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Bower +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.block {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jean of the Lazy A, by B. M. Bower + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Jean of the Lazy A + +Author: B. M. Bower + +Posting Date: September 27, 2008 [EBook #538] +Release Date: May, 1996 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JEAN OF THE LAZY A *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +Jean of the Lazy A +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +By +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +B. M. BOWER +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">CHAPTER</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">HOW TROUBLE CAME TO THE LAZY A</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">CONCERNING LITE AND A FEW FOOTPRINTS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">WHAT A MAN'S GOOD NAME IS WORTH</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">JEAN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">JEAN RIDES INTO A SMALL ADVENTURE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">AND THE VILLAIN PURSUED LITE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">ROBERT GRANT BURNS GETS HELP</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">JEAN SPOILS SOMETHING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">A MAN-SIZED JOB FOR JEAN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">JEAN LEARNS WHAT FEAR IS LIKE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">LITE'S PUPIL DEMONSTRATES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">TO "DOUBLE" FOR MURIEL GAY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">PICTURES AND PLANS AND MYSTERIOUS FOOTSTEPS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">PUNCH VERSUS PRESTIGE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">A LEADING LADY THEY WOULD MAKE OF JEAN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">FOR ONCE AT LEAST LITE HAD HIS WAY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">"WHY DON'T YOU GIVE THEM SOMETHING REAL?"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">A NEW KIND OF PICTURE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">IN LOS ANGELES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">CHANCE TAKES A HAND</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">JEAN BELIEVES THAT SHE TAKES MATTERS INTO HER OWN HANDS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">JEAN MEETS ONE CRISIS AND CONFRONTS ANOTHER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">A LITTLE ENLIGHTENMENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">THE LETTER IN THE CHAPS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">LITE COMES OUT OF THE BACKGROUND</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">HOW HAPPINESS RETURNED TO THE LAZY A</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +JEAN OF THE LAZY A +</H1> + +<BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW TROUBLE CAME TO THE LAZY A +</H3> + +<P> +Without going into a deep, psychological discussion of the elements in +men's souls that breed events, we may say with truth that the Lazy A +ranch was as other ranches in the smooth tenor of its life until one +day in June, when the finger of fate wrote bold and black across the +face of it the word that blotted out prosperity, content, warm family +ties,—all those things that go to make life worth while. +</P> + +<P> +Jean, sixteen and a range girl to the last fiber of her being, had +gotten up early that morning and had washed the dishes and swept, and +had shaken the rugs of the little living-room most vigorously. On her +knees, with stiff brush and much soapy water, she had scrubbed the +kitchen floor until the boards dried white as kitchen floors may be. +She had baked a loaf of gingerbread, that came from the oven with a +most delectable odor, and had wrapped it in a clean cloth to cool on +the kitchen table. Her dad and Lite Avery would show cause for the +baking of it when they sat down, fresh washed and ravenous, to their +supper that evening. I mention Jean and her scrubbed kitchen and the +gingerbread by way of proving how the Lazy A went unwarned and +unsuspecting to the very brink of its disaster. +</P> + +<P> +Lite Avery, long and lean and silently content with life, had ridden +away with a package of sandwiches, after a full breakfast and a smile +from the slim girl who cooked it, upon the business of the day; which +happened to be a long ride with one of the Bar Nothing riders, down in +the breaks along the river. Jean's father, big Aleck Douglas, had +saddled and ridden away alone upon business of his own. And presently, +in mid-forenoon, Jean closed the kitchen door upon an immaculately +clean house filled with the warm, fragrant odor of her baking, and in +fresh shirt waist and her best riding-skirt and Stetson, went whistling +away down the path to the stable, and saddled Pard, the brown colt that +Lite had broken to the saddle for her that spring. In ten minutes or so +she went galloping down the coulee and out upon the trail to town, +which was fifteen miles away and held a chum of hers. +</P> + +<P> +So Lazy A coulee was left at peace, with scratching hens busy with the +feeding of half-feathered chicks, and a rooster that crowed from the +corral fence seven times without stopping to take breath. In the big +corral a sorrel mare nosed her colt and nibbled abstractedly at the +pile of hay in one corner, while the colt wabbled aimlessly up and +sniffed curiously and then turned to inspect the rails that felt so +queer and hard when he rubbed his nose against them. The sun was warm, +and cloud-shadows drifted lazily across the coulee with the breeze that +blew from the west. You never would dream that this was the last +day,—the last few hours even,—when the Lazy A would be the untroubled +home of three persons of whose lives it formed so great a part. +</P> + +<P> +At noon the hens were hovering their chickens in the shade of the mower +which Lite was overhauling during his spare time, getting it ready for +the hay that was growing apace out there in the broad mouth of the +coulee. The rooster was wallowing luxuriously in a dusty spot in the +corral. The young colt lay stretched out on the fat of its side in the +sun, sound asleep. The sorrel mare lay beside it, asleep also, with +her head thrown up against her shoulder. Somewhere in a shed a calf +was bawling in bored lonesomeness away from its mother feeding down the +pasture. And over all the coulee and the buildings nestled against the +bluff at its upper end was spread that atmosphere of homey comfort and +sheltered calm which surrounds always a home that is happy. +</P> + +<P> +Lite Avery, riding toward home just when the shadows were beginning to +grow long behind him, wondered if Jean would be back by the time he +reached the ranch. He hoped so, with a vague distaste at finding the +place empty of her cheerful presence. Be looked at his watch; it was +nearly four o'clock. She ought to be home by half-past four or five, +anyway. He glanced sidelong at Jim and quietly slackened his pace a +little. Jim was telling one of those long, rambling tales of the little +happenings of a narrow life, and Lite was supposed to be listening +instead of thinking about when Jean would return home. Jim believed he +was listening, and drove home the point of his story. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir, them's his very words. Art Osgood heard him. He'll do it, +too, take it from me, Crofty is shore riled up this time." +</P> + +<P> +"Always is," Lite observed, without paying much attention. "I'll turn +off here, Jim, and cut across. Got some work I want to get done yet +to-night. So long." +</P> + +<P> +He swung away from his companion, whose trail to the Bar Nothing led +him straight west, passing the Lazy A coulee well out from its mouth, +toward the river. Lite could save a half mile by bearing off to the +north and entering the coulee at the eastern side and riding up through +the pasture. He wanted to see how the grass was coming on, anyway. +The last rain should have given it a fresh start. +</P> + +<P> +He was in no great hurry, after all; he had merely been bored with +Jim's company and wanted to go on alone. And then he could get the +fire started for Jean. Lite's life was running very smoothly indeed; +so smoothly that his thoughts occupied themselves largely with little +things, save when they concerned themselves with Jean, who had been +away to school for a year and had graduated from "high," as she called +it, just a couple of weeks ago, and had come home to keep house for dad +and Lite. The novelty of her presence on the ranch was still fresh +enough to fill his thoughts with her slim attractiveness. Town hadn't +spoiled her, he thought glowingly. She was the same good little +pal,—only she was growing up pretty fast, now. She was a young lady +already. +</P> + +<P> +So, thinking of her with the brightening of spirits which is the first +symptom of the world-old emotion called love, Lite rounded the eastern +arm of the bluff and came within sight of the coulee spread before him, +shaped like the half of a huge platter with a high rim of bluff on +three sides. +</P> + +<P> +His first involuntary glance was towards the house, and there was +unacknowledged expectancy in his eyes. But he did not see Jean, nor any +sign that she had returned. Instead, he saw her father just mounting +in haste at the corral. He saw him swing his quirt down along the side +of his horse and go tearing down the trail, leaving the wire gate flat +upon the ground behind him,—which was against all precedent. +</P> + +<P> +Lite quickened his own pace. He did not know why big Aleck Douglas +should be hitting that pace out of the coulee, but since Aleck's pace +was habitually unhurried, the inference was plain enough that there was +some urgent need for haste. Lite let down the rails of the barred gate +from the meadow into the pasture, mounted, and went galloping across +the uneven sod. His first anxious thought was for the girl. Had +something happened to her? +</P> + +<P> +At the stable he looked and saw that Jean's saddle did not hang on its +accustomed peg inside the door, and he breathed freer. She could not +have returned, then. He turned his own horse inside without taking off +the saddle, and looked around him puzzled. Nothing seemed wrong about +the place. The sorrel mare stood placidly switching at the flies and +suckling her gangling colt in the shady corner of the corral, and the +chickens were pecking desultorily about their feeding-ground in +expectation of the wheat that Jean or Lite would fling to them later +on. Not a thing seemed unusual. +</P> + +<P> +Yet Lite stood just outside the stable, and the sensation that +something was wrong grew keener. He was not a nervous person,—you +would have laughed at the idea of nerves in connection with Lite Avery. +He felt that something was wrong, just the same. It was not altogether +the hurried departure of Aleck Douglas, either, that made him feel so. +He looked at the house setting back there close to the bluff just where +it began to curve rudely out from the narrowest part of the coulee. It +was still and quiet, with closed windows and doors to tell there was no +one at home. And yet, to Lite its very silence seemed sinister. +</P> + +<P> +Wolves were many, down in the breaks along the river that spring; and +the coyotes were an ever-present evil among the calves, so that Lite +never rode abroad without his six-shooter. He reached back and +loosened it in the holster before he started up the sandy path to the +house; and if you knew the Lazy A ranch as well as Lite knew it, from +six years of calling it home, you would wonder at that action of his, +which was instinctive and wholly unconscious. +</P> + +<P> +So he went up through the sunshine of late afternoon that sent his +shadow a full rod before him, and he stepped upon the narrow platform +before the kitchen door, and stood there a minute listening. He heard +the mantel clock in the living-room ticking with the resonance given by +a room empty of all other sound. Because his ears were keen, he heard +also the little alarm clock in the kitchen tick-tick-tick on the shelf +behind the stove where Jean kept it daytimes. +</P> + +<P> +Peaceful enough, for all the silence; yet Lite reached back and laid +his fingers upon the smooth butt of his six-shooter and opened the door +with his left hand, which was more or less awkward. He pushed the door +open and stepped inside. Then for a full minute he did not move. +</P> + +<P> +On the floor that Jean had scrubbed till it was so white, a man lay +dead, stretched upon his back. His eyes stared vacantly straight up at +the ceiling, where a single cobweb which Jean had not noticed swayed in +the air-current Lite set in motion with the opening of the door. On +the floor, where it had dropped from his hand perhaps when he fell, a +small square piece of gingerbread lay, crumbled around the edges. +Tragic halo around his head, a pool of blood was turning brown and +clotted. Lite shivered a little while he stared down at him. +</P> + +<P> +In a minute he lifted his eyes from the figure and looked around the +small room. The stove shone black in the sunlight which the open door +let in. On the table, covered with white oilcloth, the loaf of +gingerbread lay uncovered, and beside it lay a knife used to cut off +the piece which the man on the floor had not eaten before he died. +Nothing else was disturbed. Nothing else seemed in the least to bear +any evidence of what had taken place. +</P> + +<P> +Lite's thoughts turned in spite of him to the man who had ridden from +the coulee as though fiends had pursued. The conclusion was obvious, +yet Lite loyally rejected it in the face of reason. Reason told him +that there went the slayer. For this dead man was what was left of +Johnny Croft, the Crofty of whom Jim had gossiped not more than half an +hour before. And the gossip had been of threats which Johnny Croft had +made against the two Douglas brothers,—big Aleck, of the Lazy A, and +Carl, of the Bar Nothing ranch adjoining. +</P> + +<P> +Suicide it could scarcely be, for Crofty was the type of man who would +cling to life; besides, his gun was in its holster, and a man would +hardly have the strength or the desire to put away his gun after he has +shot himself under one eye. Death had undoubtedly been immediate. +Lite thought of these things while he stood there just inside the door. +Then he turned slowly and went outside, and stood hesitating upon the +porch. He did not quite know what he ought to do about it, and so he +did not mean to be in too great a hurry to do anything; that was Lite's +habit, and he had always found that it served him well. +</P> + +<P> +If the rider had been fleeing from his crime, as was likely, Lite had +no mind to raise at once the hue and cry. An hour or two could make no +difference to the dead man,—and you must remember that Lite had for +six years called this place his home, and big Aleck Douglas his friend +as well as the man who paid him wages for the work he did. He was half +tempted to ride away and say nothing for a while. He could let it +appear that he had not been at the house at all and so had not +discovered the crime when he did. That would give Aleck Douglas more +time to get away. But there was Jean, due at any moment now. He could +not go away and let Jean discover that gruesome thing on the kitchen +floor. He could not take it up and hide it away somewhere; he could +not do anything, it seemed to him, but just wait. +</P> + +<P> +He went slowly down the path to the stable, his chin on his chest, his +mind grappling with the tragedy and with the problem of how best he +might lighten the blow that had fallen upon the ranch. It was +unreal,—it was unthinkable,—that Aleck Douglas, the man who met but +friendly glances, ride where he might, had done this thing. And yet +there was nothing else to believe. Johnny Croft had worked here on the +ranch for a couple of months, off and on. He had not been steadily +employed, and he had been paid by the day instead of by the month as +was the custom. He had worked also for Carl Douglas at the Bar +Nothing; back and forth, for one or the other as work pressed. He was +too erratic to be depended upon except from day to day; too prone to +saddle his horse and ride to town and forget to return for a day or two +days or a week, as the mood seized him or his money held out. +</P> + +<P> +Lite knew that there had been some dispute when he had left; he had +claimed payment for more days than he had worked. Aleck was a just man +who paid honestly what he owed; he was also known to be "close-fisted." +He would pay what he owed and not a nickel more,—hence the dispute. +Johnny had gone away seeming satisfied that his own figures were wrong, +but later on he had quarreled with Carl over wages and other things. +Carl had a bad temper that sometimes got beyond his control, and he had +ordered Johnny off the ranch. This was part of the long, full-detailed +story Jim had been telling. Johnny had left, and he had talked about +the Douglas brothers to any one who would listen. He had said they +were crooked, both of them, and would cheat a working-man out of his +pay. He had come back, evidently, to renew the argument with Aleck. +With the easy ways of ranch people, he had gone inside when he found no +one at home,—hungry, probably, and not at all backward about helping +himself to whatever appealed to his appetite. That was Johnny's +way,—a way that went unquestioned, since he had lived there long +enough to feel at home. Lite remembered with an odd feeling of pity how +Johnny had praised the first gingerbread which Jean had baked, the day +after her arrival; and how he had eaten three pieces and had made +Jean's cheeks burn with confusion at his bold flattery. +</P> + +<P> +He had come back, and he had helped himself to the gingerbread. And +then he had been shot down. He was lying in there now, just as he had +fallen, and his blood was staining deep the fresh-scrubbed floor. And +Jean would be coming home soon. Lite thought it would be better if he +rode out to meet her, and told her what had happened, so that she need +not come upon it unprepared. There was nothing else that he could +bring himself to do, and his mood demanded action of some sort; one +could not sit down at peace with a fresh tragedy like that hanging over +the place. +</P> + +<P> +He had reached the stable when a horse walked out from behind the hay +corral and stopped, eyeing him curiously. It was Johnny's horse. Even +as improvident a cowpuncher as Johnny Croft had been likes to own a +"private" horse,—one that is his own and can be ridden when and where +the owner chooses. Lite turned and went over to it, caught it by the +dragging bridle-reins, and led it into an empty stall. He did not know +whether he ought to unsaddle it or leave it as it was; but on second +thought, he loosened the cinch in kindness to the animal, and took off +its bridle, so that it could eat without being hampered by the bit. +Lite was too thorough a horseman not to be thoughtful of an animal's +comfort. +</P> + +<P> +He led his own horse out, and then he stopped abruptly. For Pard stood +in front of the kitchen door, and Jean was untying a package or two +from the saddle. He opened his mouth to call to her; he started +forward; but he was too late to prevent what happened. Before his +throat had made a sound, Jean turned with the packages in the hollow of +her arm and stepped upon the platform with that springy haste of +movement which belongs to health and youth and happiness; and before he +had taken more than the first step away from his horse, she had opened +the kitchen door. +</P> + +<P> +Lite ran, then. He did not call to her. What was the use? She had +seen. She had dropped her packages, and turned and ran to meet him, +and caught him by the arm in a panic of horror. Lite patted her hand +awkwardly, not knowing what he ought to say. +</P> + +<P> +"What made you go in there?" came of its own accord from his lips. +"That's no place for a girl." +</P> + +<P> +"It's Johnny Croft!" she gasped just above her breath. "How—did it +happen, Lite?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," said Lite slowly, looking down and still patting her +hand. "Your father and I have both been gone all day. I just got back +a few minutes ago and found out about it." His tone, his manner and +his words impressed upon Jean the point he wanted her to get,—that her +father had not yet returned, and so knew nothing of the crime. +</P> + +<P> +He led her back to where Pard stood, and told her to get on. Without +asking him why, Jean obeyed him, with a shudder when her wide eyes +strayed fascinated to the open door and to what lay just within. Lite +went up and pulled the door shut, and then, walking beside her with an +arm over Pard's neck, he led the way down to the stable, and mounted +Ranger. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't stay here," he explained, when she looked at him +inquiringly. "Do you want to go over and stay at Carl's, or would you +rather go back to town?" He rode down toward the gate, and Jean kept +beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to stay with dad," she told him shakily. "If he stays, +I'll—I'll stay." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll not stay," he contradicted her bluntly. "You can't. It +wouldn't be right." And he added self-reproachfully: "I never thought +of your cutting across the bench and riding down the trail back of the +house. I meant to head you off—" +</P> + +<P> +"It's shorter," said Jean briefly. "I—if I can't stay, I'd rather go +to town, Lite. I don't like to stay over at Uncle Carl's." +</P> + +<P> +Therefore, when they reached the mouth of the coulee, Lite turned into +the trail that led to town. All down the coulee the trail had been dug +deep with the hoofprints of a galloping horse; and now, on the town +trail, they were as plain as a primer to one schooled in the open. But +Jean was too upset to notice them, and for that Lite was thankful. +They did not talk much, beyond the commonplace speculations which +tragedy always brings to the lips of the bystanders. Comments that +were perfectly obvious they made, it is true. Jean said it was +perfectly awful, and Lite agreed with her. Jean wondered how it could +have happened, and Lite said he didn't know. Neither of them said +anything about the effect it would have upon their future; I don't +suppose that Jean, at least, could remotely guess at the effect. It is +certain that Lite preferred not to do so. +</P> + +<P> +They were no more than half way to town when they met a group of +galloping horsemen, their coming heralded for a mile by the dust they +kicked out of the trail. +</P> + +<P> +In the midst rode Jean's father. Alongside him rode the coroner, and +behind him rode the sheriff. The rest of the company was made up of men +who had heard the news and were coming to look upon the tragedy. Lite +drew a long breath of relief. Aleck Douglas, then, had not been +running away. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CONCERNING LITE AND A FEW FOOTPRINTS +</H3> + +<P> +"Lucky you was with me all day, up to four o'clock, Lite," Jim said. +"That lets you out slick and clean, seeing the doctor claims he'd been +dead six hours when he seen him last night. Crofty—why, Crofty was +laying in there dead when I was talking about him to you! Kinda gives +a man the creeps to think of it. Who do you reckon done it, Lite?" +</P> + +<P> +"How'n hell do <I>I</I> know?" Lite retorted irritably. "I didn't see it +done." +</P> + +<P> +Jim studied awhile, an ear cocked for the signal that the coroner was +ready to begin the inquest. "Say," he leaned over and whispered in +Lite's ear, "where was Aleck at, all day yesterday?" +</P> + +<P> +"Riding over in the bend, looking for black-leg signs," said Lite +promptly. "Packed a lunch, same as I did." +</P> + +<P> +The answer seemed to satisfy Jim and to eliminate from his mind any +slight suspicion he may have held, but Lite had a sudden impulse to +improve upon his statement. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw Aleck ride into the ranch as I was coming home," he said. As he +spoke, his face lightened as with a weight lifted from his mind. +</P> + +<P> +Later, when the coroner questioned him about his movements and the +movements of Aleck, Lite repeated the lie as casually as possible. It +might have carried more weight with the jury if Aleck Douglas himself +had not testified, just before then, that he had returned about three +o'clock to the ranch and pottered around the corral with the mare and +colt, and unsaddled his horse before going into the house at all. It +was only when he had discovered Johnny Croft's horse at the haystack, +he said, that he began to wonder where the rider could be. He had gone +to the house—and found him on the kitchen floor. +</P> + +<P> +Lite had not heard this statement, for the simple reason that, being a +closely interested person, he had been invited to remain outside while +Aleck Douglas testified. He wondered why the jury,—men whom he knew +and had known for years, most of them,—looked at one another so +queerly when he declared that he had seen Aleck ride home. The coroner +also had given him a queer look, but he had not made any comment. +Aleck, too, had turned his head and stared at Lite in a way which Lite +preferred to think he had not understood. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond that one statement which had produced such a curious effect, +Lite did not have anything to say that shed the faintest light upon the +matter. He told where he had been, and that he had discovered the body +just before Jean arrived, and that he had immediately started with her +to town. The coroner did not cross-question him. Counting from four +o'clock, which Jim had already named as the time of their separation, +Lite would have had just about time to do the things he testified to +doing. The only thing he claimed to have done and could not possibly +have done, was to see Aleck Douglas riding into the coulee. Aleck +himself had branded that a lie before Lite had ever uttered it. +</P> + +<P> +The result was just what was to be expected. Aleck Douglas was placed +under arrest, and as a prisoner he rode back to town alongside the +sheriff,—an old friend of his, by the way,—to where Jean waited +impatiently for news. +</P> + +<P> +It was Lite who told her. "It'll come out all right," he said, in his +calm way that might hide a good deal of emotion beneath it. "It's just +to have something to work from,—don't mean anything in particular. +It's a funny way the law has got," he explained, "of arresting the last +man that saw a fellow alive, or the first one that sees him dead." +</P> + +<P> +Jean studied this explanation dolefully. "They ought to find out the +last one that saw him alive," she said resentfully, "and arrest him, +then,—and leave dad out of it. There's no sense in the law, if that's +the way it works." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I didn't make the law," Lite observed, in a tone that made Jean +look up curiously into his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't they find out who saw him last?" she repeated. "Somebody +did. Somebody must have gone there with him. Lite, do you know that +Art Osgood came into town with his horse all in a lather of sweat, and +took the afternoon train yesterday? I saw him. I met him square in +the middle of the street, and he didn't even look at me. He was in a +frightful hurry, and he looked all upset. If I was the law, I'd leave +dad alone and get after Art Osgood. He acted to me," she added +viciously, "exactly as if he were running away!" +</P> + +<P> +"He wasn't, though. Jim told me Art was going to leave yesterday; that +was in the forenoon. He's going to Alaska,—been planning it all +spring. And Carl said he was with Art till Art left to catch the +train. Somebody else from town here had seen him take the train, and +asked about him. No, it wasn't Art." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, who was it, then?" +</P> + +<P> +Never before had Lite failed to tell Jean just what she wanted to know. +He failed now, and he went away as though he was glad to put distance +between them. He did not know what to think. He did not want to think. +Certainly he did not want to talk, to Jean especially. For lies never +came easily to the tongue of Lite Avery. It was all very well to tell +Jean that he didn't know who it was; he did tell her so, and made his +escape before she could read in his face the fear that he did know. It +was not so easy to guard his fear from the keen eyes of his fellows, +with whom he must mingle and discuss the murder, or else pay the +penalty of having them suspect that he knew a great deal more about it +than he admitted. +</P> + +<P> +Several men tried to stop him and talk about it, but he put them off. +He was due at the ranch, he said, to look after the stock. He didn't +know a thing about it, anyway. +</P> + +<P> +Lazy A coulee, when he rode into it, seemed to wear already an air of +depression, foretaste of what was to come. The trail was filled with +hoofprints, and cut deep with the wagon that had borne the dead man to +town and to an unwept burial. At the gate he met Carl Douglas, riding +with his head sunk deep on his chest. Lite would have avoided that +meeting if he could have done so unobtrusively, but as it was, he +pulled up and waited while Carl opened the wire gate and dragged it to +one side. From the look of his face, Carl also would have avoided the +meeting, if he could have done so. He glanced up as Lite passed +through. +</P> + +<P> +"Hell of a verdict," Lite made brief comment when he met Carl's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Carl stopped, leaning against his horse with one hand thrown up to the +saddle-horn. He was a small man, not at all like Aleck in size or in +features. He looked haggard now and white. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you make of it?" he asked Lite. "Do you believe—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I don't! Great question for a brother to ask," Lite +retorted sharply. "It's not in Aleck to do a thing like that." +</P> + +<P> +"What made you say you saw him ride home? You didn't, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You heard what I said; take it or leave it." Lite scowled down at +Carl. "What was there queer about it? Why—" +</P> + +<P> +"If you'd been inside ten minutes before then," Carl told him bluntly, +"you'd have heard Aleck say he came home a full hour or more before you +say you saw him ride in. That's what's queer. What made you do that? +It won't help Aleck none." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Lite slouched miserably in +the saddle, and eyed the other without really seeing him at all. "They +can't prove anything on Aleck," he added with faint hope. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see myself how they can." Carl brightened perceptibly. "His +being alone all day is bad; he can't furnish the alibi you can furnish. +But they can't prove anything. They'll turn him loose, the grand jury +will; they'll have to. They can't indict him on the evidence. They +haven't got any evidence,—not any more than just the fact that he rode +in with the news. No need to worry; he'll be turned loose in a few +days." He picked up the gate, dragged it after him as he went through, +and fumbled the wire loop into place over the post. "I wish," he said +when he had mounted with the gate between them, "you hadn't been so +particular to say you saw him ride home about the same time you did. +That looks bad, Lite." +</P> + +<P> +"Bad for who?" Lite turned in the saddle aggressively. +</P> + +<P> +"Looks bad all around. I don't see what made you do that;—not when +you knew Jim and Aleck had both testified before you did." +</P> + +<P> +Lite rode slowly down the road to the stable, and cursed the impulse +that had made him blunder so. He had no compunctions for the lie, if +only it had done any good. It had done harm; he could see now that it +had. But he could not believe that it would make any material +difference in Aleck's case. As the story had been repeated to Lite by +half a dozen men, who had heard him tell it, Aleck's own testimony had +been responsible for the verdict. +</P> + +<P> +Men had told Lite plainly that Aleck was a fool not to plead +self-defense, even in face of the fact that Johnny Croft had not drawn +any weapon. Jim had declared that Aleck could have sworn that Johnny +reached for his gun. Others admitted voluntarily that while it would +be a pretty weak defense, it would beat the story Aleck had told. +</P> + +<P> +Lite turned the mare and colt into a shed for the night. He milked the +two cows without giving any thought to what he was doing, and carried +the milk to the kitchen door before he realized that it would be +wasted, sitting in pans when the house would be empty. Still, it +occurred to him that he might as well go on with the routine of the +place until they knew to a certainty what the grand jury would do. So +he went in and put away the milk. +</P> + +<P> +After that, Lite let other work wait while he cleaned the kitchen and +tried to wash out that brown stain on the floor. His face was moody, +his eyes dull with trouble. Like a treadmill, his mind went over and +over the meager knowledge he had of the tragedy. He could not bring +himself to believe Aleck Douglas guilty of the murder; yet he could not +believe anything else. +</P> + +<P> +Johnny Croft, it had been proven at the inquest, rode out from town +alone, bent on mischief, if vague, half-drunken threats meant anything. +He had told more than one that he was going to the Lazy A, but it was +certain that no one had followed him from town. His threats had been +for the most part directed against Carl, it is true; but if he had +meant to quarrel with Carl, he would have gone to the Bar Nothing +instead of the Lazy A. Probably he had meant to see both Carl and +Aleck, and had come here first, since it was the nearest to town. +</P> + +<P> +As to enemies, no one had particularly liked Johnny. He was not a +likeable sort; he was too "mouthy" according to his associates. He had +quarreled with a good many for slight cause, but since he was so +notoriously blatant and argumentative, no one had taken him seriously +enough to nurse any grudge that would be likely to breed assassination. +It was inconceivable to Lite that any man had trailed Johnny Croft to +the Lazy A and shot him down in the kitchen while he was calmly helping +himself to Jean's gingerbread. Still, he must take that for granted or +else believe what he steadfastly refused to confess even to himself +that he believed. +</P> + +<P> +It was nearly dark when he threw out the last pail of water and stood +looking down dissatisfied at the result of his labor, while he dried +his hands. The stain was still there, in spite of him, just as the +memory of the murder would cling always to the place. He went out and +watered Jean's poppies and sweet peas and pansies, still going over and +over the evidence and trying to fill in the gaps. +</P> + +<P> +He had blundered with his lie that had meant to help. The lie had +proven to every man who heard him utter it that his faith in Aleck's +innocence was not strong; it had proven that he did not trust the +facts. That hurt Lite, and made it seem more than ever his task to +clear up the matter, if he could. If he could not, then he would make +amends in whatever way he might. +</P> + +<P> +Almost as if he were guarding that gruesome room which was empty now +and silent,—since the clock had not been wound and had run down,—he +sat long upon the narrow platform before the kitchen door and smoked +and stared straight before him. Once he thought he saw a man move +cautiously from the corner of the shed where the youngest calf slept +beside its mother, He had been thinking so deeply of other things that +he was not sure, but he went down there, his cigarette glowing in the +gloom, and stood looking and listening. +</P> + +<P> +He neither saw nor heard anything, and presently he went back to the +house; but his abstraction was broken by the fancy, so that he did not +sit down again to smoke and think. He had thought until his brain felt +heavy and stupid; and the last cigarette he lighted; he threw away, for +he had smoked until his tongue was sore. He went in and went to bed. +</P> + +<P> +For a long time he lay awake. Finally he dropped into a sleep so heavy +that it was nearer to a torpor, and it was the sunlight that awoke him; +sunlight that was warm in the room and proved how late the morning was. +He swore in his astonishment and got up hastily, a great deal more +optimistic than when he had lain down, and hurried out to feed the +stock before he boiled coffee and fried eggs for himself. +</P> + +<P> +It was when he went in to cook his belated breakfast that Lite noticed +something which had no logical explanation. There were footprints on +the kitchen floor that he had scrubbed so diligently. He stood looking +at them, much as he had looked at the stain that would not come out, no +matter how hard he scrubbed. He had not gone in the room after he had +pulled the door shut and gone off to water Jean's dowers. He was +positive upon that point; and even if he had gone in, his tracks would +scarcely have led straight across the room to the cupboard where the +table dishes were kept. +</P> + +<P> +The tracks led to the cupboard, and were muddled confusedly there, as +though the maker had stood there for some minutes. Lite could not see +any sense in that. They were very distinct, just as footprints always +show plainly on clean boards. The floor had evidently been moist +still,—Lite had scrubbed man-fashion, with a broom, and had not been +very particular about drying the floor afterwards. Also he had thrown +the water straight out from the door, and the fellow must have stepped +on the moist sand that clung to his boots. In the dark he could not +notice that, or see that he had left tracks on the floor. +</P> + +<P> +Lite went to the cupboard and looked inside it, wondering what the man +could have wanted there. It was one of those old-fashioned "safes" +such as our grandmothers considered indispensable in the furnishing of +a kitchen. It held the table dishes neatly piled: dinner plates at the +end of the middle shelf, smaller plates next, then a stack of +saucers,—the arrangement stereotyped, unvarying since first Lite Avery +had taken dishtowel in hand to dry the dishes for Jean when she was ten +and stood upon a footstool so that her elbows would be higher than the +rim of the dishpan. The cherry-blossom dinner set that had come from +the mail-order house long ago was chipped now and incomplete, but the +familiar rows gave Lite an odd sense of the unreality of the tragedy +that had so lately taken place in that room. +</P> + +<P> +Clearly there was nothing there to tempt a thief, and there was nothing +disturbed. Lite straightened up and looked down thoughtfully upon the +top of the cupboard, where Jean had stacked out-of-date newspapers and +magazines, and where Aleck had laid a pair of extra gloves. He pulled +out the two small drawers just under the cupboard top and looked within +them. The first held pipes and sacks of tobacco and books of cigarette +papers; Lite knew well enough the contents of that drawer. He +appraised the supply of tobacco, remembered how much had been there on +the morning of the murder, and decided that none had been taken. He +helped himself to a fresh ten-cent sack of tobacco and inspected the +other drawer. +</P> + +<P> +Here were merchants' bills, a few letters of no consequence, a couple +of writing tablets, two lead pencils, and a steel pen and a squat +bottle of ink. This was called the writing-drawer, and had been since +Lite first came to the ranch. Here Lite believed the confusion was +recent. Jean had been very domestic since her return from school, and +all disorder had been frowned upon. Lately the letters had been +stacked in a corner, whereas now they were scattered. But they were of +no consequence, once they had been read, and there was nothing else to +merit attention from any one. +</P> + +<P> +Lite looked down at the tracks and saw that they led into another room, +which was Aleck's bedroom. He went in there, but he could not find any +reason for a night-prowler's visit. Aleck's desk was always open. +There was never anything there which he wanted to hide away. His +account books and his business correspondence, such as it was, lay +accessible to the curious. There was nothing intricate or secret about +the running of the Lazy A ranch; nothing that should interest any one +save the owner. +</P> + +<P> +It occurred to Lite that incriminating evidence is sometimes placed +surreptitiously in a suspected man's desk. He had heard of such things +being done. He could not imagine what evidence might be placed here by +any one, but he made a thorough search. He did not find anything that +remotely concerned the murder. +</P> + +<P> +He looked through the living-room, and even opened the door which led +from the kitchen into Jean's room, which had been built on to the rest +of the house a few years before. He could not find any excuse for +those footprints. +</P> + +<P> +He cooked and ate his breakfast absent-mindedly, glancing often down at +the footprints on the floor, and occasionally at the brown stain in the +center. He decided that he would not say anything about those tracks. +He would keep his eyes open and his mouth shut, and see what came of it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WHAT A MAN'S GOOD NAME IS WORTH +</H3> + +<P> +You would think that the bare word of a man who has lived uprightly in +a community for fifteen years or so would be believed under oath, even +if his whole future did depend upon it. You would think that Aleck +Douglas could not be convicted of murder just because he had reported +that a man was shot down in Aleck's house. +</P> + +<P> +The report of Aleck Douglas' trial is not the main feature of this +story; it is merely the commencement, one might say. Therefore, I am +going to be brief as I can and still give you a clear idea of the +situation, and then I am going to skip the next three years and begin +where the real story begins. +</P> + +<P> +Aleck's position was dishearteningly simple, and there was nothing much +that one could do to soften the facts or throw a new light on the +murder. Lite watched, wide awake and eager, many a night for the +return of that prowler, but he never saw or heard a thing that gave him +any clue whatever. So the footprints seemed likely to remain the +mystery they had seemed on the morning when he discovered them. He +laid traps, pretending to ride away from the ranch to town before dark, +and returning cautiously by way of the trail down the bluff behind the +house. But nothing came of it. Lazy A ranch was keeping its secret +well, and by the time the trial was begun, Lite had given up hope. Once +he believed the house had been visited in the daytime, during his +absence in town, but he could not be sure of that. +</P> + +<P> +Jean went to Chinook and stayed there, so that Lite saw her seldom. +Carl also was away much of the time, trying by every means he could +think of to swing public opinion and the evidence in Aleck's favor. He +prevailed upon Rossman, who was Montana's best-known lawyer, to defend +the case, for one thing. He seemed to pin his faith almost wholly upon +Rossman, and declared to every one that Aleck would never be convicted. +It would be, he maintained, impossible to convict him, with Rossman +handling the case; and he always added the statement that you can't +send an innocent man to jail, if things are handled right. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps he did not, after all, handle things right. For in spite of +Rossman, and Aleck's splendid reputation, and the meager evidence +against him, he was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to eight +years in Deer Lodge penitentiary. +</P> + +<P> +Rossman had made a great speech, and had made men in the jury blink +back unshed tears. But he could not shake from them the belief that +Aleck Douglas had ridden home and met Johnny Croft, calmly making +himself at home in the Lazy A kitchen. He could not convince them that +there had not been a quarrel, and that Aleck had not fired the shot in +the grip of a sudden, overwhelming rage against Croft. By Aleck's own +statement he had been at the ranch some time before he had started for +town to report the murder. By the word of several witnesses, it had +been proven that Croft had left town meaning to collect wages which he +claimed were due him or else he would "get even." His last words to a +group out by the hitching pole in front of the saloon which was +Johnny's hangout, were: "I'm going to get what's coming to me, or +there'll be one fine, large bunch of trouble!" He had not mentioned +Aleck Douglas by name, it is true; but the fact that he had been found +at the Lazy A was proof enough that he had referred to Aleck when he +spoke. +</P> + +<P> +There is no means of knowing just how far-reaching was the effect of +that impulsive lie which Lite had told at the inquest. He did not +repeat the blunder at the trial. When the district attorney reminded +Lite of the statement he had made, Lite had calmly explained that he +had made a mistake; he should have said that he had seen Aleck ride +away from the ranch instead of to it. Beyond that he would not go, +question him as they might. +</P> + +<P> +The judge sentenced Aleck to eight years, and publicly regretted the +fact that Aleck had persisted in asserting his innocence; had he +pleaded guilty instead, the judge more than hinted, the sentence would +have been made as light as the law would permit. It was the stubborn +denial of the deed in the face of all reason, he said, that went far +toward weaning from the prisoner what sympathy he would otherwise have +commanded from the public and the court of justice. +</P> + +<P> +You know how those things go. There was nothing particularly out of +the ordinary in the case; we read of such things in the paper, and a +paragraph or two is considered sufficient space to give so commonplace +a happening. +</P> + +<P> +But there was Lite, loyal to his last breath in the face of his secret +belief that Aleck was probably guilty; loyal and blaming himself +bitterly for hurting Aleck's cause when he had meant only to help. +There was Jean, dazed by the magnitude of the catastrophe that had +overtaken them all; clinging to Lite as to the only part of her home +that was left to her, steadfastly refusing to believe that they would +actually take her dad away to prison, until the very last minute when +she stood on the crowded depot platform and watched in dry-eyed misery +while the train slid away and bore him out of her life. These things +are not put in the papers. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, Jean." Lite took her by the arm and swung her away from the +curious crowd which she did not see. "You're my girl now, and I'm +going to start right in using my authority. I've got Pard here in the +stable. You go climb into your riding-clothes, and we'll hit it outa +this darned burg where every man and his dog has all gone to eyes and +tongues. They make me sick. Come on." +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" Jean held back a little with vague stubbornness against the +thought of taking up life again without her dad. "This—this is the +jumping-off place, Lite. There's nothing beyond." +</P> + +<P> +Lite gripped her arm a little tighter if anything, and led her across +the street and down the high sidewalk that bridged a swampy tract at +the edge of town beyond the depot. +</P> + +<P> +"We're taking the long way round," he observed "because I'm going to +talk to you like a Dutch uncle for saying things like that. I—had a +talk with your dad last night, Jean. He's turned you over to me to +look after till he gets back. I wish he coulda turned the ranch over, +along with you, but he couldn't. That's been signed over to Carl, +somehow; I didn't go into that with your dad; we didn't have much time. +Seems Carl put up the money to pay Rossman,—and other things,—and +took over the ranch to square it. Anyway, I haven't got anything to +say about the business end of the deal. I've got permission to boss +you, though, and I'm sure going to do it to a fare-you-well." He cast a +sidelong glance down at her. He could not see anything of her face +except the droop of her mouth, a bit of her cheek, and her chin that +promised firmness. Her mouth did not change expression in the slightest +degree until she moved her lips in speech. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care. What is there to boss me about? The world has stopped." +Her voice was steady, and it was also sullen. +</P> + +<P> +"Right there is where the need of bossing begins. You can't stay in +town any longer. There's nothing here to keep you from going crazy; +and the Allens are altogether too sympathetic; nice folks, and they +mean well,—but you don't want a bunch like that slopping around, +crying all over you and keeping you in mind of things. I'm going to +work for Carl, from now on. You're going out there to the Bar +Nothing—" He felt a stiffening of the muscles under his fingers, and +answered calmly the signal of rebellion. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure, that's the place for you. Your dad and Carl fixed that up +between them, anyway. That's to be your home; so my saying so is just +an extra rope to bring you along peaceable. You're going to stay at +the Bar Nothing. And I'm going to make a top hand outa you, Jean. I'm +going to teach you to shoot and rope and punch cows and ride, till +there won't be a girl in the United States to equal you." +</P> + +<P> +"What for?" Jean still had an air of sullen apathy. "That won't help +dad any." +</P> + +<P> +"It'll start the world moving again." Lite forced himself to +cheerfulness in the face of his own despondency. "You say it's +stopped. It's us that have stopped. We've come to a blind pocket, you +might say, in the trail we've been taking through life. We've got to +start in a new place, that's all. Now, I know you're dead game, Jean; +at least I know you used to be, and I'm gambling on school not taking +that outa you. You're maybe thinking about going away off somewhere +among strangers; but that wouldn't do at all. Your dad always counted +on keeping you away from town life. I'm just going to ride herd on +you, Jean, and see to it that you go on the way your dad wanted you to +go. He can't be on the job, and so I'm what you might call his +foreman. I know how he wants you to grow up; I'm going to make it my +business to grow you according to directions." +</P> + +<P> +He saw a little quirk of her lips, at that, and was vastly encouraged +thereby. +</P> + +<P> +"Has it struck you that you're liable to have your hands full?" she +asked him with a certain drawl that Jean had possessed since she first +learned to express herself in words. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure! I'll likely have both hand and my hat full of trouble. But +she's going to be done according to contract. I reckon I'll wish you +was a bronk before I'm through—" +</P> + +<P> +"What maddens me so that I could run amuck down this street, shooting +everybody I saw," Jean flared out suddenly, "is the sickening injustice +of it. Dad never did that; you know he never did it." She turned upon +him fiercely. "Do you think he did?" she demanded, her eyes boring +into his. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, that's a bright question to be asking me, ain't it?" Lite +rebuked. "That's a real bright, sensible question, I must say! I +reckon you ought to be stood in the corner for that,—but I'll let it +go this time. Only don't never spring anything like that again." +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked ashamed. "I could doubt God Himself, right now," she +gritted through her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, don't doubt me, unless you want a scrap on your hands," Lite +warned. "I'm sure ashamed of you. We'll stop here at the stable and +get the horses. You can ride sideways as far as the Allens', and get +your riding-skirt and come on. The sooner you are on top of a horse, +the quicker you're going to come outa that state of mind." +</P> + +<P> +It was pitifully amusing to see Lite Avery attempt to bully any +one,—especially Jean,—who might almost be called Lite's religion. +The idea of that long, lank cowpuncher whose shyness was so ingrained +that it had every outward appearance of being a phlegmatic coldness, +assuming the duties of Jean's dad and undertaking to see that she grew +up according to directions, would have been funny, if he had not been +so absolutely in earnest. +</P> + +<P> +His method of comforting her and easing her through the first stage of +black despair was unorthodox, but it was effective. Because she was +too absorbed in her own misery to combat him openly, he got her started +toward the Bar Nothing and away from the friends whose enervating pity +was at that time the worst influence possible. He set the pace, and he +set it for speed. The first mile they went at a sharp gallop that was +not far from a run, and the horses were breathing heavily when he +pulled up, well out of sight of the town, and turned to the girl. +</P> + +<P> +There was color in her cheeks, and the dullness was gone from her eyes +when she returned his glance inquiringly. The droop of her lips was no +longer the droop of a weak yielding to sorrow, but rather the beginning +of a brave facing of the future. Lite managed a grin that did not look +forced. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll make a real range hand outa you yet," he announced confidently. +"You remember the roping and shooting science I taught you before you +went off to school? You're going to start right in where you left off +and learn all I know and some besides. I'll make a lady of you +yet,—darned if I don't." +</P> + +<P> +At that Jean laughed unexpectedly. Lite drew a long breath of relief. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JEAN +</H3> + +<P> +The still loneliness of desertion held fast the clutter of sheds and +old stables roofed with dirt and rotting hay. The melancholy of +emptiness hung like an invisible curtain before the sprawling house +with warped, weather-blackened shingles, and sagging window-frames. +You felt the silence when first you sighted the ranch buildings from +the broad mouth of the Lazy A coulee,—the broad mouth that yawned +always at the narrow valley and the undulations of the open range, and +the purple line of mountains beyond. You felt it more strongly when you +rode up to the gate of barbed-wire, spliced here and there, and having +an unexpected stubbornness to harry the patience of men who would pass +through it in haste. You grew unaccountably depressed if you rode on +past the stables and corrals to the house, where the door was closed +but never locked, and opened with a squeal of rusty hinges, if you +turned the brown earthenware knob and at the same instant pressed +sharply with your knee against the paintless panel. +</P> + +<P> +You might notice the brown spot on the kitchen door where a man had +died; you might notice the brown spot, but unless you had been told the +grim story of the Lazy A, you would never guess the spot was a +bloodstain. Even though you guessed and shuddered, you would forget it +presently in the amazement with which you opened the door beyond and +looked in upon a room where the chill atmosphere of the whole place +could find no lodgment. +</P> + +<P> +This was Jean's room, held sacred to her own needs and uses, in +defiance of the dreariness that compassed it close. A square of old +rag carpet covered the center of the floor, and beyond its border the +warped boards were painted a dull, pale green. The walls were ugly +with a cheap, flowered paper that had done its best to fade into +inoffensive neutral tints. Jean had helped, where she could, by +covering the intricate rose pattern with old prints cut from magazines +and with cheap, pretty souvenirs gleaned here and there and hoarded +jealously. And there were books, which caught the eyes and held them +even to forgetfulness of the paper. +</P> + +<P> +You would laugh at Jean's room. Just at first you would laugh; after +that you would want to cry, or pat Jean on her hard-muscled, capable +shoulder; but if you knew Jean at all, you would not do either. First +you would notice an old wooden cradle, painted blue, that stood in a +corner. A button-eyed, blank-faced rag doll, the size of a baby at the +fist-sucking age, was tucked neatly under the red-and-white patchwork +quilt made to fit the cradle. Hanging directly over the cradle by a +stirrup was Jean's first saddle,—a cheap pigskin affair with harsh +straps and buckles, that her father had sent East for. Jean never had +liked that saddle, even when it was new. She used to stand perfectly +still while her father buckled it on the little buckskin pony she rode; +and she would laugh when he picked her up and tossed her into the seat. +She would throw her dad a kiss and go galloping off down the +trail,—but when she was quite out of sight around the bend of the +bench-land, she would stop and take the saddle off, and hide it in a +certain clump of wild currant bushes, and continue her journey +bareback. A kit-fox found it one day; that is how the edge of the +cantle came to have that queer, chewed look. +</P> + +<P> +There was an old, black wooden rocker with an oval picture of a ship +under full sail, just where Jean's brown head rested when she leaned +back and stared big-eyed down the coulee to the hills beyond. There +was an old-fashioned work-basket always full of stockings that never +were mended, and a crumpled dresser scarf which Jean had begun to +hemstitch more than a year ago in a brief spasm of domesticity. There +were magazines everywhere; and you may be sure that Jean had read them +all, even to the soap advertisements and the sanitary kitchens and the +vacuum cleaners. There was an old couch with a coarse, Navajo rug +thrown over it, and three or four bright cushions that looked much +used. And there were hair macartas and hackamores, and two pairs of +her father's old spurs, and her father's stock saddle and chaps and +slicker and hat; and a jelly glass half full of rattlesnake rattles, +and her mother's old checked sunbonnet,—the kind with pasteboard +"slats." Half the "slats" were broken. There was a guitar and an old, +old sewing machine with a reloading shotgun outfit spread out upon it. +There was a desk made of boxes, and on the desk lay a shot-loaded quirt +that more than one rebellious cow-horse knew to its sorrow. There was +a rawhide lariat that had