t hear him,” Frances said.</p> +<p>Still the vision persisted in her disturbed imagination +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' ></a>166</span> +of that other night, of one leaning low in the +saddle, his fleet horse stretching its neck in desperation +for the distant refuge; the dash of pursuing +hoofs; the sound of shots up the river; the prayer +that she sent to heaven in his behalf.</p> +<p>“Well, it was somebody that knowed the lay of the +land,” Mrs. Chadron was repeating, with accusing +conviction.</p> +<p>They returned to the house, having done all that +they could do. It was doubtful whether the dumb, +plethoric nature of Mrs. Chadron made her capable +of suffering as Frances suffered, even with her greater +reason for pain of that cruel bereavement. Imaginative, +refined, sensitive as a harp, Frances reflected +every wild wrench of horror that Nola herself must +have been suffering as the horseman bore her along +in the thick night. She felt that she must scream, +but that some frightful thing smothered the voice +that struggled in her throat; that she must leap and +flee away, but a cloying power was heavy on her +limbs, binding her as if her feet were set in lava.</p> +<p>Somebody that knew the “lay of the land.” Great +God! could he fight that way, was it in Alan Macdonald +to make a hawk’s dash like that? It was hard +to admit the thought, to give standing to the doubtful +accusation. But those whom they called “rustlers” +must have borne Nola away. Beyond the homesteaders +up the river were the mountains and the wild +country where no man made his home; except them +and the cattlemen and the cowboys attending the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' ></a>167</span> +herds, that country was unpeopled. There was nobody +to whom the deed could be charged but the +enemies that Chadron had made in his persecution +of the homesteaders.</p> +<p>Perhaps they were not of the type that Macdonald +described; maybe the cattlemen were just in their +arraignment of them for thieves and skulking rascals, +and Macdonald was no better than the reputation +that common report gave him. The mere fact of +his defense of them in words, and his association with +them, seemed to convict him there in the silence of +that black-walled court of night.</p> +<p>It was either that he was blinded to the deviltries +of his associates by his own high intentions, or as +shrewdly dishonest as any scoundrel that ever rode +the wilds. He could be that, and carry it off before +a sharper judge than she. So she said, finding it +hard to excuse his blindness, if blindness it might be; +unable to mitigate in any degree the blame, even passive +knowledge of the intent, of that base offense.</p> +<p>At length, through all the fog of her groping and +piecing together, she reached what she believed to be +the motive which lay behind the deed. The rustlers +doubtless were aware of the blow that Chadron was +preparing to deliver upon them in retaliation for his +recent losses. They had carried off his daughter to +make her the price of their own immunity, or else +to extract from him a ransom that would indemnify +them for quitting their lairs in the land upon which +they preyed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' ></a>168</span></div> +<p>She explained this to Mrs. Chadron when it became +clear to her own mind. Mrs. Chadron seemed to draw +considerable hope from it that she should receive her +daughter back again unharmed in a little while.</p> +<p>The rest of the night the two women spent at the +gate, and in the road up and down in front of it, +straining for the sound of a hoof that might bring +them tidings. Mrs. Chadron kept up a moaning like +an infant whose distress no mind can read, no hand +relieve. Now and then she burst into a shrill and +sudden cry, and time and again she imagined that +she heard Nola calling her, and dashed off along the +road with answering shout, to come back to her sad +vigil at the gate by and by on Frances’ arm, crushed +by this one great and sudden sorrow of her life.</p> +<p>Frances cheered her as much as might be with +promises of the coming day. At the first streak of +dawn, she told Mrs. Chadron, she would ride to the +post and engage her father in the quest for the stolen +girl. Soldiers would be thrown out over the country +for miles on every side; the cowards would be hemmed +in within a matter of hours, and Nola would be at +home, laughing over the experiences of her tragic +night.</p> +<p>Frances was in the saddle at daybreak. She had +left Mrs. Chadron in an uneasy sleep, watched over +by Maggie. Banjo had not returned; no word had +reached them from any source. Alvino let Frances +out through the gate at the back of the garden, for +it was her intention to follow the abductor’s trail as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' ></a>169</span> +far as possible without being led into strange country. +Somebody, or some wandering herd of cattle, might +pass that way and obliterate the traces before pursuers +could be brought there.</p> +<p>The tracks of the raider’s horse were deep in the +soft soil. She followed them as they cut across the +open toward the river road, angling northward. At +a place where the horse had stopped and made a +trampling in the lose earth—testimony of the fight +that Nola had made to get away—Frances started +at the sight of something caught on a clump of bull-berry +bushes close at hand. She drew near the object +cautiously, leaning and looking in the half light of +early morning. Presently assured, she reached out +and picked it up, and rode on with it in her hand.</p> +<p>Presently the trail merged into the river road, +where hoofprints were so numerous that Frances was +not skilful enough to follow it farther. But it +was something to have established that the scoundrel +was heading for the homesteaders’ settlement, and +that he had taken the road openly, as if he had nothing +to fear. Also, that bit of evidence picked from +the bushes might serve its purpose in the right time +and place.</p> +<p>She felt again that surge of indignation that had +fired her heart early in the sad night past. The man +who had lurked in the garden waiting his chance to +snatch Nola away, was certain of the protection to +which he fled. It was the daring execution of one +man, but the planning of many, and at the head of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' ></a>170</span> +them one with fire in his wild soul, quick passion in +his eyes, and mastery over his far-riding band. It +could be no other way.</p> +<p>When she came to the branching of the roads she +pulled up her horse and sat considering her course +a little while. Presently she rode forward again, but +not on the road that led to the army post.</p> +<p>She had proceeded a mile, perhaps, along the road +branching to the homesteaders’ settlement, upon +which she knew Macdonald’s claim to lie somewhere +up the river, when she rounded an elbow screened by +tall-growing greasewood and came face to face with +a small cavalcade of dusty men. At the head of them +Alan Macdonald rode, beside an old man whose neck +was guttered like a wasted candle and his branching +great mustache gray as the dust on his bony shoulders.</p> +<p>She halted when she saw them, and they jerked up +their horses also, with startled suddenness, like men +riding in the expectation of danger and surprise. +Macdonald came forward in a moment, with respectful +salute, a look amounting almost to frightened +questioning in his face. For the sun was not up yet, +although its flame was on the heavens, and it was a +strange, wild place to meet a woman of Frances Landcraft’s +caste unattended, and with the shadow of a +trouble in her face that made it old, like misery.</p> +<p>But there was no question of the unfriendliness of +that face for Alan Macdonald and the men who came +riding at his back. It was as cold as the gray earth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' ></a>171</span> +beneath her horse’s hoofs, and its severity was reflected +in the very pose of her body, even in the grip +of her slender thighs as they clasped her saddle, sitting +there like a dragoon outrider who had appeared +to bar their way.</p> +<p>Frances was wearing the brown corduroy riding-habit +that she had worn on the day when she first +spoke to him. Her brown hair had fallen down until +it hid her ears, for she had ridden hard, and a strand +of it blew from beneath her cowboy hat in unheeded +caress across her cheek.</p> +<p>Macdonald saw her stiffen in the saddle and lift +herself a little from her seat as he drew near, his +companions stopping a little distance back. Her +eyes were stern and reproachful; a little frown +troubled her white forehead.</p> +<p>“I was starting out to find you, Mr. Macdonald,” +she said, severely.</p> +<p>“If there is any service, Miss Landcraft—”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk emptiness, and don’t pretend!” she +said, a flash of anger in her face. “It isn’t a man’s +way to fight, it’s a coward’s! Bring her back home!”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean.” There was such +an astonished helplessness in his manner that it would +have convinced any unprejudiced mind of his innocence +in itself.</p> +<p>“Oh!”—impatiently—“I can’t hurt you, I’m +alone. You’d just as well tell me how much money +you’re going to demand, so I can set their minds at +rest.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' ></a>172</span></div> +<p>Macdonald’s face was hot; his eyes felt as if they +swam in fire. He put out his hand in a gesture almost +a command, his heavy eyebrows gathered in a frown, +an expression of sternness in his homely face that +made it almost majestic.</p> +<p>“If you’ll be good enough to tell me what your +veiled accusations point to, Miss Landcraft, then I +can answer you by either yes or no.”</p> +<p>She unbent so far as to relate briefly what she believed +they knew better than herself already. But +behind her high air as she talked there was a secret +warm feeling for the strength of this man. It was a +quality of fine steel in the human mind and body such +as she never had seen so beautifully blended before. +In her own father there was something of it, but only +a reflection on water compared to this. It seemed the +temper of the desert, she thought, like that oriental +spirit which spread Islam’s dark creed over half the +world.</p> +<p>When she had finished the relation of Nola’s ravishment, +he sat with head drooped in dusty silence +a moment. Then he looked her in the eyes with such +a steady blaze of indignation that she felt her own +rage kindle to meet it. His clear, steady gaze was +an arraignment, an accusation on the ugly charge of +perversion of the truth as she knew it to be in the +bottom of her conscience when she had laid the crime +at the homesteaders’ hands. If he saw her at all, she +thought, it was as some small despicable thing, for +his eyes were so unflinching, as they poured their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' ></a>173</span> +steady fire into her own, that he seemed to be summing +up the final consequences which lay behind her, +along the dusty highway to the ranchhouse by the +river.</p> +<p>“In the first place,” said he, speaking slowly, +“there are no cattle thieves among the homesteaders +in the settlement up the river, Miss Landcraft. I +have told you this before. Here, I want you to meet +some of them, and judge for yourself.”</p> +<p>He beckoned to Tom Lassiter and the three with +him, and they joined him there before her. In a few +words he told them who she was and the news that +she carried, as well as the accusation that went with +it.</p> +<p>“These men, their neighbors, and myself not only +had no hand in this deed, but there’s not one among +us that wouldn’t put down his life to keep that young +woman from harm and give her back to her home. +We have our grievances against Saul Chadron, God +knows! and they are grave enough. But we don’t +fight that way, Miss Landcraft.”</p> +<p>“If you’re innocent, then prove it by forcing the +men that carried her off, or the man, if there was +only one, to bring her back home. Then I’ll believe +you. Maybe others will, too. What are you +riding the road so early for, all armed and suspicious, +if you’re such honest men?”</p> +<p>“We’re goin’ to the agency after ammunition to +defend our homes, and our wives and children—such +of us as Saul Chadron and his hired hounds has left +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' ></a>174</span> +children to, colonel’s daughter,” Tom Lassiter +answered, reproof in his kind old eyes.</p> +<p>Frances had unrolled the bit of evidence that she +had picked up from the bushes, and was holding it +on the horn of her saddle now, quite unconscious of +what her hands were doing, for she had forgotten the +importance of her find in the heat of that meeting. +Macdonald spurred forward, pointing to the thing in +her hand.</p> +<p>“Where did you get that?” he asked, a sharp note +of concern in his voice that made her start.</p> +<p>She told him. He took it from her and turned to +his comrades.</p> +<p>“It’s Mark Thorn’s cap!” he said, holding it up, +his fingers in the crown.</p> +<p>Tom Lassiter nodded his slow head as the others +leaned to look.</p> +<p>“Saul Chadron’s chickens has come home to +roost,” he said.</p> +<p>Frances understood nothing of the excitement that +sprung out of the mention of the outlaw’s name, for +Mark Thorn and his bloody history were alike unknown +to her. Her resentment mounted at being an +outsider to their important or pretended secret.</p> +<p>“Well, if you know whose cap it is, it ought to be +easy for you to find the owner,” she said, unable to +smother the sneer in her words.</p> +<p>“He isn’t one of us,” said a homesteader, with +grim shortness.</p> +<p>“Oh!” said she, tossing her lofty head.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' ></a>175</span></div> +<p>There was a pallor in Macdonald’s weathered face, +as if somebody near and dear to himself was in extreme +peril.</p> +<p>“She may never see home again,” he said. Then +quickly: “Which way did he go, do you know?”</p> +<p>She told him what she knew, not omitting the lost +horseshoe. Tom Lassiter bent in his saddle with +eagerness as she mentioned that particular, and ran +his eyes over the road like one reading the pages of +a book.</p> +<p>“There!” he said, pointing, “I’ve been seein’ it +all the way down, Alan. He was headin’ for the +hills.”</p> +<p>Frances could not see the print of the shoeless +hoof, nor any peculiarity among the scores of tracks +that would tell her of Nola’s abductor having ridden +that far along the road. She flushed as the thought +came to her that this was a trick to throw her attention +from themselves and the blame upon some fictitious +person, when they knew whose hands were guilty +all the time. The men were leaning in their saddles, +riding slowly back on their trail, talking in low voices +and sharp exclamations among themselves. She +spurred hotly after them.</p> +<p>“Mr. Chadron hasn’t come home yet,” she said, +addressing Macdonald, who sat straight in his saddle +to hear, “but they expect him any hour. If you’ll +say how much you’re going to demand, and where you +want it paid, I’ll carry the word to him. It might +hurry matters, and save her mother’s life.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' ></a>176</span></div> +<p>“I’m sorry you repeated that,” said Macdonald, +touching his hat in what he plainly meant a farewell +salute. He turned from her and drew Tom Lassiter +aside. In a moment he was riding back again the +way that he had come.</p> +<p>Frances looked at the unaccountable proceeding +with the eyes of doubt and suspicion. She did not +believe any of them, and had no faith in their mysterious +trackings and whisperings aside, and mad gallopings +off to hidden ends. As for Tom Lassiter and +his companions, they ranged themselves preparatory +to continuing their journey.</p> +<p>“If you’re goin’ our way, colonel’s daughter,” +said Tom, gathering up his bridle-reins, “we’ll be +proud to ride along with you.”</p> +<p>Frances was looking at the dust-cloud that rose +behind Macdonald. He was no longer in sight.</p> +<p>“Where has he gone?” she inquired, her suspicion +growing every moment.</p> +<p>“He’s gone to find that cowman’s child, young +lady, and take her home to her mother,” Tom replied, +with dignity. He rode on. She followed, presently +gaining his side.</p> +<p>“Is there such a man as Mark Thorn?” she asked +after a little, looking across at Lassiter with sly +innuendo.</p> +<p>“No, there ain’t no man by that name, but there’s +a devil in the shape of a human man called that,” he +answered.</p> +<p>“Is he—what does he do?” She reined a little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' ></a>177</span> +nearer to Lassiter, feeling that there was little harm +in him apart from the directing hand.</p> +<p>“He hires out to kill off folks that’s in the way +of the cattlemen at so much a head, miss; like some +hires out to kill off wolves. The Drovers’ Association +hires him, and sees that he gits out of jail if anybody +ever puts him in, and fixes it up so he walks safe with +the blood of no knowin’ how many innocent people on +his hands. That’s what Mark Thorn does, ma’am. +Chadron brought him in here a couple of weeks ago +to do some killin’ off amongst us homesteaders so the +rest ’d take a scare and move out. He give that +old devil a list of twenty men he wanted shot, and +Alan Macdonald’s got that paper. His own name’s +at the top of it, too.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said she, catching her breath sharply, as +if in pain. Her face was white and cold. “Did he—did +he—kill anybody here?”</p> +<p>“He killed my little boy; he shot him down before +his mother’s eyes!”</p> +<p>Tom Lassiter’s guttered neck was agitated; the +muscles of his bony jaw knotted as he clamped his +teeth and looked straight along the road ahead of +him.</p> +<p>“Your little boy! Oh, what a coward he must +be!”</p> +<p>“He was a little tow-headed feller, and he had his +mother’s eyes, as blue as robins’ eggs,” said Tom, +his reminiscent sorrow so poignant that tears sprung +to her eyes in sympathy and plashed down unheeded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' ></a>178</span> +and unchecked. “He’d ’a’ been fifteen in November. +Talkin’ about fightin’, ma’am, that’s the way some +people fights.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I said that, Mr. Lassiter,” she confessed, +hanging her head like a corrected child.</p> +<p>“He can’t hear you now,” said Tom.</p> +<p>They rode on a little way. Tom told her of the +other outrages for which Thorn was accountable in +that settlement. She was amazed as deeply as she +was shocked to hear of this, for if any word of it +had come to the post, it had been kept from her. +Neither was it ever mentioned in Chadron’s home.</p> +<p>“No,” said Tom, when she mentioned that, “it +ain’t the kind of news the cattlemen spreads around. +But if we shoot one of them in defendin’ our own, +the news runs like a pe-rairie fire. They call us +rustlers, and come ridin’ up to swipe us out. Well, +they’s goin’ to be a change.”</p> +<p>“But if Chadron brought that terrible man in +here, why should the horrible creature turn against +him?” she asked, doubt and suspicion grasping the +seeming fault in Lassiter’s tale.</p> +<p>“Chadron refused to make settlement with him for +the killin’ he done because he didn’t git Macdonald. +Thorn told Alan that with his own bloody tongue.”</p> +<p>Lassiter retailed to her eager ears the story of +Macdonald’s capture of Thorn, and his fight with +Chadron’s men when they came to set the old slayer +free, as Lassiter supposed.</p> +<p>“They turned him loose,” said he, “and you know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' ></a>179</span> +now what I meant when I said Chadron’s chickens +has come home to roost.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know now.” She turned, and looked back. +Remorse was heavy on her for the injustice she had +done Macdonald that day, and shame for her sharp +words bowed her head as she rode at old Tom Lassiter’s +hand.</p> +<p>“He’ll run the old devil down ag’in,” Tom spoke +confidently, as of a thing that admitted no dispute, +“and take that young woman home if he finds her +livin’. Many thanks he’ll git for it from them and +her. Like as not she’ll bite the hand that saves her, +for she’s a cub of the old bear. Well, let me tell you, +colonel’s daughter, if she was to live a thousand +years, and pray all her life, she wouldn’t no more +than be worthy at the end to wash that man’s feet +with her tears and dry ’em on her hair, like that +poor soul you’ve read about in the Book.”</p> +<p>Frances slowed her horse as if overcome by a sudden +indecision, and turned in her saddle to look back +again. Again she had let him go away from her +misunderstood, his high pride hurt, his independent +heart too lofty to bend down to the mean adjustment +to be reached through argument or explanation. One +must accept Alan Macdonald for what his face proclaimed +him to be. She knew that now. He was not +of the mean-spirited who walk among men making +apology for their lives.</p> +<p>“He’s gone on,” said Lassiter, slowing his horse +to her pace.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' ></a>180</span></div> +<p>“I’m afraid I was hasty and unjust,” she confessed, +struggling to hold back her tears.</p> +<p>“Yes, you was,” said Lassiter, frankly, “but +everybody on the outside is unjust to all of us up +here. We’re kind of outcasts because we fence the +land and plow it. But I want to tell you, Macdonald’s +a man amongst men, ma’am. He’s fed the poor +and lifted up the afflicted, and he’s watched with us +beside our sick and prayed with us over our dead. We +know him, no matter what folks on the outside say. +Well, we’ll have to spur up a little, ma’am, for we’re +in a hurry to git back.”</p> +<p>They approached the point where the road to the +post branched.</p> +<p>“There’s goin’ to be fightin’ over here if Chadron +tries to drive us out,” Tom said, “and we know he’s +sent for men to come in and help him try it. We +don’t want to fight, but men that won’t fight for their +homes ain’t the kind you’d like to ride along the road +with, ma’am.”</p> +<p>“Maybe the trouble can be settled some other +way,” she suggested, thinking again of the hope that +she had brought with her to the ranch the day before.</p> +<p>“When we bring the law in here, and elect officers +to see it put in force for every man alike, then this +trouble it’ll come to an end. Well, if you ever feel +like we deserve a good word, colonel’s daughter, we’d +be proud to have you say it, for the feller that stands +up for the law and the Lord and his home agin the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' ></a>181</span> +cattlemen in this land, ma’am, he’s got a hard row to +hoe. Yes, we’ll count any good words you might say +for us as so much gold. ‘And the Levite, thou shalt +not forsake him, for he hath no part nor inheritance +with thee.’”</p> +<p>Tom’s voice was slow and solemn when he quoted +that Mosaic injunction. The appeal of the disinherited +was in it, and the pain of lost years. It +touched her like a sorrow of her own. Tears were +on her cheeks again as she parted from him, giving +him her hand in token of trust and faith, and rode on +toward the ranchhouse by the river.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' ></a>182</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XIV_WHEN_FRIENDS_PART'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>WHEN FRIENDS PART</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Banjo had returned, with fever in his wound. +Mrs. Chadron was putting horse liniment on it +when Frances entered the sitting-room where the +news of the tragedy had visited them the night past.</p> +<p>“I didn’t go to the post—I saw some men in the +road and turned back,” Frances told them, sinking +down wearily in a chair before the fire.</p> +<p>“I’m glad you turned back, honey,” Mrs. Chadron +said, shaking her head sadly, “for I was no end +worried about you. Them rustlers they’re comin’ +down from their settlement and gatherin’ up by +Macdonald’s place, the men told Banjo, and no tellin’ +what they might ’a’ done if they’d seen you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron’s face was not red with the glow of +peppers and much food this morning. One night of +anxiety had racked her, and left hollows under her +eyes and a flat grayness in her cheeks.</p> +<p>Banjo had brought no other news. The men had +scattered at daybreak to search for the trail of the +man who had carried Nola away, but Banjo, sore and +shaken, had come back depressed and full of pains. +Mrs. Chadron said that Saul surely would be home +before noonday, and urged Frances to go to her room +and sleep.</p> +<p>“I’m steadier this morning, I’ll watch and wait,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' ></a>183</span> +she said, pressing the liniment-soaked cloth to +Banjo’s bruised forehead.</p> +<p>Banjo contracted his muscles under the application, +shriveling up on himself like a snail in a fire, +for it was hot and heroic liniment, and strong medicine +for strong beasts and tougher men. Banjo’s +face was a picture of patient suffering, but he said +nothing, and had not spoken since Frances entered +the room, for the treatment had been under way before +her arrival and there was scarcely enough +breath left in him to suffice for life, and none at all +for words. Frances had it in mind to suggest some +milder remedy, but held her peace, feeling that if +Banjo survived the treatment he surely would be in +no danger from his hurt.</p> +<p>The door of Nola’s room was open as Frances +passed, and there was a depression in the counterpane +which told where the lost girl’s mother had knelt beside +it and wet it with her tears. Frances wondered +whether she had prayed, lingering compassionately a +moment in the door.</p> +<p>The place was like Nola in its light and brightness +and surface comfort and assertive color notes of +happiness, hung about with the trophies of her short +but victorious career among the hearts of men. There +were photographs of youths on dressing-table, chiffonier, +and walls, and flaring pennants of eastern +universities and colleges. Among the latter, as if +it was the most triumphant trophy of them all, there +hung a little highland bonnet with a broken feather, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' ></a>184</span> +of the plaid Alan Macdonald had worn on the night +of Nola’s mask.</p> +<p>Frances went in for a nearer inspection, and lifted +the little saucy bit of headgear from its place in +the decorations of Nola’s wall. There could be no +doubting it; that was Alan Macdonald’s bonnet, and +there was a bullet hole in it at the stem of the little +feather. The close-grazing lead had sheared the +plume in two, and gone on its stinging way straight +through the bonnet.</p> +<p>An exclamation of tender pity rose above her +breath. She fondled the little headdress and pressed +it to her bosom; she laid it against her cheek and +kissed it in consolation for its hurt—the woman’s +balsam for all sufferings and heartbreaks, and incomparable +among the panaceas of all time.</p> +<p>In spite of her sympathy for Nola in her grave +situation, facing or undergoing what terrors no one +knew, there was a bridling of resentment against her +in Frances’ breast as she hung the marred bonnet +back in its place. It seemed to her that Nola had +exulted over both herself and Alan Macdonald when +she had put his bonnet on her wall, and that she had +kept it there after the coming of Frances to that +house in affront to friendship and mockery of the +hospitality that she professed to extend.</p> +<p>Nola had asked her to that house so that she +might see it hanging there; she had arranged it +and studied it with the cunning intent of giving her +pain. And how close that bullet had come to him! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' ></a>185</span> +It must have sheared his fair hair as it tore through +and dashed the bonnet from his head.</p> +<p>How she suffered in picturing his peril, happily +outlived! How her heart trembled and her strong +young limbs shook as she lived over in breathless +agony the crisis of that night! He had carried her +glove in his bonnet—she remembered the deft little +movement of stowing it there just the moment before +he bent and flashed away among the shadows. Excuse +enough for losing it, indeed!</p> +<p>But he had not told her of his escape to justify +the loss; proudly he had accepted the blame, and +turned away with the hurt of it in his unbending +heart.</p> +<p>She went back and took down the jaunty little +cap again, and kissed it with compensatory tenderness, +and left a jewel trembling on its crown from +the well of her honest brown eye. If ever amends +were made to any little highland bonnet in this +world, then Alan Macdonald’s was that bonnet, hanging +there among the flaring pennants and trivial little +schoolgirl trophies on Nola Chadron’s wall.</p> +<p>Chadron came home toward evening at the head of +sixty men. He had raised his army speedily and +effectively. These men had been gathered by the +members of the Drovers’ Association and sent to +Meander by special train, horses, guns, ammunition, +and provisions with them, ready for a campaign.</p> +<p>The cattlemen had made a common cause of this +sectional difficulty. Their indignation had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' ></a>186</span> +voiced very thoroughly by Mrs. Chadron when she +had spoken to Frances with such resentment of the +homesteaders standing up to fight. That was an +unprecedented contingency. The “holy scare,” such +as Mark Thorn and similar hired assassins spread in +communities of homesteaders, had been sufficient up +to that day. Now this organized front of self-defense +must be broken, and the bold rascals involved +must be destroyed, root and branch.