parted its strands in a tussle with a +stubborn cow. Jean meant to fix the broken end of the longest piece +and use it for a tie-rope, some day when she had time, and thought of +it. +</P> + +<P> +Somewhere in the desk were verses which Jean had written,—dozens of +them, and not nearly as bad as you might think. Jean laughed at them +after they were written; but she never burned them, and she never spoke +of them to any one but Lite, who listened with fixed attention and a +solemn appreciation when she read them to him. +</P> + +<P> +On the whole, the room was contradictory. But Jean herself was +somewhat contradictory, and the place fitted her. Here was where she +spent those hours when her absence from the Bar Nothing was left +unexplained to any one save Lite. Here was where she drew into her +shell, when her Uncle Carl made her feel more than usually an +interloper; or when her Aunt Ella's burden of complaints and worry and +headaches grew just a little too much for Jean. +</P> + +<P> +She never opened the door into the kitchen. There was another just +beyond the sewing-machine, that gave an intimate look into the face of +the bluff which formed that side of the coulee wall. There were +hollyhocks along the path that led to this door, and stunted rosebushes +which were kept alive with much mysterious assistance in the way of +water and cultivation. There was a little spring just under the foot +of the bluff, where the trail began to climb; and some young alders +made a shady nook there which Jean found pleasant on a hot day. +</P> + +<P> +The rest of the house might be rat-ridden and desolate. The coulee +might wear always the look of emptiness; but here, under the bluff by +the spring, and in the room Jean called hers, one felt the air of +occupancy that gave the lie to all around it. +</P> + +<P> +When she rode around the bold, out-thrust shoulder of the hill which +formed the western rim of the coulee, and went loping up the trail to +where the barbed-wire gate stopped her, you would have said that Jean +had not a trouble to call her own. She wore her old gray Stetson +pretty well over one eye because of the sun-glare, and she was riding +on one stirrup and letting the other foot swing free, and she was +whirling her quirt round and round, cartwheel fashion, and whistling an +air that every one knows,—and putting in certain complicated +variations of her own. +</P> + +<P> +At the gate she dismounted without ever missing a note, gave the warped +stake a certain twist and jerk which loosened the wire loop so that she +could slip it easily over the post, passed through and dragged the gate +with her, dropping it flat upon the ground beside the trail. There was +no stock anywhere in the coulee, and she would save a little trouble by +leaving the gate open until she came out on her way home. She stepped +aside to inspect the meadow lark's nest cunningly hidden under a wild +rosebush, and then mounted and went on to the stable, still whistling +carelessly. +</P> + +<P> +She turned Pard into the shed where she invariably left him when she +came to the Lazy A, and went on up the grass-grown path to the house. +She had the preoccupied air of one who meditates deeply upon things +apart; as a matter of fact, she had glanced down the coulee to its +wide-open mouth, and had thrilled briefly at the wordless beauty of the +green spread of the plain and the hazy blue sweep of the mountains, and +had come suddenly into the poetic mood. She had even caught a +phrase,—"The lazy line of the watchful hills," it was,—and she was +trying to fit it into a verse, and to find something beside "rills" +that would rhyme with "hills." +</P> + +<P> +She followed the path absent-mindedly to where she would have to turn +at the corner of the kitchen and go around to the door of her own room; +and until she came to the turn she did not realize what was jarring +vaguely and yet insistently upon her mood. Then she knew; and she +stopped full and stared down at the loose sand just before the warped +kitchen steps. There were footprints in the path,—alien footprints; +and they pointed toward that forbidden door into the kitchen of +gruesome memory. Jean looked up frowning, and saw that the door had +been opened and closed again carelessly. And upon the top step, strange +feet had pressed a little caked earth carried from the trail where she +stood. There were the small-heeled, pointed prints of a woman's foot, +and there were the larger tracks of a man,—a man of the town. +</P> + +<P> +Jean stood with her quirt dangling loosely from her wrist and glanced +back toward the stables and down the coulee. She completely forgot +that she wanted a rhyme for "hills." What were towns people doing +here? And how did they get here? They had not ridden up the coulee; +there were no tracks through the gate; and besides, these were not the +prints of riding-boots. +</P> + +<P> +She twitched her shoulders and went around to the door leading into her +own room. The door stood wide open when it should have been closed. +Inside there were evidences of curious inspection. She went hot with +an unreasoning anger when she saw the wide-open door into the kitchen; +first of all she went over and closed that door, her lips pressed +tightly together. To her it was as though some wanton hand had forced +up the lid of a coffin where slept her dead. She stood with her back +against the door and looked around the room, breathing quickly. She +felt the woman's foolish amusement at the old cradle with the rag doll +tucked under the patchwork quilt, and at her pitiful attempts at +adorning the tawdry walls. Without having seen more than the prints of +her shoes in the path, Jean hated the woman who had blundered in here +and had looked and laughed. She hated the man who had come with the +woman. +</P> + +<P> +She went over to her desk and stood staring at the litter. A couple of +sheets of cheap tablet paper, whereon Jean had scribbled some verses of +the range, lay across the quirt she had forgotten on her last trip. +They had prowled among the papers, even! They had respected nothing of +hers, had considered nothing sacred from their inquisitiveness. Jean +picked up the paper and read the verses through, and her cheeks +reddened slowly. +</P> + +<P> +Then she discovered something else that turned them white with fresh +anger. Jean had an old ledger wherein she kept a sporadic kind of a +diary which she had entitled "More or Less the Record of my Sins." She +did not write anything in it unless she felt like doing so; when she +did, she wrote just exactly what she happened to think and feel at the +time, and she had never gone back and read what was written there. Some +one else had read, however; at least the book had been pulled out of +its place and inspected, along with her other personal belongings. +Jean had pressed the first wind-flowers of the season between the pages +where she had done her last scribbling, and these were crumpled and two +petals broken, so she knew that the book had been opened carelessly and +perhaps read with that same brainless laughter. +</P> + +<P> +She did not say anything. She straightened the wind-flowers as best +she could, put the book back where it belonged, and went outside, and +down to a lop-sided shack which might pass anywhere as a junk-shop. +She found some nails and a hammer, and after a good deal of rummaging +and some sneezing because of the dust she raised whenever she moved a +pile of rubbish, she found a padlock with a key in it. More dusty +search produced a hasp and some staples, and then she went back and +nailed two planks across the door which opened into the kitchen. After +that she fastened the windows shut with nails driven into the casing +just above the lower sashes, and cracked the outer door with +twelve-penny nails which she clinched on the inside with vicious blows +of the hammer, so that the hasp could not be taken off without a good +deal of trouble. She had pulled a great staple off the door of a +useless box-stall, and when she had driven it in so deep that she could +scarcely force the padlock into place over the hasp, and had put the +key in her pocket, she felt in a measure protected from future +prowlers. As a final hint, however, she went back to the shop and +mixed some paint with lampblack and oil, and lettered a thin board +which she afterwards carried up and nailed firmly across the outside +kitchen door. Hammer in hand she backed away and read the words +judicially, her head tilted sidewise: +</P> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> + ONLY SNEAKS GO WHERE THEY ARE NOT WANTED.<BR> + ARE YOU A SNEAK?<BR> +</H4> + +<BR> + +<P> +The hint was plain enough. She took the hammer back to the shop and +led Pard out of the stable and down to the gate, her eyes watching +suspiciously the trail for tracks of trespassers. She closed the gate +so thoroughly with baling wire twisted about a stake that the next +comer would have troubles of his own in getting it open again. She +mounted and went away down the trail, sitting straight in the saddle, +both feet in the stirrups, head up, and hat pulled firmly down to her +very eyebrows, glances going here and there, alert, antagonistic. No +whistling this time of rag-time tunes with queer little variations of +her own; no twirling of the quirt; instead Pard got the feel of it in a +tender part of the flank, and went clean over a narrow washout that +could have been avoided quite easily. No groping for rhythmic +phrasings to fit the beauty of the land she lived in; Jean was in the +mood to combat anything that came in her way. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JEAN RIDES INTO A SMALL ADVENTURE +</H3> + +<P> +At the mouth of the coulee, she turned to the left instead of to the +right, and so galloped directly away from the Bar Nothing ranch, down +the narrow valley known locally as the Flat, and on to the hills that +invited her with their untroubled lights and shadows and the deep scars +she knew for canyons. +</P> + +<P> +There were no ranches out this way. The land was too broken and too +barren for anything but grazing, so that she felt fairly sure of having +her solitude unspoiled by anything human. Solitude was what she +wanted. Solitude was what she had counted upon having in that little +room at the Lazy A; robbed of it there, she rode straight to the hills, +where she was most certain of finding it. +</P> + +<P> +And then she came up out of a hollow upon a little ridge and saw three +horsemen down in the next coulee. They were not close enough so that +she could distinguish their features, but by the horses they rode, by +the swing of their bodies in the saddles, by all those little, +indefinable marks by which we recognize acquaintances at a distance, +Jean knew them for strangers. She pulled up and watched them, puzzled +for a minute at their presence and behavior. +</P> + +<P> +When first she discovered them, they were driving a small bunch of +cattle, mostly cows and calves, down out of a little "draw" to the +level bottom of the narrow coulee. While she watched, herself screened +effectually by a clump of bushes, she saw one rider leave the cattle +and gallop out into the open, stand there looking toward the mouth of +the coulee, and wave his hand in a signal for the others to advance. +This looked queer to Jean, accustomed all her life to seeing men go +calmly about their business upon the range, careless of observation +because they had nothing to conceal. She urged Pard a little nearer, +keeping well behind the bushes still, and leaned forward over the +saddle horn, watching the men closely. +</P> + +<P> +Their next performance was enlightening, but incredibly bold for the +business they were engaged in. One of the three got off his horse and +started a little fire of dry sticks under a convenient ledge. Another +untied the rope from his saddle, widened the loop, swung it twice over +his head and flipped it neatly over the head of a calf. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not wait to see any more than that; she did not need to see +any more to know them for "rustlers." Brazen rustlers, indeed, to go +about their work in broad daylight like that. She was not sure as to +the ownership of the calf, but down here was where the Bar Nothing +cattle, and what few were left of the Lazy A, ranged while the feed was +good in the spring, so that the probabilities were that this theft +would strike rather close home. Whether it did or not, Jean was not +one to ride away and leave range thieves calmly at work. +</P> + +<P> +She turned back behind the bushy screen, rode hastily along the ridge +to the head of the little coulee and dismounted, leading Pard down a +steep bank that was treacherous with loose shale. The coulee was more +or less open, but it had convenient twists and windings; and if you +think that Jean failed to go down it quietly and unseen, that merely +proves how little you know Jean. +</P> + +<P> +She hurried as much as she dared. She knew that the rustlers would be +in something of a hurry themselves, and she very much desired to ride +on them unawares and catch them at that branding, so that there would +be no shadow of a doubt of their guilt. What she would do after she +had ridden upon them, she did not quite know. +</P> + +<P> +So she came presently around the turn that revealed them to her. They +were still fussing with the calf,—or it may have been another +one,—and did not see her until she was close upon them. When they did +see her, she had them covered with her 38-caliber six-shooter, that she +usually carried with her on the chance of getting a shot at a coyote or +a fox or something like that. +</P> + +<P> +The three stood up and stared at her, their jaws sagging a little at +the suddenness of her appearance, and their eyes upon the gun. Jean +held it steady, and she had all the look of a person who knew exactly +what she meant, and who meant business. She eyed them curiously, +noting the fact that they were strangers, and cowboys,—though of a +type that she had never seen on the range. She glanced sharply at the +beaded, buckskin jacket of one of them, and the high, wide-brimmed +sombrero of another. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," she said at length, "turn your backs, you've had a good look at +me. Turn—your—backs, I said. Now, drop those guns on the ground. +Walk straight ahead of you till you come to that bank. You needn't +look around; I'm still here." +</P> + +<P> +She leaned a little, sending Pard slowly forward until he was close to +the six-shooters lying on the ground. She glanced down at them +quickly, and again at the men who stood, an uneasy trio, with their +faces toward the wall, except when they ventured a glance sidewise or +back at her over one shoulder. She glanced at the cattle huddled in +the narrow mouth of the "draw" behind them, and saw that they were +indeed Bar Nothing and Lazy A stock. The horses the three had been +riding she did not remember to have seen before. +</P> + +<P> +Jean hesitated, not quite knowing what she ought to do next. So far +she had acted merely upon instincts born of her range life and +training; the rest would not be so easy. She knew she ought to have +those guns, at any rate, so she dismounted, still keeping the three in +line with her own weapon, and went to where the revolvers lay on the +ground. With her boot toe she kicked them close together, and stooped +and picked one up. The last man in the line turned toward her +protestingly, and Jean fired so close to his head that he ducked. +</P> + +<P> +"Believe me, I could kill the three of you if I wanted to, before you +could turn around," she informed them calmly, "so you had better stand +still till I tell you to move." She frowned down at the rustler's gun +in her hand. There was something queer about that gun. +</P> + +<P> +"Hey, Burns," called the man in the middle, without venturing to turn +his head, "come out of there and explain to the lady. This ain't in +the scene!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, it is!" a voice retorted chucklingly. "You bet your life this +is in the scene! Lowry's been pamming it all in; don't you worry about +that!" Jean was startled, but she did not lower her gun from its steady +aiming at the three of them. It was just some trick, very likely, +meant to throw her off her guard. There were more than the three, and +the fourth man probably had her covered with a gun. But she would not +turn her head toward his voice, for all that. +</P> + +<P> +"The gentleman called Burns may walk out into the open and explain, if +he can," she announced sharply, her eyes upon the three whom she had +captured so easily. +</P> + +<P> +She heard the throaty chuckle again, from somewhere to the left of her. +She saw the three men in front of her look at each other with sickly +grins. She felt that the whole situation was swinging against +her,—that she had somehow blundered and made herself ridiculous. It +never occurred to her that she was in any particular danger; men did +not shoot down women in that country, unless they were drunk or crazy, +and the man called Burns had sounded extremely sane, humorous even. +She heard a rattle of bushes and the soft crunching of footsteps coming +toward her. Still she would not turn her head, nor would she lower the +gun; if it was a trick, they should not say that it had been successful. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right, sister," said the chuckling voice presently, almost at +her elbow. "This isn't any real, honest-to-John bandit party. We're +just movie people, and we're making pictures. That's all." He +stopped, but Jean did not move or make any reply whatever, so he went +on. "I must say I appreciate the compliment you paid us in taking it +for the real dope, sister—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't call me sister again." Jean flashed him a sidelong glance of +resentment. "You've already done it twice too often. Come around in +front where I can see you, if you're what you claim to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, don't shoot, and I will," soothed the chuckling voice. "My, my, +it certainly is a treat to see a real, live Prairie Queen once. Beats +making them to order—" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll omit the superfluous chatter, please." Jean looked him over and +tagged him mentally with one glance. He did not look like a +rustler,—with his fat good-nature and his town-bred personality, and +his gray tweed suit and pigskin puttees, and the big cameo ring on his +manicured little finger, and his fresh-shaven face as round as the sun +above his head and almost as cheerful. Perfectly harmless, but Jean +would not yield to the extent of softening her glance or her manner one +hundredth of a degree. The more harmless these people, the more +ridiculous she had made herself appear. +</P> + +<P> +The chuckly one grinned and removed his soft gray hat, held it against +his generous equator, and bowed so low as to set him puffing a little +afterward. His eyes, however, appraised her shrewdly. +</P> + +<P> +"Omitting all superfluous chatter, as you suggest, I am Robert Grant +Burns, of the Great Western Film Company. These men are also members +of that company. We are here for the purpose of making Western +pictures, and this little bit of unlawful branding of stock which you +were flattering enough to mistake for the real thing, is merely a scene +which we were making." He was about to indulge in what he would have +termed a little "kidding" of the girl, but wisely refrained after +another shrewd reading of her face. +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked at the three men, who had taken it for granted that they +might leave their intimate study of the clay bank and were coming +toward her. She looked at the gun she had picked up from the +ground,—being loaded with blank cartridges was what had made it look +so queer!—and at Robert Grant Burns of the Great Western Film Company, +who had put on his hat again and was studying her the way he was wont +to study applicants for a position in his company. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you get permission to haze our cattle around like this?" she asked +abruptly, to hide how humiliated she really felt. +</P> + +<P> +"Why—no. Just for a few scenes, I did not consider it necessary." +Plainly, the chuckly Mr. Burns was taken at a disadvantage. +</P> + +<P> +"But it is necessary. Don't make the mistake, Mr. Burns, of thinking +this country and all it contains is at the disposal of any chance +stranger, just because we do not keep it under lock and key. You are +making rather free with another man's personal property, when you use +my uncle's cattle for your rustling scenes." +</P> + +<P> +"Your uncle? Well, I shall be very glad to make some arrangement with +your uncle, if that is customary." +</P> + +<P> +"Why the doubt? Are you in the habit of walking into a man's house, +for instance, and using his kitchen to make pictures without +permission? Has it been your custom to lead a man's horses out of his +stable whenever you chose, and use them for race pictures?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no—nothing like that. Sorry to have infringed upon your +property-rights, I am sure." Mr. Burns did not sound so chuckly now; +but that may have been because the three picture-rustlers were quite +openly pleased at the predicament of their director. "It never occurred +to me that—" +</P> + +<P> +"That the cattle were not as free as the hills?" The quiet voice of +Jean searched out the tenderest places in the self-esteem of Robert +Grant Burns. She tossed the blank-loaded gun back upon the ground and +turned to her horse. "It does seem hard to impress it upon city people +that we savages do have a few rights in this country. We should have +policemen stationed on every hilltop, I suppose, and 'No Trespassing' +signs planted along every cow-trail. Even then I doubt whether we +could convince some people that we are perfectly human and that we +actually do own property here." +</P> + +<P> +While she drawled the last biting sentences, she stuck her toe in the +stirrup and went up into the saddle as easily as any cowpuncher in the +country could have done. Robert Grant Burns stood with his hands at +his hips and watched her with the critical eye of the expert who sees +in every gesture a picture, effective or ineffective, good, bad, or +merely so—so. Robert Grant Burns had never, in all his experience in +directing Western pictures, seen a girl mount a horse with such +unconscious ease of every movement. +</P> + +<P> +Jean twitched the reins and turned towards him, looking down at the +little group with unfriendly eyes. "I don't want to seem inhospitable +or unaccommodating, Mr. Burns," she told him, "but I fear that I must +take these cattle back home with me. You probably will not want to use +them any longer." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Burns did not say whether she was right or wrong in her conjecture. +As a matter of fact, he did want to use them for several more scenes; +but he stood silent while Jean, with a chilly bow to the four of them, +sent Pard up the rough bank of the little gulley. Rather, he made no +reply to Jean, but he waved his three rustlers back, retreating himself +to where the bank stopped them. And he turned toward the bushes that +had at first hidden him from Jean, waved his hand in an imperative +gesture, and called guardedly through cupped palms. "Take that! All +you can get of it!" Which goes far to show why he was considered one of +the best directors the Great Western Film Company had in its employ. +</P> + +<P> +So Jean unconsciously made a picture which caused the eyes of Robert +Grant Burns to glisten while he watched. She ignored the men who had +so fooled her, and took down her rope that she might swing the loop of +it toward the cattle and drive them back across the gulley and up the +coulee toward home. Cattle are stubborn things at best, and this +little bunch seemed determined to seek the higher slopes. Put upon her +mettle because of that little audience down below,—a mildly jeering +audience at that, she imagined,—Jean had need of her skill and her +fifteen years or so of experience in handling stock. +</P> + +<P> +She swung her rope and shouted, weaving back and forth across the +gulley, with little lunging rushes now and then to head off an animal +that tried to bolt past her up the hill. She would not have glanced +toward Robert Grant Burns to save her life, and she did not hear him +saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Great! Great stuff! Get it all, Pete. By George, you can't beat the +real thing, can you? 'J get that up-hill dash? Good! Now panoram the +drive up the gulley—get it ALL, Pete—turn as long as you can see the +top of her hat. My Lord! You wouldn't get stuff like that in ten +years. I wish Gay could handle herself like that in the saddle, but +there ain't a leading woman in the business to-day that could put that +over the way she's doing it. By George! Say, Gil, you get on your +horse and ride after her, and find out where she lives. We can't work +any more now, anyway; she's gone off with the cattle. And, say! You +don't want to let her get a sight of you, or she might take a shot at +you. And if she can shoot the way she rides—good night!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AND THE VILLAIN PURSUED HER +</H3> + +<P> +The young man called Gil,—to avoid wasting time in saying Gilbert +James Huntley,—mounted in haste and rode warily up the coulee some +distance behind Jean. At that time and in that locality he was quite +anxious that she should not discover him. Gil was not such a bad +fellow, even though he did play "heavies" in all the pictures which +Robert Grant Burns directed. A villain he was on the screen, and a bad +one. Many's the man he had killed as cold-bloodedly as the Board of +Censorship would permit. Many's the girlish, Western heart he had +broken, and many's the time he had paid the penalty to brother, father, +or sweetheart as the scenario of the play might decree. Many's the +time he had followed girls and men warily through brush-fringed gullies +and over picturesque ridges, for the entertainment of shop girls and +their escorts sitting in darkened theaters and watching breathlessly +the wicked deeds of Gilbert James Huntley. +</P> + +<P> +But in his everyday life, Gil Huntley was very good-looking, very +good-natured, and very harmless. His position and his salary as +"heavy" in the Great Western Company he owed chiefly to his good acting +and his thick eyebrows and his facility for making himself look +treacherous and mean. He followed Jean because the boss told him to do +so, in the first place. In the second place, he followed her because +he was even more interested in her than his director had been, and he +hoped to have a chance to talk with her. In his workaday life, Gil +Huntley was quite accustomed to being discovered in some villainy, and +to having some man or woman point a gun at him with more or less +antagonism in voice and manner. But he had never in his life had a +girl ride up and "throw down on him" with a gun, actually believing him +to be a thief and a scoundrel whom she would shoot if she thought it +necessary. There was a difference. Gil did not take the time or +trouble to analyze the difference, but he knew that he was glad the +boss had not sent Johnny or Bill in his place. He did not believe that +either of them would have enough sense to see the difference, and they +might offend her in some way,—though Gil Huntley need not have worried +in the least over any man's treatment of Jean, who was eminently +qualified to attend to that for herself. +</P> + +<P> +He grinned when he saw her turn the cattle loose down the very next +coulee and with a final flip of her rope loop toward the hindermost +cow, ride on without them. He should have ridden in haste then to tell +Robert Grant Burns that the cattle could be brought back in twenty +minutes or so and the picture-making go on as planned. It was not +likely that the girl would come back; they could go on with their work +and get permission from the girl's uncle afterward. But he did not +turn and hurry back. Instead, he waited behind a rock-huddle until +Jean was well out of sight,—and while he waited, he took his +handkerchief and rubbed hard at the make-up on his face, which had made +him look sinister and boldly bad. Without mirror or cold cream, he was +not very successful, so that he rode on somewhat spotted in appearance +and looking even more sinister than before. But he was much more +comfortable in his mind, which meant a good deal in the interview which +he hoped by some means to bring about. +</P> + +<P> +With Jean a couple of hundred yards in advance, they crossed a little +flat so bare of concealment that Gil Huntley was worried for fear she +might look back and discover him. But she did not turn her head, and +he rode on more confidently. At the mouth of Lazy A coulee, just where +stood the cluster of huge rocks that had at one time come hurtling down +from the higher slopes, and the clump of currant bushes beneath which +Jean used to hide her much-despised saddle when she was a child, she +disappeared from view. Gil, knowing very little of the ways of the +range folk, and less of the country, kicked his horse into a swifter +pace and galloped after her. +</P> + +<P> +Fifty yards beyond the currant bushes he heard a sound and looked back; +and there was Jean, riding out from her hiding-place, and coming after +him almost at a run. While he was trying to decide what to do about +it, she overtook him; rather, the wide loop of her rope overtook him. +He ducked, but the loop settled over his head and shoulders and pulled +tight about the chest. Jean took two turns of the rope around the +saddle horn and then looked him over critically. In spite of herself, +she smiled a little at his face, streaked still with grease paint, and +at his eyes staring at her from between heavily penciled lids. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what you get for following," she said, after a minute of +staring at each other. "Did you think I didn't know you were trailing +along behind me? I saw you before I turned the cattle loose, but I +just let you think you were being real sly and cunning about it. You +did it in real moving-picture style; did your fat Mr. Robert Grant +Burns teach you how? What is the idea, anyway? Were you going to +abduct me and lead me to the swarthy chief of your gang, or band, or +whatever you call it?" +</P> + +<P> +Having scored a point against him and so put herself into a good humor +again, Jean laughed at him and twitched the rope, just to remind him +that he was at her mercy. To be haughtily indignant with this +honest-eyed, embarrassed young fellow with the streaky face and +heavily-penciled eyelids was out of the question. The wind caught his +high, peaked-crowned sombrero and sent it sailing like a great, +flapping bird to the ground, and he could not catch it because Jean had +his arms pinioned with the loop. +</P> + +<P> +She laughed again and rode over to where the hat had lodged. Gil +Huntley, to save himself from being dragged ignominiously from the +saddle, kicked his horse and kept pace with her. Jean leaned far over +and picked up the hat, and examined it with amusement. +</P> + +<P> +"If you could just live up to your hat, my, wouldn't you be a villain, +though!" she commented, in a soft, drawling voice. "You don't look so +terribly blood-thirsty without it; I just guess I'd better keep it for +a while. It would make a dandy waste-basket. Do you know, if your +face were clean, I think you'd look almost human,—for an outlaw." +</P> + +<P> +She started on up the trail, nonchalantly leading her captive by the +rope. Gil Huntley could have wriggled an arm loose and freed himself, +but he did not. He wanted to see what she was going to do with him. +He grinned when she had her back turned toward him, but he did not say +anything for fear of spoiling the joke or offending her in some way. +So presently Jean began to feel silly, and the joke lost its point and +seemed inane and weak. +</P> + +<P> +She turned back, threw off the loop that bound his arms to his sides, +and coiled the rope. "I wish you play-acting people would keep out of +the country," she said impatiently. "Twice you've made me act +ridiculous. I don't know what in the world you wanted to follow me +for,—and I don't care. Whatever it was, it isn't going to do you one +particle of good, so you needn't go on doing it." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him full, refused to meet half-way the friendliness of +his eyes, tossed the hat toward him, and wheeled her horse away. +"Good-by," she said shortly, and touched Pard with the spurs. She was +out of hearing before Gil Huntley could think of the right thing to +say, and she increased the distance between them so rapidly that before +he had quite recovered from his surprise at her sudden change of mood, +she was so far away that he could not have overtaken her if he had +tried. +</P> + +<P> +He watched her out of sight and rode back to where Burns mouthed a big, +black cigar, and paced up and down the level space where he had set the +interrupted scene, and waited his coming. +</P> + +<P> +"Rode away from you, did she? Where'd she take the cattle to? Left +'em in the next gulch? Well, why didn't you say so? You boys can +bring 'em back, and we'll get to work again. Where'd you say that +spring was, Gil? We'll eat before we do anything else. One thing +about this blamed country is we don't have to be afraid of the light. +Got to hand it to 'em for having plenty of good, clear sunlight, +anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +He followed Gil to the feeble spring that seeped from under a huge +boulder, and stooped uncomfortably to fill a tin cup. While he waited +for the trickle to yield him a drink, he cocked his head sidewise and +looked up quizzically at his "heavy." +</P> + +<P> +"You must have come within speaking distance, Gil," he guessed +shrewdly. "Got any make-up along? You look like a mild case of the +measles, right now. What did she have to say, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," said Gil shortly. "I didn't talk to her at all. I didn't +want to run my horse to death trying to say hello when she didn't want +it that way." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" grunted Robert Grant Burns unbelievingly, and fished a bit of +grass out of the cup with his little finger. He drank and said no more. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ROBERT GRANT BURNS GETS HELP +</H3> + +<P> +"You know the brand, don't you?" the proprietor of the hotel which +housed the Great Western Company asked, with the tolerant air which the +sophisticated wear when confronted by ignorance. "Easy enough to +locate the outfit, by the cattle brand. What was it?" +</P> + +<P> +Whereupon Robert Grant Burns rolled his eyes helplessly toward Gil +Huntley. "I noticed it at the time, but—what was that brand, Gil?" +</P> + +<P> +And Gil, if you would believe me, did not remember, either. He had +driven the cattle half a mile or more, had helped to "steal" two calves +out of the little herd, and yet he could not recall the mark of their +owner. +</P> + +<P> +So the proprietor of the hotel, an old cowman who had sold out and gone +into the hotel business when the barbed-wire came by carloads into the +country, pulled a newspaper towards him, borrowed a pencil from Burns, +and sketched all the cattle brands in that part of the country. While +he drew one after the other, he did a little thinking. +</P> + +<P> +"Must have been the Bar Nothing, or else the Lazy A cattle you got hold +of," he concluded, pointing to the pencil marks on the margin of the +paper. "They range down in there, and Jean Douglas answers your +description of the girl,—as far as looks go. She ain't all that wild +and dangerous, though. Swing a loop with any man in the country and +ride and all that,—been raised right out there on the Lazy A. Say! +Why don't you go out and see Carl Douglas, and see if you can't get the +use of the Lazy A for your pictures? Seems to me that's just the kinda +place you want. Don't anybody live there now. It's been left alone +ever since—the trouble out there. House and barns and +corrals,—everything you want." He leaned closer with a confidential +tone creeping into his voice, for Robert Grant Burns and his company +were profitable guests and should be given every inducement to remain +in the country. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't but fifteen miles out there; you could go back and forth in +your machine, easy. You go out and see Carl Douglas, anyway; won't do +no harm. You offer him a little something for the use of the Lazy A; +he'll take anything that looks like money. Take it from me, that's the +place you want to take your pictures in. And, say! You want a written +agreement with Carl. Have the use of his stock included, or he'll tax +you extra. Have everything included," advised the old cowman, with a +sweep of his palm and his voice lowered discreetly. "Won't need to +cost you much,—not if you don't give him any encouragement to expect +much. Carl's that kind,—good fellow enough,—but he +wants—the—big—end. I know him, you bet! And, say! Don't let on to +Carl that I steered you out there. Just claim like you was scouting +around, and seen the Lazy A ranch, and took a notion to it; not too +much of a notion, though, or it's liable to come kinda high. +</P> + +<P> +"And, say!" Real enthusiasm for the idea began to lighten his eyes. +"If you want good range dope, right out there's where you can sure find +it. You play up to them Bar Nothing boys—Lite Avery and Joe Morris +and Red. You ought to get some great pictures out there, man. Them +boys can sure ride and rope and handle stock, if that's what you want; +and I reckon it is, or you wouldn't be out here with your bunch of +actors looking for the real stuff." +</P> + +<P> +They talked a long while after that. Gradually it dawned upon Burns +that he had heard of the Lazy A ranch before, though not by that +euphonious title. It seemed worth investigating, for he was going to +need a good location for some exterior ranch scenes very soon, and the +place he had half decided upon did not altogether please him. He +inquired about roads and distances, and waddled off to the hotel parlor +to ask Muriel Gay, his blond leading woman, if she would like to go out +among the natives next morning. Also he wanted her to tell him more +about that picturesque place she and Lee Milligan had stumbled upon the +day before,—the place which he suspected was none other than the Lazy +A. +</P> + +<P> +That is how it came to pass that Jean, riding out with big Lite Avery +the next morning on a little private scouting-trip of their own, to see +if that fat moving-picture man was making free with the stock again, +met the man unexpectedly half a mile from the Bar Nothing ranch-house. +</P> + +<P> +Along every trail which owns certain obstacles to swift, easy passing, +there are places commonly spoken of as "that" place. In his journey to +the Bar Nothing, Robert Grant Burns had come unwarned upon that sandy +hollow which experienced drivers approached with a mental bracing for +the struggle ahead, and with tightened lines and whip held ready. Even +then they stuck fast, as often as not, if the load were heavy, though +Bar Nothing drivers gaged their loads with that hollow in mind. If +they could pull through there without mishap, they might feel sure of +having no trouble elsewhere. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns had come into the hollow unsuspectingly. He had +been careening along the prairie road at a twenty-mile pace, his mind +fixed upon hurrying through his interview with Carl Douglas, so that he +would have time to stop at the Lazy A on the way back to town. He +wanted to take a few exterior ranch-house scenes that day, for Robert +Grant Burns was far more energetic than his bulk would lead one to +suppose. He had Pete Lowry, his camera man, in the seat beside him. +Back in the tonneau Muriel Gay and her mother, who played the character +parts, clung to Lee Mulligan and a colorless individual who was Lowry's +assistant, and gave little squeals whenever the machine struck a bigger +bump than usual. +</P> + +<P> +At the top of the hill which guarded the deceptive hollow, Robert Grant +Burns grinned over his shoulder at his character-woman. "Wait till we +start back; I'll know the road then, and we'll do some traveling!" he +promised darkly, and laid his toe lightly on the brake. It pleased him +to be considered a dare-devil driver; that is why he always drove +whatever machine carried him. They went lurching down the curving +grade into the hollow, and struck the patch of sand that had worn out +the vocabularies of more eloquent men than he. Robert Grant Burns fed +more gas, and the engine kicked and groaned, and sent the wheels +burrowing like moles to where the sand was deepest. Axles under, they +stuck fast. +</P> + +<P> +When Jean and Lite came loping leisurely down the hill, the two women +were fraying perfectly good gloves trying to pull "rabbit" brush up by +the roots to make firmer foothold for the wheels. Robert Grant Burns +was head-and-shoulders under the car, digging badger-like with his paws +to clear the front axle, and coming up now and then to wipe the +perspiration from his eyes and puff the purple out of his complexion. +Pete Lowry always ducked his head lower over the jack when he saw the +heaving of flesh which heralded these resting times, so that the boss +could not catch him laughing. Lee Milligan was scooping sand upon the +other side and mumbling to himself, with a glance now and then at the +trail, in the hope of sighting a good samaritan with six or eight +mules, perhaps. Lee thought that it would take about that many mules +to pull them out. +</P> + +<P> +The two riders pulled up, smiling pityingly, just as well-mounted +riders invariably smile upon stalled automobilists. This was not the +first machine that had come to grief in that hollow, though they could +not remember ever to have seen one sunk deeper in the sand. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you wouldn't refuse a little help, about now," Lite observed +casually to Lee, who was most in evidence. +</P> + +<P> +"We wouldn't refuse a little, but a lot is what we need," Lee amended +glumly. "Any ranch within forty miles of here? We need about twelve +good horses, I should say." Lee's experience with sand had been +unhappy, and his knowledge of what one good horse could do was slight. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we snake 'em out, Jean?" Lite asked her, as if he himself were +absolutely indifferent to their plight. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I suppose we might as well. We can't leave them blocking the +trail; somebody might want to drive past," Jean told him in much the +same tone, just to tease Lee Milligan, who was looking them over +disparagingly. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll be blocking the trail a good long while if we stay here till you +move us," snapped Lee, who was rather sensitive to tones. +</P> + +<P> +Then Robert Grant Burns gave a heave and a wriggle, and came up for air +and a look around. He had been composing a monologue upon the subject +of sand, and he had not noticed that strange voices were speaking on +the other side of the machine. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, sis— How-de-do, Miss," he greeted Jean guardedly, with a +hasty revision of the terms when he saw how her eyebrows pinched +together. "I wonder if you could tell us where we can find teams to +pull us out of this mess. I don't believe this old junk-wagon is ever +going to do it herself." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you do, Mr. Burns? Lite and I offered to take you out on solid +ground, but your man seemed to think we couldn't do it." +</P> + +<P> +"What man was that? Wasn't me, anyway. I think you can do just about +anything you start out to do, if you ask me." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," chilled Jean, and permitted Pard to back away from his +approach. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, you're some rider," he praised tactlessly, and got no reply +whatever. Jean merely turned and rode around to where Lite eased his +long legs in the stirrups and waited her pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we help them out, Lite?" she asked distinctly. "I think perhaps +we ought to; it's a long walk to town." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess we better; won't take but a minute to tie on," Lite agreed, +his fingers dropping to his coiled rope. "Seems queer to me that folks +should want to ride in them things when there's plenty of good horses +in the country." +</P> + +<P> +"No accounting for tastes, Lite," Jean replied cheerfully. "Listen. +If that thin man will start the engine,—he doesn't weigh more than +half as much as you do, Mr. Burns,—we'll pull you out on solid ground. +And if you have occasion to cross this hollow again, I advise you to +keep out there to the right. There's a little sod to give your tires a +better grip. It's rough, but you could make it all right if you drive +carefully, and the bunch of you get out and walk. Don't try to keep +around on the ridge; there's a deep washout on each side, so you +couldn't possibly make it. We can't with the horses, even." Jean did +not know that there was a note of superiority in her voice when she +spoke the last sentence, but her listeners winced at it. Only Pete +Lowry grinned while he climbed obediently into the machine to advance +his spark and see that the gears were in neutral. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't crank up till we're ready!" Lite expostulated. "These cayuses of +ours are pretty sensible, and they'll stand for a whole lot; but +there's a limit. Wait till I get the ropes fixed, before you start the +engine. And the rest of you all be ready to give the wheels a lift. +You're in pretty deep." +</P> + +<P> +When Jean dismounted and hooked the stirrup over the horn so that she +could tighten the cinch, the eyes of Robert Grant Burns glistened at +the "picture-stuff" she made. He glanced eloquently at Pete, and Pete +gave a twisted smile and a pantomime of turning the camera-crank; +whereat Robert Grant Burns shook his head regretfully and groaned again. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, if I had a leading woman—" he began discontentedly, and stopped +short; for Muriel Gay was standing quite close, and even through her +grease-paint make-up she betrayed the fact that she knew exactly what +her director was thinking, had seen and understood the gesture of the +camera man, and was close to tears because of it all. +</P> + +<P> +Muriel Gay was a conscientious worker who tried hard to please her +director. Sometimes it seemed to her that her director demanded +impossibilities of her; that he was absolutely soulless where +picture-effects were concerned. Her riding had all along been a +subject of discord between them. She had learned to ride very well +along the bridle-paths of Golden Gate Park, but Robert Grant Burns +seemed to expect her to ride—well, like this girl, for instance, which +was unjust. +</P> + +<P> +One could not blame her for glaring jealously while Jean tightened the +cinch and remounted, tying her rope to the saddle horn, all ready to +pull; with her muscles tensed for the coming struggle with the +sand,—and perhaps with her horse as well,—and with every line of her +figure showing how absolutely at home she was in the saddle, and how +sure of herself. +</P> + +<P> +"I've tied my rope, Lite," Jean drawled, with a little laugh at what +might happen. +</P> + +<P> +Lite turned his face toward her. "You better not," he warned. "Things +are liable to start a-popping when that engine wakes up." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then I'll want both hands for Pard. I've taken a couple of +half-hitches, anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"You folks want to be ready at the wheels," Lite directed, waiving the +argument. "When we start, you all want to heave-ho together. Good +team-work will do it. +</P> + +<P> +"All set?" he called to Jean, when Pete Lowry bent his back to start +the engine. "Business'll be pickin' up, directly!" +</P> + +<P> +"All set," replied Jean cheerfully. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed then that everything began to start at once, and to start in +different directions. The engine snorted and pounded so that the whole +machine shook with ague. When Pete jumped in and threw in the clutch, +there was a backfire that sounded like the crack of doom. The two +horses went wild, as their riders had half expected them to do. They +lunged away from the horror behind them, and the slack ropes tightened +with a jerk. Both were good rope horses, and the strain of the ropes +almost recalled them to sanity and their training; at least they held +the ropes tight for a few seconds, so that the machine jumped ahead and +veered toward the firmer soil beside the trail, in response to Pete's +turn of the wheel. +</P> + +<P> +Then Pard looked back and saw the thing coming after him, and tried to +bolt. When he found that he could not, because of the rope, he bucked +as he had not done since he was a half-broken broncho. That started +Lite Avery's horse to pitching; and Pete, absorbed in watching what +would have made a great picture, forgot to shut off the gas. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns picked himself out of the sand where he had sprawled +at the first wild lunge of the machine, and saw Pete Lowry, humped over +the wheel like any speed demon, go lurching off across the hollow in +the wake of two fear-crazed animals, that threatened at any instant to +bolt off at an angle that would overturn the car. +</P> + +<P> +Then Lite let his rope slip from the saddle-horn and spurred his horse +to one side, out of the danger zone of the other, while he felt +frantically in his pockets for his knife. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you cut my rope," Jean warned, when she saw him come plunging +toward her, knife in hand. "This is—fine training—for Pard!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete came to himself, then, and killed the engine before he landed in +the bottom of a yawning, water-washed hole, and Lite rode close and +slashed Jean's rope, in spite of her protest; whereupon Pard went off +up the slope as though witches were riding him hard. +</P> + +<P> +At long rifle range, he circled and faced the thing that had scared him +so, and after a little Jean persuaded him to go back as far as the +trail. Nearer he would not stir, so she waited there for Lite. +</P> + +<P> +"Never even thanked us," Lite grumbled when he came up, his mouth +stretched in a wide smile. "That girl with the kalsomine on her face +made remarks about folks butting in. And the fat man talked into his +double chin; dunno what all he was saying. Here's what's left of your +rope. I'll get you another one, Jean. I was afraid that gazabo was +going to run over you, is why I cut it." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter over there? Aren't they glad they're out of the +sand?" Jean held her horse quiet while she studied the buzzing group. +</P> + +<P> +"Something busted. I guess we done some damage." Lite grinned and +watched them over his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't go any further with me, Lite. That fat man's the one that +had the cattle. I am going over to the ranch for awhile, but don't +tell Aunt Ella." She turned to ride on up the hill toward the Lazy A, +but stopped for another look at the perturbed motorists. "Well anyway, +we snaked them out of the sand, didn't we, Lite?" +</P> + +<P> +"We sure did," Lite chuckled. "They don't seem thankful, but I guess +they ain't any worse off than they was before. Anyway, it serves them +right. They've no business here acting fresh." +</P> + +<P> +Lite said that because he was not given the power to peer into the +future, and so could not know that Fate herself had sent Robert Grant +Burns into their lives; and that, by a somewhat roundabout method, she +was going to use the Great Western Film Company and Jean and himself +for her servants in doing a work which Fate had set herself to do. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JEAN SPOILS SOMETHING +</H3> + +<P> +Jean found the padlock key where she had hidden it under a rock ten +feet from the door, and let herself into her room. The peaceful +familiarity of its four walls, and the cheerful patch of sunlight lying +warm upon the faded rag carpet, gave her the feeling of security and of +comfort which she seldom felt elsewhere. +</P> + +<P> +She wandered aimlessly around the room, brushing the dust from her +books and straightening a tiny fold in the cradle quilt. She ran an +investigative forefinger along the seat of her father's saddle, brought +the finger away dusty, pulled one of the stockings from the overflowing +basket and used it for a dust cloth. She wiped and polished the +stamped leather with a painstaking tenderness that had in it a good +deal of yearning, and finally left it with a gesture of hopelessness. +</P> + +<P> +She went next to her desk and fumbled the quirt that lay there still. +Then she pulled out the old ledger, picked up a pencil, and began to +write, sitting on the arm of an old, cane-seated chair while she did +so. As I told you before, Jean never wrote anything in that book +except when her moods demanded expression of some sort; when she did +write, she said exactly what she thought and felt at the time. So if +you are permitted to know what she wrote at this time, you will have +had a peep into Jean's hidden, inner life that none of her world save +Lite knew anything about. She wrote rapidly, and she did not always +take the trouble to finish her sentences properly,—as if she never +could quite keep pace with her thoughts. So this is what that page +held when finally she slammed the book shut and slid it back into the +desk: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="block"> +I don't know what's the matter with me lately. I feel as if I wanted +to shoot somebody, or rob a bank or run away—I guess it's the old +trouble nagging at me. I KNOW dad never did it. I don't know why, but +I know it just the same—and I know Uncle Carl knows it too. I'd like +to take out his brain and put it into some scientific machine that +would squeeze out his thoughts—hope it wouldn't hurt him—I'd give him +ether, maybe. What I want is money—enough to buy back this place and +the stock. I don't believe Uncle Carl spent as much defending dad as +he claims he did—not enough to take the whole ranch anyway. If I had +money I'd find Art Osgood if I had to hunt from Alaska to Africa—don't +believe he went to Alaska at all. Uncle Carl thinks so.... I'd like +the price of that machine I helped drag out of the sand—some people +can have anything they want but all I want is dad back, and this place +the way it was before.... +</P> + +<P CLASS="block"> +If I had any brains I could write something wonderful and be rich and +famous and do the things I want to do—but there's no profit in just +feeling wonderful things; if I could make the world see and feel what I +see and feel—when I'm here, or riding alone.... +</P> + +<P CLASS="block"> +If I could find Art Osgood I believe I could make him tell—I know he +knows something, even if he didn't do it himself. I believe he +did—But what can you do when you're a woman and haven't any money and +must stay where you're put and can't even get out and do the little you +might do, because somebody must have you around to lean on and tell +their troubles to.... I don't blame Aunt Ella so much—but thank +goodness, I can do without a shoulder to weep on, anyway. What's life +for if you've got to spend your days hopping round and round in a cage. +It wouldn't be a cage if I could have dad back—I'd be doing things for +him all the time and that would make life worth while. Poor dad—four +more years is—I can't think about it. I'll go crazy if I do— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was there that she stopped and slammed the book shut, and pushed it +back out of sight in the desk. She picked up her hat and gloves, and +went out with blurred eyes, and began to climb the bluff above the +little spring, where a faint, little-used trail led to the benchland +above. By following a rock ledge to where it was broken, and climbing +through the crevice to where the trail marked faintly the way to the +top, one could in a few minutes leave the Lazy A coulee out of sight +below, and stand on a high level where the winds blew free from the +mountains in the west to the mountains in the east. +</P> + +<P> +Some day, it was predicted, the benchland would be cut into squares and +farmed,—some day when the government brought to reality a +long-talked-of irrigation project. But in the meantime, the land lay +unfenced and free. One could look far away to the north, and at +certain times see the smoke of passing trains through the valley off +there. One could look south to the distant river bluffs, and east and +west to the mountains. Jean often climbed the bluff just for the wide +outlook she gained. The cage did not seem so small when she could +stand up there and tire her eyes with looking. Life did not seem quite +so purposeless, and she could nearly always find little whispers of +hope in the winds that blew there. +</P> + +<P> +She walked aimlessly and yet with a subconscious purpose for ten +minutes or so, and her face was turned directly toward the eastern +hills. She stopped on the edge of the bluff that broke abruptly there, +and sat down and stared at the soft purple of the hills and the soft +green of the nearer slopes, and at the peaceful blue of the sky arched +over it all. Her eyes cleared of their troubled look and grew dreamy. +Her mouth lost its tenseness and softened to a half smile. She was not +looking now into the past that was so full of heartbreak, but into the +future as hope pictured it for her. +</P> + +<P> +She was seeing the Lazy A alive again and all astir with the business +of life; and her father saddling Sioux and riding out to look after the +stock. She was seeing herself riding with him,—or else cooking the +things he liked best for his dinner when he came back hungry. She sat +there for a long, long while and never moved. +</P> + +<P> +A sparrow hawk swooped down quite close to Jean and then shot upward +with a little brown bird in its claws, and startled her out of her +castle building. She felt a hot anger against the hawk, which was like +the sudden grasp of misfortune; and a quick sympathy with the bird, +which was like herself and dad, caught unawares and held helpless. But +she did not move, and the hawk circled and came back on his way to the +nesting-place in the trees along the creek below. He came quite close, +and Jean shot him as he lifted his wings for a higher flight. The hawk +dropped head foremost to the grass and lay there crumpled and quiet. +</P> + +<P> +Jean put back her gun in its holster and went over to where the hawk +lay. The little brown bird fluttered terrifiedly and gave a piteous, +small chirp when her hand closed over it, and then lay quite still in +her cupped palms and blinked up at her. +</P> + +<P> +Jean cuddled it up against her cheek, and talked to it and pitied it +and promised it much in the way of fat little bugs and a warm nest and +her tender regard. For the hawk she had no pity, nor a thought beyond +the one investigative glance she gave its body to make sure that she +had hit it where she meant to hit it. Lite had taught her to shoot +like that,—straight and quick. Lite was a man who trimmed life down to +the essentials, and he had long ago impressed it upon her that if she +could not shoot quickly, and hit where she aimed, there was not much +use in her attempting to shoot at all. Jean proved by her scant +interest in the hawk how well she had learned the lesson, and how sure +she was of hitting where she aimed. +</P> + +<P> +The little brown bird had been gashed in the breast by a sharp talon. +Jean was much concerned over the wound, even though it did not reach +any vital organ. She was afraid of septic poisoning, she told the bird; +but added comfortingly: "There—you needn't worry one minute over +that. I'm almost sure there's a bottle of peroxide down at the house, +that isn't spoiled. We'll go and put some on it right away; and then +we'll go bug-hunting. I believe I know where there's the fattest, +juiciest bugs!" She cuddled the bird against her cheek, and started +back across the wide point of the benchland to where the trail led down +the bluff to the house. +</P> + +<P> +She was wholly absorbed in the trouble of the little brown bird; and +the trail, following a crevice through the rocks and later winding +along behind some scant bushes, partially concealed the buildings and +the house yard from view until one was well down into the coulee. So it +was not until she was at the spring, looking at the moist earth there +for fat bugs for the bird, that she had any inkling of visitors. Then +she heard voices and went quickly around the corner of the house toward +the sound. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to her that she was lately fated to come plump into the +middle of that fat Mr. Burns' unauthorized picture-making. The first +thing she saw when she rounded the corner was the camera perched high +upon its tripod and staring at her with its one round eye; and the +humorous-eyed Pete Lowry turning a crank at the side and counting in a +whisper. Close beside her the two women were standing in animated +argument which they carried on in undertones with many gestures to +point their meaning. +</P> + +<P> +"Hey, you're in the scene!" called Pete Lowry, and abruptly stopped +counting and turning the crank. +</P> + +<P> +"You're in the scene, sister. Step over here to one side, will you?" +The fat director waved his pink-cameoed hand impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +An old bench had been placed beside the house, under a window. Jean +backed a step and sat down upon the bench, and looked from one to the +other. The two women glanced at her wide-eyed and moved away with +mutual embracings. Jean lifted her hands and looked at the soft little +crest and beady eyes of the bird, to make sure that it was not +disturbed by these strangers, before she gave her attention to the +expostulating Mr. Burns. +</P> + +<P> +"Did I spoil something?" she inquired casually, and watched curiously +the pulling of many feet of narrow film from the camera. +</P> + +<P> +"About fifteen feet of good scene," Pete Lowry told her dryly, but with +that queer, half smile twisting his lips. +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked at him and decided that, save for the company he kept, +which made of him a latent enemy, she might like that lean man in the +red sweater who wore a pencil over one ear and was always smiling to +himself about something. But what she did was to cross her feet and +murmur a sympathetic sentence to the little brown bird. Inwardly she +resented deeply this bold trespass of Robert Grant Burns; but she meant +to guard against making herself ridiculous again. She meant to be sure +of her ground before she ordered them off. The memory of her +humiliation before the supposed rustlers was too vivid to risk a +repetition of the experience. +</P> + +<P> +"When you're thoroughly rested," said Robert Grant Burns, in the tone +that would have shriveled the soul of one of his actors, "we'd like to +make that scene over." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. I am pretty tired," she said in that soft, drawly voice +that could hide so effectually her meaning. She leaned her head +against the wall and gave a luxurious sigh, and crossed her feet the +other way. She believed that she knew why Robert Grant Burns was +growing so red in the face and stepping about so uneasily, and why the +women were looking at her like that. Very likely they expected her to +prove herself crude and uncivilized, but she meant to disappoint them +even while she made them all the trouble she could. +</P> + +<P> +She pushed back her hat until its crown rested against the rough +boards, and cuddled the little brown bird against her cheek again, and +talked to it caressingly. Though she seemed unconscious of his +presence, she heard every word that Robert Grant Burns was muttering to +himself. Some of the words were plain, man-sized swearing, if she were +any judge of language. It occurred to her that she really ought to go +and find that peroxide, but she could not forego the pleasure of +irritating this man. +</P> + +<P> +"I always supposed that fat men were essentially; sweet-tempered," she +observed to the world in general, when the mutterings ceased for a +moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee! I'd like to make that," Pete Lowry said in an undertone to his +assistant. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not know that he referred to herself and the unstudied picture +she made, sitting there with her hat pushed back, and the little bird +blinking at her from between her cupped palms. But she looked at him +curiously, with an impulse to ask questions about what he was doing +with that queer-looking camera, and how he could inject motion into +photography. While she watched, he drew out a narrow, gray strip of +film and made mysterious markings upon it with the pencil, which he +afterwards thrust absent-mindedly behind his ear. He closed a small +door in the side of the camera, placed his palm over the lens and +turned the little crank several times around. Then he looked at Jean, +and from her to the director. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns gave a sweeping, downward gesture with both +hands,—a gesture which his company knew well,—and came toward Jean. +</P> + +<P> +"You may not know it," he began in a repressed tone, "but we're in a +hurry. We've got work to do. We ain't here on any pleasure excursion, +and you'll be doing me a favor by getting out of the scene so we can go +on with our work." +</P> + +<P> +Jean sat still upon the bench and looked at him. "I suppose so; but why +should I be doing you favors? You haven't seemed to appreciate them, so +far. Of course, I dislike to seem disobliging, or anything like that, +but your tone and manner would not make any one very enthusiastic about +pleasing you, Mr. Burns. In fact, I don't see why you aren't +apologizing for being here, instead of ordering me about as if I worked +for you. This bench—is my bench. This ranch—is where I have lived +nearly all my life. I hate to seem vain, Mr. Burns, but at the same +time I think it is perfectly lovely of me to explain that I have a +right here; and I consider myself an angel of patience and graciousness +and many other rare virtues, because I have not even hinted that you +are once more taking liberties with other people's property." She +looked at him with a smile at the corners of her eyes and just easing +the firmness of her lips, as if the humor of the situation was +beginning to appeal to her. +</P> + +<P> +"If you would stop dancing about, and let your naturally sweet +disposition have a chance, and would explain just why you are here and +what you want to do, and would ask me nicely,—it might help you more +than to get apoplexy over it." +</P> + +<P> +The two women exclaimed under their breaths to each other and moved +farther away, as if from an impending explosion. The assistant camera +man gurgled and turned his back abruptly. Lee Milligan, wandering up +from the stables, stopped and stared. No one, within the knowledge of +those present, had ever spoken so to Robert Grant Burns; no one had +ever dreamed of speaking thus to him. They had seen him when rage had +mastered him and for slighter cause; it was not an experience that one +would care to repeat. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns walked up to Jean as if he meant to lift her from +the bench and hurl her by sheer brute force out of his way. He stopped +so close to her that his shadow covered her. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you going to get out of the way so we can go on?" he asked, in the +tone of one who gives a last merciful chance of escape from impending +doom. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you going to explain why you're here, and apologize for your tone +and manner, which are extremely rude?" Jean did not pay his rage the +compliment of a glance at him. She was looking at the dainty beak of +the little brown bird, and was telling herself that she could not be +bullied into losing control of herself. These two women should not +have the satisfaction of calling her a crude, ignorant, country girl; +and Robert Grant Burns should not have the triumph of browbeating her +into yielding one inch of ground. She forced herself to observe the +wonderfully delicate feathers on the bird's head. It seemed more +content now in the little nest her two palms had made for it. Its heart +did not flutter so much, and she fancied that the tiny, bead-like eyes +were softer in their bright regard of her. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns came to a pause. Jean sensed that he was waiting +for some reply, and she looked up at him. His hand was just reaching +out to her shoulder, but it dropped instead to his coat pocket and +fumbled for his handkerchief. Her eyes strayed to Pete Lowry. He was +looking upward with that measuring glance which belongs to his +profession, estimating the length of time the light would be suitable +for the scene he had focussed. She followed his glance to where the +shadow of the kitchen had crept closer to the bench. Jean was not +stupid, and she had passed through the various stages of the kodak +fever; she guessed what was in the mind of the operator, and when she +met his eyes full, she smiled at him sympathetically. +</P> + +<P> +"I should dearly love to watch you work," she said to him frankly. +"But you see how it is; Mr. Burns hasn't got hold of himself yet. If +he comes to his senses before he has a stroke of apoplexy, will you +show me how you run that thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"You bet I will," the red-sweatered one promised her cheerfully. +</P> + +<P> +"How much longer will it be before this bench is in the shade?" she +asked him next. +</P> + +<P> +"Half an hour,—maybe a little longer." Pete glanced again anxiously +upward. +</P> + +<P> +"And—how long do these spasms usually last?" Jean's head tilted toward +Robert Grant Burns as impersonally as if she were indicating a horse +with colic. +</P> + +<P> +But the camera man had gone as far as was wise, if he cared to continue +working for Burns, and he made no reply whatever. So Jean turned her +attention to the man whose bulk shaded her from the sun, and whose +remarks would have been wholly unforgivable had she not chosen to +ignore them. +</P> + +<P> +"If you really are anxious to go on making pictures, why don't you stop +all that ranting and be sensible about it?" she asked him. "You can't +bully me into being afraid of you, you know. And really, you are +making an awful spectacle of yourself, going on like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Listen here! Are you going to get off that bench and out of the +scene?" By a tremendous effort Robert Grant Burns spoke that sentence +with a husky kind of calm. +</P> + +<P> +"That all depends upon yourself, Mr. Burns. First, I want to know by +what right you come here with your picture-making. You haven't +explained that yet, you know." +</P> + +<P> +The highest paid director of the Great Western Film Company looked at +her long. With her head tilted back, Jean returned the look. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, all right—all right," he surrendered finally. "Read that paper. +That ought to satisfy you that we ain't trespassing here or anywhere +else. And if you'd kindly,"—and Mr. Burns emphasized the word +"kindly,"—"remove yourself to some other spot that is just as +comfortable—" +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not even hear him, once she had the paper in her hands and had +begun to read it. So Robert Grant Burns folded his arms across his +heaving chest and watched her and studied her and measured her with his +mind while she read. He saw the pulling together of her eyebrows, and +the pinching of her under-lip between her teeth. He saw how she +unconsciously sheltered the little brown bird under her left hand in +her lap because she must hold the paper with the other, and he quite +forgot his anger against her. +</P> + +<P> +Sitting so, she made a picture that appealed to him. Had you asked him +why, he would have said that she was the type that would photograph +well, and that she had a screen personality; which would have been high +praise indeed, coming from him. +</P> + +<P> +Jean read the brief statement that in consideration of a certain sum +paid to him that day by Robert G. Burns, her uncle, Carl Douglas, +thereby gave the said Robert G. Burns permission to use the Lazy A +ranch and anything upon it or in any manner pertaining to it, for the +purpose of making motion pictures. It was plainly set forth that +Robert G. Burns should be held responsible for any destruction of or +damage to the property, and that he might, for the sum named, use any +cattle bearing the Lazy A or Bar O brands for the making of pictures, +so long as he did them no injury and returned them in good condition to +the range from which he had gathered them. +</P> + +<P> +Jean recognized her uncle's ostentatious attempt at legal phraseology +and knew, even without the evidence of his angular writing, that the +document was genuine. She knew also that Robert Grant Burns was +justified in ordering her off that bench; she had no right there, where +he was making his pictures. She forced back the bitterness that filled +her because of her own helplessness, and folded the paper carefully. +The little brown bird chirped shrilly and fluttered a feeble protest +when she took away her sheltering hand. Jean returned the paper +hastily to its owner and took up the bird. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon for delaying your work," she said coldly, and rose +from the bench. "But you might have explained your presence in the +first place." She wrapped the bird carefully in her handkerchief so +that only its beak and its bright eyes were uncovered, pulled her hat +forward upon her head, and walked away from them down the path to the +stables. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns turned slowly on his heels and watched her go, and +until she had led out her horse, mounted and ridden away, he said never +a word. Pete Lowry leaned an elbow upon the camera and watched her +also, until she passed out of sight around the corner of the +dilapidated calf shed, and he was as silent as the director. +</P> + +<P> +"Some rider," Lee Milligan commented to the assistant camera man, and +without any tangible reason regretted that he had spoken. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns turned harshly to the two women. "Now then, you two +go through that scene again. And when you put out your hand to stop +Muriel, don't grab at her, Mrs. Gay. Hesitate! You want your son to +get the warning, but you've got your doubts about letting her take the +risk of going. And, Gay, when you read the letter, try and show a +little emotion in your face. You saw how that girl looked—see if you +can't get that hurt, bitter look GRADUALLY, as you read. The way she +got it. Put in more feeling and not so much motion. You know what I +mean; you saw the girl. That's the stuff that gets over. Ready? +Camera!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A MAN-SIZED JOB FOR JEAN +</H3> + +<P> +Jean was just returning wet-lashed from burying the little brown bird +under a wild-rose bush near the creek. She had known all along that it +would die; everything that she took any interest in turned out badly, +it seemed to her. The wonder was that the bird had lived so long after +she had taken it under her protection. +</P> + +<P> +All that day her Aunt Ella had worn a wet towel turban-wise upon her +head, and the look of a martyr about to enter a den of lions. Add that +to the habitual atmosphere of injury which she wore, and Aunt Ella was +not what one might call a cheerful companion. Besides, the appearance +of the wet towel was a danger signal to Jean's conscience, and forbade +any thought of saddling Pard and riding away from the Bar Nothing into +her own dream world and the great outdoors. Jean's conscience commanded +her instead to hang her riding-clothes in the closet and wear striped +percale and a gingham apron, which she hated; and to sweep and dust and +remember not to whistle, and to look sympathetic,—which she was not, +particularly; and to ask her Aunt Ella frequently if she felt any +better, and if there was anything Jean could do for her. There never +was anything she could do, but conscience and custom required her to +observe the ceremony of asking. Aunt Ella found some languid +satisfaction in replying dolorously that there was nothing that anybody +could do, and that her part in life seemed to be to suffer. +</P> + +<P> +You may judge what Jean's mood was that day, when you are told that she +came to the point, not an hour before the bird died, of looking at her +aunt with that little smile at the corners of her eyes and just easing +her lips. "Well, you certainly play your part in life with a heap of +enthusiasm," she had replied, and had gone out into the kitchen and +whistled when she did not feel in the least like whistling. Her +conscience knew Jean pretty well, and did not attempt to reprove her +for what she had done. +</P> + +<P> +Then she found the bird dead in the little nest she had made for it, +and things went all wrong. +</P> + +<P> +She was returning from the burial of the bird, and was trying to force +herself back to her normal attitude of philosophic calm, when she saw +her Uncle Carl sitting on the edge of the front porch, with his elbows +resting loosely upon his knees, his head bowed, and his boot-heel +digging a rude trench in the hard-packed earth. +</P> + +<P> +The sight of him incensed her suddenly. Once more she wished that she +might get at his brain and squeeze out his thoughts; and it never +occurred to her that she would probably have found them extremely +commonplace thoughts that strayed no farther than his own little +personal business of life, and that they would easily be translated to +the dollar sign. His attitude was one of gloomy meditation, and her +own mood supplied the subject. She watched him for a minute or two, +and his abstraction was so deep that he did not feel her presence. +</P> + +<P> +"Uncle Carl, just how much did the Lazy A cost you?" she asked so +abruptly that she herself was surprised at the question. "Or putting +it another way, just how many dollars and cents did you spend in +defending dad?" +</P> + +<P> +Carl started, which was perfectly natural, and glared at her, which was +natural also, when one considers that Jean had without warning opened a +subject tacitly forbidden upon that ranch. His eyes hardened a little +while he looked at her, for between these two there was scant affection. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want to know for?" he countered, when she persisted in +looking at him as though she was waiting for an answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I've a right to know. Some time,—within four years,—I mean +to buy back the Lazy A. I want to know how much it will take." Until +that moment Jean had merely dreamed of some day buying it back. Until +she spoke she would have named the idea a beautiful, impossible desire. +</P> + +<P> +"Where you going to get the money?" Carl looked at her curiously, as if +he almost doubted her sanity. +</P> + +<P> +"Rob a bank, perhaps. How much will it take to square things with you? +Of course, being a relative, I expect to be cheated a little. So I am +going to adopt sly, sleuth-like methods and find out just how much dad +owed you before—it happened, and just how much the lawyers charged, +and what was the real market value of the outfit, and all that. Dad +told me—dad told me that there was something left over for me. He +didn't explain—there wasn't time, and I—couldn't listen to +dollar-talk then. I've gone along all this time, just drifting and +getting used to facts, and taking it for granted that everything is all +right—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what's wrong? Everything is all right, far as I know. I can +see what you're driving at—" +</P> + +<P> +"And I'm a pretty fair driver, too," Jean cut in calmly. "I'll reach +my destination, I think,—give me time enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Whatever fool notion you've got in your head, you'd better drop it," +Carl told her harshly. "There ain't anything you can do to better +matters. I came out with the worst of it, when you come right down to +facts, and all the nagging-" +</P> + +<P> +Jean went toward him as if she would strike him with her uplifted hand. +"Don't dare say that! How can you say that,—and think of dad? He got +the worst of it. He's the one that suffers most—and—he's as innocent +as you or I. You know it." +</P> + +<P> +Carl rose from the porch and faced her like an enemy. "What do you +mean by that? I know it? If I knew anything like that, do you think +I'd leave a stone unturned to prove it? Do you think—" +</P> + +<P> +"I think we both know dad. And some things were not proved,—to my +satisfaction, at least. And you know how long the jury was out, and +what a time they had agreeing. Some points were weak. It was simply +that they couldn't point to any one else. You know that was it. If I +could find Art Osgood—" +</P> + +<P> +"What's he got to do with it?" Her uncle leaned a little and peered +into her face, which the dusk was veiling. +</P> + +<P> +"That is what I want to find out." Jean's voice was quiet, but it had +a quality which he had never before noticed. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better," he advised her tritely, "let sleeping dogs lie." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the trouble with sleeping dogs; they do lie, more often than +not. These particular dogs have lied for nearly three years. I'm +going to stir them up and see if I can't get a yelp of the truth out of +them." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you are!" Carl laughed ironically. "You'll stir up a lot of +unpleasantness for yourself and the rest of us, is what you'll do. The +thing's over and done with. Folks are beginning to forget it. You've +got a home—" +</P> + +<P> +Jean laughed, and her laugh was extremely unpleasant. +</P> + +<P> +"You get as good as the rest of us get," her uncle reminded her +sharply. "I came near going broke myself over the affair, if you want +to know; and you stand there and accuse me of cheating you out of +something! I don't know what in heaven's name you expect. The Lazy A +didn't make me rich, I can tell you that. It just barely helped to +tide things over. You've got a home here, and you can come and go as +you please. What you ain't got," he added bitterly, "is common +gratitude." +</P> + +<P> +He turned away from her and went into the house, and Jean sat down upon +the edge of the porch and stared away at the dimming outline of the +hills, and wondered what had come over her. +</P> + +<P> +Three years on this ranch, seeing her uncle every day almost, living +under the same roof with him, talking with him upon the everyday +business of life,—and to-night, for the first time, the forbidden +subject had been opened. She had said things that until lately she had +not realized were in her mind. She had never liked her uncle, who was +so different from her father, but she had never accused him in her mind +of unfairness until she had written something of the sort in her +ledger. She had never thought of quarrelling,—and yet one could +scarcely call this encounter less than a quarrel. And the strange part +of it was that she still believed what she had said; she still intended +to do the things she declared she would do. Just how she would do them +she did not know, but her purpose was hardening and coming clean-cut +out of the vague background of her mind. +</P> + +<P> +After awhile the dim outline of the high-shouldered hills glowed under +a yellowing patch of light. Jean sat with her chin in her palms and +watched the glow brighten swiftly. Then some unseen force seemed to be +pushing a bright yellow disk up through a gap in the hills, and the gap +was almost too narrow, so that the disk touched either side as it slid +slowly upward. At last it was up, launched fairly upon its leisurely, +drifting journey across to the farther hills behind her. It was not +quite round. That was because one edge had scraped too hard against +the side of the hill, perhaps. But warped though it was, its light fell +softly upon Jean's face, and showed it set and still and stern-eyed and +somber. +</P> + +<P> +She sat there awhile longer, until the slopes lay softly revealed to +her, their hollows filled with inky shadows. She drew a long breath +then, and looked around her at the familiar details of the Bar Nothing +dwelling-place, softened a little by the moonlight, but harsh with her +memories of unhappy days spent there. She rose and went into the house +and to her room, and changed the hated striped percale for her +riding-clothes. +</P> + +<P> +A tall, lank form detached itself from the black shade of the +bunk-house as she went by, hesitated perceptibly, and then followed her +down to the corral. When she had gone in with a rope and later led out +Pard, the form stood forth in the white light of the moon. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going, Jean?" Lite asked her in a tone that was soothing +in its friendliness. +</P> + +<P> +"That you, Lite? I'm going—well, just going. I've got to ride." She +pulled Pard's bridle off the peg where she always hung it, and laid an +arm over his neck while she held the bit against his clinched teeth. +Pard never did take kindly to the feel of the cold steel in his mouth, +and she spoke to him sharply before his jaws slackened. +</P> + +<P> +"Want me to go along with you?" Lite asked, and reached for his saddle +and blanket. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I want you to go to bed." Jean's tone was softer than it had been +for that whole day. "You've had all the riding you need. I've been +shut up with Aunt Ella and her favorite form of torture." +</P> + +<P> +"Got your gun?" Lite gave the latigo a final pull which made Pard +grunt. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing,—only it's a good night for coyotes, and you might get a shot +at one. Another thing, a gun's no good on earth when you haven't got +it with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and you've told me so about once a week ever since I was big +enough to pull a trigger," Jean retorted, with something approaching +her natural tone. "Maybe I won't come back, Lite. Maybe I'll camp over +home till morning." +</P> + +<P> +Lite did not say anything in reply to that. He leaned his long person +against a corral post and watched her out of sight on the trail up the +hill. Then he caught his own horse, saddled it leisurely, and rode +away. +</P> + +<P> +Jean rode slowly, leaving the trail and striking out across the open +country straight for the Lazy A. She had no direct purpose in riding +this way; she had not intended to ride to the Lazy A until she named +the place to Lite as her destination, but since she had told him so, +she knew that was where she was going. The picture-people would not be +there at night, and she felt the need of coming as close as possible to +her father; at the Lazy A, where his thoughts would cling, she felt +near to him,—much nearer than when she was at the Bar Nothing. And +that the gruesome memory of what had happened there did not make the +place seem utterly horrible merely proves how unshakable was her faith +in him. +</P> + +<P> +A coyote trotted up out of a hollow facing her, stiffened with +astonishment, dropped nose and tail, and slid away in the shadow of the +hill. A couple of minutes later Jean saw him sitting alert upon his +haunches on a moon-bathed slope, watching to see what she would do. +She did nothing; and the coyote pointed his nose to the moon, +yap-yap-yapped a quavering defiance, and slunk out of sight over the +hill crest. +</P> + +<P> +Her mind now was more at ease than it had been since the day of horror +when she had first stared black tragedy in the face. She was passing +through that phase of calm elation which follows close upon the heels +of a great resolve. She had not yet come to the actual surmounting of +the obstacles that would squeeze hope from the heart of her; she had +not yet looked upon the possibility of absolute failure. +</P> + +<P> +She was going to buy back the Lazy A from her Uncle Carl, and she was +going to tear away that atmosphere of emptiness and desolation which it +had worn so long. She was going to prove to all men that her father +never had killed Johnny Croft. She was going to do it! Then life +would begin where it had left off three years ago. And when this +deadening load of trouble was lifted, then perhaps she could do some of +the glorious, great things she had all of her life dreamed of doing. +Or, if she never did the glorious, great things, she would at least +have done something to justify her existence. She would be content in +her cage if she could go round and round doing things for dad. +</P> + +<P> +A level stretch of country lay at the foot of the long bluff, which +farther along held the Lazy A coulee close against its rocky side. The +high ridges stood out boldly in the moonlight, so that she could see +every rock and the shadow that it cast upon the ground. Little, +soothing night noises fitted themselves into her thoughts and changed +them to waking dreams. Crickets that hushed while she passed them by; +the faint hissing of a half-wakened breeze that straightway slept upon +the grasses it had stirred; the sleepy protest of some bird which +Pard's footsteps had startled. +</P> + +<P> +She came into Lazy A coulee, half fancying that it was a real +home-coming. But when she reached the gate and found it lying flat +upon the ground away from the broad tread of the picture-people's +machine, her mind jarred from dreams back to reality. From sheer habit +she dismounted, picked up the spineless thing of stakes and barbed +wire, dragged it into place across the trail, and fastened it securely +to the post. She remounted and went on, and a little of the +hopefulness was gone from her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll just about have to rob a bank, I guess," she told herself with a +grim humor at the tremendous undertaking to which she had so calmly +committed herself. "This is what dad would call a man-sized job, I +reckon." She pulled up in the white-lighted trail and stared along the +empty, sagging-roofed sheds and stables, and at the corral with its +open gate and warped rails and leaning posts. "I'll just about have to +rob a bank,—or write a book that will make me famous." +</P> + +<P> +She touched Pard with a rein end and went on slowly. "Robbing a bank +would be the quickest and easiest," she decided whimsically, as she +neared the place where she always sheltered Pard. "But not so +ladylike. I guess I'll write a book. It should be something real +thrilly, so the people will rush madly to all the bookstores to buy it. +It should have a beautiful girl, and at least two handsome men,—one +with all the human virtues, and the other with all the arts of the +devil and the cruel strength of the savage. And—I think some Indians +and outlaws would add several dollars' worth of thrills; or else a +ghost and a haunted house. I wonder which would sell the best? +Indians could steal the girl and give her two handsome men a chance to +do chapters of stunts, and the wicked one could find her first and +carry her away in front of him on a horse (they do those things in +books!) and the hero could follow in a mad chase for miles and miles— +</P> + +<P> +"But then, ghosts can be made very creepy, with tantalizing glimpses of +them now and then in about every other chapter, and mysterious hints +here and there, and characters coming down to breakfast with white, +drawn faces and haggard eyes. And the wicked one would look over his +shoulder and then utter a sardonic laugh. Sardonic is such an +effective word; I don't believe Indians would give him any excuse for +sardonic laughter." +</P> + +<P> +She swung down from the saddle and led Pard into his stall, that was +very black next the manger and very light where the moon shone in at +the door. "I must have lots of moonlight and several stormy sunsets, +and the wind soughing in the branches. I shall have to buy a new +dictionary,—a big, fat, heavy one with the flags of all nations and +how to measure the contents of an empty hogshead, and the deaf and dumb +alphabet, and everything but the word you want to know the meaning of +and whether it begins with ph or an f." +</P> + +<P> +She took the saddle off Pard and hung it up by a stirrup on the rusty +spike where she kept it, with the bridle hung over the stirrup, and the +saddle blanket folded over the horn. She groped in the manger and +decided that there was hay enough to last him till morning, and went +out and closed the door. Her shadow fell clean cut upon the rough +planks, and she stood for a minute looking at it as if it were a +person. Her Stetson hat tilted a little to one side, her hair fluffed +loosely at the sides, leaving her neck daintily slender where it showed +above the turned-back collar of her gray sweater; her shoulders square +and capable and yet not too heavy, and the slim contour of her figure +reaching down to the ground. She studied it abstractedly, as she would +study herself in her mirror, conscious of the individuality, its +likeness to herself. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what kind of a mess you'll make of it," she said to her +shadow, "but you're going to tackle it, just the same. You can't do a +thing till you get some money." +</P> + +<P> +She turned then and went thoughtfully up to the house and into her +room, which had as yet been left undisturbed behind the bars she had +placed against idle invasion. +</P> + +<P> +The moon shone full into the window that faced the coulee, and she sat +down in the old, black wooden rocker and gazed out upon the familiar, +open stretch of sand and scant grass-growth that lay between the house +and the corrals. She turned her eyes to the familiar bold outline of +the bluff that swung round in a crude oval to the point where the trail +turned into the coulee from the southwest. Half-way between the base +and the ragged skyline, the boulder that looked like an elephant's head +stood out, white of profile, hooded with black shade. Beyond was the +fat shelf of ledge that had a small cave beneath, where she had once +found a nest full of little, hungry birds and upon the slope beneath +the telltale, scattered wing-feathers, to show what fate had fallen +upon the mother. Those birds had died also, and she had wept and given +them Christian burial, and had afterwards spent hours every day with +her little rifle hunting the destroyer of that small home. She +remembered the incident now as a small thread in the memory-pattern she +was weaving. +</P> + +<P> +While the shadows shortened as the moon swung high, she sat and looked +out upon the coulee and the bluff that sheltered it, and she saw the +things that were blended cunningly with the things that were not. +After a long while her hands unclasped themselves from behind her head +and dropped numbly to her lap. She sighed and moved stiffly, and knew +that she was tired and that she must get some sleep, because she could +not sit down in one spot and think her way through the problems she had +taken it upon herself to solve. So she got up and crept under the +Navajo blanket upon the couch, tucked it close about her shoulders, and +shut her eyes deliberately. Presently she fell asleep. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JEAN LEARNS WHAT FEAR IS LIKE +</H3> + +<P> +Sometime in the still part of the night which comes after midnight, +Jean woke slowly from dreaming of the old days that had been so vivid +in her mind when she went to sleep. Just at first she did not know +what it was that awakened her, though her eyes were open and fixed upon +the lighted square of the window. She knew that she was in her room at +the Lazy A, but just at first it seemed to her that she was there +because she had always been sleeping in that room. She sighed and +turned her face away from the moonlight, and closed her eyes again +contentedly. +</P> + +<P> +Half dreaming she opened them again and stared up at the low ceiling. +Somewhere in the house she heard footsteps. Very slowly she wakened +enough to listen. They were footsteps,—the heavy, measured tread of +some man. They were in the room that had been her father's bedroom, +and at first they seemed perfectly natural and right; they seemed to be +her dad's footsteps, and she wondered mildly what he was doing, up at +that time of night. +</P> + +<P> +The footsteps passed from there into the kitchen and stopped in the +corner where stood the old-fashioned cupboard with perforated tin +panels in the doors and at the sides, and the little drawers at the +top,—the kind that old people call a "safe." She heard a drawer +pulled out. Without giving any conscious thought to it, she knew which +drawer it was; it was the one next the wall,—the one that did not pull +out straight, and so had to be jerked out. What was her dad...? +</P> + +<P> +Jean thrilled then with a tremor of fear. She had wakened fully enough +to remember. That was not her dad, out there in the kitchen. She did +not know who it was; it was some strange man prowling through the +house, hunting for something. She felt again the tremor of fear that +is the heritage of womanhood alone in the dark. She pulled the Navajo +blanket up to her ears with the instinct of the woman to hide, because +she is not strong enough to face and fight the danger that comes in the +dark. She listened to the sound of that drawer being pushed back, and +the other drawer being pulled out, and she shivered under the blanket. +</P> + +<P> +Then she reached out her hand and got hold of her six-shooter which she +had laid down unthinkingly upon a chair near the couch. She wondered +if she had locked the outside door when she came in. She could not +remember having done so; probably she had not, since it is not the +habit of honest ranch-dwellers to lock their doors at night. She +wanted to get up and see, and fasten it somehow; but she was afraid the +man out there might hear her. As it was, she reasoned nervously with +herself, he probably did not suspect that there was any one in the +house. It was an empty house. And unless he had seen Pard in the +closed stall.... She wondered if he had heard Pard there, and had +investigated and found him. She wondered if he would come into this +room. She remembered how securely she had nailed up the door from the +kitchen, and she breathed freer. She remembered also that she had her +gun, there under her hand. She closed her trembling fingers on the +familiar grip of it, and the feel of it comforted her and steadied her. +</P> + +<P> +Yet she had no desire, no slightest impulse to get up and see who was +there. She was careful not to move, except to cover the doorway to the +kitchen with her gun. +</P> + +<P> +After a few minutes the man came and tried the door, and Jean lifted +herself cautiously upon her elbow and waited in grim desperation. If +he forced that door open, if he came in, she certainly would shoot; and +if she shot,—well, you remember the fate of that hawk on the wing. +</P> + +<P> +The man did not force the door open, which was perhaps the luckiest +thing that ever happened to him. He fussed there until he must have +made sure that it was fastened firmly upon the inside, and then he left +it and went into what had been the living-room. Jean did not move from +her half-sitting position, nor did she change the aim of her gun. He +might come back and try again. +</P> + +<P> +She heard him moving about in the living-room. Surely he did not expect +to find money in an empty house, or anything else of any commercial +value. What was he after? Finally he came back to the kitchen, +crossed it, and stood before the barred door. He pushed against it +tentatively, then stood still for a minute and finally went out. Jean +heard him step upon the porch and pull the kitchen door shut behind +him. She knew that squeal of the bottom hinge, and she knew the final +gasp and click that proved the latch was fastened. She heard him step +off the porch to the path, she heard the soft crunch of his feet in the +sandy gravel as he went away toward the stable. Very cautiously she +got off the couch and crept to the window; and with her gun gripped +tight in her hand, she looked out. But he had moved into a deep shadow +of the bluff, and she could see nothing of him save the deeper shadow +of his swift-moving body as he went down to the corral. Jean gave a +long sigh of nervous relaxation, and crept shivering under the Navajo +blanket. The gun she slid under the pillow, and her fingers rested +still upon the cool comfort of the butt. +</P> + +<P> +Soon she heard a horse galloping, and she went to the window again and +looked out. The moon hung low over the bluff, so that the trail lay +mostly in the shadow. But down by the gate it swung out in a wide curve +to the rocky knoll, and there it lay moon-lighted and empty. She fixed +her eyes upon that curve and waited. In a moment the horseman galloped +out upon the curve, rounded it, and disappeared in the shadows beyond. +At that distance and in that deceptive light, she could not tell who it +was; but it was a horseman, a man riding at night in haste, and with +some purpose in mind. +</P> + +<P> +Jean had thought that the prowler might be some tramp who had wandered +far off the beaten path of migratory humans, and who, stumbling upon +the coulee and its empty dwellings, was searching at random for +whatever might be worth carrying off. A horseman did not fit that +theory anywhere. That particular horseman had come there deliberately, +had given the house a deliberate search, and had left in haste when he +had finished. Whether he had failed or succeeded in finding what he +wanted, he had left. He had not searched the stables, unless he had +done that before coming into the house. He had not forced his way into +her room, probably because he did not want to leave behind him the +evidence of his visit which the door would have given, or because he +feared to disturb the contents of Jean's room. +</P> + +<P> +Jean stared up in the dark and puzzled long over the identity of that +man, and his errand. And the longer she thought about it, the more +completely she was at sea. All the men that she knew were aware that +she kept this room habitable, and visited the ranch often. That was no +secret; it never had been a secret. No one save Lite Avery had ever +been in it, so far as she knew,—unless she counted those chance +trespassers who had prowled boldly through her most sacred belongings. +So that almost any one in the country, had he any object in searching +the house, would know that this room was hers, and would act in that +knowledge. +</P> + +<P> +As to his errand. There could be no errand, so far as she knew. There +were no missing papers such as plays and novels are accustomed to have +cunningly hidden in empty houses. There was no stolen will, no hidden +treasure, no money, no Rajah's ruby, no ransom of a king; these things +Jean named over mentally, and chuckled at the idea of treasure-hunting +at the Lazy A. It vas very romantic, very mysterious, she told +herself. And she analyzed the sensation of little wet alligators +creeping up her spine (that was her own simile), and decided that her +book should certainly have a ghost in it; she was sure that she could +describe with extreme vividness the effect of a ghost upon her various +characters. +</P> + +<P> +In this wise she recovered her composure and laughed at her fear, and +planned new and thrilly incidents for her novel. +</P> + +<P> +She would not tell Lite anything about it, she decided. He would try to +keep her from coming over here by herself, and that would precipitate +one of those arguments between them that never seemed to get them +anywhere, because Lite never would yield gracefully, and Jean never +would yield at all,—which does not make for peace. +</P> + +<P> +She wished, just the same, that Lite was there. It would be much more +comfortable if he were near instead of away over to the Bar Nothing, +sound asleep in the bunk-house. As a self-appointed guardian, Jean +considered Lite something of a nuisance, when he wasn't funny. But as +a big, steady-nerved friend and comrade, he certainly was a comfort. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LITE'S PUPIL DEMONSTRATES +</H3> + +<P> +Jean awoke to hear the businesslike buzzing of an automobile coming up +from the gate. Evidently they were going to make pictures there at the +house, which did not suit her plans at all. She intended to spend the +early morning writing the first few chapters of that book which to her +inexperience seemed a simple task, and to leave before these people +arrived. As it was, she was fairly caught. There was no chance of +escaping unnoticed, unless she slipped out and up the bluff afoot, and +that would not have helped her in the least, since Pard was in the +stable. +</P> + +<P> +From behind the curtains she watched them for a few minutes. Robert +Grant Burns wore a light overcoat, which made him look pudgier than +ever, and he scowled a good deal over some untidy-looking papers in his +hands, and conferred with Pete Lowry in a dissatisfied tone, though his +words were indistinguishable. Muriel Gay watched the two covertly, it +seemed to Jean, and she also looked dissatisfied over something. +</P> + +<P> +Burns and the camera man walked down toward the stables, studying the +bluff and the immediate surroundings, and still talking together. Lee +Milligan, with his paint-shaded eyes and his rouged lips and heavily +pencilled eyebrows, came up and stood close to Muriel, who was sitting +now upon the bench near Jean's window. +</P> + +<P> +"Burns ought to cut out those scenes, Gay," he began sympathetically. +"You can't do any more than you did yesterday. And believe me, you put +it over in good style. I don't see what he wants more than you did." +</P> + +<P> +"What he wants," said Muriel Gay dispiritedly, "is for me to pull off +stunts like that girl. I never saddled a horse in my life till he +ordered me to do it in the scene yesterday. Why didn't he tell me far +enough ahead so I could rehearse the business? Latigo! It sounds like +some Spanish dish with grated cheese on top. I don't believe he knows +himself what he meant." +</P> + +<P> +"He's getting nutty on Western dope," sympathized Lee Milligan. "I +don't see where this country's got anything on Griffith Park for +atmosphere, anyway. What did he want to come away up here in this +God-forsaken country for? What is there TO it, more than he could get +within an hour's ride of Los Angeles?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should worry about the country," said Muriel despondently, "if +somebody would kindly tell me what looping up your latigo means. Burns +says that he's got to retake that saddling scene just as soon as the +horses get here. It looks just as simple," she added spitefully, "as +climbing to the top of the Berry Building tower and doing a leap to a +passing airship. In fact, I'd choose the leap." +</P> + +<P> +A warm impulse of helpfulness stirred Jean. She caught up her hat, +buckled her gun belt around her from pure habit, tucked a few loose +strands of hair into place, and went out where they were. +</P> + +<P> +"If you'll come down to the stable with me," she drawled, while they +were staring their astonishment at her unexpected appearance before +them, "I'll show you how to saddle up. Pard's awfully patient about +being fussed with; you can practice on him. He's mean about taking the +bit, though, unless you know just how to take hold of him. Come on." +</P> + +<P> +The three of them,—Muriel Gay and her mother and Lee Milligan,—stared +at Jean without speaking. To her it seemed perfectly natural that she +should walk up and offer to help the girl; to them it seemed not so +natural. For a minute the product of the cities and the product of the +open country studied each other curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on," urged Jean in her lazily friendly drawl. "It's simple +enough, once you get the hang of it." And she smiled before she added, +"A latigo is just the strap that fastens the cinch. I'll show you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet Bobby Burns doesn't know that," said Muriel Gay, and got up +from the bench. "It's awfully good of you; Mr. Burns is so—" +</P> + +<P> +"I noticed that," said Jean, while Muriel was waiting for a word that +would relieve her feelings without being too blunt. +</P> + +<P> +Burns and Pete Lowry and the assistant had gone down the coulee, still +studying the bluff closely. "I've got to ride down that bluff," Muriel +informed Jean, her eyes following her director gloomily. "He asked me +last night if I could throw a rope. I don't know what for; it's an +extra punch he wants to put in this picture somewhere. I wish to +goodness they wouldn't let him write his own scenarios; he just lies +awake nights, lately, thinking up impossible scenes so he can bully us +afterwards. He's simply gone nutty on the subject of punches." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's easy enough to learn how to saddle a horse," Jean told +Muriel cheerfully. "First you want to put on the bridle—" +</P> + +<P> +"Burns told me to put on the saddle first; and then he cuts the scene +just as I pick up the bridle. The trouble is to get the saddle on +right, and then—that latigo dope!" +</P> + +<P> +"But you ought to bridle him first," Jean insisted. "Supposing you just +got the saddle on, and your horse got startled and ran off? If you +have the bridle on, even if you haven't the reins, you can grab them +when he jumps." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that isn't the way Burns directed the scene yesterday," Muriel +Gay contended. "The scene ends where I pick up the bridle." +</P> + +<P> +"Then Robert Grant Burns doesn't know. I've seen men put on the bridle +last; but it's wrong. Lite Avery, and everybody who knows—" +</P> + +<P> +Muriel Gay looked at Jean with a weary impatience. "What I have to do," +she stated, "is what Burns tells me to do. I should worry about it's +being right or wrong; I'm not the producer." +</P> + +<P> +Jean faced her, frowning a little. Then she laughed, hung the bridle +back on the rusty spike, and took down the saddle blanket. "We'll play +I'm Robert Grant Burns," she said. "I'll tell you what to do: Lay the +blanket on straight,—it's shaped to Pard's back, so that ought to be +easy,—with the front edge coming forward to his withers; that's not +right. Maybe I had better do it first, and show you. Then you'll get +the idea." +</P> + +<P> +So Jean, with the best intention in the world, saddled Pard, and +wondered what there was about so simple a process that need puzzle any +one. When she had tightened the cinch and looped up the latigo, and +explained to Muriel just what she was doing, she immediately unsaddled +him and laid the saddle down upon its side, with the blanket folded +once on top, and stepped close to the manger. +</P> + +<P> +"If your saddle isn't hanging up, that's the way it should be put on +the ground," she said. "Now you do it. It's easy." +</P> + +<P> +It was easy for Jean, but Muriel did not find it so simple. Jean went +through the whole performance a second time, though she was beginning +to feel that nature had never fitted her for a teacher of young ladies. +Muriel, she began to suspect, rather resented the process of being +taught. In another minute Muriel confirmed the suspicion. +</P> + +<P> +"I think I've got it now," she said coolly. "Thank you ever so much." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns returned then, and close behind him rode Gil Huntley +and those other desperados who had helped to brand the calf that other +day. Gil was leading a little sorrel with a saddle on,—Muriel's horse +evidently. Jean had started back to the house and her own affairs, but +she lingered with a very human curiosity to see what they were all +going to do. +</P> + +<P> +She did not know that Robert Grant Burns was perfectly conscious of her +presence even when he seemed busiest, and was studying her covertly +even when he seemed not to notice her at all. Of his company, Pete +Lowry was the only one who did know it, but that was because Pete +himself was trained in the art of observation. Pete also knew why Burns +was watching Jean and studying her slightest movement and expression; +and that was why Pete kept smiling that little, hidden smile of his, +while he made ready for the day's work and explained to Jean the +mechanical part of making moving-pictures. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd rather work with live things," said Jean after a while. "But I +can see where this must be rather fascinating, too." +</P> + +<P> +"This is working with live things, if anybody wants to know," Pete +declared. "Wait till you see Burns in action; handling bronks is easy +compared to—" +</P> + +<P> +"About where does the side line come, Pete?" Burns interrupted. "If +Gil stands here and holds the horse for that close-up saddling—" He +whirled upon Gil Huntley. "Lead that sorrel up here," he commanded. +"We'll have to cut off his head so the halter won't show. Now, how's +that?" +</P> + +<P> +This was growing interesting. Jean backed to a convenient pile of old +corral posts and sat down to watch, with her chin in her palms, and her +mind weaving shuttle-wise back and forth from one person to another, +fitting them all into the pattern which made the whole. She watched +Robert Grant Burns walking back and forth, growling and chuckling by +turns as things pleased him or did not please him. She watched Muriel +Gay walk to a certain spot which Burns had previously indicated, show +sudden and uncalled-for fear and haste, and go through a pantomime of +throwing the saddle on the sorrel. +</P> + +<P> +She watched Lee Milligan carry the saddle up and throw it down upon the +ground, with skirts curled under and stirrups sprawling. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't leave it that way," she remonstrated. "Lay it on its side! +You'll have the skirts kinked so it never will set right." +</P> + +<P> +Muriel Gay gasped and looked from her to Robert Grant Burns. For +betraying your country and your flag is no crime at all compared with +telling your director what he must do. +</P> + +<P> +"Bring that saddle over here," commanded Burns, indicating another spot +eighteen inches from the first. "And don't slop it down like it was a +bundle of old clothes. Lay it on its side. How many times have I got +to tell you a thing before it soaks into your mind?" Not by tone or +look or manner did he betray any knowledge that Jean had spoken, and +Muriel decided that he could not have heard. +</P> + +<P> +Lee Milligan moved the saddle and placed it upon its side, and Burns +went to the camera and eyed the scene critically for its photographic +value. He fumbled the script in his hands, cocked an eye upward at the +sun, stepped back, and gave a last glance to make sure that nothing +could be bettered by altering the detail. +</P> + +<P> +"How's Gil; outside the line, Pete? All right. Now, Miss Gay, +remember, you're in a hurry, and you're worried half to death. You've +just time enough to get there if you use every second. You were crying +when the letter-scene closed, and this is about five minutes +afterwards; you just had time enough to catch your horse and lead him +out here to saddle him. Register a sob when you turn to pick up the +saddle. You ought to do this all right without rehearsing. Get into +the scene and start your action at the same time. Pete, you pick it up +just as she gets to the horse's shoulder and starts to turn. Don't +forget that sob, Gay. Ready? Camera!" +</P> + +<P> +Jean was absorbed, fascinated by this glimpse into a new and very busy +little world,—the world of moving-picture makers. She leaned forward +and watched every moment, every little detail. "Grab the horn with +your right hand, Miss Gay!" she cried involuntarily, when Muriel +stooped and started to pick up the saddle. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't—oh, it looks as if you were picking up a wash-boiler! I told +you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Register that sob!" bawled Robert Grant Burns, shooting a glance at +Jean and stepping from one foot to the other like a fat gobbler in +fresh-fallen snow. +</P> + +<P> +Muriel registered that sob and a couple more before she succeeded in +heaving the saddle upon the back of the flinching sorrel. Because she +took up the saddle by horn and cantle instead of doing it as Jean had +taught her, she bungled its adjustment upon the horse's back. Then the +sorrel began to dance away from her, and Robert Grant Burns swore under +his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop the camera!" he barked and waddled irately up to Muriel. "This," +he observed ironically, "is drama, Miss Gay. We are not making +slap-stick comedy to-day; and you needn't give an imitation of boosting +a barrel over a fence." +</P> + +<P> +Tears that were real slipped down over the rouge and grease paint on +Muriel's cheeks. "Why don't you make that girl stop butting in?" she +flashed unexpectedly. "I'm not accustomed to working under two +directors!" +</P> + +<P> +She registered another sob which the camera never got. +</P> + +<P> +This brought Jean over to where she could lay her hand contritely upon +the girl's shoulder. "I'm awfully sorry," she drawled with perfect +sincerity. "I didn't mean to rattle you; but you know you never in the +world could throw the stirrup over free, the way you had hold of the +saddle. I thought—" +</P> + +<P> +Burns turned heavily around and looked at Jean, as though he had +something in his mind to say to her; but, whatever that something may +have been, he did not say it. Jean looked at him questioningly and +walked back to the pile of posts. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't butt in any more," she called out to Muriel. "Only, it does +look so simple!" She rested her elbows on her knees again, dropped her +chin into her palms, and concentrated her mind upon the subject of +picture-plays in the making. +</P> + +<P> +Muriel recovered her composure, stood beside Gil Huntley at the horse's +head just outside the range of the camera, waited for the word of +command from Burns, and rushed into the saddle scene. Burns shouted +"Sob!" and Muriel sobbed with her face toward the camera. Burns +commanded her to pick up the saddle, and Muriel picked up the saddle +and flung it spitefully upon the back of the sorrel. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you forgot the blanket!" exclaimed Jean, and stopped herself with +her hand over her too-impulsive mouth, just as Burns stopped the camera. +</P> + +<P> +The director bowed his head and shook it twice slowly and with much +meaning. He did not say anything at all; no one said anything. Gil +Huntley looked at Jean and tried to catch her eye, so that he might +give her some greeting, or at least a glance of understanding. But +Jean was wholly concerned with the problem which confronted Muriel. It +was a shame, she thought, to expect a girl,—and when she had reached +that far she straightway put the thought into speech, as was her habit. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a shame to expect that girl to do something she doesn't know how +to do," she said suddenly to Robert Grant Burns. "Work at something +else, why don't you, and let me take her somewhere and show her how? +It's simple—" +</P> + +<P> +"Get up and show her now," snapped Burns, with some sarcasm and a good +deal of exasperation. "You seem determined to get into the foreground +somehow; get up and go through that scene and show us how a girl gets a +saddle on a horse." +</P> + +<P> +Jean sat still for ten seconds and deliberated while she looked from +him to the horse. Again she made a picture that drove its elusive +quality of individuality straight to the professional soul of Robert +Grant Burns. +</P> + +<P> +"I will if you'll let me do it the right way," she said, just when he +was thinking she would not answer him. She did not wait for his +assurance, once she had decided to accept the challenge, or the +invitation; she did not quite know which he had meant it to be. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to bridle him first though," she informed him. "And you can +tell that star villain to back out of the way. I don't need him." +</P> + +<P> +Still Burns did not say anything. He was watching her, studying her, +measuring her, seeing her as she would have looked upon the screen. It +was his habit to leave people alone until they betrayed their +limitations or proved their talent; after that, if they remained under +his direction, he drove them as far as their limitations would permit. +</P> + +<P> +Jean went first and placed the saddle to her liking upon the ground. +"You want me to act just as if you were going to take a picture of it, +don't you?" she asked Burns over her shoulder. She was not sure +whether he nodded, but she acted upon the supposition that he did, and +took the lead-rope from Gil's hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I be hurried and worried—and shall I sob?" she asked, with the +little smile at the corners of her eyes and just easing the line of her +lips. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns seemed to make a quick decision. "Sure," he said. +"You saw the action as Miss Gay went through it. Do as she did; only +we'll let you have your own ideas of saddling the horse." He turned +his head toward Pete and made a very slight gesture, and Pete grinned. +"All ready? Start the action!" After that he did not help her by a +single suggestion. He tapped Pete upon the shoulder, and stood with his +feet far apart and his hands on his hips, watching her very intently. +</P> + +<P> +Jean was plainly startled, just at first, by the business-like tone in +which he gave the signal. Then she laughed a little. "Oh, I forgot. +I must be hurried and worried—and I must sob," she corrected herself. +</P> + +<P> +So she hurried, and every movement she made counted for something +accomplished. She picked up the bridle and shortened her hold upon the +lead rope, and discovered that the sorrel had a trick of throwing up +his head and backing away from the bit. She knew how to deal with that +habit, however; but in her haste she forgot to look as worried as +Muriel had looked, and so appeared to her audience as being merely +determined. She got the bridle on, and then she saddled the sorrel. +And for good measure she picked up the reins, caught the stirrup and +went up, pivoting the horse upon his hind feet as though she meant to +dash madly off into the distance. But she only went a couple of rods +before she pulled him up sharply and dismounted. +</P> + +<P> +"That didn't take me long, did it?" she asked. "I could have hurried a +lot more if I had known the horse." Then she stopped dead still and +looked at Robert Grant Burns. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my goodness, I forgot to sob!" she gasped. And she caught her hat +brim and pulling her Stetson more firmly down upon her head, turned and +ran up the path to the house, and shut herself into her room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO "DOUBLE" FOR MURIEL GAY +</H3> + +<P> +While she breakfasted unsatisfactorily upon soda crackers and a bottle +of olives which happened to have been left over from a previous +luncheon, Jean meditated deeply upon the proper beginning of a book. +The memory of last night came to her vividly, and she smiled while she +fished with a pair of scissors for an olive. She would start the book +off weirdly with mysterious sounds in an empty room. That, she argued, +should fix firmly the interest of the reader right at the start. +</P> + +<P> +By the time she had fished the olive from the bottle, however, her +thoughts swung from the artistic to the material aspect of those +mysterious footsteps. What had the man wanted or expected to find? +She set down the olive bottle impulsively and went out and around to +the kitchen door and opened it. In spite of herself, she shuddered as +she went in, and she walked close to the wall until she was well past +the brown stain on the floor. She went to the old-fashioned cupboard +and examined the contents of the drawers and looked into a cigar-box +which stood open upon the top. She went into her father's bedroom and +looked through everything, which did not take long, since the room had +little left in it. She went into the living-room, also depressingly +dusty and forlorn, but try as she would to think of some article that +might have been left there and was now wanted by some one, she could +imagine no reason whatever for that nocturnal visit. At the same time, +there must have been a reason. Men of that country did not ride abroad +during the still hours of the night just for the love of riding. Most +of them went to bed at dark and slept until dawn. +</P> + +<P> +She went out, intending to go back to her literary endeavors; if she +never started that book, certainly it would never make her rich, and +she would never be able to make war upon circumstances. She thought of +her father with a twinge of remorse because she had wasted so much time +this morning, and she scarcely glanced toward the picture-people down +by the corrals, so she did not see that Robert Grant Burns turned to +look at her and then started hurriedly up the path to the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Say," he called, just before she disappeared around the corner. "Wait +a minute. I want to talk to you." +</P> + +<P> +Jean waited, and the fat man came up breathing hard because of his +haste in the growing heat of the forenoon. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, I'd like to use you in a few scenes," he began abruptly when he +reached her. "Gay can't put over the stuff I want; and I'd like to +have you double for her in some riding and roping scenes. You're about +the same size and build, and I'll get you a blond wig for close-ups, +like that saddling scene. I believe you've got it in you to make good +on the screen; anyway, the practice you'll get doubling for Gay won't +do you any harm." +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked at him, tempted to consent for the fun there would be in +it. "I'd like to," she told him after a little silence. "I really +would love it. But I've got some work that I must do." +</P> + +<P> +"Let the work wait," urged Burns, relieved because she showed no +resentment against the proposal. "I want to get this picture made. +It's going to be a hummer. There's punch to it, or there will be, if—" +</P> + +<P> +"But you see," Jean's drawl slipped across his eager, domineering +voice, "I have to earn some money, lots of it. There's something I +need it for. It's—important." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll earn money at this," he told her bluntly. "You didn't think I'd +ask you to work for nothing, I hope. I ain't that cheap. It's like +this: If you'll work in this picture and put over what I want, it'll +be feature stuff. I'll pay accordingly. Of course, I can't say just +how much,—this is just a try-out; you understand that. But if you can +deliver the goods, I'll see that you get treated right. Some producers +might play the cheap game just because you're green; but I ain't that +kind, and my company ain't that kind. I'm out after results." +Involuntarily his eyes turned toward the bluff. "There's a ride down +the bluff that I want, and a roping—say, can you throw a rope?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean laughed. "Lite Avery says I can," she told him, "and Lite Avery +can almost write his name in the air with a rope." +</P> + +<P> +"If you can make that dash down the bluff, and do the roping I want, +why—Lord! You'll have to be working a gold mine to beat what I'd be +willing to pay for the stuff." +</P> + +<P> +"There's no place here in the coulee where you can ride down the +bluff," Jean informed him, "except back of the house, and that's out of +sight. Farther over there's a kind of trail that a good horse can +handle. I came down it on a run, once, with Pard. A man was drowning, +over here in the creek, and I was up on the bluff and happened to see +him and his horse turn over,—it was during the high water. So I made +a run down off the point, and got to him in time to rope him out. You +might use that trail." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns stood and stared at her as though he did not see her +at all. In truth, he was seeing with his professional eyes a picture +of that dash down the bluff. He was seeing a "close-up" of Jean +whirling her loop and lassoing the drowning man just as he had given up +hope and was going under for the third time. Lee Milligan was the +drowning man! and the agony of his eyes, and the tenseness of Jean's +face, made Robert Grant Burns draw a long breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord, what feature-stuff that would make!" he said under his breath. +"I'll write a scenario around that rescue scene." Whereupon he caught +himself. It is not well for a director to permit his enthusiasm to +carry him into injudicious speech. He chuckled to hide his eagerness. +"Well, you can show me that location," he said, "and we'll get to work. +You'll have to use the sorrel, of course; but I guess he'll be all +right. This saddling scene will have to wait till I send for a wig. +You can change clothes with Miss Gay and get by all right at a +distance, just as you are. A little make-up, maybe; she'll fix that. +Come on, let's get to work. And don't worry about the salary; I'll +tell you to-night what it'll be, after I see you work." +</P> + +<P> +When he was in that mood, Robert Grant Burns swept everything before +him. He swept Jean into his plans before she had really made up her +mind whether to accept his offer or stick to her literary efforts. He +had Muriel Gay up at the house and preparing to change clothes with +Jean, and he had Lee Milligan started for town in the machine with the +key to Burns' emergency wardrobe trunk, before Jean realized that she +was actually going to do things for the camera to make into a picture. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you are going to double in that ride down the bluff, anyway," +Muriel declared, while she blacked Jean's brows and put shadows around +her eyes. "I could have done it, of course; but mamma is so nervous +about my getting hurt that I hate to do anything risky like that. It +upsets her for days." +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't much risk in riding down the bluff," said Jean carelessly. +"Not if you've got a good horse. I wonder if that sorrel is rope broke. +Have you ever roped off him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Muriel, "I haven't." She might have added that she never +roped off any horse, but she did not. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have to try him out and see what he's like, before I try to rope +for a picture. I wonder if there'll be time now?" Jean was pleasantly +excited over this new turn of events. She had dreamed of doing many +things, but never of helping to make moving pictures. She was eager and +full of curiosity, like a child invited to play a new and fascinating +game, and she kept wondering what Lite would have to say about her +posing for moving pictures. Try to stop her, probably,—and fail, as +usual! +</P> + +<P> +When she went out to where the others were grouped in the shade, she +gave no sign of any inner excitement or perturbation. She went +straight up to Burns and waited for his verdict. +</P> + +<P> +"Do I look like Miss Gay?" she drawled. +</P> + +<P> +The keen eyes of Burns half closed while he studied her. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I can't say that you do," he said after a moment. "Walk off +toward the corrals,—and, say! Mount the sorrel and start off like you +were in a deuce of a hurry. That'll be one scene, and I'd like to see +how you do it when you can have your own way about it, and how close up +we can make it and have you pass for Gay." +</P> + +<P> +"How far shall I ride?" Jean's eyes had a betraying light of interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—to the gate, maybe. Can you get a long shot down the trail to the +gate, Pete, and keep skyline in the scene?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete moved the camera, fussed and squinted, and then nodded his head. +"Sure, I can. But you'll have to make it right away, or else wait till +to-morrow. The sun's getting around pretty well in front." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll take it right after this rehearsal, if the girl can put the +stuff over right," Burns muttered. "And she can, or I'm badly +mistaken. Pete, that girl's—" He stopped short, because the shadow of +Lee Milligan was moving up to them. "All right, Miss—say, what's your +name, anyway?" He was told, and went on briskly. "Miss Douglas, just +start from off that way,—about where that round rock is. You'll come +into the scene a little beyond. Hurry straight up to the sorrel and +mount and ride off. Your lover is going to be trapped by the bandits, +and you've just heard it and are hurrying to save him. Get the idea? +Now let's see you do it." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't want me to sob, do you?" Jean looked over her shoulder to +inquire. "Because if I were going to save my lover, I don't believe +I'd want to waste time weeping around all over the place." +</P> + +<P> +Burns chuckled. "You can cut out the sob," he permitted. "Just go +ahead like it was real stuff." +</P> + +<P> +Jean was standing by the rock, ready to start. She looked at Burns +speculatively. "Oh, well, if it were real, I'd run!" +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead and run then!" Burns commanded. +</P> + +<P> +Run she did, and startled the sorrel so that it took quick work to +catch him. +</P> + +<P> +"Camera! She might not do it like that again, ever!" cried Burns. +</P> + +<P> +She was up in the saddle and gone in a flurry of dusts while Robert +Grant Burns stood with his hands on his hips and watched her gloatingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord! But that girl's a find!" he ejaculated, and this time he did +not seem to care who heard him. He cut the scene just as Jean pulled +up at the gate. "See how she set that sorrel down on his haunches?" he +chuckled to Pete. "Talk about feature-stuff; that girl will jump our +releases up ten per cent., Pete, with the punches I can put into Gay's +parts now. How many feet was that scene, twenty-five?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fifteen," corrected Pete. "And every foot with a punch in it. Too +bad she's got to double for Gay. She's got the face for close-up work, +believe me!" +</P> + +<P> +To this tentative remark Robert Grant Burns made no reply whatever. He +went off down the path to meet Jean, critically watching her approach +to see how nearly she resembled Muriel Gay, and how close she could +come to the camera without having the substitution betrayed upon the +screen. Muriel Gay was a leading woman with a certain assured +following among movie audiences. Daring horsewomanship would greatly +increase that following, and therefore the financial returns of these +Western pictures. Burns was her director, and it was to his interest +to build up her popularity. Since the idea first occurred to him, +therefore, of using Jean as a substitute for Muriel in all the scenes +that required nerve and skill in riding, he looked upon her as a double +for Muriel rather than from the viewpoint of her own individual +possibilities on the screen. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know about your hair," he told her, when she came up to him +and stopped. "We'll run the negative to-night and see how it shows up. +The rest of the scene was all right. I had Pete make it. I'm going to +take some scenes down here by the gate, now, with the boys. I won't +need you till after lunch, probably; then I'll have you make that ride +down off the bluff and some close-up rope work." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I ought to ride over to the ranch," Jean said undecidedly. +"And I ought to try out this sorrel if you want me to use him. Would +some other day do just—" +</P> + +<P> +"In the picture business," interrupted Robert Grant Burns +dictatorially, "the working-hours of an actor belong to the director +he's working for. If I use you in pictures, your time will belong to +me on the days when I use you. I'll expect you to be on hand when I +want you; get that?" +</P> + +<P> +"My time," said Jean resolutely, "will belong to you if I consider it +worth my while to let you have it. Otherwise it will belong to me." +</P> + +<P> +Burns chuckled. "Well, we might as well get down to brass tacks and +have things thoroughly understood," he decided. "I'll use you as an +extra to double for Miss Gay where there's any riding stunts and so on. +Miss Gay is a good actress, but she can't ride to amount to anything. +With the clothes and make-up you—impersonate her. See what I mean? +And for straight riding I'll pay you five dollars a day; five dollars +for your time on the days that I want to use you. For any feature +stuff, like that ride down the bluff, and the roping, and the like of +that, it'll be more. Twenty-five dollars for feature-stuff, say, and +five dollars for straight riding. Get me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do, yes." Jean's drawl gave no hint of her inner elation at the +prospect of earning so much money so easily. What, she wondered, would +Lite say to that? +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that part's all right then. By feature-stuff, I mean anything I +want you to do to put a punch in the story; anything from riding +bucking horses and shooting—say can you shoot?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I think so." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll have use for that, too, later on. The more stunts you can +pull off, the bigger hits these pictures are going to make. You see +that, of course. And what I've offered you is a pretty good rate; but I +expect to get results. I told you I wasn't any cheap John to work for. +Now get this point, and get it right: I'll expect you to report to me +every morning here, at eight o'clock. I may need you that day and I +may not, but you're to be on hand. If I do need you, you get paid for +that day, whether it's one scene or twenty you're to work in. If I +don't need you that day, you don't get anything. That's what being an +extra means. You start in to-day, and if you make the ride down the +bluff, it'll be twenty-five to-day. But you can't go riding off +somewhere else, and maybe not be here when I want you. You're under my +orders, like the rest of the company. Get that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try it for a week, anyway," she said. "Obeying your orders will +be the hardest part of it, Mr. Burns. I always want to stamp my foot +and say 'I won't' when any one tells me I must do something." She +laughed infectiously. "You'll probably fire me before the week's out," +she prophesied. "I'll be as meek as possible, but if we +quarrel,—well, you know how sweet-tempered I can be!" +</P> + +<P> +Burns looked at her queerly and laughed. "I'll take a chance on that," +he said, and went chuckling back to the camera. To have a girl +absolutely ignore his position and authority, and treat him in that +off-hand manner of equality was a new experience to Robert Grant Burns, +terror among photo-players. +</P> + +<P> +Jean went over to where Muriel and her mother were sitting in the +shade, and asked Muriel if she would like to ride Pard out into the +flat beyond the corrals, where she meant to try out the sorrel. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to use you, anyway," she added frankly, "to practice on. You +can ride past, you know, and let me rope you. Oh, it won't hurt you; +and there'll be no risk at all," she hastened to assure the other, when +she saw refusal in Muriel's eyes. "I'll not take any turns around the +horn, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want Muriel taking risks like that," put in Mrs. Gay hastily. +"That's just why Burns is going to have you double for her. A leading +woman can't afford to get hurt. Muriel, you stay here and rest while +you have a chance. Goodness knows it's hard enough, at best, to work +under Burns." +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked at her and turned away. So that was it—a leading woman +could not afford to be hurt! Some one else, who didn't amount to +anything, must take the risks. She had received her first little +lesson in this new business. +</P> + +<P> +She went straight to Burns, interrupted him in coaching his chief +villain for a scene, and asked him if he could spare a man for half an +hour or so. "I want some one to throw a rope over on the run," she +explained naively, "to try out this sorrel." +</P> + +<P> +Burns regarded her somberly; he hated to be interrupted in his work. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't there anybody else you can rope?" he wanted to know. "Where's +Gay?" +</P> + +<P> +"'A leading woman,'" quoted Jean serenely, "'can't afford to get hurt!'" +</P> + +<P> +Burns chuckled. He knew who was the author of that sentence; he had +heard it before. "Well, if you're as fatal as all that, I can't turn +over my leading man for you to practice on, either," he pointed out to +her. "What's the matter with a calf or something?" +</P> + +<P> +"You won't let me ride out of your sight to round one up," Jean +retorted. "There are no calves handy; that's why I asked for a man." +</P> + +<P> +Whereupon the villains looked at one another queerly, and the chuckle +of their director exploded into a full-lunged laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to use all these fellows in a couple of scenes," he told +her. "Can't you practice on a post?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>I</I> don't have to practice. It's the sorrel I want to try out." +Jean's voice lost a little of its habitual, soft drawl. Really, these +picture-people did seem very dense upon some subjects! +</P> + +<P> +"Well, now look here." Robert Grant Burns caught at the shreds of his +domineering manner. "My part of this business is producing the scenes. +You'll have to attend to the getting-ready part. You—you wouldn't +expect me to help you put on your make-up, would you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, now that I recognize your limitations, I shall not ask any help +which none of you are able or have the nerve to give," she returned +coolly. "I wish I had Lite here; but I guess Pard and I can handle the +sorrel ourselves. Sorry to have disturbed you." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns, his leading man and all his villains stood and +watched her walk away from them to the stable. They watched her lead +Pard out and turn him loose in the biggest corral. When they saw her +take her coiled rope, mount the sorrel and ride in, they went, in a +hurried group, to where they might look into that corral. They watched +her pull the gate shut after her, lean from the saddle, and fasten the +chain hook in its accustomed link. By the time she had widened her +loop and turned to charge down upon unsuspecting Pard, Robert Grant +Burns, his leading man and all his villains were lined up along the +widest space between the corral rails, and Pete Lowry was running over +so as to miss none of the show. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I thought you were all so terribly busy!" taunted Jean, while her +loop was circling over her head. Pard wheeled just then upon his hind +feet, but the loop settled true over his head and drew tight against +his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +The sorrel lunged and fought the rope, and snorted and reared. It took +fully two minutes for Jean to force him close enough to Pard so that +she might flip off the loop. Pard himself caught the excitement and +snorted and galloped wildly round and round the enclosure, but Jean did +not mind that; what brought her lips so tightly together was the +performance of the sorrel. While she was coiling her rope, he was +making half-hearted buck jumps across the corral. When she swished the +rope through the air to widen her loop, he reared and whirled. She +jabbed him smartly with the spurs, and he kicked forward at her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Say," she drawled to Burns, "I don't know what sort of a picture +you're going to make, but if you want any roping done from this horse, +you'll have to furnish meals and beds for your audiences." With that +she was off across the corral at a tearing pace that made the watchers +gasp. The sorrel swung clear of the fence. He came near going down in +a heap, but recovered himself after scrambling along on his knees. +Jean brought him to a stand before Burns. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have to ask you to raise your price, Mr. Burns, if you want me to +run this animal down the bluff," she stated firmly. "He's just what I +thought he was all along: a ride-around-the-block horse from some +livery stable. When it comes to range work, he doesn't know as much +as—" +</P> + +<P> +"Some people. I get you," Burns cut in drily. "How about that horse of +yours? Would you be willing to let me have the use of him—at so much +per?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I do the riding, yes. Now, since you're here, and don't seem as +busy as you thought you were, I'll show you the difference between this +livery-stable beast and a real rope-horse." +</P> + +<P> +She dismounted and called to Pard, and Pard came to her, stepping +warily because of the sorrel and the rope. "Just to save time, will +one of you boys go and bring my riding outfit from the stable?" she +asked the line at the fence, whereupon the leading man and all the +villains started unanimously to perform that slight service, which +shows pretty well how Jean stood in their estimation. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, that's a real, typical, livery-stable saddle and bridle," she +observed to Burns, pointing scornfully at the sorrel. "I was going to +tell you that I'd hate to be seen in a picture riding that outfit, +anyway. Now, you watch how differently Pard behaves with a rope and +everything. And you watch the sorrel get what's coming to him. Shall +I 'bust' him?