</p> +<p>Press agents of the Drovers’ Association in +Cheyenne were sowing nation-wide picturesque +stories of the rustlers’ uprising. The ground was +being prepared for the graver news that was to +come; the cattlemen’s justification was being carefully +arranged in advance.</p> +<p>Frances shuddered for the homesteaders when she +looked out of her window upon this formidable force +of lean-legged, gaunt-cheeked gun-fighters. They +were men of the trade, cowboys who had fought their +employers’ battles from the Rio Grande to the Little +Missouri. They were grim and silent men as they +pressed round the watering troughs at the windmill +with their horses, with flapping hats and low-slung +pistols, and rifles sheathed in leather cases on their +saddles.</p> +<p>She hurried down when she saw Chadron dismount +at the gate. Mrs. Chadron was there to meet him, +for she had stood guard at her window all day +watching for his dust beyond the farthest hill. +Frances could hear her weeping now, and Chadron’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' ></a>187</span> +heavy voice rising in command as she came to the +outer door.</p> +<p>Chadron was in the saddle again, and there was +hurrying among his men at barn and corral as they +put on bridles which they had jerked off, and tightened +girths and gathered up dangling straps. Chadron +was riding among them, large and commanding as +a general, with a cloud in his dark face that seemed +a threat of death.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron was hurrying in to make a bundle +of some heavy clothing for Nola to protect her +against the night chill on her way home, which the +confident soul believed her daughter would be headed +upon before midnight. Saul the invincible was taking +the trail; Saul, who smashed his way to his desires +in all things. She gave Frances a hurried word of +encouragement as they passed outside the door.</p> +<p>Chadron was talking earnestly to his men. “I’ll +give fifty dollars bonus to the man that brings him +down,” she heard him say as she drew near, “and a +hundred to the first man to lay eyes on my daughter.”</p> +<p>Frances was hurrying to him with the information +that she had kept for his ear alone. She was +flushed with excitement as she came among the rough +horsemen like a bright bloom tossed among rusty +weeds. They fell back generously, not so much to +give her room as to see her to better advantage, passing +winks and grimaces of approval between themselves +in their free and easy way. Chadron gave his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' ></a>188</span> +hand in greeting as she spoke some hasty words of +comfort.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Miss Frances, for your friendship +in this bad business,” he said, heartily, and with the +best that there was in him. “You’ve been a great +help and comfort to her mother, and if it wouldn’t +be askin’ too much I’d like for you to stay here with +her till we bring my little girl back home.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I intended to stay, Mr. Chadron; I didn’t +come out to tell you that.” She looked round at the +admiring faces, too plainly expressive of their approbation, +some of them, and plucked Chadron’s +sleeve. “Bend down—I want to tell you something,” +she said, in low, quick voice.</p> +<p>Chadron stooped, his hand lightly on her shoulder, +in attitude of paternal benediction.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t Macdonald, it was Mark Thorn,” she +whispered.</p> +<p>Chadron’s face displayed no surprise, shadowed +no deeper concern. Only there was a flitting look +of perplexity in it as he sat upright in his saddle +again.</p> +<p>“Who is he?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Don’t you know?” She watched him closely, +baffled by his unmoved countenance.</p> +<p>“I never heard of anybody in this country by +that name,” he returned, shaking his head with a +show of entire sincerity. “Who was tellin’ you about +him—who said he was the man?”</p> +<p>A little confused, and more than a little disappointed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' ></a>189</span> +over the apparent failure of her news to +surprise from Chadron a betrayal of his guilty connection +with Mark Thorn, she related the adventure +of the morning, the finding of the cap, the meeting +with Macdonald and his neighbors. She reserved +nothing but what Lassiter had told her of Thorn’s +employers and his bloody work in that valley.</p> +<p>Chadron shook his head with an air of serious +concern. There was a look of commiseration in his +eyes for her credulity, and shameful duping by the +cunning word of Alan Macdonald.</p> +<p>“That’s one of Macdonald’s lies,” he said, something +so hard and bitter in his voice when he pronounced +that name that she shuddered. “I never +heard of anybody named Thorn, here or anywheres +else. That rustler captain he’s a deep one, Miss +Frances, and he was only throwin’ dust in your +eyes. But I’m glad you told me.”</p> +<p>“But they said—the man he called Lassiter +said—that Macdonald would find Nola, and bring +her home,” she persisted, unwilling yet to accept +Chadron’s word against that old man’s, remembering +the paper with the list of names.</p> +<p>“He’s bald-faced enough to try even a trick like +that!” he said.</p> +<p>Chadron looked impatiently toward the house, +muttering something about the slowness of “them +women,” avoiding Frances’ eyes. For she did not +believe Saul Chadron, and her distrust was eloquent +in her face.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' ></a>190</span></div> +<p>“You mean that he’d pretend a rescue and bring +her back, just to make sympathy for himself and his +side of this trouble?”</p> +<p>“That’s about the size of it,” Chadron nodded, +frowning sternly.</p> +<p>“Oh, it seems impossible that anybody could be +so heartless and low!”</p> +<p>“A man that’d burn brands is low enough to go +past anything you could imagine in that little head +of yours, Miss Frances. Do you mind runnin’ in and +tellin’—no, here she comes.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t this trouble between you and the homesteaders—”</p> +<p>“Homesteaders! They’re cattle thieves, born in +’em and bred in ’em, and set in the hide and hair +of ’em!”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t it be settled without all this fighting +and killing?” she went on, pressing her point.</p> +<p>“It’s all over now but the shoutin’,” said he. +“There’s only one way to handle a rustler, Miss +Frances, and that’s to salt his hide.”</p> +<p>“I’d be willing—I’d be glad—to go up there +myself, alone, and take any message you might send,” +she offered. “I think they’d listen to reason, even +to leaving the country if you want them to, rather +than try to stand against a ga—force like this.”</p> +<p>“You can’t understand our side of it, Miss +Frances,”—Chadron spoke impatiently, reaching +out for the bundle that his wife was bringing while +she was yet two rods away—“for you ain’t been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' ></a>191</span> +robbed and wronged by them nesters like we have. +You’ve got to live it to know what it means, little +lady. We’ve argued with ’em till we’ve used up all +our words, but their fences is still there. Now we’re +goin’ to clear ’em out.”</p> +<p>“But Macdonald seemed hurt when I asked him +how much money they wanted you to pay as Nola’s +ransom,” she said.</p> +<p>“He’s deep, and he’s tricky—too deep and too +slick for you.” Chadron gathered up his reins, +leaned over and whispered: “Don’t say anything +about that Thorn yarn to her”—a sideways jerk of +the head toward his wife—“her trouble’s deep +enough without stirrin’ it.”</p> +<p>Chadron had the bundle now, and Mrs. Chadron +was helping him tie it behind his saddle, shaking her +head sadly as she handled the belongings of her child +with gentle touch. Tears were running down her +cheeks, but her usually ready words seemed dead +upon her tongue.</p> +<p>From the direction of the barn a little commotion +moved forward among the horsemen, like a wave +before a breeze. Banjo Gibson appeared on his horse +as the last thong was tied about Nola’s bundle, his +hat tilted more than its custom to spare the sore +place over his eye.</p> +<p>The cowboys looked at his gaudy trappings with +curious eyes. Chadron gave him a short word of +greeting, and bent to kiss his wife good-bye.</p> +<p>“I’m with you in this here thing, Saul,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' ></a>192</span> +Banjo; “I’ll ride to hell’s back door to help you find +that little girl!”</p> +<p>Chadron slewed in his saddle with an ugly scowl.</p> +<p>“We don’t want any banjo-pickers on this job, +it’s men’s work!” he said.</p> +<p>Banjo seemed to droop with humiliation. Chuckles +and derisive words were heard among Chadron’s +train. The little musician hung his bandaged head.</p> +<p>“Oh, you ortn’t be hard on Banjo, he means well,” +Mrs. Chadron pleaded.</p> +<p>“He can stay here and scratch the pigs,” Chadron +returned, in his brutal way. “We’ve got to go now, +old lady, but we’ll be back before morning, and we’ll +bring Nola. Don’t you worry any more; she’ll be all +right—they wouldn’t dare to harm a hair of her +head.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron looked at him with large hope and +larger trust in her yearning face, and Banjo slewed +his horse directly across the gate.</p> +<p>“Before you leave, Saul, I want to tell you this,” +he said. “You’ve hurt me, and you’ve hurt me <i>deep</i>! +I’ll leave here before another hour passes by, and I’ll +never set a boot-heel inside of your door ag’in as +long as you live!”</p> +<p>“Oh hell!” said Chadron, spurring forward into +the road.</p> +<p>Chadron’s men rode away after him, except five +whom he detailed to stay behind and guard the +ranch. These turned their horses into the corral, +made their little fire of twigs and gleaned brush +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' ></a>193</span> +in their manner of wood-scant frugality, and over +it cooked their simple dinner, each man after his +own way.</p> +<p>Banjo led his horse to the gate in front of the +house and left it standing there while he went in +to get his instruments. Mrs. Chadron was moved +to a fresh outburst of weeping by his preparations +for departure, and the sad, hurt look in his simple +face.</p> +<p>“You stay here, Banjo; don’t you go!” she +begged. “Saul he didn’t mean any harm by what +he said—he won’t remember nothing about it when +he comes back.”</p> +<p>“I’ll remember it,” Banjo told her, shaking his +head in unbending determination, “and I couldn’t +be easy here like I was in the past. If I was to try +to swaller a bite of Saul Chadron’s grub after this +it’d stick in my throat and choke me. No, I’m a-goin’, +mom, but I’m carryin’ away kind thoughts of you +in my breast, never to be forgot.”</p> +<p>Banjo hitched the shoulder strap of the instrument +from which he took his name with a jerking of +the shoulder, and settled it in place; he took up his +fiddle box and hooked it under his arm, and offered +Mrs. Chadron his hand. She was crying, her face +in her apron, and did not see. Frances took the +extended hand and clasped it warmly, for the little +musician and his homely small sentiments had found +a place in her heart.</p> +<p>“You shouldn’t leave until your head gets better,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' ></a>194</span> +she said; “you’re hardly able to take another long +ride after being in the saddle all night, hurt like +you are.”</p> +<p>Banjo looked at her with pain reflected in his +shallow eyes.</p> +<p>“The hurt that gives me my misery is where it +can’t be seen,” he said.</p> +<p>“Where are you goin’, Banjo, with the country +riled up this way, and you li’ble to be shot down any +place by them rustlers?” Mrs. Chadron asked, looking +at him appealingly, her apron ready to stem her +gushing tears.</p> +<p>“I’ll go over to the mission and stay with Mother +Mathews till I’m healed up. I’ll be welcome in that +house; I’d be welcome there if I was blind, and had +m’ back broke and couldn’t touch a string.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you would, Banjo,” Mrs. Chadron nodded.</p> +<p>“She’s married to a Injun, but she’s as white as +a angel’s robe.”</p> +<p>“She’s a good soul, Banjo, as good as ever lived.”</p> +<p>Frances took advantage of Banjo’s trip to the +reservation to send a note to her father apprising +him of the tragedy at the ranch. Banjo buttoned it +inside his coat, mounted his horse, and rode away.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron watched him out of sight with +lamentations.</p> +<p>“I wish he’d ’a’ stayed—it ’d ’a’ been all right +with Saul; Saul didn’t mean any harm by what he +said. He’s the tender-heartedest man you ever saw, +he wouldn’t hurt a body’s feelin’s for a farm.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' ></a>195</span></div> +<p>“I don’t believe Banjo is a man to hold a grudge +very long,” Frances told her, looking after the retreating +musician, her thoughts on him but hazily, +but rather on a little highland bonnet with a bullet +hole in its crown.</p> +<p>“No, he ain’t,” Mrs. Chadron agreed, plucking +up a little brightness. “But it’s a bad sign, a mighty +bad sign, when a friend parts from you with a hurt +in his heart that way, and leaves your house in a +huff and feels put out like Banjo does.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Frances, “we let them go away from +us too often that way, with sore hearts that even a +little word might ease.”</p> +<p>She spoke with such wistful regret that the older +woman felt its note through her own deep gloom. +She groped out, tears blinding her, until her hand +found her young friend’s, and then she clasped it, +and stood holding it, no words between them.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' ></a>196</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XV_ONE_ROAD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>ONE ROAD</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Twenty-four hours after Banjo’s departure +a messenger arrived at the ranchhouse. It was +one of the cowboys attached to the ranch, and he +came with his right arm in a sling. He was worn, +and beaten out by long hours in the saddle and the +pain of his wound.</p> +<p>He said they had news of Nola, and that Chadron +sent word that she would be home before another +night passed. This intelligence sent Mrs. Chadron +off to bedroom and kitchen to make preparations for +her reception and restoration.</p> +<p>As she left the room Frances turned to the messenger, +who stood swinging his big hat awkwardly +by the brim. She untied the sling that held his +wounded arm and made him sit by the table while +she examined his injury, concerning which Mrs. +Chadron, in her excitement, had not even inquired.</p> +<p>The shot had gone through the forearm, grazing +the bone. When Frances, with the aid of Maggie, +the Mexican woman with tender eyes, had cleansed +and bound up the wound, she turned to him with a +decisive air of demand.</p> +<p>“Now, tell me the truth,” she said.</p> +<p>He was a bashful man, with a long, sheepish nose +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' ></a>197</span> +and the bluest of harmless eyes. He started a little +when she made that demand, and blushed.</p> +<p>“That’s what the boss told me to say,” he demurred.</p> +<p>“I know he did; but what’s happening?”</p> +<p>“Well, we ain’t heard hide nor hair of her”—he +looked round cautiously, lest Mrs. Chadron surprise +him in the truth—“and them rustlers they’re clean +gone and took everything but their houses and fences +along—beds and teams and stock, and everything.”</p> +<p>“Gone!” she repeated, staring at him blankly; +“where have they gone?”</p> +<p>“Macdonald’s doin’ it; that man’s got brainds,” +the cowboy yielded, with what he knew to be unlawful +admiration of the enemy’s parts. “He’s herdin’ ’em +back in the hills where they’ve built a regular fort, +they say. Some of us fellers caught up to a few +of the stragglers last night, and that’s when I got +this arm put on me.”</p> +<p>“Have any of the rustlers been killed?”</p> +<p>“No,” he admitted, disgustedly, “they ain’t! +We’ve burnt all the shacks we come to, and cut their +fences, but they all got slick and clean away, down +to the littlest kid. But the boss’s after ’em,” he +added, with brisk hopefulness, “and you’ll have better +news by mornin’.”</p> +<p>Chadron himself was the next rider to arrive at +that anxious house, and he came as the messenger of +disaster. He arrived between midnight and morning, +his horse spur-gashed, driven to the limit, himself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' ></a>198</span> +sunken-eyed from his anxiety and hard pursuit of +his elusive enemy.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron was asleep when he entered the living-room +where Frances was keeping lonely watch +before the chimney fire.</p> +<p>“What’s happened?” she asked, hastening to meet +him.</p> +<p>Chadron stood there gray and dusty, his big hat +down hard on his head, his black eyes shooting inquiry +into the shadowed room.</p> +<p>“Where is she?” he whispered.</p> +<p>“Upstairs, asleep—I’ve only just been able to +persuade her to lie down and close her eyes.”</p> +<p>“Well, there’s no use to wake her up for bad +news.”</p> +<p>“You haven’t found Nola?”</p> +<p>“I know right where she is. I could put my hand +on her if I could reach her.”</p> +<p>“Then why—?”</p> +<p>“Hell!” said Chadron, bursting into a fire of +passion, “why can’t I fly like an eagle? Young +woman, I’ve got to tell you I’ve been beat and tricked +for the first time in my life! They’ve got my men +hemmed in, I tell you—they’ve got ’em shut up in +a cañon as tight as if they was nailed in their +coffins!”</p> +<p>If Chadron had been clearer of sight and mind in +that moment of his towering anger, he would have +seen her cheeks flush at his words, and her nostrils +dilate and her breath come faster. But he was blind; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' ></a>199</span> +his little varnish of delicacy was gone. He was just +a ranting, roaring, dark-visaged brute with murder +in his heart.</p> +<p>“That damned Macdonald done it, led ’em into it +like they was blind! He’s a wolf, and he’s got the +tricks of a wolf, he skulked ahead of ’em with a little +pack of his rustlers and led ’em into his trap, then +the men he had hid there and ready they popped up +as thick as grass. They’ve got fifty of my men shut +up there where they can’t git to water, and where +they can’t fight back. Now, what do you think of +that?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what I think,” she said, throwing +up her head, her eyes as quick and bright as water +in the sun, “I think it’s the judgment of God! I +glory in the trick Alan Macdonald played you, and I +pray God he can shut your hired murderers there till +the last red-handed devil dies of thirst!”</p> +<p>Chadron fell back from her a step, his eyes staring, +his mouth open, his hand lifted as if to silence +her. He stood so a moment, casting his wild look +around, fearful that somebody else had heard her +passionate denunciation.</p> +<p>“What in the hell do you mean?” he asked, +crouching as he spoke, his teeth clenched, his voice +smothered in his throat.</p> +<p>“I mean that I know you’re a murderer—and +worse! You hired those men, like you hired Mark +Thorn, to come here and murder those innocent men +and their families!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' ></a>200</span></div> +<p>“Well, what if I did?” he said, standing straight +again, his composure returning. “They’re thieves; +they’ve been livin’ off of my cattle for years. Anybody’s +got a right to kill a rustler—that’s the only +cure. Well, they’ll not pen them men of mine up +there till they crack for water, I’ll bet you a purty +on that! I’m goin’ after soldiers, and this time I’ll +git ’em, too.”</p> +<p>“Soldiers!” said she, in amazement. “Will you +ask the United States government to march troops +here to save your hired assassins? Well, you’ll not +get troops—if there’s anything that I can say +against you to keep you from it!”</p> +<p>“You keep out of it, my little lady; you ain’t got +no call to mix up with a bunch of brand-burnin’ +thieves!”</p> +<p>“They’re not thieves, and you know it! Macdonald +never stole an animal from you or anybody +else; none of the others ever did.”</p> +<p>“What do you know about it?” sharply.</p> +<p>“I know it, as well as I know what’s in your mind +about the troops. You’ll go over father’s head to +get them. Well, by the time he wires to the department +the facts I’m going to lay before him, I’d like to +see the color of the trooper you’ll get!”</p> +<p>“You’ll keep your mouth shut, and hold your +finger out of this pie before you git it burnt!”</p> +<p>“I’ll not keep my mouth shut!” She began moving +about the room, picking up her belongings. “I’m +going to saddle my horse and go to the post right +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' ></a>201</span> +now, and the facts of your bloody business will be in +Washington before morning.”</p> +<p>“You’re not goin’—to the—post!” Chadron’s +words were slow and hard. He stood with his back +to the door. “This house was opened to you as a +friend, not as a traitor and a spy. You’re not goin’ +to put your foot outside of it into any business of +mine, no matter which way you lean.”</p> +<p>All day she had been dressed ready to mount and +ride in any emergency, her hat, gloves and quirt on +the table before the fireplace. In that sober habit +she appeared smaller and less stately, and Saul Chadron, +with his heavy shoulders against the closed door, +towered above her, dark and angrily determined.</p> +<p>“I’m going to get my horse,” said she, standing +before him, waiting for him to quit the door.</p> +<p>“You’re goin’ to stay right in this house, there’s +where you’re goin’ to stay; and you’ll stay till I’ve +cleaned out Macdonald and his gang, down to the +last muddy-bellied wolf!”</p> +<p>“You’ll answer for detaining me here, sir!”</p> +<p>“There ain’t no man in this country that I answer +to!” returned Chadron, not without dignity, +for power undisputed for so long, and in such large +affairs, had given him a certain manner of imperialism.</p> +<p>“You’ll find out where your mistake is, to your +bitter cost, before many days have gone over your +head. Your master is on the way; you’ll meet him +yet.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' ></a>202</span></div> +<p>“You might as well ca’m down, and take that hat +off and make yourself easy, Miss Frances; you ain’t +goin’ to the post tonight.”</p> +<p>“Open that door, Mr. Chadron! For the memory +of your daughter, be a man!”</p> +<p>“I’m actin’ for the best, Miss Frances.” Chadron +softened in speech, but unbent in will. “You +must stay here till we settle them fellers. I ain’t +got time to bring any more men up from Cheyenne—I’ve +got to have help within the next twenty-four +hours. You can see how your misplaced feelin’s +might muddle and delay me, and hold off the troopers +till they’ve killed off all of my men in that cañon +back yonder in the hills. It’s for the best, I tell +you; you’ll see it that way before daylight.”</p> +<p>“It’s a pity about your gallant cutthroats! It’s +time the rest of this country knew something about +the methods of you cattlemen up here, and the way +you harass and hound and murder honest men that +are trying to make homes!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Miss Frances! ca’m down, ca’m down!” +coaxed Chadron, spreading his hands in conciliatory +gesture, as if to smooth her troubled spirits, and +calm her down by stroking her, like a cat.</p> +<p>“Now you want to call out the army to rescue +that pack of villains, you want to enlist the government +to help you murder more children! Well, I’m +a daughter of the army; I’m not going to stand +around and see you pull it down to any such business +as yours!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' ></a>203</span></div> +<p>“You’d better make up your mind to take it easy, +now, Miss Frances. Put down your hat and things, +now, and run along off to bed like a good little girl.”</p> +<p>She turned from him with a disdainful toss of the +head, and walked across to the window where Mrs. +Chadron’s great chair stood beside her table.</p> +<p>“Do you want it known that I was forced to +leave your house by the window?” she asked, her +hand on the sash.</p> +<p>“It won’t do you any good if you do,” Chadron +growled, turning and throwing the door open with +gruff decision. He stood a moment glowering at her, +his shoulders thrust into the room. “You can’t leave +here till I’m ready for you to go—I’m goin’ to put +my men on the watch for you. If you try it afoot +they’ll fetch you back, and if you git stubborn and +try to ride off from ’em, they’ll shoot your horse. +You take my word that I mean it, and set down and +be good.”</p> +<p>He closed the door. She heard his heavy tread, +careless, it seemed, whether he broke the troubled +sleep of his wife, pass out by way of the kitchen. +She returned to the fire, surging with the outrage +of it, and sat down to consider the situation.</p> +<p>There was no doubt that Chadron meant what he +had said. This was only a mild proceeding to suppress +evidence compared to his usual methods, as witnessed +by the importation of Mark Thorn, and now +his wholesale attempt with this army of hired gunslingers. +But above the anger and indignation there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' ></a>204</span> +was the exultant thought of Macdonald’s triumph +over the oppressor of the land. It glowed like a +bright light in the turmoil of her present hour.</p> +<p>She had told Chadron that his master was on the +way, and she had seen him swell with the cloud of +anger that shrouded his black heart. And she knew +that he feared that swift-footed man Macdonald, +who had outgeneraled him and crippled him before +he had struck a blow. Well, let him have his brutal +way until morning; then she would prevail on Mrs. +Chadron to rescind his order and let her go home.</p> +<p>There being nothing more to be hoped or dreaded +in the way of news that night, Frances suppressed +her wrath and went upstairs and to bed. But not +to sleep; only to lie there with her hot cheeks burning +like fever, her hot heart triumphing in the complete +confidence and justification of Macdonald that +Chadron’s desperate act had established. She glowed +with inner warmth as she told herself that there would +be no more doubting, no more swaying before the +wind of her inclination. Her heart had read him +truly that night in the garden close.</p> +<p>She heard Chadron ride away as she watched there +for the dawn, and saw the cowboy guard that he +had established rouse themselves while the east was +only palely light and kindle their little fires. Soon +the scent of their coffee and bacon came through her +open window. Then she rose and dressed herself in +her saddle garb again, and went tiptoeing past Mrs. +Chadron’s door.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' ></a>205</span></div> +<p>Since going to bed Mrs. Chadron bad not stirred. +She seemed to have plunged over the precipice of +sleep and to be lying stunned at the bottom. Frances +felt that there was no necessity for waking her out +of that much-needed repose, for the plan that she +had formulated within the past few minutes did not +include an appeal for Mrs. Chadron’s assistance +in it.</p> +<p>Experience told her that Mrs. Chadron would +accept unquestioningly the arrangements and orders +of her husband, in whom her faith was boundless and +her confidence without bottom. She would advance +a hundred tearful pleas to take the edge off Frances’ +indignant anger, and weep and implore, but ten to +one remain as steadfast as a ledge in her fealty to +Saul. So Frances was preparing to proceed without +her help or hindrance.</p> +<p>She went softly into the room where she had faced +Chadron a few hours before, and crossed to the fireplace, +where the last coals of the fire that had kept +her company were red among the ashes. It was +dark yet, only a little grayness, like murky water, +showing under the rim of the east, but she knew +where the antlers hung above the mantel, with the +rifle in its case, and the two revolvers which Alvino +had brought to his mistress from the wounded foreman +in the bunkhouse.</p> +<p>But the antlers were empty. She felt them over +with contracting heart, then struck a match to make +sure. The guns were gone. Saul Chadron had removed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' ></a>206</span> +them, foreseeing that they might stand her +in the place of a friend.</p> +<p>She lit a lamp and began a search of the lower +part of the house for arms. There was not a single +piece left in any of the places where they commonly +were a familiar sight. Even the shotgun was gone +from over the kitchen door. She returned to the +sitting-room and laid some sticks on the coals, and +sat leaning toward the blaze in that sense of comradeship +that is as old between man and fire as the +servitude of that captive element.</p> +<p>Her elbows were on her knees, and her gloved +hands were clasped, and the merry little fire laughed +up into her fixed and thoughtful eyes.</p> +<p>Fire has but one mood, no matter what it cheers +or destroys. It always laughs. There is no melancholy +note in it, no drab, dull color of death such +as the flood comes tainted with. Even while it eats +away our homes and possessions, it has a certain +comfort in its touch and glow if we stand far enough +away.</p> +<p>Dawn broadened; the watery light came in like +cold. Frances got up, shivering a little at the unfriendly +look of the morning. She thought she heard +a cautious foot stealing away from the window, and +turned from it with contemptuous recollection of +Chadron’s threat to set spies over her.</p> +<p>Frances left the house with no caution to conceal +her movements, and went to the barn. Alvino was +hobbling about among the horses with his lantern. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' ></a>207</span> +He gave her an open and guileless good-morning, and +she told him to saddle her horse.</p> +<p>She was determined to ride boldly out of the gate +and away, hardly convinced that even those seasoned +ruffians would take a chance of hitting her by firing +at her horse. None of the imported shooters was in +sight as she mounted before the barn door, but two +of them lounged casually at the gate as she approached.</p> +<p>“Where was you aimin’ to go so early?” asked one +of them, laying hand on her bridle.</p> +<p>“I’m the daughter of Colonel Landcraft, commanding +officer at Fort Shakie, and I’m going home,” +she answered, as placidly and good-humoredly as if +it might be his regular business to inquire.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry to have to edge in on your plans, +sissy,” the fellow returned, familiarly, “but nobody +goes away from this ranch for some little time to +come. That’s the boss’s orders. Don’t you know +them rustlers is shootin’ up the country ever’ which +way all around here? Shucks! It ain’t safe for no +lady to go skylarkin’ around in.”</p> +<p>“They wouldn’t hurt me—they know there’s a +regiment of cavalry at the post standing up for me.”</p> +<p>“I don’t reckon them rustlers cares much more +about them troopers than we do, sis.”</p> +<p>“Will you please open the gate?”</p> +<p>“I hate to refuse a lady, but I dasn’t do it.” He +shook his head in exaggerated gravity, and his companion +covered a sputtering laugh with his hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' ></a>208</span></div> +<p>Frances felt her resolution to keep her temper dissolving. +She shifted her quirt as the quick desire +to strike him down and ride over his ugly grinning +face flashed through her. But the wooden stock was +light under the braided leather; she knew that she +could not have knocked a grunt out of the tough +rascal who barred her way with his insolent leer in +his mean squint eyes. He was a man who had nothing +to lose, therefore nothing to fear.</p> +<p>“If it’s dangerous for me to go alone, get your +horse and come with me. I’ll see that you get more +out of it than you make working for Chadron.”</p> +<p>The fellow squinted up at her with eyes half-shut, +in an expression of cunning.</p> +<p>“Now you trot along back and behave you’self, +before I have to take you down and spank you,” he +said.</p> +<p>The other three men of the ranch guard came +waddling up in that slouching gait of saddle-men, +cigarettes dangling from their lips. Frances saw +that she would not be allowed to pass that way. +But they were all at that spot; none of them could +be watching the back gate. She wheeled her long-legged +cavalry horse to make a dash for it, and came +face to face with Mrs. Chadron, who was hurrying +from the house with excited gesticulations, pointing +up the road.</p> +<p>“Somebody’s comin’, it looks like one of the boys, +I saw him from the upstairs winder!” she announced, +“Where was you goin’, honey?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' ></a>209</span></div> +<p>“I was starting home, Mrs. Chadron, but these +men—”</p> +<p>“There he comes!” cried Mrs. Chadron, hastening +to the gate.</p> +<p>A horseman had come around the last brush-screened +turn of the road, and was drawing near. +Frances felt her heart leap like a hare, and a delicious +feeling of triumph mingle with the great pride +that swept through her in a warm flood. Tears +were in her eyes, half-blinding her; a sob of gladness +rose in her breast and burst forth a little happy cry.</p> +<p>For that was Alan Macdonald coming forward on +his weary horse, bearing something in his arms +wrapped in a blanket, out of which a shower of long +hair fell in bright cascade over his arm.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron pressed her lips tight. Neither cry +nor groan came out of them as she stood steadying +herself by a straining grip on the gate, watching +Macdonald’s approach. None of them knew whether +the burden that he bore was living or dead; none +of them in the group at the gate but Frances knew +the rider’s face.</p> +<p>One of the cowboys opened the gate wide, without +a word, to let him enter. Mrs. Chadron lifted her +arms appealingly, and hurried to his side as he +stopped. Stiffly he leaned over, his inert burden held +tenderly, and lowered what he bore into Mrs. Chadron’s +outstretched arms.</p> +<p>With that change of position there was a sharp +movement in the muffling blanket, two arms reached +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' ></a>210</span> +up with the quick clutching of a falling child, and +clasped him about the neck. Then a sharp cry of +waking recognition, and Nola was sobbing on her +mother’s breast.</p> +<p>Alan Macdonald said no word. The light of the +sunrise was strong on his face, set in the suffering of +great weariness; the stiffness of his long and burdened +ride was in his limbs. He turned his dusty +horse, with its head low-drooping, and rode out the +way that he had come. No hand was lifted to stop +him, no voice raised in either benediction or curse.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron was soothing her daughter, who was +incoherent in the joy of her delivery, holding her +clasped in her arms. Beyond that bright head there +was no world for that mother then; save for the +words which she crooned in the child’s ears there was +no message in her soul.</p> +<p>Frances felt tears streaking her face in hot rivulets +as she sat in her saddle, struck inactive by the great +admiration, the boundless pride, that this unselfish +deed woke in her. She never had, in her life of +joyousness, experienced such a high sense of human +admiration before.</p> +<p>The cowboy who had opened the gate still held it +so, the spell of Macdonald’s dramatic arrival still +over him. With his comrades he stood speechless, +gazing after the departing horseman.</p> +<p>Frances touched her horse lightly and rode after +him. Mother and daughter were so estranged from +all the world in that happy moment of reunion that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' ></a>211</span> +neither saw her go, and the guards at the gate, either +forgetful of their charge or softened by the moving +scene, did not interpose to stop her.</p> +<p>Macdonald raised his drooping head with quick +start as she came dashing to his side. She was weeping, +and she put out her hand with a motion of entreaty, +her voice thick with sobs.</p> +<p>“I wronged you and slandered you,” she said, in +bitter confession, “and I let you go when I should +have spoken! I’m not worthy to ride along this road +with you, Alan Macdonald, but I need your protection, +I need your help. Will you let me go?”</p> +<p>He checked his horse and looked across at her, a +tender softening coming into his tired face.</p> +<p>“Why, God bless you! there’s only one road in +the world for you and me,” said he. His hand met +hers where it fluttered like a dove between them; +his slow, translating smile woke in his eyes and +spread like a sunbeam over his stern lips.</p> +<p>Behind them Mrs. Chadron was calling. Frances +turned and waved her hand.</p> +<p>“Come back, Frances, come back here!” Mrs. +Chadron’s words came distinctly to them, for they +were not more than a hundred yards from the gate, +and there was a note of eagerness in them, almost +a command. Both of them turned.</p> +<p>There was a commotion among the men at the +gate, a hurrying and loud words. Nola was beckoning +to Frances to return; now she called her name, +with fearful entreaty.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' ></a>212</span></div> +<p>“That’s Chance Dalton with his arm in a sling,” +said Macdonald, looking at her curiously. “What’s +up?”</p> +<p>“Chadron has made them all believe that you stole +Nola for the sole purpose of making a pretended +rescue to win sympathy for your cause,” she said. +“Even Nola will believe it—maybe they’ve told her. +Chadron has offered a reward of fifty dollars—a +bonus, he called it, so maybe there is more—to the +man that kills you! Come on—quick! I’ll tell you +as we go.”</p> +<p>Macdonald’s horse was refreshed in some measure +by the diminishing of its burden, but the best that +it could do was a tired, hard-jogging gallop. In a +little while they rounded the screen of brush which +hid them from the ranchhouse and from those who +Frances knew would be their pursuers in a moment. +Quickly she told him of her reason for wanting to +go to the post, and Chadron’s reason for desiring +to hold her at the ranch.</p> +<p>Macdonald looked at her with new life in his weary +eyes.</p> +<p>“We’ll win now; you were the one recruit I +lacked,” he said.</p> +<p>“But they’ll kill you—Mrs. Chadron can’t hold +them back—she doesn’t want to hold them back—for +she’s full of Chadron’s lies about you. Your +horse is worn out—you can’t outrun them.”</p> +<p>“How many are there besides the five I saw?”</p> +<p>“Only Dalton, and he’s supposed to be crippled.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' ></a>213</span></div> +<p>“Oh, well,” he said, easily, as if only five whole +men and a cripple didn’t amount to so much, taken +all in the day’s work.</p> +<p>“Your men up there need your leadership and +advice. Take my horse and go; he can outrun +them.”</p> +<p>He looked at her admiringly, but with a little reproving +shake of the head.</p> +<p>“There’s neither mercy nor manhood in any man +that rides in Saul Chadron’s pay,” he told her. +“They’d overtake you on this old plug before you’d +gone a mile. The one condition on which I part company +with you is that you ride ahead, this instant, +and that you put your horse through for all that’s in +him.”</p> +<p>“And leave you to fight six of them!”</p> +<p>“Staying here would only put you in unnecessary +danger. I ask you to go, and go at once.”</p> +<p>“I’ll not go!” She said it finally and emphatically.</p> +<p>Macdonald checked his horse; she held back her +animal to the slow pace of his. Now he offered his +hand, as in farewell.</p> +<p>“You can assure them at the post that we’ll not +fire on the soldiers—they can come in peace. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>“I’m not going!” she persisted.</p> +<p>“They’ll not consider you, Frances—they’ll not +hold their fire on your account. You’re a rustler +now, you’re one of us.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' ></a>214</span></div> +<p>“You said—there—was—only—one—road,” +she told him, her face turned away.</p> +<p>“It’s that way, then, to the left—up that dry +bed of Horsethief Cañon.” He spoke with a lift of +exultation, of pride, and more than pride. “Ride +low—they’re coming!”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' ></a>215</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XVI_DANGER_AND_DIGNITY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>DANGER AND DIGNITY</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>“Did you carry her that way all the way home?”</p> +<p>Frances asked the question abruptly, like +one throwing down some troublesome and heavy thing +that he has labored gallantly to conceal. It was the +first word that she had spoken since they had taken +refuge from their close-pressing pursuers in the dugout +that some old-time homesteader had been driven +away from by Chadron’s cowboys.</p> +<p>Macdonald was keeping his horse back from the +door with the barrel of his rifle, while he peered out +cautiously again, perplexed to understand the reason +why Dalton had not led his men against them in a +charge.</p> +<p>“Not all the way, Frances. She rode behind me +till she got so cold and sleepy I was afraid she’d fall +off.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ll bet she put on half of it!” she said, +spitefully. “She looked strong enough when you +put her down there at the gate.”</p> +<p>This unexpected little outburst of jealousy was +pleasant to his ears. Above the trouble of that morning, +and of the future which was charged with it to +the blackness of complete obscuration, her warrant of +affection was like a lifting sunbeam of hope.</p> +<p>“I can’t figure out what Dalton and that gang +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' ></a>216</span> +mean by this,” said he, the present danger again +pressing ahead of the present joy.</p> +<p>“I saw a man dodge behind that big rock across +there a minute ago,” she said.</p> +<p>“You keep back away from that door—don’t +lean over out of that corner!” he admonished, almost +harshly. “If you get where you can see, you can +be seen. Don’t forget that.”</p> +<p>He resumed his watch at the little hole that he had +drilled beside the weight-bowed jamb of the door in +the earth front of their refuge. She sat silent in +her dark corner across from him, only now and then +shaking her glove at the horses when one of them +pricked up his ears and shewed a desire to dodge out +into the sunlight and pleasant grazing spread on the +hillside.</p> +<p>It was cold and moldy in the dugout, and the +timbers across the roof were bent under the weight +of the earth. It looked unsafe, but there was only +one place in it that a bullet could come through, and +that was the open door. There was no way to shut +that; the original battens of the homesteader lay +under foot, broken apart and rotting.</p> +<p>“Well, it beats me!” said he, his eye to the peephole +in the wall.</p> +<p>“If I’d keep one of the horses on this side it +wouldn’t crowd your corner so,” she suggested.</p> +<p>“It would be better, only they’ll cut loose at anything +that passes the door. They’ll show their hand +before long.” He enlarged the hole to admit his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' ></a>217</span> +rifle barrel. She watched him in silence. Which was +just as well, for she had no words to express her +admiration for his steadiness and courage under the +trying pressure of that situation. Her confidence +in him was so entire that she had no fear; it did not +admit a question of their safe deliverance. With +him at her side, this dangerous, grave matter seemed +but a passing perplexity. She left it to him with the +confidence and up-looking trust of a child.</p> +<p>While she understood the peril of their situation, +fear, doubt, had no place in her mind. She was under +the protection of Alan Macdonald, the infallible.</p> +<p>No matter what others may think of a man’s infallibility, +it is only a dangerous one who considers +himself endowed with that more than human attribute. +Macdonald did not share her case of mind as +he stood with his eye to the squint-hole that he had +bored beside the rotting jamb.</p> +<p>“How did you find her? where was she?” she +asked, her thoughts more on the marvel of Nola’s +return than her own present danger.</p> +<p>“I lost Thorn’s trail that first day,” he returned, +“and then things began to get so hot for us up the +valley that I had to drop the search and get those +people back to safety ahead of Chadron’s raid. Yesterday +afternoon we caught a man trying to get +through our lines and down into the valley. He +was a half-breed trapper who lives up in the foothills, +carrying a note down to Chadron. I’ve got that +curious piece of writing around me somewhere—you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' ></a>218</span> +can read it when this blows by. Anyway, it was from +Thorn, demanding ten thousand dollars in gold. He +wanted it sent back by the messenger, and he prescribed +some picturesque penalties in case of failure +on Chadron’s part.”</p> +<p>“And then you found her?”</p> +<p>“I couldn’t very well ask anybody else to go after +her,” he admitted, with a modest reticence that +amounted almost to being ashamed. “After I made +sure that we had Chadron’s raiders cooped up where +they couldn’t get out, I went up and got her. Thorn +wasn’t there, nobody but the Indian woman, the +’breed’s wife. She was the jailer—a regular wildcat +of a woman.”</p> +<p>That was all there was to be told, it seemed, as far +as Macdonald was concerned. He had the hole in the +wall—at which he had worked as he talked—to his +liking now, and was squinting through it like a telescope.</p> +<p>“Nola wasn’t afraid to come with you,” she said, +positively.</p> +<p>“She didn’t appear to be, Frances.”</p> +<p>“No; she <i>knew</i> she was safe, no matter how little +she deserved any kindness at your hands. I know +what she did—I know how she—how she—<i>struck</i> +you in the face that time!”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said he, as if reminded of a trifle that he had +forgotten.</p> +<p>“Did she—put her arms around your neck that +way <i>many</i> times while you were carrying her home?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' ></a>219</span></div> +<p>“She did <i>not</i>! Many times! why, she didn’t do +it even once.”</p> +<p>“Oh, at the gate—I saw her!”</p> +<p>He said nothing for a little while, only stood with +head bent, as if thinking it over.</p> +<p>“Well, she didn’t get very far with it,” he said, +quite seriously. “Anyway, she was asleep then, and +didn’t know what she was doing. It was just the +subconscious reaching up of a falling, or dreaming, +child.”</p> +<p>She was not a little amused, in a quick turn from +her serious bent of jealousy, at his long and careful +explanation of the incident. She laughed, and the +little green cloud that had troubled her blew away +on the gale of her mirth.</p> +<p>“Oh, well!” said she, from her deep corner across +the bright oblong of the door, tossing it all away +from her. “Do you think they’ll go away and let us +come out after a while?”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe they’ve got any such intention. +If it doesn’t come to a fight before then, I believe +we’ll have to drive the horses out ahead of us after +dark, and try to get away under the confusion. You +should have gone on, Frances, when I told you.”</p> +<p>The horses were growing restive, moving, stamping, +snorting, and becoming quarrelsome together. +Macdonald’s little range animal had a viciousness in +it, and would not make friends with the chestnut cavalry +horse. It squealed and bit, and even tried to +use its heels, at every friendly approach.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' ></a>220</span></div> +<p>Macdonald feared that so much commotion might +bring the shaky, rotten roof down on them. A hoof +driven against one of the timbers which supported +it might do the trick, and bring them to a worse end +than would the waiting bullets of Dalton and his +gang.</p> +<p>“I’ll have to risk putting that horse of yours over +on your side,” he told her. “Stand ready to catch +him, but don’t lean a hair past the door.”</p> +<p>He turned the horse and gave it a slap. As it +crossed the bar of light falling through the door, a +shot cracked among the rocks. The bullet knocked +earth over him as it smacked in the facing of the +door. The man who had fired had shot obliquely, +there being no shelter directly in front, and that +fact had saved the horse.</p> +<p>Macdonald peered through his loophole. He could +not see the smoke, but he let them know that he was +primed by answering the shot at random. The shot +drew a volley, a bullet or two striking the rear wall +of the cave.</p> +<p>After that they waited for what might come between +then and night. They said little, for each +was straining with unpleasant thoughts and anxieties, +and put to constant watchfulness to keep the horses +from slewing around into the line of fire. Every time +a tail switched out into the streak of light a bullet +came nipping in. Sometimes Macdonald let them go +unanswered, and again he would spring up and drive +away at the rocks which he knew sheltered them, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' ></a>221</span> +almost driven to the point of rushing out and trying +to dislodge them by storm.</p> +<p>So the day wore by. They had been in the dugout +since a little after sunrise. Sunset was pale on the +hilltops beyond them when Macdonald, his strained +and tired eyes to the loophole, saw Dalton and two +of his men slipping from rock to rock, drawing nearer +for what he expected to be the rush.</p> +<p>“Can you shoot?” he asked her, his mouth hot +and dry as if his blood had turned to liquid fire.</p> +<p>“Yes, I can shoot,” she answered, steadily.</p> +<p>He tossed one of his revolvers across to her, dimly +seen now in the deepening gloom of the cave, and +flung a handful of cartridges after it.</p> +<p>“They’re closing in on us for the rush, and I’m +going to try to stop them. Keep back there where +you are, and hold your horse under cover as long as +you hear me shooting. If I stop first, call Dalton +and tell him who you are. I believe in that case he’ll +let you go.”</p> +<p>“I’m going to help you,” she said, rising resolutely. +“When you—stop shooting—” she choked +a little over the words, her voice caught in a dry little +sob—“then I’ll stop shooting, too!”</p> +<p>“Stay back there, Frances! Do you hear—stay +back!”</p> +<p>Somebody was on the roof of the dugout; under +his weight clods of earth fell, and then, with a soft +breaking of rotten timber, a booted foot broke +through. It was on Frances’ side, and the fellow’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' ></a>222</span> +foot almost touched her saddle as her frightened +horse plunged.</p> +<p>The man was tugging to drag his foot through the +roof now, earth and broken timber showering down. +Macdonald only glanced over his shoulder, as if +leaving that trapped one to her. He was set for +their charge in front. She raised her revolver to fire +as the other leg broke through, and the fellow’s body +dropped into the enlarged hole. At that moment the +men in front fired a volley through the gaping door. +Frances saw the intruder drop to the ground, torn +by the heavy bullets from his companions’ guns.</p> +<p>The place was full of smoke, and the turmoil of +the frightened horses, and the noise of quick shots +from Macdonald’s station across the door. She could +not make anything out in the confusion as she turned +from the dead man to face the door, only that Macdonald +was not at his place at the loophole now.</p> +<p>She called him, but her voice was nothing in the +sound of firing. A choking volume of smoke was +packing the cave. She saw Macdonald’s horse lower +its head and dash out, with a whip of its tail like a +defiance of her authority. Then in a moment everything +was still out there, with a fearful suddenness.</p> +<p>She flung herself into the cloud of smoke that hung +in the door, sobbing Macdonald’s name; she stumbled +into the fresh sweet air, almost blind in her anxiety, +and the confusion of that quickly enacted scene, her +head bent as if to run under the bullets which she +expected.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' ></a>223</span></div> +<p>She did not see how it happened, she did not know +that he was there; but his arm was supporting her, +his cool hand was on her forehead, stroking her face +as if he had plucked her drowning from the sea.</p> +<p>“Where are they?” she asked, only to exclaim, and +shrink closer to him at the sight of one lying a few +rods away, in that sprawling limp posture of those +who fall by violence.</p> +<p>“There were only four of them—there the other +two go.” He pointed down the little swale where the +tall grass was still green. Macdonald’s horse had +fallen to grazing there, his master’s perils and escapes +all one to him now. It threw its head up and stood +listening, trotted a little way and stopped, ears stiff, +nostrils stretched.</p> +<p>“There’s somebody coming,” she said.</p> +<p>“Yes—Chadron and a fresh gang, maybe.”</p> +<p>He sprang to the dugout door, where Frances’ +horse stood with its head out inquiringly.</p> +<p>“Jump up—quick!” he said, bringing the horse +out. “Go this time, Frances; don’t hang back a +second more!”</p> +<p>“Never mind, Alan,” she said, from the other side +of the horse, “it’s the cavalry—I guess they’ve +come after me.”</p> +<p>Major King was at the head of the detail of seven +men which rode up, horses a lather of sweat. He +threw himself from the saddle and hurried to Frances, +his face full of the liveliest concern. Macdonald +stepped around to meet him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' ></a>224</span></div> +<p>“Thank heaven! you’re not hurt,” the major said.</p> +<p>“No, but we thought we were in for another fight,” +she told him, offering him her hand in the gratefulness +of her relief. He almost snatched it in his +eagerness, and drew her toward him, and stood holding +it in his haughty, proprietary way. “Mr. Macdonald—”</p> +<p>“The scoundrels heard us coming and ran—we +got a glimpse of them down there. Chadron will +have to answer for this outrage!” the major said.</p> +<p>“Major King, this is Mr. Macdonald,” said she, +firmly, breaking down the high manner in which the +soldier persisted in overlooking and eliminating the +homesteader.</p> +<p>Major King’s face flushed; he drew back a hasty +step as Macdonald offered his hand, in the frank and +open manner of an equal man who raised no thought +nor question on that point.</p> +<p>“Sir, I’ve been hearing of the gallant <i>rescue</i> that +you made of another young lady this morning,” he +said, with sneering emphasis. “You are hardly the +kind of a man I shake hands with!”</p> +<p>The troopers, sitting their blowing horses a rod +away, made their saddles creak as they shifted to see +this little dash of melodrama. Macdonald’s face was +swept by a sudden paleness, as if a sickness had come +over him. He clenched his lean jaw hard; the firmness +of his mouth was grimmer still as his hand +dropped slowly to his side. Frances looked her +indignation and censure into Major King’s hot eyes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' ></a>225</span></div> +<p>“Mr. Macdonald has defended me like a gallant +gentleman, sir! Those ruffians didn’t run because +they heard you coming, but because he faced them +out here in the open, single-handed and alone, and +drove them to their horses, Major King!”</p> +<p>The troopers were looking Macdonald over with +favor. They had seen the evidence of his stand +against Chadron’s men.</p> +<p>“You’re deceived in your estimation of the fellow, +Miss Landcraft,” the major returned, red to +the eyes in his offended dignity. “I arrived at the +ranch not an hour ago, detailed to escort you back +to the post. Will you have the kindness to mount +at once, please?”</p> +<p>He stepped forward to give her a hand into the +saddle. But Macdonald was before him in that +office, urged to it by the quick message of her eyes. +From the saddle she leaned and gave him her warm, +soft hand.</p> +<p>“Your men need you, Mr. Macdonald—go to +them,” she said. “My prayers for your success in +this fight for the right will follow you.”</p> +<p>Macdonald was standing bareheaded at her stirrup. +Her hand lingered a moment in his, her eyes sounded +the bottom of his soul. Major King, with his little +uprising of dignity, was a very small matter in the +homesteader’s mind just then, although a minute past +he had fought with himself to keep from twisting the +arrogant officer’s neck.</p> +<p>She fell in beside Major King, who was sitting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' ></a>226</span> +grim enough in his way now, in the saddle, and they +rode away. Macdonald stood, hat in hand, the last +sunbeams of that day over his fair tangled hair, the +smoke of his conflict on his face, the tender light of +a man’s most sacred fire in his eyes.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' ></a>227</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XVII_BOOTS_AND_SADDLES'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>BOOTS AND SADDLES</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>When Major King delivered Frances—his +punctilious military observance made her +home-coming nothing less—to Colonel Landcraft, +they found that grizzled warrior in an electrical state +of excitement. He was moving in quick little charges, +but with a certain grim system in all of them, between +desk and bookcases, letter files, cabinets, and +back to his desk again. He drew a document here, +tucked one away there, slipped an elastic about others +assembled on his desk, and clapped a sheaf of +them in his pocket.</p> +<p>Major King saluted within the door.</p> +<p>“I have the honor to report the safe return of the +detachment dispatched to Alamito Ranch for the +convoy of Miss Landcraft,” he said.</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft returned the salute, and stood +stiffly while his officer spoke.</p> +<p>“Very well, sir,” said he. Then flinging away his +official stiffness, he met Frances half-way as she ran +to meet him, and enfolded her to his breast, just as +if his dry old heart knew that she had come to him +through perils.</p> +<p>Breathlessly she told him the story, leaving no +word unsaid that would mount to the credit of Alan +Macdonald. Colonel Landcraft was as hot as blazing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' ></a>228</span> +straw over the matter. He swore that he would +roast Saul Chadron’s heart on his sword, and +snatched that implement from the chair where it +hung as he spoke, and buckled it on with trembling +hand.</p> +<p>King interposed to tell him that Chadron was not +at the ranch, and begged the colonel to delegate to +him the office of avenger of this insult and hazard +that Frances had suffered at the hands of his men. +For a moment Colonel Landcraft held the young +officer’s eye with thankful expression of admiration, +then he drew himself up as if in censure for wasted +time, saluted, took a paper from his desk, and said +with grave dignity:</p> +<p>“It must fall to you, Major King, to demand the +reparation for this outrage that I shall not be here +to enforce. I am ordered to Washington, sir, to +make my appearance before the retiring board. The +department has vested the command of this post in +you, sir—here is the order. My soldiering days +are at an end.”</p> +<p>He handed the paper to Major King, with a salute. +With a salute the young officer took it from his hand, +an eager light in his eyes, a flush springing to his +pale face. Frances clung to her father’s arm, a +little trembling moan on her lips as if she had received +a mortal hurt.</p> +<p>“Never mind, never mind, dear heart,” said the +old man, a shake in his own voice. Frances, looking +up with her great pity into his stern, set face, saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' ></a>229</span> +a tear creeping down his cheek, toughened by the +fires of thirty years’ campaigns.</p> +<p>“I’ll never soldier any more,” he said, “the politicians +have got me. They’ve been after me a long +time, and they’ve got me. But there is one easement +in my disgrace—”</p> +<p>“Don’t speak of it on those terms, sir!” implored +Major King, more a man than a soldier as he laid +a consoling hand on the old man’s arm.</p> +<p>“No, no!” said Frances, clinging to her father’s +hand.</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft smiled, looking from one to the +other of them, and a softness came into his face. He +took Major King’s hand and carried it to join +Frances’, and she, in her softness for her father, +allowed it to remain in the young soldier’s grasp.</p> +<p>“There is one gleam of joy in the sundown of my +life,” the colonel said, “and that is in seeing my +daughter pledged to a soldier. I must live in the +reflection of your achievements, if I live beyond this +disgrace, sir.”</p> +<p>“I will try to make them worthy of my mentor, +sir,” Major King returned.</p> +<p>Frances stood with bowed head, the major still +holding her hand in his ardent grasp.</p> +<p>“It’s a crushing blow, to come before the preferment +in rank that I have been led to expect would +be my retiring compensation!” The colonel turned +from them sharply, as if in pain, and walked in +marching stride across the room. Frances withdrew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' ></a>230</span> +her hand, with a little struggle, not softened by the +appeal in the major’s eyes.</p> +<p>“My poor wife is bowed under it,” the colonel +spoke as he marched back and forth. “She has hoped +with me for some fitting reward for the years of +service I have unselfishly given to my country, sir, +for the surrender of my better self to the army. +I’ll never outlive it, I feel that I’ll never outlive it!”</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft had no thought apart from +what he felt to be his hovering disgrace. He had +forgotten his rage against Chadron, forgotten that +his daughter had lived through a day as hazardous as +any that he had experienced in the Apache campaigns, +or in his bleak watches against the Sioux. +He turned to her now, where she stood weeping softly +with bowed head, the grime of the dugout on her +habit, her hair, its bonds broken, straying over her +face.</p> +<p>“I had counted pleasurably on seeing you two +married,” he said, “but something tells me I shall +never come back from this journey, never resume +command of this post.” He turned back to his +marching, stopped three or four paces along, turned +sharply, a new light in his face. “Why shouldn’t +it be before I leave—tonight, within the hour?”</p> +<p>“Oh, father!” said Frances, in terrified voice, +lifting her face in its tear-wet loveliness.</p> +<p>“I must make the train that leaves Meander at +four o’clock tomorrow morning, I shall have to leave +here within—” he flashed out his watch with his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' ></a>231</span> +quick, nervous hand—“within three-quarters of an +hour. What do you say, Major King? Are you +ready?”</p> +<p>“I have been ready at any time for two years,” +Major King replied, in trembling eagerness.</p> +<p>Frances was thrown into such a mental turmoil by +the sudden proposal that she could not, at that moment, +speak a further protest. She stood with white +face, her heart seeming to shrivel, and fall away to +laboring faintness. Colonel Landcraft was not considering +her. He was thinking that he must have +three hours’ sleep in the hotel at Meander before the +train left for Omaha.</p> +<p>“Then we shall have the wedding at once, just +as you stand!” he declared. “We’ll have the chaplain +in and—go and tell your mother, child, and—oh, +well, throw on another dress if you like.”</p> +<p>Frances found her tongue as her danger of being +married off in that hot and hasty manner grew imminent.</p> +<p>“I’m not going to marry Major King, father, +now or at any future time,” said she, speaking slowly, +her words coming with coldness from her lips.</p> +<p>“Silence! you have nothing to say, nothing to do +but obey!” Colonel Landcraft blazed up in sudden +explosion, after his manner, and set his heel down +hard on the floor, making his sword clank in its +scabbard on his thigh.</p> +<p>“I have not had much to say,” Frances admitted, +bitterly, “but I am going to have a great deal to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' ></a>232</span> +say in this matter now. Both of you have gone +ahead about this thing just as if I was irresponsible, +both of you—”</p> +<p>“Hold your tongue, miss! I command you—hold +your tongue!”</p> +<p>“It’s the farthest thing from my heart to give you +pain, or disappoint you in your calculations of me, +father,” she told him, her voice gathering power, her +words speed, for she was a warrior like himself, only +that her balance was not so easily overthrown; “but +I am not going to marry Major King.”</p> +<p>“Heaven and hell!” said Colonel Landcraft, +stamping up and down.</p> +<p>“Heaven <i>or</i> hell,” said she, “and not hell—if I +can escape it.”</p> +<p>“I’ll not permit this insubordination in a member +of my family!” roared the colonel, his face fiery, his +rumpled eyebrows knitted in a scowl. “I’ll have obedience, +with good grace, and at once, or damn my +soul, you’ll leave my house!”</p> +<p>“Major King, if you are a gentleman, sir, you will +relieve me of this unwelcome pressure to force me +against my inclination. It is quite useless, sir, I tell +you most earnestly. I would rather die than marry +you—I would rather die!”</p> +<p>“Sir, I have no wish to coerce the lady”—Major +King’s voice shook, his words were low—“as she +seems to have no preference for me, sir. Miss Landcraft +perhaps has placed her heart somewhere else.”</p> +<p>“She has no right to act with such treachery to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' ></a>233</span> +me and you, sir,” the colonel said. “I’ll not have +it! Where else, sir—who?”</p> +<p>“Spare me the humiliation of informing you,” +begged Major King, with averted face, with sorrow +in his voice.</p> +<p>“Oh, you slanderous coward!” Frances assailed +him with scorn of word and look. Colonel Landcraft +was shaking a trembling finger at her, his face thrust +within a foot of her own.</p> +<p>“I’ll not have it! you’ll not—who is the fellow, +who?”</p> +<p>“There is nothing to conceal, there is no humiliation +on my part in speaking his name, but pride—the +highest pride of my heart!”</p> +<p>She stood back from them a little, her lofty head +thrown back, her face full of color now, the strength +of defense of the man she loved in her brave brown +eyes.</p> +<p>“Some low poltroon, some sneaking civilian—”</p> +<p>“He is a man, father—you have granted that. +His name is—”</p> +<p>“Stop!” thundered the colonel. “Heaven and +hell! Will you disgrace me by making public confession +of your shame? Leave this room, before you +drive me to send you from it with a curse!”</p> +<p>In her room Frances heard the horses come to the +door to carry her father away. She had sat there, +trembling and hot, sorry for his foolish rage, hurt +by his narrow injustice. Yet she had no bitterness +in her heart against him, for she believed that she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' ></a>234</span> +knew him best. When his passion had fallen he would +come to her, lofty still, but ashamed, and they would +put it behind them, as they had put other differences +in the past.</p> +<p>Her mother had gone to him to share the last +moments of his presence there, and to intercede for +her. Now Frances listened, her hot cheek in her +hand, her eyes burning, her heart surging in fevered +stroke. There was a good deal of coming and going +before the house; men came up and dismounted, +others rode away. Watching, her face against the +cool pane, she did not see her father leave. Yet he had +not come to her, and the time for his going was past.</p> +<p>Her heart was sore and troubled at the thought +that perhaps he had gone without the word of pacification +between them. It was almost terrifying to +her to think of that. She ran down the stairs and +stood listening at his closed door.</p> +<p>That was not his voice, that heavy growl, that +animal note. Saul Chadron’s; no other. Her mother +came in through the front door, weeping, and clasped +Frances in her arms as she stood there, shadowy in +the light of the dim hall lamp.</p> +<p>“He is gone!” she said.</p> +<p>Frances did not speak. But for the first time in +her life a feeling of bitterness against her father for +his hardness of heart and unbending way of injustice +lifted itself in her breast. She led her mother to her +own room, giving her such comfort as she could put +into words.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' ></a>235</span></div> +<p>“He said he never marched out to sure defeat before,” +Mrs. Landcraft told her. “I’ve seen him go +many a time, Frances, but never with such a pain +in my heart as tonight!”</p> +<p>And Saul Chadron was the man who had caused +his going, Frances knew, a new illumination having +come over the situation since hearing his voice in the +colonel’s office a few minutes past. Chadron had been +at Meander, telegraphing to the cattlemen’s servants +in Washington all the time. He had demanded the +colonel’s recall, and the substitution of Major King, +because he wanted a man in authority at the post +whom he could use.</p> +<p>This favoritism of Chadron made her distrustful +at once of Major King. There must be some scheming +and plotting afoot. She went down and stood in +the hall again, not even above bending to listen at the +keyhole. Chadron was talking again. She felt that +he must have been talking all the time that she had +been away. It must be an unworthy cause that +needed so much pleading, she thought.</p> +<p>“Well, he’ll not shoot, I tell you, King; he’s too +smart for that. He’ll have to be trapped into it. If +you’ve got to have an excuse to fire on them—and +I can’t see where it comes in, King, damn my neck +if I can—we’ve got to set a trap.”</p> +<p>“Leave that to me,” returned Major King, coldly.</p> +<p>“How much force are you authorized to use?”</p> +<p>“The order leaves that detail to me. ‘Sufficient +force to restore order,’ it says.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' ></a>236</span></div> +<p>“I think you ort to take a troop, at the least, +King, and a cannon—maybe two.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think artillery will be necessary, sir.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll leave it to you, King, but I’d hate like +hell to take you up there and have that feller lick you. +You don’t know him like I do. I tell you he’d lay +on his back and fight like a catamount as long as he +had a breath left in him.”</p> +<p>“Can you locate them in the night?”</p> +<p>“I think we’d have to wait up there somewheres +for daybreak. I’m not just sure which cañon they +are in.”</p> +<p>There was silence. Frances peeped through the +keyhole, but could see nothing except thick smoke +over bookcases and files.</p> +<p>“Well, we’ll not want to dislodge them before daylight, +anyway,” said King.</p> +<p>“If Macdonald can back off without a fight, he’ll +do it,” Chadron declared, “for he knows as well as +you and I what it’d mean to fire on the troops. And +I want you to git him, King, and make sure you’ve +got him.”</p> +<p>“It depends largely on whether the fellow can be +provoked into firing on us, Chadron. You think he +can be; so do I. But in case he doesn’t, the best we +can do will be to arrest him.”</p> +<p>“What good would he be to me arrested, King? +I tell you I want his scalp, and if you bring that +feller out of there in a sack you’ll come back a brigadier. +I put you where you’re at. Well, I can put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' ></a>237</span> +you higher just as easy. But the purty I want for +my trouble is that feller’s scalp.”</p> +<p>There was the sound of somebody walking about, +in quick, nervous strides. Frances knew that Major +King had got up from his usurped place at the desk—place +unworthily filled, this low intrigue with +Chadron aside, she knew—and was strutting in the +shadow of his promised glory.</p> +<p>“Leave it to me, Chadron; I’ve got my own account +to square with that wolf of the range!”</p> +<p>A sharp little silence, in which Frances could picture +Chadron looking at King in his covert, man-weighing +way. Then Chadron went on:</p> +<p>“King, I’ve noticed now and then that you seemed +to have a soft spot in your gizzard for that little +girl of mine. Well, I’ll throw her in to boot if you +put this thing through right. Is it a go?”</p> +<p>“I’d hesitate to bargain for the young lady without +her being a party to the business,” King replied, +whether from wisdom born of his recent experience, +or through lack of interest in the proposal Frances +could not read in his even, well-pitched voice.</p> +<p>“Oh, she’d jump at you like a bullfrog at red +flannel,” Chadron assured him. “I could put your +uniform on a wooden man and marry him off to the +best girl in seven states. They never think of lookin’ +under a soldier’s vest.”</p> +<p>“You flatter me, Mr. Chadron, and the uniform of +the United States army,” returned King, with barely +covered contempt. “Suppose we allow events to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' ></a>238</span> +shape themselves in regard to Miss Chadron. She’ll +hardly be entertaining marriage notions yet—after +her recent experience.”</p> +<p>Chadron got up so quickly he overturned his chair.</p> +<p>“By God, sir! do you mean to intimate you +wouldn’t have her after what she’s gone through? +Well, I’ll put a bullet through any man that says—”</p> +<p>“Oh, hold yourself in, Chadron; there’s no call for +this.”</p> +<p>King’s cold contempt would have been like a lash +to a man of finer sensibilities than Saul Chadron. As +it was, Frances could hear the heavy cattleman +breathing like a mad bull.</p> +<p>“When you talk about my little girl, King, go as +easy as if you was carryin’ quicksilver in a dish. You +told me she was all right a little while ago, and I +tell you I don’t like—”</p> +<p>“Miss Chadron was as bright as a redbird when I +saw her this afternoon,” King assured him, calmly. +“She has suffered no harm at the hands of Macdonald +and his outlaws.”</p> +<p>“He’ll dance in hell for that trick before the sun +goes down on another day!”</p> +<p>“His big play for sympathy fell flat,” said King, +with a contemptuous laugh. “There wasn’t much of +a crowd on hand when he arrived at the ranch.”</p> +<p>Silence. A little shifting of feet, a growl from +Chadron, and a curse.</p> +<p>“But as for your proposal involving Miss Chadron, +I am honored by it,” said King.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' ></a>239</span></div> +<p>“Any man would be!” Chadron declared.</p> +<p>“And we will just let it stand, waiting the lady’s +sanction.”</p> +<p>That brightened Chadron up. He moved about, +and there was a sound as if he had slapped the young +officer on the back in pure comradeship and open +admiration.</p> +<p>“What’s your scheme for drawin’ that feller into +firin’ on your men?” he asked.</p> +<p>“We’ll talk it over as we go,” said King.</p> +<p>A bugle lifted its sharp, electrifying note in the +barracks.</p> +<p>“Boots and saddles!” Chadron said.</p> +<p>“Yes; we march at nine o’clock.”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' ></a>240</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_TRAIL_OF_THE_COFFEE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>THE TRAIL OF THE COFFEE</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>“You done right to come to the mission after me, +for I’d ride to the gatepost of hell to turn a +trick agin Saul Chadron!”</p> +<p>Banjo’s voice had a quaver of earnestness in it +that needed no daylight to enforce. The pitchy +night made a bobbing blur of him as he rode his +quick-stepping little horse at Frances Landcraft’s +side.</p> +<p>“Yes, you owe him one,” Frances admitted.</p> +<p>“And I’ll pay him before mornin’ or it won’t be +no fault of mine. That there little ten-cent-size +major he’d ’a’ stopped you if he’d ’a’ known you was +goin’, don’t you suppose?”</p> +<p>“I’m sure he would have, Mr. Gibson.”</p> +<p>“Which?” said Banjo.</p> +<p>“Banjo,” she corrected.</p> +<p>“Now, that sounds more comfortabler,” he told +her. “I didn’t know for a minute who you meant, +that name’s gittin’ to be a stranger to me.”</p> +<p>“Well, we don’t want a stranger along tonight,” +said she, seriously.</p> +<p>“You’re right, we don’t. That there horse you’re +ridin’ he’s a good one, as good as any in the cavalry, +even if he ain’t as tall. He was an outlaw till Missus +Mathews tamed him down.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' ></a>241</span></div> +<p>“How did she do it—not break him like a bronco-buster?”</p> +<p>“No, she done it like she tames Injuns and other +folks, by gentle words and gentler hands. Some +they’ll tell you she’s sunk down to the ways of Injuns, +clean out of a white man’s sight in the dirt and doin’s +of them dead-horse eatin’ ’Rapahoes. But I know +she ain’t. She lets herself down on a level to reach +’em, and git her hands under ’em so she can lift ’em +up, the same as she puts herself on my level when +she wants to reach me, or your level, or anybody’s +level, mom.”</p> +<p>“Her eyes and her soft ways tell you that, Banjo, +as plain as any words.”</p> +<p>“She’s done ten times as much as that big-backed +buffalo of a preacher she’s married to ever done for +his own people, or ever will. He’s clim above ’em +with his educated ways; the Injun’s ironed out of +that man. You can’t reach down and help anybody +up, mom, if you go along through this here world +on stilts.”</p> +<p>“Not very well, Banjo.”</p> +<p>“You need both of your hands to hold your stilts, +mom; you ain’t got even a finger to spare for a low-down +feller like me.”</p> +<p>“You’re not a low-down fellow, Banjo. Don’t be +calling yourself names.”</p> +<p>“I was low-down enough to believe what they told +me about Macdonald shootin’ up Chance Dalton. I +believed it till Missus Mathews give me the straight +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' ></a>242</span> +of it. One of them Injun police fellers told her how +that job was put up, and how it failed to work.”</p> +<p>“A man named Lassiter told me about it.”</p> +<p>They rode along in silence a long time after that. +Then Banjo—</p> +<p>“Well, I hope we don’t bust out onto them cavalry +fellers too sudden and meet a flock of bullets. I’d +never forgive the man that put a bullet through my +fiddle.”</p> +<p>“We’ll go slowly, and keep listening; I can tell +cavalry from cowboys as far as I can hear.”</p> +<p>“I bet a purty you can, brought up with ’em like +you was.”</p> +<p>“They’ll not be able to do anything before daylight, +and when we overtake them we’ll ride around +and get ahead while they’re waiting for morning. I +don’t know where the homesteaders are, but they’ll +be sending out scouts to locate them, and we can +watch.”</p> +<p>They were following the road that the cavalry +had taken an hour in advance of them. Listening +now, they rode on without words. Now and then a +bush at the roadside flipped a stirrup, now and again +Banjo’s little horse snorted in short impatience, as +if expressing its disapproval of this journey through +the dark. Night was assertive in its heaviness, but +communicative of its mysteries in its wild scents—the +silent music of its hour.</p> +<p>There are those who, on walking in the night, can +tell the hour by the smell, the taste, the elusive fine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' ></a>243</span> +aroma of the quiet air. Before midnight it is like +a new-lit censer; in the small hours the smell of old +camp fires comes trailing, and the scent of rain upon +embers.</p> +<p>But Frances Landcraft was not afraid of the night +as she rode silently through it with Banjo Gibson at +her side. There was no shudder in it for her as there +had been on the night that Nola was stolen; it could +not have raised up a terror grim enough to turn her +back upon the road.</p> +<p>Her one thought was that she must reach Macdonald +before Chadron and King could find him, and +tell him that the troops were coming, and that he was +to be trapped into firing upon them. She knew that +many lives depended upon her endurance, courage, +and strategy; many lives, but most of all Alan Macdonald’s +life. He must be warned, at the cost of her +own safety, her own life, if necessary.</p> +<p>To that end the troops must be followed, and a +desperate dash at daylight must be made into Macdonald’s +camp. Perhaps it would be a race with the +cavalry at the last moment.</p> +<p>Banjo said it was beginning to feel like morning. +An hour past they had crossed the river at the ford +near Macdonald’s place, and the foothills stood rough +and black against the starry horizon. They were +near them now, so near that the deeper darkness of +their timbered sides fell over them like a cold shadow.</p> +<p>Suddenly she checked Banjo with a sharp word.</p> +<p>“I heard them!” she whispered.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' ></a>244</span></div> +<p>Banjo’s little horse, eager for the fellowship of its +kind as his master was for his own in his way, threw +up its head and whinnied. Banjo churned it with his +heels, slapped it on the side of the head, and shut +off the shrill call in a grunt, but the signal had gone +abroad. From the blackness ahead it was answered, +and the slow wind prowling down from the hills +ahead of dawn carried the scent of cigarettes to them +as they waited breathlessly for results.</p> +<p>“They’re dismounted, and waiting for daylight,” +she said. “We must ride around them.”</p> +<p>They were leaving the road, the low brush rasping +harshly on their stirrups—as loud as a bugle-call, +it seemed to Frances—when a dash of hoofs from +ahead told that a detachment was coming to investigate. +Now there came a hail. Frances stopped; +Banjo behind her whispered to know what they +should do.</p> +<p>“Keep that little fool horse still!” she said.</p> +<p>Now the patrol, which had stopped to hail, was +coming on again. Banjo’s horse was not to be +sequestered, nor his craving for companionship in +that lonesome night suppressed. He lifted his shrill +nicker again, and a shot from the outriders of cavalry +was the answer.</p> +<p>“Answer them, tell them who you are Banjo—they +all know you—and I’ll slip away. Good-bye, +and thank you for your brave help!”</p> +<p>“I’ll go with you, they’ll hear one as much as +they’ll hear two.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' ></a>245</span></div> +<p>“No, no, you can help me much better by doing as +I tell you. Tell them that a led horse got away from +you, and that’s the noise of it running away.”</p> +<p>She waited for no more words, for the patrol was +very near, and now and then one of them fired as he +rode. Banjo yelled to them.</p> +<p>“Say, you fellers! Stop that fool shootin’ around +here, I tell you!”</p> +<p>“Who are you?” came the answer.</p> +<p>“Banjo, you darned fool! And I tell you right +now, pardner, the first man that busts my fiddle with +a bullet’ll have to mix with me!”</p> +<p>The soldiers came up laughing, and heard Banjo’s +explanation of the horse, still dimly heard, galloping +off. Frances stopped to listen. Presently she heard +them coming on again, evidently not entirely satisfied +with Banjo’s story. But the parley with him had +delayed them; she had a good lead now.</p> +<p>In a little swale, where the greasewood reached +above her head, she stopped again to listen. She +heard the troopers beating the bushes away off to one +side, and knew that they soon would give it up. When +they passed out of her hearing, she rode on, slowly, +and with caution.</p> +<p>She was frontiersman enough to keep her direction +by the north star—Colonel Landcraft had seen to +that particular of her education himself—but Polaris +would not tell her which way to go to find Alan Macdonald +and his dusty men standing their vigil over +their cooped-up enemies. Nothing but luck, she knew, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' ></a>246</span> +could lead her there, for she was in a sea of sage-brush, +with the black river valley behind her, the +blacker hills ahead, and never a mark of a trail to +follow anywhere.</p> +<p>She had rounded the cavalry troop and left it far +behind; the silence which immersed the sleeping land +told her this. No hoof but her own mount’s beat +the earth within sound, no foot but hers strained +saddle-leather within reach of her now, she believed.</p> +<p>There was only one thing to do; ride slowly in the +direction that she had been holding with Banjo, and +keep eyes, ears, and nose all on the watch. The ways +of the range were early; if there was anybody within +a mile of her to windward she would smell the smoke +of his fire when he lit it, and see the wink of it, too, +unless he built it low.</p> +<p>But it was neither the scent of fire nor the red eye +of it winking on the hill that at length gave her despairing +heart a fresh handful of hope—nothing less +indeed than the aroma of boiling coffee. It had such +a feeling of comfort and welcome, of domesticity and +peace in it that she felt as if she approached a door +with a friend standing ready to take her horse.</p> +<p>Her horse was not insensible to the cheer that +somebody was brewing for himself in that wild place. +She felt him quicken under her, and put up his head +eagerly, and go forward as if he was nearing home. +She wondered how far the smell of coffee would carry, +and subsequent experience was a revelation on that +point.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' ></a>247</span></div> +<p>She had entered the hills, tracking back that +wavering scent of coffee, which rose fresh and sudden +now, and trailed away the next moment to the mere +color of a smell. Now she had it, now she lost it, +as she wound over rugged ridges and through groves +of quaking-asp and balm of Gilead trees, always +mounting among the hills, her eager horse taking the +way without guidance, as keen on the scent as she.</p> +<p>It must have taken her an hour to run down that +coffee pot. Morning was coming among the fading +stars when she mounted a long ridge, the quick striding +of her horse indicating that there was something +ahead at last, and came upon the camp fire, the +coffee, and the cook, all beside a splintered gray rock +that rose as high as a house out of the barrenness +of the hill.</p> +<p>The coffee-maker was a woman, and her pot was of +several gallons’ capacity. She was standing with +the cover of the boiler in one hand, a great spoon in +the other, her back half bent over her beverage, in +the position that the sound of Frances’ coming had +struck her. She did not move out of that alert pose +of suspicion until Frances drew rein within a few +feet of her and gave her good-morning. When the +poor harried creature saw that the visitor was a +woman, her fright gave place to wonder.</p> +<p>Frances introduced herself without parley, and +made inquiry for Macdonald.</p> +<p>“Why, bless your heart, you don’t aim to tell me +you rode all the way from the post in the night by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' ></a>248</span> +yourself?” the simple, friendly creature said. +“Well, Mr. Macdonald and most of the men they’ve +left to take them scoun’rels sent in here by the cattlemen +to murder all of us over to the jail at Meander.”</p> +<p>“How long have they been gone?”</p> +<p>“Why, not so very long. I reckon you must ’a’ +missed meetin’ ’em by a hair.”</p> +<p>“I’ve got to catch up with them, right away! Is +there anybody here that can guide me?”</p> +<p>“My son can, and he’ll be glad. He’s just went +to sleep back there in the tent after guardin’ them +fellers all night. I’ll roust him out.”</p> +<p>The pioneer woman came back almost at once, and +pressed a cup of her coffee upon Frances. Frances +took the tin vessel eagerly, for she was chilled from +her long ride. Then she dismounted to rest her horse +while her guide was getting ready, and warm her +numb feet at the fire. She told the woman how the +scent of her coffee had led her out of her groping like +a beacon light on the hill.</p> +<p>“It’s about three miles from here down to the +valley,” the woman said. “Coffee will carry on the +mornin’ air that way.”</p> +<p>“Do you think your son—?”</p> +<p>“He’s a-comin’,” the woman replied.</p> +<p>The boy came around the rock, leading a horse. +He was wide awake and alert, bare-footed, bareheaded, +and without a coat. He leaped nimbly onto +his bare-backed beast, and Frances got into her saddle +as fast as her numb limbs would lift her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' ></a>249</span></div> +<p>As she road away after the recklessly riding youth, +she felt the hope that she had warmed in her bosom +all night paling to a shadow. It seemed that, circumstances +were ranging after a chart marked out +for them, and that her own earnest effort to interfere +could not turn aside the tragedy set for the +gray valley below her.</p> +<p>Morning was broadening now; she could see her +guide distinctly even when he rode many rods ahead. +Dawn was the hour for treacherous men and deeds +of stealth; Chadron would be on the way again before +now, with the strength of the United States +behind him to uphold his outlawed hand.</p> +<p>When they came down into the valley there was +a low-spreading mist over the gray sage, which lent +a warmth to the raw morning wind. There was a +sense of indistinctness through the mist which was +an ally to Chadron. Ten rods away, even in the +growing morning, it would have been impossible to +tell a cowboy from a cavalryman.</p> +<p>Here a haystack smoldered in what had been a +farmstead yard; its thin blue smoke wavered up in +the morning, incense over the dead hope of the humble +heart that had dreamed it had found a refuge +in that spot. At the roadside a little farther on the +burned ruins of a cabin lay. It had stood so near the +wheel track that the heat of its embers was warm on +Frances’ face as she galloped by. The wire fence +was cut between each post, beyond splicing or repair; +the shrubs which some home-hungry woman had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' ></a>250</span> +set in her dooryard were trampled; the well curb was +overthrown.</p> +<p>Over and over again as they rode that sad picture +was repeated. Destruction had swept the country, +war had visited it. Side by side upon the adjoining +lines many of the homesteaders had built their little +houses, for the comfort of being near their kind. In +the corner of each quarter section on either side of +the road along the fertile valley, a little home had +stood three days ago. Now all were gone, marked +only by little heaps of embers which twinkled a dying +glow in the breath of the morning wind.</p> +<p>Day was spreading now. From the little swells +in the land as she mounted them Frances could see +the deeper mist hovering in the low places, the tops +of tall shrubs and slender quaking-asp showing above +it as if they stood in snow. The band of sunrise +was broadening across the east; far down near the +horizon a little slip of lemon-rind moon was faltering +out of sight.</p> +<p>But there was no sight, no sound, of anybody in +the road ahead. She spurred up beside her guide and +asked him if there was any other way that they might +have taken. No, he said; they would have to go +that way, for there was only one fordable place in +the river for many miles. He pointed to the road, +fresh-turned by many hoofs, and clamped his lean +thighs to his bare horse, galloping on.</p> +<p>“We’ll take a cut acrosst here, and maybe head +’em off,” he said, dashing away through the stirrup-high +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' ></a>251</span> +sage, striking close to the hills again, and into +rougher going.</p> +<p>The ache of the most intense anxiety that she ever +had borne was upon Frances; hope was only a shred +in her hand. She believed now that all her desperate +riding must come to nothing in the end.</p> +<p>She never had been that long in the saddle before +in her life. Her body was numb with cold and +fatigue; she felt the motion of her horse, heard its +pounding feet in regular beat as it held to its long, +swinging gallop, but with the detached sense of being +no party to it. All that was sharp in her was the +pain of her lost struggle. For she expected every +moment to hear firing, and to come upon confusion +and death at the next lift of the hill.</p> +<p>In their short cut across the country they had +mounted the top of a long, slender ridge, which +reached down into the valley like a finger. Now her +guide pulled up his horse so suddenly that it slid +forward on stiff legs, its hoofs plowing the loose shale.</p> +<p>“You’d better go back—there’s goin’ to be a +fight!” he said, a look of shocked concern in his big +wild eyes.</p> +<p>“Do you see them? Where—”</p> +<p>“There they are!”—he clutched her arm, leaning +and pointing—“and there’s a bunch of fellers comin’ +to meet ’em that they don’t see! I tell you there’s +goin’ to be a fight!”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' ></a>252</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XIX_I_BEAT_HIM_TO_IT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>“I BEAT HIM TO IT”</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>The last dash of that long ride was only a whirlwind +of emotions to Frances. It was a red +streak. She did not know what became of the boy; +she left him there as she lashed her horse past him +on the last desperate stretch.</p> +<p>The two forces were not more than half a mile +apart, the cavalry just mounting at the ruins of a +homestead where she knew they had stopped for +breakfast at the well. A little band of outriders +was setting off, a scouting party under the lead of +Chadron, she believed. Macdonald’s men, their +prisoners under guard between two long-strung lines +of horsemen, were proceeding at a trot. Between the +two forces the road made a long curve. Here it was +bordered by brushwood that would hide a man on +horseback.</p> +<p>When Frances broke through this screen which had +hidden the cavalry from Macdonald, she found the +cavalcade halted, for Macdonald had seen her coming +down the hill. She told him in few words what her +errand to him was, Tom Lassiter and those who rode +with him at the head of the column pressing around.</p> +<p>The question and mystification in Macdonald’s +face at her coming cleared with her brisk words. +There was no wonder to him any more in her being +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' ></a>253</span> +there. It was like her to come, winging through the +night straight to him, like a dove with a message. +If it had been another woman to take up that brave +and hardy task, then there would have been marvel +in it. As it was, he held out his hand to her, silently, +like one man to another in a pass where words alone +would be weak and lame.</p> +<p>“I was looking for Chadron to come with help +and attempt a rescue, and I was moving to forestall +him, but we were late getting under way. They”—waving +his hand toward the prisoners—“held out +until an hour ago.”</p> +<p>“You must think, and think fast!” she said. +“They’re almost here!”</p> +<p>“Yes. I’m going ahead to meet them, and offer to +turn these prisoners over to Major King. They’ll +have no excuse for firing on us then.”</p> +<p>“No, no! some other way—think of some other +way!”</p> +<p>He looked gravely into her anxious, pleading eyes. +“Why, no matter, Frances. If they’ve come here to +do that, they’ll do it, but this way they’ll have to +do it in the open, not by a trick.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go with you,” she said.</p> +<p>“I think perhaps—”</p> +<p>“I’ll go!”</p> +<p>Macdonald turned to Lassiter in a few hurried +words. She pressed to his side as the two rode away +alone to meet the troops, repeating as if she had +been denied:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' ></a>254</span></div> +<p>“I’ll go!”</p> +<p>There was a dash of hoofs behind them, and a +man who rode like a sack of bran came bouncing up, +excitement over his large face.</p> +<p>“What’s up, Macdonald—where’re you off to?” +he inquired.</p> +<p>Macdonald told him in a word, riding forward as +he spoke. He introduced the stranger as a newspaper +correspondent from Chicago, who had arrived +at the homesteaders’ camp the evening past.</p> +<p>“So they got troops, did they?” the newspaper +man said, riding forward keenly. “Yes, they told +me down in Cheyenne they’d put that trick through. +Here they come!”</p> +<p>Macdonald spurred ahead, holding up his right +hand in the Indian sign of peace. Major King +was riding with Chadron at the head of the vanguard. +They drew rein suddenly at sight of what appeared +to be such a formidable force at Macdonald’s back, +for at that distance, and with the dimness of the +scattering mist, it appeared as if several hundred +horsemen were approaching.</p> +<p>Distrustful of Chadron, fearing that he might induce +Major King to shoot Macdonald down as he +sat there making overtures of peace, Frances rode +forward and joined him, the correspondent coming +jolting after her in his horn-riding way. After a +brief parley among themselves Chadron and King, +together with three or four officers, rode forward. +One remained behind, and halted the column as it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' ></a>255</span> +came around the brushwood screen at the turn of +the road.</p> +<p>Major King greeted Frances as he rode up, +scowling in high dignity. Chadron could not cover +his surprise so well as Major King at seeing her +there, her horse in a sweat, her habit torn where the +brambles had snatched at her in her hard ride to get +ahead of the troops. He gave her a cold good-morning, +and sat in the attitude of a man pricking up his +ears as he leaned a little to peer into the ranks of +the force ahead.</p> +<p>The homesteaders had come to a halt a hundred +yards behind Macdonald; about the same distance +behind Major King and his officers the cavalry had +drawn up across the road. Major King sat in +brief silence, as if waiting for Macdonald to begin. He +looked the homesteader captain over with severe eyes.</p> +<p>“Well, sir?” said he.</p> +<p>“We were starting for Meander, Major King, to +deliver to the sheriff fifty men whom we have taken +in the commission of murder and arson,” Macdonald +replied, with dignity. “Up to a few minutes ago +we had no information that martial law had superseded +the civil in this troubled country, but since +that is the case, we will gladly turn our prisoners +over to you, with the earnest request that they be +held, collectively and individually, to answer for the +crimes they have committed here.”</p> +<p>“Them’s my men, King—they’ve got ’em there!” +said Chadron, boiling over the brim.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' ></a>256</span></div> +<p>“This expedition has come to the relief of certain +men, attacked and surrounded in the discharge of +their duty by a band of cattle thieves of which you +are the acknowledged head,” replied Major King.</p> +<p>“Then you have come on a mistaken errand, sir,” +Macdonald told him.</p> +<p>“I have come into this lawless country to restore +order and insure the lives and safety of property of +the people to whom it belongs.”</p> +<p>“The evidence of these hired raiders’ crimes lies +all around you, Major King,” Macdonald said. +“These men swept in here in the employ of the cattle +interests, burned these poor homes, and murdered +such of the inhabitants as were unable to fly to safety +in the hills ahead of them. We are appealing to the +law; the cattlemen never have done that.”</p> +<p>“Say, Mr. Soldier, let me tell you something”—the +newspaper correspondent, to whom one man’s +dignity was as much as another’s, kicked his horse +forward—“these raiders that bloody-handed Chadron +sent in here have murdered children and women, +do you know that?”</p> +<p>“Who in the hell are you?” Chadron demanded, +bristling with rage, whirling his horse to face him.</p> +<p>“This is Chadron,” Macdonald said, a little flash +of humor in his eyes over Chadron’s hearing the truth +about himself from an unexpected source.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m glad I’ve run into you, Chadron; I’ve +got a little list of questions to ask you,” the correspondent +told him, far from being either impressed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' ></a>257</span> +or cowed. “Neel is my name, of the <i>Chicago Tribune</i>, +I’ve—”</p> +<p>“You’d just as well keep your questions for another +day—you’ll send nothing out of here!” said +Major King, sharply.</p> +<p>Neel looked across his nose at King with triumphant +leer.</p> +<p>“I’ve sent out something, Mr. Soldier-man,” said +he; “it was on the wire by midnight last night, rushed +to Meander by courier, and it’s all over the country +this morning. It’s a story that’ll give the other side +of this situation up here to the war department, and +it’ll make this whole nation climb up on its hind legs +and howl. Murder? Huh, murder’s no name for it!”</p> +<p>Chadron was growling something below his breath +into King’s ear.</p> +<p>“Forty-three men and boys—look at them, there +they are—rounded up fifty of the cutthroats the +Drovers’ Association rushed up here from Cheyenne +on a special train to wipe the homesteaders out,” +Neel continued, rising to considerable heat in the +partisanship of his new light. “Five dollars a day +was the hire of that gang, and five dollars bonus for +every man, woman, or baby that they killed! Yes, +I’ve got signed statements from them, Chadron, and +I’d like to know what you’ve got to say, if anything?”</p> +<p>“Disarm that rabble,” said Major King, speaking +to a subordinate officer, “and take charge of the men +they have been holding.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' ></a>258</span></div> +<p>“Sir, I protest—” Macdonald began.</p> +<p>“I have no words to waste on you!” Major King +cut him off shortly.</p> +<p>“I’d play a slow hand on that line, King, and a +careful one, if I were you,” advised Neel. “If you +take these men’s guns away from them they’ll be at +the mercy of Chadron’s brigands. I tell you, man, I +know the situation in this country!”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said King, in cold hauteur.</p> +<p>Chadron’s eyes were lighting with the glitter of revenge. +He sat grinding his bridle-reins in his gloved +hand, as if he had the bones of the nesters in his +palm at last.</p> +<p>“You will proceed, with the rescued party under +guard, to Meander,” continued Major King to his +officer, speaking as if he had plans for his own employment +aside from the expedition. “There, Mr. +Chadron will furnish transportation to return them +whence they came.”</p> +<p>“I’ll furnish—” began Chadron, in amazement at +this unexpected turn.</p> +<p>“Transportation, sir,” completed Major King, in +his cold way.</p> +<p>“These men should be held to the civil authorities +for trial in this county, and not set free,” Macdonald +protested, indignant over the order.</p> +<p>Major King ignored him. He was still looking +at Chadron, who was almost choking on his rage.</p> +<p>“Hell! Do you mean to tell me the whole damn +thing’s goin’ to fizzle out this way, King? I want +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' ></a>259</span> +something done, I tell you—I want something done! +I didn’t bring you up here—”</p> +<p>“Certainly not, sir!” snapped King.</p> +<p>“My orders to you—” Chadron flared.</p> +<p>“It happens that I am not marching under your +orders at—”</p> +<p>“The hell you ain’t!” Chadron exploded.</p> +<p>“It’s an outrage on humanity to turn those +scoundrels loose, Major King!” Neel said. “Why, +I’ve got signed statements, I tell you—”</p> +<p>“Remove this man to the rear!” Major King addressed +a lieutenant, who communicated the order to +the next lowest in rank immediately at hand, who +passed it on to two troopers, who came forward +briskly and rode the protesting correspondent off +between them.</p> +<p>Other troopers were collecting the arms of the +homesteaders, a proceeding which Macdonald witnessed +with a sick heart. Frances, sitting her horse +in silence through all that had passed, gave him what +comfort and hope she could express with her eyes.</p> +<p>“Detail a patrol of twenty men,” Major King continued +his instructions to his officer, “to keep the +roads and disarm all individuals and bands encountered.”</p> +<p>“That don’t apply to my men!” declared Chadron, +positively. In his face there was a dark threat of +disaster for Major King’s future hopes of advancement.</p> +<p>“It applies to everybody as they come,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' ></a>260</span> +King. “Troops have come in here to restore order, +and order will be restored.”</p> +<p>Chadron was gaping in amazement. That feeling +in him seemed to smother every other, even his hot +rage against King for this sudden shifting of their +plans and complete overthrow of the cattlemen’s expectations +of the troops. The one little comfort that +he was to get out of the expedition was that of seeing +his raiders taken out of Macdonald’s hands and +marched off to be set free.</p> +<p>Macdonald felt that he understood the change in +King. The major had come there full of the intention +of doing Chadron’s will; he had not a doubt of +that. But murder, even with the faint color of +excuse that they would have contrived to give it, +could not be done in the eyes of such a witness as +Frances Landcraft. Subserviency, a bending of +dignity even, could not be stooped to before one +who had been schooled to hold a soldier’s honor his +most precious endowment.</p> +<p>Major King had shown a hand of half-fairness in +treating both sides alike. That much was to his +credit, at the worst. But he had not done it because +he was a high-souled and honorable man. His eyes +betrayed him in that, no matter how stern he tried +to make them. The coming of that fair outrider in +the night had turned aside a great tragedy, and saved +Major King partly to himself, at least, and perhaps +wholly to his career.</p> +<p>Macdonald tried to tell her in one long and earnest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' ></a>261</span> +look all this. She nodded, seeming to understand.</p> +<p>“You’ve double-crossed me, King,” Chadron accused, +in the flat voice of a man throwing down his +hand. “I brought you up here to throw these nesters +off of our land.”</p> +<p>“The civil courts must decide the ownership of +that,” returned King, sourly. “Disarm that man!” +He indicated Macdonald, and turned his horse as if +to ride back and join his command.</p> +<p>The lieutenant appeared to feel that it would be +no lowering of his dignity to touch the weapons of +a man such as Macdonald’s bearing that morning had +shown him to be. He approached with a smile half +apologetic. Chadron was sitting by on his horse +watching the proceeding keenly.</p> +<p>“Pardon me,” said the officer, reaching out to +receive Macdonald’s guns.</p> +<p>A swift change swept over Macdonald’s face, a +flush dyeing it to his ears. He sat motionless a +little while, as if debating the question, the young +officer’s hand still outstretched. Macdonald dropped +his hand, quickly, as if moved to shorten the humiliation, +to the buckle of his belt, and opened it with +deft jerk. At that moment Chadron, ten feet away, +slung a revolver from his side and fired.</p> +<p>Macdonald rocked in his saddle as Frances leaped +to the ground and ran to his side. He wilted forward, +his hat falling, and crumpled into her arms. +The lieutenant relieved her of her bloody burden, +and eased Macdonald to the ground.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' ></a>262</span></div> +<p>Major King came riding back. At his sharp command +troopers surrounded Chadron, who sat with +his weapon still poised, like one gazing at the mark at +which he had fired, the smoke of his shot around him.</p> +<p>“In a second he’d ’a’ got me! but I beat him to it, +by God! I beat him to it!” he said.</p> +<p>Macdonald’s belt had slipped free of his body. +With its burden of cartridges and its two long pistols +it lay at Frances’ feet. She stooped, a little sound +in her throat between a sob and a cry, jerked one of +the guns out, wheeled upon Chadron and fired. The +lieutenant struck up her arm in time to save the +cattleman’s life. The blow sent the pistol whirling +out of her hand.</p> +<p>“They will go off that way, sometimes,” said the +young officer, with apology in his soft voice.</p> +<p>The soldiers closed around Chadron and hurried +him away. A moment Major King sat looking at +Macdonald, whose blood was wasting in the roadside +dust from a wound in his chest. Then he flashed a +look into Frances’ face that had a sneer of triumph +in it, wheeled his horse and galloped away.</p> +<p>In a moment the lieutenant was summoned, leaving +Frances alone between the two forces with Macdonald. +She did not know whether he was dead. She dropped +to her knees in the dust and began to tear frantically +at his shirt to come to the wound. Tom Lassiter +came hurrying up with others, denouncing the +treacherous shot, swearing vengeance on the cowardly +head that had conceived so murderous a thing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' ></a>263</span></div> +<p>Lassiter said that he was not dead, and set to work +to stem the blood. It seemed to Frances that the +world had fallen away from her, leaving her alone. +She stood aside a little, her chin up in her old imperious +way, her eyes on the far hills where the tender +sunlight was just striking among the white-limbed +aspen trees. But her heart was bent down to the +darkness of despair.</p> +<p>She asked no questions of the men who were working +so earnestly after their crude way to check that +precious stream; she stood in the activity of passing +troopers and escorted raiders insensible of any movement +or sound in all the world around her. Only +when Tom Lassiter stood from his ministrations and +looked at her with understanding in his old weary +eyes she turned her face back again, slowly resolute, +to see if he had died.</p> +<p>Her throat was dry. It took an effort to bring a +sound from it, and then it was strained and wavering.</p> +<p>“Is he—dead?”</p> +<p>“No, miss, he ain’t dead,” Tom answered. But +there was such a shadow of sorrow and pain in his +eyes that tears gushed into her own.</p> +<p>“Will—will—”</p> +<p>Tom shook his head. “The Lord that give him +alone can answer that,” he said, a feeling sadness in +his voice.</p> +<p>The troops had moved on, save the detail singled +for police duty. These were tightening girths and +trimming for the road again a little way from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' ></a>264</span> +spot where Macdonald lay. The lieutenant returned +hastily.</p> +<p>“Miss Landcraft, I am ordered to convey you to +Alamito Ranch—under guard,” said he.</p> +<p>Banjo Gibson, held to be harmless and insignificant +by Major King, had been set free. Now he came up, +leading his horse, shocked to the deepest fibers of +his sensitive soul by the cowardly deed that Saul +Chadron had done.</p> +<p>“It went clean through him!” he said, rising from +his inspection of Macdonald’s wound. And then, +moved by the pain in Frances’ tearless eyes, he enlarged +upon the advantages of that from a surgical +view. “The beauty of a hole in a man’s chest like +that is that it lets the pizen dreen off,” he told her. +“It wouldn’t surprise me none to see Mac up and +around inside of a couple of weeks, for he’s as hard +as old hick’ry.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m not going to Alamito Ranch and leave +him out here to die of neglect, orders or no orders!” +said she to the lieutenant.</p> +<p>The young officer’s face colored; he plucked at his +new mustache in embarrassment. Perhaps the prospect +of carrying a handsome and dignified young lady +in his arms for a matter of twenty-odd miles was not +as alluring to him as it might have been to another, +for he was a slight young man, only a little while +out of West Point. But orders were orders, and +he gave Frances to understand that in diplomatic +and polite phrasing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' ></a>265</span></div> +<p>She scorned him and his veneration for orders, +and turned from him coldly.</p> +<p>“Is there no doctor with your detachment?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“He has gone on with the main body, Miss Landcraft. +They have several wounded.”</p> +<p>“Wounded murderers and burners of homes! Well, +I’m not going to Alamito Ranch with you, sir, unless +you can contrive an ambulance of some sort and take +this gentleman too.”</p> +<p>The officer brightened. He believed it could be +arranged. Inside of an hour he had Tom Lassiter +around with a team and spring wagon, in which the +homesteaders laid Macdonald tenderly upon a bed +of hay.</p> +<p>Banjo waited until they were ready to begin their +slow march to the ranch, when he led his little horse +forward.</p> +<p>“I’ll go on to the agency after the doctor and +send him over to Alamito as quick as he can go,” he +said. “And I’ll see if Mother Mathews can go over, +too. She’s worth four doctors when it comes to keep +the pizen from spreadin’ in a wound.”</p> +<p>Frances gave him her benediction with her eyes, +and farewell with a warm handclasp, and Banjo’s +beribboned horse frisked off on its long trip, quite +refreshed from the labors of the past night.</p> +<p>Frances was carrying Macdonald’s cartridge belt +and revolvers, the confiscation of which had been +overlooked by Major King in the excitement of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' ></a>266</span> +shooting. The young lieutenant hadn’t the heart +to take the weapons from her. Orders had been carried +out; Macdonald had been disarmed. He let it +go at that.</p> +<p>Frances rode in the wagon with Macdonald, a +canteen of water slung over her shoulders. Now and +then she moistened his lips with a little of it, and +bathed his eyes, closed in pathetic weariness. He +was unconscious still from the blow of Saul Chadron’s +big bullet. As she ministered to him she felt that he +would open his eyes on this world’s pains and cruel +injustices nevermore.</p> +<p>And why had Major King ordered her, virtually +under arrest, to Alamito Ranch, instead of sending +her in disgrace to the post? Was it because he +feared that she would communicate with her father +from the post, and discover to him the treacherous +compact between Chadron and King, or merely to +take a mean revenge upon her by humiliating her in +Nola Chadron’s eyes?</p> +<p>He had taken the newspaper correspondent with +him, and certainly would see that no more of the +truth was sent out by him from that flame-swept +country for several days. With her at the ranch, +far from telegraphic communication with the world, +nothing could go out from her that would enlighten +the department on the deception that the cattlemen +had practiced to draw the government into the conflict +on their side. In the meantime, the Drovers’ Association +would be at work, spreading money with free +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' ></a>267</span> +hand, corrupting evidence with the old dyes of falsehood.</p> +<p>Major King had seen his promised reward withdrawn +through her intervention, and had made a +play of being fair to both sides in the controversy, +except that he kept one hand on Chadron’s shoulder, +so to speak, in making martyrs of those bloody men +whom he had sent there to burn and kill. They were +to be shipped safely back to their place, where they +would disperse, and walk free of all prosecution afterwards. +For that one service to the cattlemen Major +King could scarcely hope to win his coveted reward.</p> +<p>She believed that Alan Macdonald would die. It +seemed that the fever which would consume his feeble +hope of life was already kindling on his lips. But +she had no tears to pour out over him now. Only a +great hardness in her heart against Saul Chadron, +and a wild desire to lift her hand and strike him low.</p> +<p>Whether Major King would make her attempt +against Chadron’s life, or her interference with his +military expedition his excuse for placing her under +guard, remained for the future to develop. She +turned these things in her mind as they proceeded +along the white river road toward the ranch.</p> +<p>It came noontime, and decline of sun; the shadow +of the mountains reached down into the valley, the +mist came purple again over the foothills, the fire +of sunset upon the clouds. Alan Macdonald still +lived, his strong harsh face turned to the fading +skies, his tired eyelids closed upon his dreams.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' ></a>268</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XX_LOVE_AND_DEATH'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>LOVE AND DEATH</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Maggie and Alvino had the ranch to themselves +when the military party from the upper valley +arrived, Mrs. Chadron and Nola having driven to +Meander that morning. It had been their intention +to return that evening, Maggie said. Mrs. Chadron +had gone after chili peppers, and other things, but +principally chili peppers. There was not one left in +the house, and the mistress could not live without +them, any more than fire could burn without wood.</p> +<p>Dusk had settled when they reached the ranch, +and night thickened fast. The lieutenant dropped +two men at the corral gate—her guard, Frances understood—and +went back to his task of watching +for armed men upon the highroads.</p> +<p>Under the direction of Frances, Maggie had placed +a cot in Mrs. Chadron’s favored sitting-room with +the fireplace. There Macdonald lay in clean sheets, +a blaze on the hearth, and Maggie was washing his +wound with hot water, groaning in the pity which +is the sweetest part of the women of her homely race.</p> +<p>“I think that he will live, miss,” she said hopefully. +“See, he has a strong breath on my damp hand—I +can feel it like a little wind.”</p> +<p>She spoke in her native tongue, which Frances understood +thoroughly from her years in Texas and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' ></a>269</span> +Arizona posts. Frances shook her head sorrowfully.</p> +<p>“I am afraid his breath will fail soon, Maggie.”</p> +<p>“No, if they live the first hour after being shot, +they get well,” Maggie persisted, with apparent sincerity. +“Here, put your hand on his heart—do +you feel it? What a strong heart he has to live so +well! what a strong, strong heart!”</p> +<p>“Yes, a strong, strong heart!” Tears were falling +for him now that there was none to see them, scalding +their way down her pale cheeks.</p> +<p>“He must have carried something sacred with him +to give him such strength, such life.”</p> +<p>“He carried honor,” said Frances, more to herself +than to Maggie, doubting that she would understand.</p> +<p>“And love, maybe?” said Maggie, with soft word, +soft upward-glancing of her feeling dark eyes.</p> +<p>“Who can tell?” Frances answered, turning her +head away.</p> +<p>Maggie drew the sheet over him and stood looking +down into his severe white face.</p> +<p>“If he could speak he would ask for his mother, +and for water then, and after that the one he loves. +That is the way a man’s mind carries those three +precious things when death blows its breath in his +face.”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” said Frances, slowly.</p> +<p>There was such stress in waiting, such silence in +the world, and such emptiness and pain! Reverently +as Maggie’s voice was lowered, soft and sympathetic +as her word, Frances longed for her to be still, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' ></a>270</span> +go and leave her alone with him. She longed to hold +the dear spark of his faltering life in her own hands, +alone, quite alone; to warm it back to strength in her +own lone heart. Surely her name could not be the +last in his remembrance, no matter for the disturbing +breath of death.</p> +<p>“I will bring you some food,” said Maggie. “To +give him life out of your life you must be strong.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Frances started out of her sleep in the rocking-chair +before the fire. She had turned the lamp low, +but there was a flare of light on her face. Her +faculties were so deeply sunk in that insidious sleep +which had crept upon her like a bindweed upon wheat +that she struggled to rise from it. She sprang up, +her mind groping, remembering that there was something +for which she was under heavy responsibility, +but unable for a moment to bring it back to its place.</p> +<p>Nola was in the door with a candle, shading the +flame from her eyes with her hand. Her hair was +about her shoulders, her feet were bare under the +hem of her long dressing-robe. She was staring, her +lips were open, her breath was quick, as if she had +arrived after a run.</p> +<p>“Is he—alive?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Why should you come to ask? What is his life to +you?” asked Frances, sorrowfully bitter.</p> +<p>“Oh, Maggie just woke and came up to tell me, +mother doesn’t know—she’s just gone to bed. Isn’t +it terrible, Frances!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' ></a>271</span></div> +<p>Nola spoke distractedly, as if in great agony, or +great fear.</p> +<p>“He can’t harm any of you now, you’re safe.” +Frances was hard and scornful. She turned from +Nola and laid her hand on Macdonald’s brow, drawing +her breath with a relieved sigh when she felt the +warmth of life still there.</p> +<p>“Oh, Frances, Frances!” Nola moaned, with expression +of despair, “isn’t this terrible!”</p> +<p>“If you mean it’s terrible to have him here, I can’t +help it. I’m a prisoner, here against my will. I +couldn’t leave him out there alone to die.”</p> +<p>Nola lowered her candle and stared at Frances, +her eyes big and blank of everything but a wild expression +that Frances had read as fear.</p> +<p>“Will he die?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Yes; you are to have your heartless way at last. +He will die, and his blood will be on this house, never +to be washed away!”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you come back when we called you—both +of you?” Nola drew near, reaching out an +appealing hand. Frances shrank from her, to bend +quickly over Macdonald when he groaned and moved +his head.</p> +<p>“Put out that light—it’s in his eyes!” she said.</p> +<p>Nola blew out the candle and came glimmering into +the room in her soft white gown.</p> +<p>“Don’t blame me, Frances, don’t blame any of us. +Mother and I wanted to save you both, we tried to +stop the men, and we could have held them back if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' ></a>272</span> +it hadn’t been for Chance. Chance got three of them +to go, the others—”</p> +<p>“They paid for that!” said Frances, a little lift +of triumph in her voice.</p> +<p>“Yes, but they—”</p> +<p>“Chance didn’t do it, I tell you! If he says he +did it he lies! It was—somebody else.”</p> +<p>“The soldiers?”</p> +<p>“No, not the soldiers.”</p> +<p>“I thought maybe—I saw one of them on guard +in front of the house as we came in.”</p> +<p>“He’s guarding me, I’m under arrest, I tell you. +The soldiers have nothing to do with him.”</p> +<p>Nola stood looking down at Macdonald, who was +deathly white in the weak light of the low, shaded +lamp. With a little timid outreaching, a little starting +and drawing back, she touched his forehead, where +a thick lock of his shaggy hair fell over it, like a sheaf +of ripe wheat burst from its band.</p> +<p>“Oh, it breaks my heart to see him dying—it—breaks—my—heart!” +she sobbed.</p> +<p>“You struck him! You’re not—you’re not fit to +touch him—take your hand away!”</p> +<p>Frances pushed her hand away roughly. Nola +drew back, drenched with a sudden torrent of penitential +tears.</p> +<p>“I know it, I know it!” she confessed in bitterness, +“I knew it when he took me away from those people +in the mountains and brought me home. He carried +me in his arms when I was tired, and sang to me as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' ></a>273</span> +we rode along there in the lonesome night! He sang +to me, just like I was a little child, so I wouldn’t be +afraid—afraid—of him!”</p> +<p>“Oh, and you struck him, you struck him like a +dog!”</p> +<p>“I’ve suffered more for that than I hurt him, +Frances—it’s been like fire in my heart!”</p> +<p>“I pray to God it will burn up your wicked +pride!”</p> +<p>“We believed him, mother and I believed him, in +spite of what Chance said. Oh, if you’d only come +back then, Frances, this thing wouldn’t have happened!”</p> +<p>“I can’t see what good that would have done,” said +Frances, wearily; “there are others who don’t believe +him. They’d have got him some time, just like +they got him—in a coward’s underhanded way, never +giving him a chance for his life.”</p> +<p>“We went to Meander this morning thinking we’d +catch father there before he left. We wanted to tell +him about Mr. Macdonald, and get him to drop this +feud. If we could have seen him I know he’d have +done what we asked, for he’s got the noblest heart in +the world!”</p> +<p>Whatever Frances felt on the noble nature of Saul +Chadron she held unexpressed. She did not feel that +it fell to her duty to tell Nola whose hand had struck +Macdonald down, although she believed that the cattleman’s +daughter deserved whatever pain and +humiliation the revelation might bring. For it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' ></a>274</span> +as plain as if Nola had confessed it in words that +she had much more than a friendly feeling of gratitude +for the foeman of her family.</p> +<p>Her heart was as unstable as mercury, it seemed. +Frances despised her for her fickleness, scorned her +for the mean face of friendship over the treachery of +her soul. Not that she regretted Major King. Nola +was free to take him and make the most of him. But +she was not to come in as a wedge to rive her from +this man.</p> +<p>Let her pay her debt of gratitude in something else +than love. Living or dead, Alan Macdonald was not +for Nola Chadron. Her penance and her tears, her +meanings and sobs and her broken heart, even that, +if it should come, could not pay for the humiliation +and the pain which that house had brought upon him.</p> +<p>“When did it happen?” asked Nola, the gust of +her weeping past.</p> +<p>“This morning, early.”</p> +<p>“Who did it—how did it happen? You got away +from Chance—you said it wasn’t Chance.”</p> +<p>“We got away from that gang yesterday; this +happened this morning, miles from that place.”</p> +<p>“Who was it? Why don’t you tell me, Frances?”</p> +<p>They were standing at Macdonald’s side. A little +spurt of flame among the ends of wood in the chimney +threw a sudden illumination over them, and played +like water over a stone upon Macdonald’s face, then +sank again, as if it had been plunged in ashes. +Frances remained silent, her vindictiveness, her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' ></a>275</span> +hardness of heart, against this vacillating girl dying +away as the flame had died. It was not her desire to +hurt her with that story of treachery and cowardice +which must leave its stain upon her name for many +a year.</p> +<p>“The name of the man who shot him is a curse +and a blight on this land, a mockery of every holy +human thought. I’ll not speak it.”</p> +<p>Nola stared at her, horror speaking from her eyes. +“He must be a monster!”</p> +<p>“He is the lowest of the accursed—a coward!” +Frances said.</p> +<p>Nola shuddered, standing silently by the couch a +little while. Then: “But I want to help you, Frances, +if you’ll let me.”</p> +<p>“There’s nothing that you can do. I’m waiting +for Mrs. Mathews and the doctor from the agency.”</p> +<p>“You can go up and rest until they come, Frances, +you look so tired and pale. I’ll watch by him—you +can tell me what to do, and I’ll call you when they +come.”</p> +<p>“No; I’ll stay until—I’ll stay here.”</p> +<p>“Oh, please go, Frances; you’re nearly dead on +your feet.”</p> +<p>“Why do you want me to leave him?” Frances +asked, in a flash of jealous suspicion. She turned to +Nola, as if to search out her hidden intention.</p> +<p>“You were asleep in your chair when I came in, +Frances,” Nola chided her, gently.</p> +<p>Again they stood in silence, looking down upon the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' ></a>276</span> +wounded man. Frances was resentful of Nola’s interest +in him, of her presence in the room. She was +on the point of asking her to leave when Nola spoke.</p> +<p>“If he hadn’t been so proud, if he’d only stooped +to explain things to us, to talk to us, even, this could +have been avoided, Frances.”</p> +<p>“What could he have said?” Frances asked, wondering, +indeed, what explanation could have lessened +his offense in Saul Chadron’s eyes.</p> +<p>“If I had known him, I would have understood,” +Nola replied, vaguely, in soft low voice, as if communing +with herself.</p> +<p>“You! Well, perhaps—perhaps even you would +have understood.”</p> +<p>“Look—he moved!”</p> +<p>“Sh-h-h! your talking disturbs him, Nola. Go +to bed—you can’t help me any here.”</p> +<p>“And leave him all to you!”</p> +<p>The words flashed from Nola, as if they had sprung +out of her mouth before her reason had given them +permission to depart.</p> +<p>“Of course with me; he’s mine!”</p> +<p>“If he’s going to die, Frances, can’t I share him +with you till the end—can’t I have just a little +share in the care of him here with you?”</p> +<p>Nola laid her hand on Frances’ arm as she pleaded, +turning her white face appealingly in the dim light.</p> +<p>“Don’t talk that way, girl!” said Frances, +roughly; “you have no part in him at all—he is +nothing to you.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' ></a>277</span></div> +<p>“He is all to me—everything to me! Oh, +Frances! If you knew, if you knew!”</p> +<p>“What? If I knew what?” Frances caught her +arm in fierce grip, and shook her savagely.</p> +<p>“Don’t—don’t—hurt me, Frances!” Nola +cringed and shrank away, and lifted her arms as if +to ward a blow.</p> +<p>“What did you mean by that? Tell me—tell me!”</p> +<p>“Oh, the way it came to me, the way it came to +me as he carried me in his arms and sang to me so +I wouldn’t be afraid!” moaned Nola, her face hidden +in her hands. “I never knew before what it was to +care for anybody that way—I never, never knew +before!”</p> +<p>“You can’t have this man, nor any share in him, +living or dead! I gave up Major King to you; be +satisfied.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Major King!”</p> +<p>“Poor shadow that he is in comparison with a +man, he’ll have to serve for you. Living or dead, +I tell you, this man is mine. Now go!”</p> +<p>Nola was shaking again with sudden gust of weeping. +She had sunk to the floor at the head of the +couch, a white heap, her bare arms clasping her +head.</p> +<p>“It breaks my heart to see him die!” she moaned, +rocking herself in her grief like a child.</p> +<p>And child Frances felt her to be in her selfishness, +a child never denied, and careless and unfeeling of +the rights of others from this long indulgence. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' ></a>278</span> +doubted Nola’s sincerity, even in the face of such +demonstrative evidence. There was no pity for her, +and no softness.</p> +<p>“Get up!” Frances spoke sternly—“and go to +your room.”</p> +<p>“He must not be allowed to die—he must be +saved!” Nola reached out her hands, standing now +on her knees, as if to call back his struggling soul.</p> +<p>“Belated tears will not save him. Get up—it’s +time for you to go.”</p> +<p>Nola bent forward suddenly, her hair sweeping the +wounded man’s face, her lips near his brow. Frances +caught her with a sound in her throat like a growl, +and flung her back.</p> +<p>“You’ll not kiss him—you’ll never kiss him!” she +said.</p> +<p>Nola sprang up, not crying now, but hot with +sudden anger.</p> +<p>“If you were out of the way he’d love me!”</p> +<p>“Love <i>you!</i> you little cat!”</p> +<p>“Yes, he’d love me—I’d take him away from you +like I’ve taken other men! He’d love me, I tell you—he’d +love <i>me!</i>”</p> +<p>Frances looked at her steadily a moment, contempt +in her eloquent face. “If you have no other +virtue in you, at least have some respect for the +dying,” she said.</p> +<p>“He’s not dying, he’ll not die!” Nola hotly denied. +“He’ll live—live to love me!”</p> +<p>“Go! This room—”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' ></a>279</span></div> +<p>“It’s my house; I’ll go and come in it when I +please.”</p> +<p>“I’m a prisoner in it, not a guest. I’ll force you +out of the room if I must. This disgraceful behavior +must end, and end this minute. Are you +going?”</p> +<p>“If you were out of the way, he’d love me,” said +Nola from the door, spiteful, resentful, speaking +slowly, as if pressing each word into Frances’ brain +and heart; “if you were out of the way.”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' ></a>280</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XXI_THE_MAN_IN_THE_DOOR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>THE MAN IN THE DOOR</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>When the doctor from the agency arrived at +dawn, hours after Mrs. Mathews, he found +everything done for the wounded man that skill and +experience could suggest. Mrs. Mathews had carried +instruments, antiseptics, bandages, with her, and +she had no need to wait for anybody’s directions in +their use. So the doctor, who had been reinforced +by the same capable hands many a time before, took +a cup of hot coffee and rode home.</p> +<p>Mrs. Mathews moved about as quietly as a nun, +and with that humility and sense of self-effacement +that comes of penances and pains, borne mainly for +others who have fallen with bleeding feet beside the +way.</p> +<p>She was not an old woman, only as work and self-sacrifice +had aged her. Her abundant black hair—done +up in two great braids which hung in front +of her shoulders, Indian-wise, and wrapped at their +ends with colored strings—was salted over with +gray, but her beautiful small hands were as light +and swift as any girl’s. Good deeds had blessed +them with eternal youth, it seemed.</p> +<p>She wore a gray dress, sprinkled over with twinkling +little Indian gauds and bits of finery such as the +squaws love. This barbaric adornment seemed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' ></a>281</span> +unaccountable in the general sobriety of her dress, for +not a jewel, save her wedding-ring alone, adorned her. +Frances did not marvel that she felt so safe in this +gentle being’s presence, safe for herself, safe for the +man who was more to her than her own soul.</p> +<p>When the doctor had come and gone, Mrs. +Mathews pressed Frances to retire and sleep. She +spoke with soft clearness, none of that hesitation in +her manner that Frances had marked on the day +that they rode up and surrounded her where the +Indians were waiting their rations of beef.</p> +<p>“You know how it happened—who did it?” +Frances asked. She was willing to leave him with +her, indeed, but reluctant to go until she had given +expression to a fear that hung over her like a threat.</p> +<p>“Banjo told me,” Mrs. Mathews said, nodding her +graceful little head.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid that when Chadron comes home and +finds him here, he’ll throw him out to die,” Frances +whispered. “I’ve been keeping Mr. Macdonald’s +pistols ready to—to—make a fight of it, if necessary. +Maybe you could manage it some other way.”</p> +<p>Frances was on her knees beside her new friend, +her anxiety speaking from her tired eyes, full of +their shadows of pain. Mrs. Mathews drew her +close, and smoothed back Frances’ wilful, redundant +hair with soothing touch. For a little while she said +nothing, but there was much in her delicate silence +that told she understood.</p> +<p>“No, Chadron will not do that,” she said at last. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' ></a>282</span> +“He is a violent, blustering man, but I believe he +owes me something that will make him do in this case +as I request. Go to sleep, child. When he wakes +he’ll be conscious, but too weak for anything more +than a smile.”</p> +<p>Frances went away assured, and stole softly up +the stairs. The sun was just under the hill; Mrs. +Chadron would be stirring soon. Nola was up already, +Frances heard with surprise as she passed +her door, moving about her room with quick step. +She hesitated there a moment, thinking to turn back +and ask Mrs. Mathews to deny her the hospital room. +But such a request would seem strange, and it would +be difficult to explain. She passed on into the room +that she had lately occupied. Soothed by her great +confidence in Mrs. Mathews, she fell asleep, her last +waking hope being that when she stood before Alan +Macdonald’s couch again it would be to see him +smile.</p> +<p>Frances woke toward the decline of day, with +upbraidings for having yielded to nature’s ministrations +for so long. Still, everything must be progressing +well with Alan Macdonald, or Mrs. Mathews +would have called her. She regretted that she hadn’t +something to put on besides her torn and soiled riding +habit to cheer him with the sight of when he +should open his eyes to smile.</p> +<p>Anxious as she was, and fast as her heart fluttered, +she took time to arrange her hair in the way that +she liked it best. It seemed warrant to her that he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' ></a>283</span> +must find her handsomer for that. People argue that +way, men in their gravity as well as women in their +frivolity, each believing that his own appraisement +of himself is the incontestable test, none rightly understanding +how ridiculous pet foibles frequently +make us all.</p> +<p>But there was nothing ridiculous in the coil of +serene brown hair drawn low against a white neck, +nor in the ripples of it at the temples, nor in the +stately seriousness of the face that it shadowed and +adorned. Frances Landcraft was right, among +thousands who were wrong in her generation, in +her opinion of what made her fairer in the eyes of +men.</p> +<p>Her hand was on the door when a soft little step, +like a wind in grass, came quickly along the hall, +and a light hand struck a signal on the panel. +Frances knew that it was Mrs. Mathews before she +flung the door open and disclosed her. She was +dressed to take the road again, and Frances drew +back when she saw that, her blood falling away from +her heart. She believed that he stood in need of +her gentle ministrations no longer, and that she had +come to tell her that he was dead.</p> +<p>Mrs. Mathews read her thought in her face, and +shook her head with an assuring smile. She entered +the room, still silent, and closed the door.</p> +<p>“No, he is far from dead,” she said.</p> +<p>“Then why—why are you leaving?”</p> +<p>“The little lady of the ranch has stepped into my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' ></a>284</span> +place—but you need not be afraid for yours.” Mrs. +Mathews smiled again as she said that. “He asked +for you with his first word, and he knows just how +matters stand.”</p> +<p>The color swept back over Frances’ face, and ran +down to hide in her bosom, like a secret which the +world was not to see. Her heart leaped to hear that +Maggie had been wrong in her application of the +rule that applies to men in general when death is +blowing its breath in their faces.</p> +<p>“But that little Nola isn’t competent to take care +of him—she’ll kill him if she’s left there with him +alone!”</p> +<p>“With kindness, then,” said Mrs. Mathews, not +smiling now, but shaking her head in deprecation. +“A surgeon is here, sent back by Major King, he +told me, and he has taken charge of Mr. Macdonald, +along with Miss Chadron and her mother. I have +been dismissed, and you have been barred from the +room where he lies. There’s a soldier guarding the +door to keep you away from his side.”</p> +<p>“That’s Nola’s work,” Frances nodded, her indignation +hot in her cheek, “she thinks she can batter +her way into his heart if she can make him believe +that I am neglecting him, that I have gone away.”</p> +<p>“Rest easy, my dear, sweet child,” counseled Mrs. +Mathews, her hand on Frances’ shoulder. “Mr. Macdonald +will get well, and there is only one door to +his heart, and somebody that I know is standing in +that.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' ></a>285</span></div> +<p>“But he—he doesn’t understand; he’ll think I’ve +deserted him!” Frances spoke with trembling lips, +tears darkling in her eyes.</p> +<p>“He knows how things stand; I had time to tell +him that before they ousted me. I’d have taken time +to tell him, even if I’d had to—pinch somebody’s +ear.”</p> +<p>The soft-voiced little creature laughed when she +said that. Frances felt her breath go deeper into +her lungs with the relief of this assurance, and the +threatening tears came falling over her fresh young +cheeks. But they were tears of thankfulness, not of +suspense or pain.</p> +<p>Frances did not trouble the soldier at the door to +exercise his unwelcome and distasteful authority over +her. But she saw that he was there, indeed, as she +went out to give Mrs. Mathews farewell at the door.</p> +<p>Nola came pattering to her as she turned back in +the house again to find Maggie, for her young appetite +was clamoring. Nola’s eyes were round, her +face set in an expression of shocked protest.</p> +<p>“Isn’t this an outrage, this high-handed business +of Major King’s?” She ran up all flushed and out +of breath, as if she had been wrestling with her +indignation and it had almost obtained the upper +hand.</p> +<p>“What fresh tyranny is he guilty of?” Frances +inquired, putting last night’s hot words and hotter +feelings behind her.</p> +<p>“Ordering a soldier to guard the door of Mr. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' ></a>286</span> +Macdonald’s room, with iron-clad instructions to +keep you away from him! He sent his orders back +by Doctor Shirley—isn’t it a petty piece of business?”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Mathews told me. At least you could have +allowed her to stay.”</p> +<p>“I?” Nola’s eyes seemed to grow. She gazed +and stared, injury, disbelief, pain, in her mobile expression. +“Why, Frances, I didn’t have a thing to +do with it, not a thing! Mother and I protested +against this military invasion of our house, but protests +were useless. The country is under martial +law, Doctor Shirley says.”</p> +<p>“How did Major King know that Mr. Macdonald +had been brought here? He rode away without giving +any instructions for his disposal or care. I +believe he wanted him to die there where he fell.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know how he came to hear it, unless the +lieutenant here sent a report to him. But I ask you +to believe me, Frances”—Nola put her hand on +Frances’ arm in her old wheedling, stroking way—“when +I tell you I hadn’t anything to do with it. In +spite of what I said last night, I hadn’t. I was wild +and foolish last night, dear; I’m sorry for all of +that.”</p> +<p>“Never mind,” Frances said.</p> +<p>“Don’t you worry, we’ll take care of him, mother +and I. Major King’s orders are that you’re not to +leave this house, but I tell you, Frances, if I wanted +to go home I’d go!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' ></a>287</span></div> +<p>“So would I,” returned Frances, with more meaning +in her manner of speaking than in her words. +“Does Major King’s interdiction extend to the commissary? +Am I going to be allowed to eat?”</p> +<p>“Maggie’s got it all ready; I ran up to call you.” +Nola slipped her arm round Frances’ waist and led +her toward the kitchen, where Maggie had the table +spread. “You’ll not mind the kitchen? The house +is so upset by those soldiers in it that we have no +privacy left.”</p> +<p>“Prisoners and pensioners should eat in the +kitchen,” Frances returned, trying to make a better +appearance of friendliness for Nola than she carried +in her heart.</p> +<p>Maggie was full of apologies for the poor service +and humble surroundings. “It is the doings of +miss,” she whispered, in her native sibilant Mexican, +when Nola found an excuse to leave Frances +alone at her meal.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter, Maggie; you eat in the +kitchen, both of us are women.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and some saints’ images are made of lead, +some of gold.”</p> +<p>“But they are all saints’ images, Maggie.”</p> +<p>“The kitchen will be brighter from this day,” +Maggie declared, in the extravagant way of her race, +only meaning more than usually carries in a Castilian +compliment.</p> +<p>She backed away from the table, never having it +in her delicate nature to be so rude as to turn her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' ></a>288</span> +back upon her guest, and admired Frances from a +distance. The sun was reaching through a low window, +moving slowly up the cloth as if stealing upon +the guest to give her a good-night kiss.</p> +<p>“Ah, miss!” sighed Maggie, her hands clasped +as in adoration, “no wonder that he lives with a well +in his body. He has much to live for, and that is +the truth from a woman’s lips.”</p> +<p>“It is worth more because of its rarity, then, Maggie,” +Frances said, warming over with blushes at +this ingenuous praise. “Do they let you go into his +room?”</p> +<p>“The door is open to the servant,” Maggie replied, +with solemn nod.</p> +<p>“It is closed to me—did you know?”</p> +<p>“I know. Miss tells you it is orders from some +captain, some general, some soldier I do not know +what”—a sweeping gesture to include all soldiers, +great and small and far away—“but that is a lie. +It came out of her own heart. She is a traitor to +friendship, as well as a thief.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I believed that from the beginning, Maggie.”</p> +<p>“This house of deceit is not a place for me, for +even servant that I am, I am a true servant. But +I will not lie for a liar, nor be traitor for one who +deceives a friend. I shall go from here. Perhaps +when you are married to Mr. Macdonald you will +have room in your kitchen for me?”</p> +<p>“We must not build on shadows, Maggie.”</p> +<p>“And there is that Alvino, a cunning man in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' ></a>289</span> +garden. You should see how he charms the flowers +and vegetables—but you have seen, it is his work +here, all this is his work.”</p> +<p>“If there is ever a home of my own—if it ever +comes to that happiness—”</p> +<p>“God hasten the day!”</p> +<p>“Then there will be room for both of you, Maggie.”</p> +<p>Frances rose from the table, and stood looking +though the window where the sun’s friendly hand +had reached in to caress her a few minutes gone. +There was no gleam of it now, only a dull redness +on the horizon where it had fallen out of sight, the +red of iron cooling upon the anvil.</p> +<p>“In four weeks he will be able to kneel at the altar +with you,” said Maggie, making a clatter with the +stove lids in her excitement, “and in youth that is +only a day. And I have a drawn piece of fine linen, +as white as your bosom, that you must wear over +your heart on that day. It will bring you peace, +far it was made by a holy sister and it has been +blessed by the bishop at Guadalupe.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Maggie. If that day ever comes for +me, I will wear it.”</p> +<p>Maggie came nearer the window, concern in her +homely face, and stood off a little respectful distance.</p> +<p>“You want to be with him, you should be there at +his side, and I will open the door for you,” she said.</p> +<p>“You will?” Frances started hopefully.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' ></a>290</span></div> +<p>“Once inside, no man would lift a hand to put +you out.”</p> +<p>“But how am I going to get inside, Maggie, with +that sentry at the door?”</p> +<p>“I have been thinking how it could be done, miss. +Soon it will be dark, and with night comes fear. +Miss is with him now; she is there alone.”</p> +<p>Frances turned to her, such pain in her face as +if she had been stabbed.</p> +<p>“Why should you go over that again? I know +it!” she said, crossly. “That has nothing to do +with my going into the room.”</p> +<p>“It has much,” Maggie declared, whispering now, +treasuring her plot. “The old one is upstairs, sleeping, +and she will not wake until I shake her. Outside +the soldiers make their fires and cook, and +Alvino in the barn sings ‘La Golondrina’—you hear +him?—for that is sad music, like his soul. Very well. +You go to your room, but leave the door open to +let a finger in. When it is just creeping dark, and +the soldiers are eating, I will run in where the one +sits beside the door. My hair will be flying like the +mane of a wild mare, my eyes bi-i-i-g—so. In the +English way I will shout ‘The rustlers, the rustlers! +He ees comin’—help, help!’ When you hear this, +fly to me, quick, like a soul set free. The soldier at +the door will go to see; miss will come out; I will +stand in the door, I will draw the key in my hand. +Then you will fly to him, and lock the door!”</p> +<p>“Why, Maggie! what a general you are!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' ></a>291</span></div> +<p>“Under the couch where he lies,” Maggie hurried +on, her dark eyes glowing with the pleasure of this +manufactured romance, “are the revolvers which he +wore, just where we placed them last night. I pushed +them back a little, quite out of sight, and nobody +knows. Strap the belt around your waist, and defy +any power but death to move you from the man you +love!”</p> +<p>“Maggie, you are magnificent!”</p> +<p>“No,” Maggie shook her head, sadly, “I am the +daughter of a peon, a servant to bear loads. But”—a +flash of her subsiding grandeur—“I would do +that—ah, I would have done that in youth—for +the man of my heart. For even a servant in the +back of a house has a heart, dear miss.”</p> +<p>Frances took her work-rough hands in her own; +she pressed back the heavy black hair—mark of a +vassal race—from the brown forehead and looked +tenderly into her eyes.</p> +<p>“You are my sister,” she said.</p> +<p>Poor Maggie, quite overcome by this act of tenderness, +sank to her knees, her head bowed as if the +bell had sounded the elevation of the host.</p> +<p>“What benediction!” she murmured.</p> +<p>“I will go now, and do as you have said.”</p> +<p>“When it is a little more dark,” said Maggie, +softly, looking after her tenderly as she went away.</p> +<p>Frances left her door ajar as Maggie had directed, +and stood before the glass to see if anything +could be done to make herself more attractive in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' ></a>292</span> +eyes. It did not seem so, considering the lack of +embellishments. She turned from the mirror sighing, +doubtful of the success of Maggie’s scheme, but +determined to do her part in it, let the result be what +it might. Her place was there at his side, indeed; +none had the right to bar her his presence.</p> +<p>The joy of seeing him when consciousness flashed +back into his shocked brain had been stolen from +her by a trick. Nola had stood in her place then. +She wondered if that slow smile had kindled in his +eyes at the sight of her, or whether they had been +shadowed with bewilderment and disappointment. +It was a thing that she should never know.</p> +<p>She heard Mrs. Chadron leave her room and pass +heavily downstairs. Hope sank lower as she descended; +it seemed that their simple plot must fail. +Well, she sighed, at the worst it could only fail. +As she sat there waiting while twilight blended into +the darker waters of night, she reflected the many +things which had overtaken her in the two days +past. Two incidents stood out above all the haste, +confusion, and pain which gave her sharp regret. +One was that her father had parted from her to +meet his life’s heaviest disappointment with anger and +unforgiving heart; the other that the shot which +she had aimed at Saul Chadron had been cheated of +its mark.</p> +<p>There came a trampling of hoofs from the direction +of the post, unmistakably cavalry. She strained +from the window to see, but it was at that period +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' ></a>293</span> +between dusk and dark when distant objects were +tantalizingly indefinite. Nothing could be made of +the number, or who came in command. But she believed +that it must be Major King’s troops returning +from escorting the raiders to Meander.</p> +<p>Of course there would be no trying out of Maggie’s +scheme now. New developments must come of the +arrival of Major King, perhaps her own removal to +the post. Surely he could not sustain an excuse that +she was dangerous to his military operations now.</p> +<p>Doors opened, and heavy feet passed the hall. +Presently all was a tangle of voices there, greetings +and warm words of welcome, and the sound of Mrs. +Chadron weeping on her husband’s breast for joy at +his return.</p> +<p>Nola’s light chatter rose out of the sound of the +home-coming like a bright thread in a garment, and +the genteel voice of Major King blended into the +bustle of welcome with its accustomed suave placidity. +Frances felt downcast and lonely as she listened +to them, and the joyous preparations for refreshing +the travelers which Mrs. Chadron was pushing forward. +They had no regard, no thought it seemed, +for the wounded man who lay with only the thickness +of a door dividing him from them.</p> +<p>She was moved with concern, also, regarding Chadron’s +behavior when he should learn of Macdonald’s +presence in that house. Would Nola have the courage +to own her attachment then, and stand between +the wrath of her father and his wounded enemy?</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' ></a>294</span></div> +<p>She was not to be spared the test long. There +was the noise of Chadron moving heavily about, bestowing +his coat, his hat, in their accustomed places. +He came now into the dining-room, where the sentinel +kept watch at Macdonald’s door. Frances crept +softly, fearfully, into the hall and listened.</p> +<p>Chadron questioned the soldier, in surprise. +Frances heard the man’s explanation of his presence +before the door given in low voice, and in it the mention +of Macdonald’s name. Chadron stalked away, +anger in the sound of his step. His loud voice now +sounded in the room where the others were still chattering +in the relief of speech after long silence. Now +he came back to the guarded door, Nola with him; +Mrs. Chadron following with pleading words and +moanings.</p> +<p>“Dead or alive, I don’t care a damn! Out of this +house he goes this minute!” Chadron said.</p> +<p>“Oh, father, surely you wouldn’t throw a man at +death’s door out in the night!”</p> +<p>It was Nola, lifting a trembling voice, and Frances +could imagine her clinging to his arm.</p> +<p>“Not after what he’s done for us, Saul—not after +what he’s done!” Mrs. Chadron sounded almost +tearful in her pleading. “Why, he brought Nola +home—didn’t you know that, Saul? He brought +her home all safe and sound!”</p> +<p>“Yes, he stole her to make that play!” Chadron +said, either still deceived, or still stubborn, but in +any case full of bitterness.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' ></a>295</span></div> +<p>“I’ll never believe that, father!” Nola spoke +braver than Frances had expected of her. “But +friend or enemy, common charity, common decency, +would—”</p> +<p>“Common hell! Git away from in front of that +door! I’m goin’ to throw his damned carcass out +of this house—I can’t breathe with that man in it!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Saul, Saul! don’t throw the poor boy out!” +Mrs. Chadron begged.</p> +<p>“Will I have to jerk you away from that door by +the hair of the head? Let me by, I tell you!”</p> +<p>Frances ran down stairs blindly, feeling that the +moment for her interference, weak as it might be, +and ineffectual, had come. Now Major King was +speaking, his voice sounding as if he had placed himself +between Chadron and the door.</p> +<p>“I think you’d better listen to your wife and +daughter, Chadron. The fellow can’t harm anybody—let +him alone.”</p> +<p>“No matter for the past, he’s our guest, father, +he’s—”</p> +<p>“Hell! Haven’t they told you fool women the +straight of it yet? I tell you I had to shoot him to +save my own life—he was pullin’ a gun on me, but +I beat him to it!”</p> +<p>“Oh Saul, my Saul!” Mrs. Chadron moaned.</p> +<p>“Was it you that—oh, was it you!” There was +accusation, disillusionment, sorrow—and more than +words can define—in Nola’s voice. Frances waited +to hear no more. In a moment she was standing in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' ></a>296</span> +the open door beside Nola, who blocked it against +her father with outstretched arms.</p> +<p>Chadron was facing his wife, his back to Frances +as she passed.</p> +<p>“Yes, it was me, and all I’m sorry for is that I +didn’t finish him on the spot. Here, you fellers”—to +some troopers who crowded about the open door +leading to the veranda—“come in here and carry +out this cot.”</p> +<p>But it wasn’t their day to take orders from Chadron; +none of them moved. Frances touched Nola’s +arm; she withdrew it and let her pass.</p> +<p>Macdonald, alone in the room, had lifted himself +to his elbow, listening. Frances pressed him back +to his pillow with one hand, reaching with the other +under the cot for his revolvers. Her heart jumped +with a great, glad bound, as if it had leaped from +death to safety, when she touched the weapons. A +cold steadiness settled over her. If Saul Chadron +entered that room, she swore in her heart that she +would kill him.</p> +<p>“Don’t interfere with me, King,” said Chadron, +turning again to the door, “I tell you he goes, alive +or dead. I can’t breathe—”</p> +<p>“Stop where you are!” Frances rose from her +groping under the cot, a revolver in her hand.</p> +<p>Chadron, who had laid hold of Nola to tear her +from the door, jumped like a man startled out of +his sleep. In the heat of his passion he had not +noticed one woman more or less.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' ></a>297</span></div> +<p>“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said, catching himself as +his hand reached for his gun.</p> +<p>“Frances will take him away as soon as he’s able +to be moved,” said Nola, pleading, fearful, her eyes +great with the terror of what she saw in Frances’ +face.</p> +<p>“Yes, she’ll go with him, right now!” Chadron +declared. “I’ll give you just ten seconds to put down +that gun, or I’ll come in there and take it away from +you! No damn woman—”</p> +<p>A loud and impatient summons sounded on the +front door, drowning Chadron’s words. He turned, +with an oath, demanding to know who it was. +Frances, still covering him with her steady hand, +heard hurrying feet, the door open, and Mrs. Chadron +exclaiming and calling for Saul. The man at the +door had entered, and was jangling his spurs through +the hall in hasty stride. Chadron stood as if frozen +in his boots, his face growing whiter than wounded, +blood-drained Macdonald’s on his cot of pain.</p> +<p>Now the sound of the newcomer’s voice rose in +the hall, loud and stern. But harsh as it was, and +unfriendly to that house, the sound of it made +Frances’ heart jump, and something big and warm +rise in her and sweep over her; dimming her eyes +with tears.</p> +<p>“Where’s my daughter, Chadron, you cutthroat! +Where’s Miss Landcraft? If the lightest hair of her +head has suffered, by God! I’ll burn this house to the +sills!”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' ></a>298</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XXII_PAID'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>PAID</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Colonel Landcraft stood before Chadron +in his worn regimentals, his old campaign hat +turned back from his forehead as if he had been riding +in the face of a wind. Macdonald, looking up +at Frances from his couch, spoke to her with his +eyes. There was satisfaction in them, a triumphant +glow. She moved a step toward the door, and the +colonel, seeing her there, rushed to her and clasped +her against his dusty breast.</p> +<p>“Standing armed against you in your own house, +before your own wife and daughter!” said he, turning +like the old tiger that he was upon Chadron +again. “And in the presence of an officer of the +United States Army—my daughter, armed to protect +herself! By heaven, sir! you’ve disgraced the +uniform you wear!”</p> +<p>Major King, scowling darkly, dropped his hand +in suggestive gesture to his sword. Colonel Landcraft, +his slight, bony old frame drawn up to its utmost +inch, marched to him, fire in his eye.</p> +<p>“Unbuckle that sword! You’re not fit to wear it,” +said he.</p> +<p>Chadron had drawn away from the door of Macdonald’s +room a little, and stood apart from Major +King with his wife and daughter. The cattleman +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' ></a>299</span> +had attempted no defense, had said no word. In the +coming of Colonel Landcraft, full of authority, +strong and certain of hand, Chadron appeared to +know that his world was beginning to tumble about +his ears.</p> +<p>Now he stepped forward to interpose in behalf +of his tool and co-conspirator, in one last big bluff. +Major King fell back a stride before the charge of +the infuriated old colonel, which seemed to have a +threat of personal violence in it, the color sinking +out of his face, his hand still on his sword.</p> +<p>“What authority have you got to come into my +house givin’ orders?” Chadron wanted to know. +“Maybe your bluffin’ goes with some people, but it +don’t go with me. You git to hell out of here!”</p> +<p>“In your place and time I’ll talk to you, you +sneaking hound!” Colonel Landcraft answered, +throwing Chadron one blasting look. “Take off that +sword, surrender those arms! You are under arrest.” +This to Major King, who stood scowling, +watching the colonel as if to ward an attack.</p> +<p>“By whose authority do you make this demand?” +questioned Major King, insolently. “I am not aware +that any command—”</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft turned his back upon him and +strode to the open door, through which the dismounted +troopers could be seen standing back a +respectful distance in the shaft of light that fell +through it. At his appearance there, at the sight +of that old battered hat and familiar uniform, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' ></a>300</span> +men lifted a cheer. Little tyrant that he was, hard-handed +and exacting, they knew him for a soldier +and a man. They knew, too, that their old colonel +had not been given a square deal in that business, +and they were glad to see him back.</p> +<p>The colonel acknowledged the greeting with a +salute, his old head held prouder at that moment +than he ever had carried it in his life.</p> +<p>“Sergeant Snow!” he called.</p> +<p>The sergeant hurried forward, stepped out into +the light, came up at salute with the alacrity of a +man who found pleasure in the service to be demanded +of him.</p> +<p>“Bring a detail of six men into this room, disarm +Major King, and place him under guard.”</p> +<p>The colonel wheeled again to face Chadron and +King.</p> +<p>“I am not under the obligation of explaining my +authority to enter this house to any man,” said he, +“but for your satisfaction, madam, and in deference +to you, Miss Chadron, I will tell you that I was +recalled by the department on my way to Washington +and sent back to resume command of Fort +Shakie.”</p> +<p>Chadron was biting his mustache like an angry +horse mouthing the bit. In the background a captain +and two lieutenants, who had arrived with Chadron +and King, stood doubtful, it seemed, of their +part in that last act of the cattleman’s rough melodrama.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' ></a>301</span></div> +<p>Frances had returned to Macdonald’s side, fearful +that the excitement might bring on a hemorrhage in +his wound. She stood soothing him with low, soft, +and unnecessary words, unconscious of their tenderness, +perhaps, in the stress of her anxiety. But that +they were appreciated was evident in the slow-stealing +smile that came over his worn, rugged face like a +breaking sun.</p> +<p>Major King surrendered his arms to the sergeant +with a petulant, lofty shrug of his shoulders.</p> +<p>“I’m not through with you yet, you old cuss!” +said Chadron. “I never started out to git a man +but what I got him, and I’ll git you. I’ll—”</p> +<p>Chadron’s voice caught in his throat. He stood +there looking toward the outside door, drawing his +breath like a man suffocating. Stealthily his hand +moved toward his revolver, while his wife and daughter, +even Frances, struck by a thrill of some undefined +terror, leaned and looked as Chadron was +looking, toward the open door.</p> +<p>A tall, gaunt, dark shaggy man was standing +there, an old flapping hat drooping over his scowling +eyes. He was a man with a great branching mustache, +and the under lid of one eye was drawn down +upon his cheek in a little point, as if caught by a surgical +hook and held ready for the knife; a man who +bent forward from the middle, as if from long habit of +skulking under cover of low-growing shrubs; an evil +man, whose foul soul cried of bloody deeds through +every feature of his leering face.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' ></a>302</span></div> +<p>“Oh, that man! that man!” cried Nola, in fearful, +wild scream.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron clasped her in her arms and turned +her defiant face toward the man in the door. He +was standing just as he had stood when they first +saw him, silent, still; as grim as the shadow of Saul +Chadron’s sins.</p> +<p>The soldiers who stood around Major King looked +on with puzzled eyes; Colonel Landcraft frowned. +Macdonald from his cot could not see the door, but +he felt the sharp striking of those charged seconds. +Chadron moved to one side a little, his fixed eyes on +the man in the door, his hand nearer his revolver +now; so near that his fingers touched it, and now +it was in his hand with a sudden bright flash into the +light.</p> +<p>Two shots in that quiet room, one following the +other so closely that they seemed but a divided one; +two shots, delivered so quickly after Nola’s awful +scream that no man could whip up his shocked nerves +to obedience fast enough to interpose. Saul Chadron +pitched forward, his hands clutching, his arms +outspread, and fell dead, his face groveling upon the +floor. Outside, the soldiers lifted Mark Thorn, a +bullet through his heart.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' ></a>303</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XXIII_TEARS_IN_THE_NIGHT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>TEARS IN THE NIGHT</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>They buried Saul Chadron next day in a corner +of the garden by the river. And there was the +benediction of tender autumn sunshine over the place +where they laid him down, away from the turmoil of +his life, and the tangle of injustices that he left +behind.</p> +<p>But there was none to come forward and speak +for the body of Mark Thorn. The cowboys hid him +in the sage at the foot of a butte, as men go silently +and shadow-like to bury away a shame.</p> +<p>There seemed to be a heart-soreness over the +ranchhouse by the river as night fell upon it again. +Saul Chadron had been a great and noble man to +some who wept in its silent rooms as the gloaming +deepened into darkness over the garden, where the +last leaves of autumn were tugging at their anchorage +to sail away. Even Frances Landcraft in her +vigil beside Macdonald’s cot felt pity for Chadron’s +fall. She regretted, at least, that he had not gone +out of life more worthily.</p> +<p>Colonel Landcraft had gone up the river to carry +a new message to the homesteaders whose houses lay +in ashes. He had ridden to tell them that they could +build in security and live in peace. The surgeon had +returned to the post, but was coming again tomorrow. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' ></a>304</span> +Behind him he had left the happy assurance +that Macdonald would live.</p> +<p>Macdonald himself had added his own brave word +to bear out the doctor’s prediction, as far as Frances +would permit him to speak. That was not above ten +words, whispered into her ear, inclined low to hear. +When he attempted to go beyond that, soft warm +fingers made a latch upon his lips.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron came down a little after dark, and +whispered at the door. Macdonald was sleeping, and +Frances went softly to tell her.</p> +<p>“Nola’s askin’ for you,” Mrs. Chadron told her, +“she’s all heartbroke and moanin’ in her bed. If +you’ll go to her, and comfort her a little, honey, I’ll +take as good care of him as if he was my own.”</p> +<p>Frances was touched by the appeal for sympathy. +She could picture Nola, little fashioned by nature or +her life’s experiences to bear grief, shuddering and +sobbing alone in the dark, and her heart went out to +her in all its generosity and large forgivingness.</p> +<p>Nola’s room was dark for all except the night sky +at her window. Frances stood a moment in her door, +listening, believing from the silence that she must +have gone to sleep.</p> +<p>“Nola,” she whispered, softly.</p> +<p>A little shivering sob was the answer. Frances +went in, and closed the door. Nola was lying face +downward on her pillow, like a child, and Frances +found on putting out her comforting hand that the +fickle little lady’s bolster was wet with tears. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' ></a>305</span> +sat on the bedside and tried gently to turn Nola’s +face toward her. That brought on a storm of tears +and moanings, and agonized burrowing of her face +into the pillow.</p> +<p>“Oh, I feel so mean and wicked!” she cried. “If +I hadn’t been so deceitful and treacherous and—and—and +everything, maybe all this sorrow wouldn’t +have come to us!”</p> +<p>Frances said nothing. She had found one hot +hand, tear-wet from lying under Nola’s cheek, and +this she held tenderly, feeling it best to let the tears +of penitence purge the sufferer’s soul in their world-old +way. After a time Nola became quieter. She +shifted in the bed, and moved over to give Frances +more room, and put up her arms to draw her friend +down for the kiss of forgiveness which she knew +would not be denied.</p> +<p>Afterwards she sat up in bed, and brushed her hair +back from her throbbing forehead with her palms.</p> +<p>“Oh, it aches and aches—<i>so!</i>” she said.</p> +<p>“I’ll bind a cold towel around it, dear; that always +used to ease it, you remember?”</p> +<p>“Not my head, Frances—my heart, my heart!”</p> +<p>It was better so, Frances understood. Penitence +that brings only a headache is like plating over brass; +it cannot long conceal the baseness of the thing that +lies beneath.</p> +<p>“Time is the only remedy for that, Nola,” she +said, her own words slow and sad.</p> +<p>“Do you think I’ve sinned past forgiveness because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' ></a>306</span> +I—because—I love him?” Nola’s voice +trembled with earnestness.</p> +<p>“He is free, to love and be loved as it may fall, +Nola. I told you he was mine, but I thought then +that I was claiming him from death. He will live. +He never has asked me to marry him; maybe he +never will. When he recovers, he may turn to you—who +can tell?”</p> +<p>“No, it’s only you that he thinks of, Frances. +When I was watching by him he opened his eyes, +and you should have seen the look in them when he +saw me instead of you. He struggled to sit up and +look for you, and he called your name, sharp and +frightened, as if he thought somebody had taken +you away from him forever.”</p> +<p>Frances did not need that assurance to quiet any +fear of his loyalty. She had spoken the truth, only +because it was the truth, but not to give Nola hope. +For hope she knew there was not any, nor any love, +to come to Nola out of that man’s heart.</p> +<p>“We’ll not talk of it,” Frances said.</p> +<p>“I must, I can’t let anything stand between us, +Frances. If I’d been fair, all the way through—but +I wasn’t. I wasn’t fair about Major King, and I +wasn’t fair this time. I was fool enough to think +that if you were out of the way for a little while I +could make him love me! He’d never love me, never +in a million years!”</p> +<p>Frances said nothing. But she was beginning to +doubt the sincerity of Nola’s repentance. There, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' ></a>307</span> +under the shadow of her bereavement, she could think +of nothing but the hopelessness of love.</p> +<p>“But I didn’t want you to come up just to pet +me and be good to me, Frances—I wanted to give +you something.”</p> +<p>Nola felt under her pillow, and groped for Frances’ +hand, in which she placed a soft something with a +stub of a feather in it.</p> +<p>“I have no right to keep it,” said Nola. “Do +you know what it is?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know.”</p> +<p>Much of the softness which Frances had for the +highland bonnet was in her voice as she replied, and +the little bonnet itself was being nestled against her +cheek, as a mother cuddles a baby’s hand.</p> +<p>“The best that’s in me goes out to that man,” +said Nola solemnly—and truthfully, Frances knew—“but +I wouldn’t take him from you now, Frances, +even if I could. I don’t want to care for him, I don’t +want to think of him. I just want to think of poor +father lying out there under the ground.”</p> +<p>“It’s best for you to think of him.”</p> +<p>“Only a day ago he was alive and warm, like you +and me, and now he’s dead! Mother never will want +to leave this place again now, and I don’t feel like +I want to either. I just want to lie down and die—oh, +I just want to die!”</p> +<p>Pity for herself brought Nola’s tears gushing +again, and her choking sobs into her throat. Her +voice was hoarse from her lamentations; there seemed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' ></a>308</span> +to be only sorrow for her in every theme. Frances +held her shivering slim body in her supporting arm, +and Nola’s face bent down upon her shoulder. It +seemed that her renunciation was complete, her regeneration +undeniable. But Frances knew that a +great flood of tears was required to put out the fire +of passion in a woman’s heart. One spark, one little +spark, might live through the deluge to spring into +the heat of the past under the breath of memory.</p> +<p>Again the heaving breast grew calm, and the tear-wet +face was lifted to shake back the fallen hair.</p> +<p>“This has emptied everything out for me,” Nola +sighed. “I’m going to be serious in everything, with +everybody, after this. Do you suppose Mrs. +Mathews would let me help her over at the mission—if +I went to her meek and humble and asked her?”</p> +<p>“If she saw that it would help <i>you</i>, she would, +Nola.”</p> +<p>“Just think how lonesome it will be here when the +post’s abandoned and everybody but the Indians +gone! You’ll be away—maybe long before that—and +I’ll not see anybody but Indians and cowboys +from year’s beginning to year’s end. Oh, it will be +so dreary and lonesome here!”</p> +<p>“There’s work up the river in the homesteaders’ +settlement, Nola; there’s suffering to be relieved, and +bereaved hearts to be comforted. There’s your work, +it seems to me, for you and those nearest to you are +to blame for the desolation of those poor homes, +excuse it as charitably as we may.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' ></a>309</span></div> +<p>Frances felt a shudder run through the girl’s body +as her arm clasped the pliant waist.</p> +<p>“Why, Frances! You can’t mean that! They’re +terrible—just think what they’ve done—oh, the +underhanded thieves! By the law of the range it’s +my fight now, instead of my work to help them!”</p> +<p>“The law of the range isn’t the law any longer +here, Nola, and it never will be again. Alan Macdonald +has done the work that he put his lone hand +to. You have no quarrel with anybody, child, no +feud to carry on to a bloody end. Put it out of your +mind. If you are sincere in your heart, and truly +penitent, you can prove it best by beginning to do +good in the place where your house has done a terrible, +sad wrong.”</p> +<p>“They started it!” said Nola, vindictively, the +lifelong hatred for those who encroached upon the +range so deep in her breast, it seemed, that the soil +of her life must come away on its roots.</p> +<p>“There’s no use talking to you about it, then,” +said Frances, coldly.</p> +<p>Nola seemed hurt by her tone. She began to cry +again, and plead her cause in moaning, broken words. +“It’s our country, we were here first—father always +said that!”</p> +<p>“I know.”</p> +<p>“But I don’t blame Mr. Macdonald, they deceived +him, the rustlers deceived him and told him lies. He +didn’t belong to this country, he couldn’t know at +first, or understand. Frances”—she put her hand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' ></a>310</span> +on her friend’s shoulder, and lifted her head as if +trying to pierce the dark and look into her eyes—“don’t +you know how it was with him? He was too +much of a man to turn his back on them, even when +he found he was on the wrong side. A man like him +<i>must</i> have understood it our way.”</p> +<p>“What he has done in this country calls for no +excuse,” returned Frances, loftily.</p> +<p>“In your eyes and mine he wouldn’t need any +excuse for anything he might do,” said Nola, with +a sagacity unexpected. “We love him, and we’d +love him, right or wrong. Well”—a sigh—“you’ve +got a right to love him, and I haven’t. I wouldn’t try +to make him care for me now if I could, for I’m +different; I’m all emptied out.”</p> +<p>“It takes more than you’ve gone through to empty +a human life, Nola. But you have no right to love +him; honor and honesty are in the way, friendship +not considered at all. You’ll spring up in the sun +again after a little while, like fresh grass that’s trodden +on, just as happy and light-hearted as before. +Let me have this one without any more interference—there +are plenty in the world that you would stand +heart-high to with your bright little head, just as +well as Alan Macdonald.”</p> +<p>“I can’t give him up, the thought of him, and the +longing for him, without regret, Frances; I can’t!”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t have you do it. I want you to have +regret, and pain—not too deep nor too lasting, but +some corrective pain. Now, go to sleep.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' ></a>311</span></div> +<p>Frances pressed her back to the pillow, and +touched her head with light caress.</p> +<p>“Frances,” she whispered, a new gladness dawning +in her voice, “I’ll go and see those poor people, +and try to help them—if they’ll let me. Maybe we +<i>were</i> wrong—partly, anyhow.”</p> +<p>“That’s better,” Frances encouraged.</p> +<p>“And I’ll try not to care for him, or think about +him, even one little bit.”</p> +<p>Frances bent and kissed her. Nola’s arms clung +to her neck a little, holding her while she whispered +in her ear.</p> +<p>“For I’m going to be different, I’m going to be +good—abso-<i>lutely</i> good!”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' ></a>312</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XXIV_BANJO_FACES_INTO_THE_WEST'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>BANJO FACES INTO THE WEST</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>“You don’t tell me? So the old colonel’s got +what his heart’s been pinin’ for many a year. +Well, well!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron was beside her window in her favored +rocker again, less assertive of bulk in her black +dress, not so florid of face, and with lines of sadness +about her mouth and eyes. A fire was snapping in +the chimney, for the gray sky was driving a bitter +wind, and the first snowflakes of winter were straying +down.</p> +<p>Banjo Gibson was before the fire, his ears red, his +cheeks redder, just in from a brisk ride over from +the post. His instruments lay beside him on the +floor, and he was limbering his fingers close to the +blaze.</p> +<p>“Yes, he’s a brigamadier now,” said he.</p> +<p>“Brigadier-General Landcraft,” said she, musingly, +looking away into the grayness of the day; +“well, maybe he deserves it. Fur as I’m concerned, +he’s welcome to it, and I’m glad for Frances’ sake.”</p> +<p>“He’s vinegar and red pepper, that old man is! +Takin’ him up both sides and down the middle, as +the feller said, I reckon the colonel—or brigamadier, +I guess they’ll call him now—he’s about as good as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' ></a>313</span> +they make ’em. I always did have a kind of a likin’ +for that old feller—he’s something like me.”</p> +<p>“It was nice of you to come over and tell me the +news, anyhow, Banjo; you’re always as obligin’ and +thoughtful as you can be.”</p> +<p>“It’s always been a happiness and a pleasure, +mom, and I’ve come a good many times with news, +sad and joyful, to your door. But I reckon it’ll be +many a long day before I come ridin’ to Alamito with +news ag’in; many a long, long day.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean, Banjo? You ain’t goin’—”</p> +<p>“To Californy; startin’ from here as soon as my +horse blows a spell and eats his last feed at your +feed box, mom. I’ve got to make it to Meander to +ketch the mornin’ train.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Banjo! you don’t tell me!” Tears gushed +to Mrs. Chadron’s eyes, used to so much weeping +now, and her lips trembled as she pressed them hard +to keep back a sob. “You’re the last friend of the +old times, the last face outside of this house belongin’ +to the old days. When you’re gone my last friend, +the very last one I care about outside of my own, ’ll +be gone!”</p> +<p>Banjo cleared his throat unsteadily, and looked +very hard at the fire for quite a spell before he +spoke.</p> +<p>“The best of friends must part,” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes, they must part,” she admitted, her handkerchief +pressed to her eyes, her voice muffled behind +it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' ></a>314</span></div> +<p>“But they ain’t no use of me stayin’ around in +this country and pinin’ for what’s gone, and starvin’ +on the edge,” said Banjo, briskly. “Since you’ve +sold out the cattle and the boys is all gone, scattered +ever-which-ways and to Texas, and the homesteaders +is comin’ into this valley as thick as blackbirds, it +ain’t no place for me. I don’t mix with them kind +of people, I never did. You’ve give it all up to ’em, +they tell me, but this homestead, mom?”</p> +<p>“All but the homestead,” she sighed, her tears +checked now, her eyes on the farthest hill, where she +had watched the crest many and many a time for Saul +to rise over it, riding home from Meander.</p> +<p>“You hadn’t ort to let it go,” said he, shaking his +sad head.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t’a’held it, the lawyers and Mr. Macdonald +told me that. It’s public land, Banjo, it belongs +to them folks, I reckon. But we was here +first!” A futile sigh, a regretful sigh, a sigh bitter +with old recollections.</p> +<p>“I reckon that’s so, down to the bottom of it, +but you folks made this country what it was, and +by rights it’s yourn. Well, I stopped in to say +good-bye to the old brigamadier-colonel over at the +post as I come through. He tells me Alan and that +little girl of hisn that stuck to him and stood up for +him through thick and thin ’re goin’ to be married +at Christmas time.”</p> +<p>“Then they’ll be leavin’, too,” she said.</p> +<p>“No, they’re goin’ to build on his ranch up the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' ></a>315</span> +river and stay here, and that old brigamadier-colonel +he’s goin’ to take up land next to ’em, or has +took it up, one of the two, and retire from the army +when they’re married. He says this country’s the +breath of his body and he couldn’t live outside of +it, he’s been here so long.”</p> +<p>“Well, well!” said she, her face brightening a +little at the news.</p> +<p>“How’s Alan by now?”</p> +<p>“Up and around—he’s goin’ to leave us in the +morning.”</p> +<p>“Frances here?” he asked.</p> +<p>“No, she went over home this morning—I thought +maybe you met her—but she’s comin’ back for him +in the morning.”</p> +<p>Banjo sat musing a little while. Then—</p> +<p>“Yes, you’ll have neighbors, mom, plenty of ’em. +A colony of nesters is comin’ here, three or four +hundred of ’em, they tell me, all ready to go to puttin’ +up schoolhouses and go to plowin’ in the spring. +And they’re goin’ to run that hell-snortin’ railroad +right up this valley. I reckon it’ll cut right along +here somewheres a’past your place.”</p> +<p>“Yes, changes’ll come, Banjo, changes is bound +to come,” she sighed.</p> +<p>“All over this country, they say, the nesters’ll +squat now wherever they want to, and nobody +won’t dast to take a shot at ’em to drive ’em off of +his grass. They put so much in the papers about +this rustlers’ war up here that folks has got it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' ></a>316</span> +through ’em the nesters ain’t been gittin’ what was +comin’ to ’em. The big ranches ’ll all be split up to +flinders inside of five years.”</p> +<p>“Yes, the cattle days is passin’, along with the +folks that was somebody in this country once. Well, +Banjo, we had some good times in the old days; we +can remember them. But changes will come, we must +expect changes. You don’t need to pack up and go +on account of that. I ain’t goin’ to leave.”</p> +<p>“I’ve made up my mind. I’m beginnin’ to feel +tight in the chist already for lack of air.”</p> +<p>Both sat silent a little while. Banjo’s elbows were +across his knees, his face lifted toward the window. +The wind was falling, and there was a little breaking +among the low clouds, baring a bit of blue sky here +and there. Banjo viewed this brightening of the day +with gladness.</p> +<p>“I guess it’s passin’,” he said, going to the window +and peering round as much of the horizon as +he could see, “it wasn’t nothing but a little shakin’ +out of the tablecloth after breakfast.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad of it, for I don’t think it’s good luck +to start out on a trip in a storm. That there Nola +she’s out in it, too.”</p> +<p>“Gone up the river?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It beats all how she’s takin’ up with them +people, and them with her. She’s even bought lumber +with her own money to help some of ’em build.”</p> +<p>“She’s got a heart like a dove,” he sighed.</p> +<p>“As soft as a puddin’,” Mrs. Chadron nodded.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' ></a>317</span></div> +<p>“But I never could git to it.” Banjo sighed again.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron shook her head, with an expression +of sadness for his failure which was deeper than any +words she knew.</p> +<p>“The loss of her pa bore down on her terrible; +she’s pinin’ and grievin’ too hard for a body so +young. I hear her cryin’ and moanin’ in the night +sometimes, and I know it ain’t no use goin’ to her, +for I’ve tried. She seems to need something more +than an old woman like me can give, but I don’t know +what it is.”</p> +<p>“Maybe she needs a change—a change of air,” +Banjo suggested, with what vague hope only himself +could tell.</p> +<p>“Maybe, maybe she does. Well, you’re goin’ to +take a change of air, anyhow, Banjo. But what’re +you goin’ to do away out there amongst strangers?”</p> +<p>“I was out there one time, five years ago, and +didn’t seem to like it then. But since I’ve stood off +and thought it over, it seems to me that’s a better +place for me than here, with my old friends goin’ or +gone, and things changin’ this a-way. Out there +around them hop and fruit ranches they have great +times at night in the camps, and a man of my build +can keep busy playin’ for dances. I done it before, +and they took to me, right along.”</p> +<p>“They do everywheres, Banjo.”</p> +<p>“Some don’t,” he sighed, watching out of the window +in the direction that Nola must come.</p> +<p>“She’s not likely to come back before morning—I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' ></a>318</span> +think she aims to go to the post tonight and stay with +Frances,” she said, reading his heart in his face.</p> +<p>“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Banjo.</p> +<p>“I guess everything that comes to us is for the +best, if we knew how to take it,” she said. “Well, +you set there and be comfortable, and I’ll stir Maggie +up and have her make you something nice for dinner. +After that I want you to play me the old songs over +before you go. Just to think I’ll never hear them +songs no more breaks my heart, Banjo—plumb +breaks my heart!”</p> +<p>As she passed Banjo she laid her hand on his head +in a manner of benediction, and tears were in her +eyes.</p> +<p>The sun was out again when they had finished +lunch, coaxing autumn on into November at the peril +of frosted toes. Mrs. Chadron had brightened considerably, +also. Even bereavement and sorrow could +not shake her fealty to chili, and now it was rewarding +her by a rubbing of her old color in her face as +she sat by the window and waited for Banjo to tune +his instruments for the parting songs.</p> +<p>Her workbasket was beside her, the bright knitting-needles +in the unfinished sock. It never would +be completed now, she knew, but she kept it by her +to cry over in the twilight hours, when thoughts of +Saul came over her with their deep-harrowing pangs.</p> +<p>Banjo sang the touching old ballads over to her +appreciative ear, watching the shadows outside, as he +played, for three o’clock. That was the hour set for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' ></a>319</span> +him to go. “Silver Threads” was saved for the end, +and when its last strain died Mrs. Chadron’s face was +hidden in her hands. She was rocking gently, her +handkerchief fallen to the floor.</p> +<p>Banjo put his bow in its place in the lid of the +case, the rosin in its little box. But the fiddle he +still held on his knee, stroking its smooth back with +loving hand, as if he would soothe Mrs. Chadron’s +regrets and longings and back-tugging pains by that +vicarious caress. So he sat petting his instrument, +and after a little she looked at him, her eyes red, and +tear-streaks on her face.</p> +<p>“Don’t put it away just yet, Banjo,” she requested; +“there’s another one I want you to sing, +and that will be the last. It’s the saddest one you +play—one that I couldn’t stand one time—do you +remember?” Banjo remembered; he nodded. “I can +stand it now, Banjo; I want to hear it now.”</p> +<p>Banjo drew bow again, no more words on either +side, and began his song:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>All o-lone and sad he left me,</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>But no oth-o’s bride I’ll be;</p> +<p>For in flow-os he bedecked me,</p> +<p><span class='indent2'> </span>In tho cottage by tho sea.</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>When he finished, Mrs. Chadron’s head was bent +upon her arm across the little workstand where her +basket stood. Her shoulders were moving in piteous +convulsions, but no sound of crying came from her. +Banjo knew that it was the hardest kind of weeping +that tears the human heart.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' ></a>320</span></div> +<p>He put away his fiddle, and strapped the case. +Then he went to her and laid his hand on her +shoulder.</p> +<p>“I’ll have to be saddlin’ up, mom,” said he, his +own voice thick, “and I’ll say <i>adios</i> to you now.”</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Banjo, and may God bless you in that +country you’re goin’ to so fur away from the friends +you used to know!”</p> +<p>Banjo’s throat moved as he gulped his sorrow. +“I’ll not come back in the house, but I’ll wave you +good-bye from the gate,” said he.</p> +<p>“I had hopes you might change your mind, +Banjo,” she said, as she took his hand and held it a +little while.</p> +<p>“If I could’a’got to somebody’s heart that I’ve +pined for many a day, I would’a’changed my mind, +mom. But it wasn’t to be.”</p> +<p>“It wasn’t to be, Banjo,” she said, shaking her +head. “I don’t think she’ll ever marry—she’s +changed, she’s so changed!”</p> +<p>“Well, <i>adios</i> to you, mom, and the best of luck.”</p> +<p>“<i>Adios</i>, Banjo, boy; good-bye!”</p> +<p>She waited at the window for him to pass the gate. +He appeared there leading his horse, and bent to +examine the girths before putting foot to the stirrup. +She hoped that he was coming back, to tell her that +he could not find it in his heart to go. But no; the +change that was coming over the cattle country was +like an unfriendly wind to the little troubadour. +His way was staked into the west where new ties +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' ></a>321</span> +waited him, where new hearts were to be won. He +mounted, turned to the window, waved his hat and +rode away.</p> +<p>Mrs. Chadron sat in her old place and watched him +until he passed beyond the last hill line and out of +her sight. Her last glimpse of him had been in +water lines through tears. Now she reached for her +basket and took out her unfinished knitting. Broken +off there, like her own life it was, she thought, never +to be completed as designed. The old days were done; +the promise of them only partly fulfilled. She was +bidding farewell to more than Banjo, parting with +more than friends.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Banjo,” she murmured, looking dimly +toward the farthest hill; “<i>adios!</i>”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' ></a>322</span> +<a id='CHAPTER_XXV_HASTA_LUEGO'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>“HASTA LUEGO”</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Frances came into the room as fresh as a +morning-glory. Her cheeks were like peonies, +and the fire of her youth and strength danced in her +happy eyes. Macdonald rose to greet her, tall, +gaunt, and pale from the drain that his wound had +made upon his life. He had been smoking before +the fireplace, and he reached up now to put his pipe +away on the manteltree.</p> +<p>“And how are things at the post?” he asked, as +she stood before him in her saddle dress, her sombrero +pressing down her hair, her quirt swinging by +its thong from her gloved wrist.</p> +<p>Before replying she intercepted the hand that was +reaching to stow the pipe away, pressed it firmly +back, inserted the stem between his close lips.</p> +<p>“In this family, the man smokes,” she said.</p> +<p>His slow smile, which was reward enough to her +for all the trouble that it took to wake it, twinkled +in his eyes like someone coming to the window with a +light.</p> +<p>“Then the piece of a man will go ahead and +smoke,” said he, drawing a chair up beside his own +and leading her to it with gentle pressure upon her +hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' ></a>323</span></div> +<p>“Has Mrs. Chadron been overfeeding you while +I was gone? Did she give you chili?”</p> +<p>“She <i>offered</i> me chili, in five different dishes, which +I, remembering the injunction, regretfully put aside.”</p> +<p>“Well, they’re coming with the ambulance, I rode +on ahead, and you’ll soon be beyond the peril of +chili.” She smiled as she looked up into his face, +and the smile broadened into an outright laugh when +she saw the little flitting cloud of vexation there.</p> +<p>“I could well enough ride,” said he.</p> +<p>“The doctor says you could not.”</p> +<p>“I’m as fit for the saddle this minute as I ever was +in my life,” he declared.</p> +<p>She made no reply to that in words. But there +was tender pity in her caressing eyes as they measured +the weakness of his thin arms, wasted down to +tendon and bone now, it seemed. He would ride to +the post, she knew very well, if permitted, and come +through it without a murmur. But the risk would +be foolish, no matter what his pride must suffer by +going in a wagon.</p> +<p>“Have you heard the news from Meander?” she +inquired.</p> +<p>“No, news comes slowly to Alamito Ranch, and +will come slower now that Banjo is gone, Mrs. Chadron +says. What’s been happening at Meander?”</p> +<p>“They held their conventions there last week to +nominate county officers, and what do you think? +They’ve nominated you for something, for—for +<i>what</i> do you suppose?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' ></a>324</span></div> +<p>“Nominated me? Who’s nominated me?”</p> +<p>“Oh, one party or the other began it, and the +other indorsed you, for—oh, it’s—”</p> +<p>“For what, Frances?” he asked, laughter in his +eyes at her unaccountable way of holding back on +the secret.</p> +<p>“Why, for <i>sheriff!</i>” said she, with magnificent +scorn.</p> +<p>Macdonald leaned back in his chair and laughed, +the first audible sound of merriment that she ever +had heard come from those stern lips. She looked +at him with reproach.</p> +<p>“It should have been governor, the very least they +could have done, decently!” She was full of feeling +on the subject of what she believed to be his undervaluation.</p> +<p>Macdonald took her hand, the laughter dying out +of his sober face.</p> +<p>“That’s all in the different ways of looking at a +man, <i>palomita</i>,” he said to her.</p> +<p>“But you look bigger than <i>sheriff</i> to anybody!” +she replied, indignation large in her heart.</p> +<p>“In this country, Frances, a sheriff is a pretty +sizable man,” he said, his thoughtful eyes on the +fire, “about the biggest man they can conceive, next +only to the president himself. Up here in the cattle +country the greatness of men is dimmed, their magnitude +being measured by appreciable results. The +offices of lawmaker, governor, and such as the outside +world invest with their peculiar dignity, are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' ></a>325</span> +incidental, indefinite—all but negative, here. It’s +different with a sheriff. He’s the man who comes +riding with his guns at his side; they can see him +perform. All the law that they know centers in +him; all branches of government, as they understand +his powers. Yes, a sheriff is something of a figure +in this county, Frances, and to be nominated for that +office by one party and indorsed by another is just +about the biggest compliment a man can receive.”</p> +<p>“But surely, Alan, you’ll not accept it?”</p> +<p>“Why, I think so,” he returned, thoughtfully. “I +think I’d be worth more to this county as sheriff +than I would be as—as governor, let us say.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but they go shooting sheriffs,” she protested.</p> +<p>“They’ll not be doing so much careless and easy +shooting around here since Colonel—Brigadier-General +Landcraft—and that sounds more like his size, +too—gave them a rubdown with the iron hand. The +cattle barons’ day is over; their sun went down when +Mark Thorn brought the holy scare to Saul Chadron’s +door.”</p> +<p>“Father is of the same opinion. Do you know, +Alan, the whole story about that horrible old man +Thorn is in the eastern papers?”</p> +<p>“Is it possible?”</p> +<p>“With a Cheyenne date-line,” she nodded, “the +whole story—who hired him to skulk and kill, and a +list of his known crimes. Father says if there was +anything lacking in the fight you made on the cattlemen, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' ></a>326</span> +this would finish them. It’s a terrible story—poor +Nola read it, and learned for the first time her +father’s connection with Thorn. She’s humiliated +and heartbroken over it all.”</p> +<p>“With sufficient reason,” he nodded.</p> +<p>“She’s afraid her mother will hear of it in some +way.”</p> +<p>“She’ll find it out in time, Frances; a thing like +that walks on a man’s grave.”</p> +<p>“It will not matter so much after a while, after +her first grief settles.”</p> +<p>“Did Nola come back with you?”</p> +<p>“No, she went on to take some things to poor old +Mrs. Lassiter. She never has recovered from the loss +of her son—it’s killing her by inches, Tom says. +And you considering that office of sheriff!” She +turned to him with censorious eyes as she spoke, as +if struck with a pain of which he was the cause. “I +tell you, you men don’t know, you don’t know! It’s +the women that suffer in all this shooting and killing—we +are the ones that have to bear the sorrows in +the night and watch through the uncertain days!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said he gently, “the poor women must bear +most of this world’s pain. That is why God made +them strong above all his created things.”</p> +<p>They sat in silence, thinking it over between them. +Outside there was sunshine over the brown rangeland; +within there dwelt the lifting confidence that their +feet had passed the days of trouble and were entering +the bounds of an enlarging peace.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' ></a>327</span></div> +<p>“And Major King?” said he.</p> +<p>“Father has relented, as I knew he would, out of +regard for their friendship of the past, and will not +bring charges based on Major King’s plottings with +Chadron.”</p> +<p>“It’s better that way,” he nodded. “Do you suppose +there’s nothing between him and Nola?”</p> +<p>“I think she’ll have him after her grief passes, +Alan.”</p> +<p>“Better than he deserves,” said he. “There’s a +lump of gold in that little lady’s heart, Frances.”</p> +<p>“There is, Alan; I’m glad to hear you say that.” +There was moisture in her tender eyes.</p> +<p>“There was something in that man, too,” he reflected. +“It’s unfortunate that he allowed his desire +to humiliate you and me to drive him into such folly. +If he’d only have held those brigands here for the +civil authorities, as I requested, we could have forgotten +the rest.”</p> +<p>“Yes, father says that would have saved him in +his eyes, in spite of his scheming with Chadron +against your life, and against father’s honor and all +that he holds sacred. But it’s done, and he’s genuinely +despised in the service for it. And there’s the +ambulance coming over the hill.”</p> +<p>“Ambulance for me!” said he, in disgust of his +slow mending.</p> +<p>“Be glad that it isn’t—oh, I shouldn’t say that!”</p> +<p>“I am,” said he, nodding his slow, grave head.</p> +<p>“We’ll have to say good-bye to Mrs. Chadron,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' ></a>328</span> +said she, bustling around, or making a show of doing +so to hide the tears which had sprung into her eyes +at the thought that it might have been a different +sort of conveyance coming to Alamito to take Alan +Macdonald away.</p> +<p>“And to Alamito,” said he, looking out into the +frost-stricken garden with a tenderness in his eyes. +“I shall always have a softness in my heart for +Alamito, because it gave me you. That garden out +there yielded me the dearest flower that any garden +ever gave a man”—he took her hands, and folded +them above his heart—“a flower with a soul in it +to keep it alive forever.”</p> +<p>She bowed her head as he spoke, as if receiving a +benediction.</p> +<p>“I hate saying good-bye to Mrs. Chadron,” she +said, her voice trembling, “for she’ll cry, and I’m +afraid I’ll cry, too.”</p> +<p>“It will not be farewell, only <i>hasta luego</i><a id='FNanchor_0001'></a><a href='#Footnote_0001' class='fnanchor'>[A]</a> we can +assure her of that. We’ll be neighbors to her, for +this is home, dear heart, this is our <i>val paraiso</i>.”</p> +<p>“Our valley of paradise,” she nodded, her hands +reaching up to his shoulders and clinging there a +moment in soft caress, “our home!”</p> +<p>His arm about her shoulders, he faced her to the +window, and pointed to the hills, asleep now in their +brown winter coat behind a clear film of smoky blue.</p> +<p>“I stood up there one evening, weighted down with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' ></a>329</span> +guns and ammunition, hunting and hunted in the +most desperate game I ever played,” he said. “The +sun was low over this valley, and Alamito was a +gleam of white among the autumn gold. I was tired, +hungry, dusty, thirsty and sore, and my heart was +all but dead in its case. That was after you had +sent me away from the post, scorned and half +despised.”</p> +<p>“Don’t rebuke me for that night now, Alan,” she +pleaded, turning her pained eyes to his. “I have +suffered for my injustice.”</p> +<p>“It wasn’t injustice, it was discipline, and it was +good for both of us. We must come to confidence +through misunderstandings and false charges very +frequently in this life. Never mind that; I was telling +you about that evening on the side of the hill. I +had been sitting with my back to a rock, watching the +brush for Mark Thorn, but I was thinking more of +you than of him. For he meant only death, and you +were life. But I thought that I had lost you that +day.”</p> +<p>She drew nearer to him as they stood, in the unequivocal +consolation of her presence, in the most +comforting refutation of that sad hour’s dark forebodings.</p> +<p>“I thought that, until I stood up and started down +the slope to go my lone-handed way. The sun struck +me in the face then, and it was yellow over the valley, +and the wind was glad. I knew then, when I looked +out over it, that it held something for me, that it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' ></a>330</span> +was my country, and my home. The lines of gray +old Joaquin Miller came to me, and lifted my heart +in a new vision. I said them over to myself:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>Lo! these are the isles of the watery miles</p> +<p>That God let down from the firmament.</p> +<p>Lo! Duty and Love, and a true man’s trust;</p> +<p>Your forehead to God and your feet in the dust—</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>only, there were two lines which I did not repeat, I +dared not repeat, even in my heart. My vision halted +short of their fulfillment.”</p> +<p>“What are the words—do you remember them?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes; I can repeat them now, for my vision is +broader, it is a better dream:</p> +<div class='poem'><div class='stanza'> +<p>Lo! Duty and Love, and a sweet babe’s smiles,</p> +<p>And there, O friend, are the Fortunate Isles.”</p> +</div></div> +<p class='ni'>He pressed her closer, and kissed her hair. They +stood, unmindful of the waiting ambulance, their +vision fusing in the blue distances of the land their +hearts held dear. It was home.</p> +<p>“Come on, Alan”—she started from her reverie +and drew him by the hand—“there’s Mrs. Chadron +on the porch, waiting for <i>hasta luego</i>.”</p> +<p>“For <i>hasta luego</i>,” said he.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class='footnote'><a id='Footnote_0001'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0001'><span class='label'>[A]</span></a> +For a little while.</div> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.20 with eppg.rb version 0.08 --> +<!-- timestamp: Mon Nov 16 05:21:59 -0700 2009 --> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30485 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30485-h/images/f0001-img.jpg b/30485-h/images/f0001-img.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f66e6b --- /dev/null +++ b/30485-h/images/f0001-img.jpg diff --git a/30485-h/images/illus-emb.png b/30485-h/images/illus-emb.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0bb0fa --- /dev/null +++ b/30485-h/images/illus-emb.png |