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean throw him?" Burns, in his eagerness, began to climb the +corral fence,—until he heard a rail crack under his weight. "Yes, +BUST him, if you want to. John Jimpson! if you can rope and throw that +sorrel—" +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not reply to that half-finished sentence. She was busy +saddling Pard; now she mounted and widened her loop with a sureness of +the result that flashed a thrill of expectation to her audience. Twice +the loop circled over her head before she flipped it out straight and +true toward the frantic sorrel as he surged by. She caught him fairly +by both front feet and swung Pard half away from him. Pard's muscles +stiffened against the jerk of the rope, and the sorrel went down with a +bump. Pard backed knowingly and braced himself like the trained +rope-horse he was, and Jean looked at Robert Grant Burns and laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't bust him," she disclaimed whimsically. "He done busted +himself!" She touched Pard with her heel and rode up so that the rope +slackened, and she could throw off the loop. "Did you see how Pard set +himself?" she questioned eagerly. "I could have gotten off and gone +clear away, and Pard would have kept that horse from getting on his +feet. Now you see the difference, don't you? Pard never would have +gone down like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you'll do," chuckled Robert Grant Burns, "I'll pay you a little +more and use you and your horse together. Call that settled. Come on, +boys, let's get to work." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PICTURES AND PLANS AND MYSTERIOUS FOOTSTEPS +</H3> + +<P> +When Lite objected to her staying altogether at the Lazy A, Jean +assured him that she was being terribly practical and cautious and +businesslike, and pointed out to him that staying there would save Pard +and herself the trip back and forth each day, and would give her time, +mornings and evenings to work on her book. +</P> + +<P> +Lite, of course, knew all about that soon-to-be-famous book. He +usually did know nearly everything that concerned Jean or held her +interest. Whether, after three years of futile attempts, Lite still +felt himself entitled to be called Jean's boss, I cannot say for a +certainty. He had grown rather silent upon that subject, and rather +inclined to keep himself in the background, as Jean grew older and more +determined in her ways. But certainly he was Jean's one confidential +friend,—her pal. So Lite, perforce, listened while Jean told him the +plot of her story. And when she asked him in all earnestness what he +thought would be best for the tragic element, ghosts or Indians, Lite +meditated gravely upon the subject and then suggested that she put in +both. That is why Jean lavishly indulged in mysterious footsteps all +through the first chapter, and then opened the second with +blood-curdling war-whoops that chilled the soul of her heroine and led +her to suspect that the rocks behind the cabin concealed the forms of +painted savages. +</P> + +<P> +Her imagination must have been stimulated by her new work, which called +for wild rides after posses and wilder flights away from the outlaws, +while the flash of blank cartridges and the smoke-pots of disaster by +fire added their spectacular effect to a scene now and then. +</P> + +<P> +Jean, of course, was invariably the wild rider who fled in a blond wig +and Muriel's clothes from pursuing villains, or dashed up to the +sheriff's office to give the alarm. Frequently she fired the blank +cartridges, until Lite warned her that blank cartridges would ruin her +gun-barrel; after which she insisted upon using bullets, to the secret +trepidation of the villains who must stand before her and who could +never quite grasp the fact that Jean knew exactly where those bullets +were going to land. +</P> + +<P> +She would sit in her room at the Lazy A, when the sun and the big, +black automobile and the painted workers were gone, and write +feverishly of ghosts and Indians and the fair maiden who endured so +much and the brave hero who dared so much and loved so well. Lee +Milligan she visualized as the human wolf who looked with desire upon +Lillian. Gil Huntley became the hero as the story unfolded; and while +I have told you absolutely nothing about Jean's growing acquaintance +with these two, you may draw your own conclusions from the place she +made for them in her book that she was writing. And you may also form +some idea of what Lite Avery was living through, during those days when +his work and his pride held him apart, and Jean did "stunts" to her +heart's content with these others. +</P> + +<P> +A letter from the higher-ups in the Great Western Company, written just +after a trial run of the first picture wherein Jean had worked, had +served to stimulate Burns' appetite for the spectacular, so that the +stunts became more and more the features of his pictures. Muriel Gay +was likely to become the most famous photo-play actress in the West, he +believed. That is, she would if Jean continued to double for her in +everything save the straight dramatic work. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not care just at that time how much glory Muriel Gay was +collecting for work that Jean herself had done. Jean was experiencing +the first thrills of seeing her name written upon the face of fat, +weekly checks that promised the fulfillment of her hopes, and she would +not listen to Lite when he ventured a remonstrance against some of the +things she told him about doing. Jean was seeing the Lazy A restored +to its old-time home-like prosperity. She was seeing her dad there, +going tranquilly about the everyday business of the ranch, holding his +head well up, and looking every man straight in the eye. She could not +and she would not let even Lite persuade her to give up risking her +neck for the money the risk would bring her. +</P> + +<P> +If she could change these dreams to reality by dashing madly about on +Pard while Pete Lowry wound yards and yards of narrow gray film around +something on the inside of his camera, and watched her with that +little, secret smile on his face; and while Robert Grant Burns waddled +here and there with his hands on his hips, and watched her also; and +while villains pursued or else fled before her, and Lee Milligan +appeared furiously upon the scene in various guises to rescue her,—if +she could win her dad's freedom and the Lazy A's possession by doing +these foolish things, she was perfectly willing to risk her neck and +let Muriel receive the applause. +</P> + +<P> +She did not know that she was doubling the profit on these Western +pictures which Robert Grant Burns was producing. She did not know that +it would have hastened the attainment of her desires had her name +appeared in the cast as the girl who put the "punches" in the plays. +She did not know that she was being cheated of her rightful reward when +her name never appeared anywhere save on the pay-roll and the weekly +checks which seemed to her so magnificently generous. In her ignorance +of what Gil Huntley called the movie game, she was perfectly satisfied +to give the best service of which she was capable, and she never once +questioned the justice of Robert Grant Burns. +</P> + +<P> +Jean started a savings account in the little bank where her father had +opened an account before she was born, and Lite was made to writhe +inwardly with her boasting. Lite, if you please, had long ago started +a savings account at that same bank, and had lately cut out poker, and +even pool, from among his joys, that his account might fatten the +faster. He had the same object which Jean had lately adopted so +zealously, but he did not tell her these things. He listened instead +while Jean read gloatingly her balance, and talked of what she would do +when she had enough saved to buy back the ranch. She had stolen +unwittingly the air castle which Lite had been three years building, +but he did not say a word about it to Jean. Wistful eyed, but smiling +with his lips, he would sit while Jean spoiled whole sheets of +perfectly good story-paper, just figuring and estimating and building +castles with the dollar sign. If Robert Grant Burns persisted in his +mania for "feature-stuff" and "punches" in his pictures, Jean believed +that she would have a fair start toward buying back the Lazy A long +before her book was published and had brought her the thousands and +thousands of dollars she was sure it would bring. Very soon she could +go boldly to a lawyer and ask him to do something about her father's +case. Just what he should do she did not quite know; and Lite did not +seem to be able to tell her, but she thought she ought to find out just +how much the trial had cost. And she wished she knew how to get about +setting some one on the trail of Art Osgood. +</P> + +<P> +Jean was sure that Art Osgood knew something about the murder, and she +frequently tried to make Lite agree with her. Sometimes she was sure +that Art Osgood was the murderer, and would argue and point out her +reasons to Lite. Art had been working for her uncle, and rode often to +the Lazy A. He had not been friendly with Johnny Croft,—but then, +nobody had been very friendly with Johnny Croft. Still, Art Osgood was +less friendly with Johnny than most of the men in the country, and just +after the murder he had left the country. Jean laid a good deal of +stress upon the circumstance of Art Osgood's leaving on that particular +afternoon, and she seemed to resent it because no one had tried to find +Art. No one had seemed to think his going at that time had any +significance, or any bearing upon the murder, because he had been +planning to leave, and had announced that he would go that day. +</P> + +<P> +Jean's mind, as her bank account grew steadily to something approaching +dignity, worked back and forth incessantly over the circumstances +surrounding the murder, in spite of Lite's peculiar attitude toward the +subject, which Jean felt but could not understand, since he invariably +assured her that he believed her dad was innocent, when she asked him +outright. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes, in the throes of literary composition, she could not think +of the word that she wanted. Her eyes then would wander around +familiar objects in the shabby little room, and frequently they would +come to rest upon her father's saddle or her father's chaps: the chaps +especially seemed potent reminders of her father, and drew her thoughts +to him and held them there. The worn leather, stained with years of +hard usage and wrinkled permanently where they had shaped themselves to +his legs in the saddle, brought his big, bluff presence vividly before +her, when she was in a certain receptive mood. She would forget all +about her story, and the riding and shooting and roping she had done +that day to appease the clamorous, professional appetite of Robert +Grant Burns, and would sit and stare, and think and think. Always her +thoughts traveled in a wide circle and came back finally to the +starting point: to free her father, and to give him back his home, she +must have money. To have money, she must earn it; she must work for +it. So then she would give a great sigh of relaxed nervous tension and +go back to her heroine and the Indians and the mysterious footsteps +that marched on moonlight nights up and down a long porch just outside +windows that frequently framed white, scared faces with wide, +horror-stricken eyes which saw nothing of the marcher, though the steps +still went up and down. +</P> + +<P> +It was very creepy, in spots. It was so creepy that one evening when +Lite had come to smoke a cigarette or two in her company and to listen +to her account of the day's happenings, Lite noticed that when she read +the creepy passages in her story, she glanced frequently over her +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"You want to cut out this story writing," he said abruptly, when she +paused to find the next page. "It's bad enough to work like you do in +the pictures. This is going a little too strong; you're as jumpy +to-night as a guilty conscience. Cut it out." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm all right. I'm just doing that for dramatic effect. This is very +weird, Lite. I ought to have a green shade on the lamp, to get the +proper effect. I—don't you think—er—those footsteps are terribly +mysterious?" +</P> + +<P> +Lite looked at her sharply for a minute. "I sure do," he said drily. +"Where did you get the idea, Jean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Out of my head," she told him airily, and went on reading while Lite +studied her curiously. +</P> + +<P> +That night Jean awoke and heard stealthy footsteps, like a man walking +in his socks and no boots, going all through the house but never coming +to her room. She did not get up to see who it was, but lay perfectly +still and heard her heart thump. When she saw a dim, yellow ray of +light under the door which opened into the kitchen, she drew the +blanket over her head, and got no comfort whatever from the feel of her +six-shooter close against her hand. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning she told herself that she had given in to a fine case +of nerves, and that the mysterious footsteps of her story had become +mixed up with the midnight wanderings of a pack-rat that had somehow +gotten into the house. Then she remembered the bar of light under the +door, and the pack-rat theory was spoiled. +</P> + +<P> +She had taken the board off the doorway into the kitchen, so that she +could use the cookstove. The man could have come in if he had wanted +to, and that knowledge she found extremely disquieting. She went all +through the house that morning, looking and wondering. The living-room +was now the dressing-room of Muriel and her mother, and the make-up +scattered over the centertable was undisturbed; the wardrobe of the two +women had apparently been left untouched. Yet she was sure that some +one had been prowling in there in the night. She gave up the puzzle at +last and went back to her breakfast, but before the company arrived in +the big, black automobile, she had found a stout hasp and two staples, +and had fixed the door which led from her room into the kitchen so that +she could fasten it securely on the inside. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not tell Lite about the footsteps. She was afraid that he +might insist upon her giving up staying at the Lazy A. Lite did not +approve of it, anyway, and it would take very little encouragement in +the way of extra risk to make him stubborn about it. Lite could be +very obstinate indeed upon occasion, and she was afraid he might take a +stubborn streak about this, and perhaps ride over every night to make +sure she was all right, or do something equally unnecessary and foolish. +</P> + +<P> +She did not know Lite as well as she imagined, which is frequently the +case with the closest of friends. As a matter of fact, Jean had never +spent one night alone on the ranch, even though she did believe she was +doing so. Lite had a homestead a few miles away, upon which he was +supposed to be sleeping occasionally to prove his good faith in the +settlement. Instead of spending his nights there, however, he rode +over and slept in the gable loft over the old granary, where no one +ever went; and he left every morning just before the sky lightened with +dawn. He did not know that Jean was frightened by the sound of +footsteps, but he had heard the man ride up to the stable and dismount, +and he had followed him to the house and watched him through the +uncurtained windows, and had kept his fingers close to his gun all the +while. Jean did not dream of anything like that; but Lite, going about +his work with the easy calm that marked his manner always, was quite as +puzzled over the errand of the night-prowler as was Jean herself. +</P> + +<P> +For three years Lite had lain aside the mystery of the footprints on +the kitchen floor on the night after the inquest, as a puzzle he would +probably never solve. He had come to remember them as a vagrant +incident that carried no especial meaning. But now they seemed to +carry a new significance,—if only he could get at the key. For three +years he had gone along quietly, working and saving all he could, and +looking after Jean in an unobtrusive way, believing that Aleck was +guilty,—and being careful to give no hint of that belief to any one. +And now Jean herself seemed to be leading him unconsciously face to +face with doubt and mystery. It tantalized him. He knew the prowler, +and for that reason he was all the more puzzled. What had he wanted or +expected to find? Lite was tempted to face the man and ask him; but on +second thought he knew that would be foolish. He would say nothing to +Jean. He thanked the Lord she slept soundly! and he would wait and see +what happened. +</P> + +<P> +Jean herself was thoughtful all that day, and was slow to lighten her +mood or her manner even when Gil Huntley rode beside her to location +and talked enthusiastically of the great work she was doing for a +beginner, and of the greater work she would do in the future, if only +she took advantage of her opportunities. +</P> + +<P> +"It can't go on like this forever," he told her impressively for the +second time, before he was sure of her attention and her interest. +"Think of you, working extra under a three-day guarantee! Why, you're +what's making the pictures! I had a letter from a friend of mine; he's +with the Universal. He'd been down to see one of our pictures,—that +first one you worked in. You remember how you came down off that +bluff, and how you roped me and jerked me down off the bank just as I'd +got a bead on Lee? Say! that picture was a RIOT! Gloomy says he never +saw a picture get the hand that scene got. And he wanted to know who +was doubling for Gay, up here. You see, he got next that it was a +double; he knows darned well Gay never could put over that line of +stuff. The photography was dandy,—Pete's right there when it comes to +camera work, anyway,—and that run down the bluff, he said, had people +standing on their hind legs even before the rope scene. You could tell +it was a girl and no man doubling the part. Gloomy says everybody +around the studio has begun to watch for our releases, and go just to +see you ride and rope and shoot. And Gay gets all the press-notices! +Say, it makes me sick!" He looked at Jean wistfully. +</P> + +<P> +"The trouble is, you don't realize what a raw deal you're getting," he +said, with much discontent in his tone. "As an extra, you're getting +fine treatment and fine pay; I admit that. But the point is, you've no +business being an extra. Where you belong is playing leads. You don't +know what that means, but I do. Burns is just using you to boost Muriel +Gay, and I say it's the rawest deal I ever saw handed out in the +picture game; and believe me, I've seen some raw deals!" +</P> + +<P> +"Now, now, don't get peevish, Gil." Jean's drawl was soft, and her +eyes were friendly and amused. So far had their friendship progressed. +"It's awfully dear of you to want to see me a real leading lady. I +appreciate it, and I won't take off that lock of hair I said I'd take +when I shoot you in the foreground. Burns wants a real thrilling +effect close up, and he's told me five times to remember and keep my +face turned away from the camera, so they won't see it isn't Gay. If I +turn around, there will have to be a re-take, he says; and you won't +like that, Gil, not after you've heard a bullet zip past your ear so +close that it will fan your hair. Are—aren't you afraid of me, Gil?" +</P> + +<P> +"Afraid of you?" Gil's horse swung closer, and Gil's eyes threatened +the opening of a tacitly forbidden subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Because if you get nervous and move the least little bit— To make it +look real, as Bobby described the scene to me, I've got to shoot the +instant you stop to gather yourself for a spring at me. It's that +lightning-draw business I have to do, Gil. I'm to stand three quarters +to the camera, with my face turned away, watching you. You keep +coming, and you stop just an instant when you're almost within reach of +me. In that instant I have to grab my gun and shoot; and it has to +look as if I got you, Gil. I've got to come pretty close, in order to +bring the gun in line with you for the camera. Bobby wants to show off +the quick draw that Lite Avery taught me. That's to be the 'punch' in +the scene. I showed him this morning what it is like, and Bobby is +just tickled to death. You see, I don't shoot the way they usually do +in pictures—" +</P> + +<P> +"I should say not!" Gil interrupted admiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't seen that quick work, either. It'll look awfully real, +Gil, and you mustn't dodge or duck, whatever you do. It will be just +as if you really were a man I'm deadly afraid of, that has me cornered +at last against that ledge. I'm going to do it as if I meant it. That +will mean that when you stop and kind of measure the distance, meaning +to grab me before I can do anything, I'll draw and shoot from the level +of my belt; no higher, Gil, or it won't be the lightning-draw—as +advertised. I won't have time to take a fine aim, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Listen!" said Gil, leaning toward her with his eyes very earnest. "I +know all about that. I heard you and Burns talking about it. You go +ahead and shoot, and put that scene over big. Don't you worry about +me; I'm going to play up to you, if I can. Listen! Pete's just +waiting for a chance to register your face on the film. Burns has +planned his scenes to prevent that, but we're just lying low till the +chance comes. It's got to be dramatic, and it's got to seem +accidental. Get me? I shouldn't have told you, but I can't seem to +trick you, Jean. You're the kind of a girl a fellow's got to play fair +with." +</P> + +<P> +"Bobby has told me five times already to remember and keep my face away +from the camera," Jean pointed out the second time. "Makes me feel as +if I had lost my nose, or was cross-eyed or something. I do feel as if +I'd lose my job, Gil." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you wouldn't; all he'd do would be to have a re-take of the whole +scene, and maybe step around like a turkey in the snow, and swear to +himself. Anyway, you can forget what I've said, if you'll feel more +comfortable. It's up to Pete and me, and we'll put it over smooth, or +we won't do it at all. Bobby won't realize it's happened till he hears +from it afterwards. Neither will you." He turned his grease-painted +face toward her hearteningly and smiled as endearingly as the sinister, +painted lines would allow. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen!" he repeated as a final encouragement, because he had sensed +her preoccupation and had misread it for worry over the picture. "You +go ahead and shoot, and don't bother about me. Make it real. Shoot as +close as you like. If you pink me a little I won't care,—if you'll +promise to be my nurse. I want a vacation, anyway." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PUNCH VERSES PRESTIGE +</H3> + +<P> +It seems to be a popular belief among those who are unfamiliar with the +business of making motion pictures that all dangerous or difficult +feats are merely tricks of the camera, and that the actors themselves +take no risks whatever. The truth is that they take a good many more +risks than the camera ever records; and that directors who worship what +they call "punch" in their scenes are frequently as tender of the +physical safety of their actors as was Napoleon or any other great +warrior who measured results rather than wounds. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns had discovered that he had at least two persons in +his company who were perfectly willing to do anything he asked them to +do. He had set tasks before Jean Douglas that many a man would have +refused without losing his self-respect, and Jean had performed those +tasks with enthusiasm. She had let herself down over a nasty bit of +the rim-rock whose broken line extended half around the coulee bluff, +with only her rope between herself and broken bones, and with her blond +wig properly tousled and her face turned always towards the rock wall, +lest the camera should reveal the fact that she was not Muriel Gay. +She had climbed that same rock-rim, with the aid of that same rope, and +with her face hidden as usual from the camera. She had been bound and +gagged and flung across Gil Huntley's saddle and carried away at a +sharp gallop, and she had afterwards freed herself from her bonds in +the semi-darkness of a hut that half concealed her features, and had +stolen the knife from Gil Huntley's belt while he slept, and crept away +to where the horses were picketed. In the revealing light of a very +fine moon-effect, which was a triumph of Pete's skill, she slashed a +rope that held a high-strung "mustang" (so called in the scenario), and +had leaped upon his bare back and gone hurtling out of that scene and +into another, where she was riding furiously over dangerously rough +ground, the whole outlaw band in pursuit and silhouetted against the +skyline and the moon (which was another photographic triumph of Pete +Lowry). +</P> + +<P> +Gil Huntley had also done many things that were risky. Jean had shot +at him with real bullets so many times that her nervousness on this +particular day was rather unaccountable to him. Jean had lassoed him +and dragged him behind Pard through brush. She had pulled him from a +quicksand bed,—made of cement that showed a strong tendency to "set" +about his form before she could rescue him,—and she had fought with +him on the edge of a cliff and had thrown him over; and his director, +anxious for the "punch" that was his fetish, had insisted on a panorama +of the fall, so that there was no chance for Gil to save himself the +bruises he got. Gil Huntley's part it was always to die a violent +death, or to be captured spectacularly, because he was the villain +whose horrible example must bear a moral to youthful brains. +</P> + +<P> +Since Jean had become one of the company, he nearly always died at her +hands or was captured by her. This left Muriel Gay unruffled and +unhurt, so that she could weep and accept the love of Lee Milligan in +the artistic ending of which Robert Grant Burns was so fond. +</P> + +<P> +Jean had never before considered it necessary to warn Gil and implore +him not to be nervous, and Gil took her solicitude as an encouraging +sign and was visibly cheered thereby. He knew little of guns and fine +marksmanship, and he did not know that it is extremely difficult to +shoot a revolver accurately and instantaneously; whereas Jean knew very +well that Gil Huntley might be thrown off ledges every day in the week +without taking the risk he would take that day. +</P> + +<P> +The scene was to close a full reel of desperate attempts upon the part +of Gil Huntley to win Muriel; such desperate attempts, indeed, that +Muriel Gay spent most of the time sitting at ease in the shade, talking +with Lee Milligan, who was two thirds in love with her and had half his +love returned, while Jean played her part for her. Sometimes Muriel +would be called upon to assume the exact pose which Jean had assumed in +a previous scene, for "close-up" that would reveal to audiences +Muriel's well-known prettiness and help to carry along the deception. +Each morning the two stood side by side and were carefully inspected by +Robert Grant Burns, to make sure that hair and costumes were exactly +alike in the smallest detail. This also helped to carry on the +deception—to those who were not aware of Muriel's limitations. Their +faces were not at all alike; and that is why Jean's face must never be +seen in a picture. +</P> + +<P> +This shooting scene was a fitting climax to a long and desperate chase +over a difficult trail; so difficult that Pard stumbled and +fell,—supposedly with a broken leg,—and Jean must run on and on +afoot, and climb over rocks and spring across dangerous crevices. She +was not supposed to know where her flight was taking her. Sometimes +the camera caught her silhouetted against the sky (Burns was partial to +skyline silhouettes), and sometimes it showed her quite close,—in +which case it would be Muriel instead of Jean,—clinging desperately to +the face of a ledge (ledges were also favorite scenes), and seeking +with hands or feet for a hold upon the rough face of the rock. During +the last two or three scenes Gil Huntley had been shown gaining upon +her. +</P> + +<P> +So they came to the location where the shooting scene was to be made +that morning. Burns, with the camera and Pete and Muriel and her +mother and Lee Milligan, drove to the place in the machine. Jean and +Gil Huntley found them comfortably disposed in the shade, out of range +of the camera which Pete was setting up somewhat closer than usual, +under the direction of Burns. +</P> + +<P> +"There won't be any rehearsal of this," Burns stated at last, stepping +back. "When it's done, if you don't bungle the scene, it'll be done. +You stand here, Jean, and kind of lean against the rock as if you're +all in from that chase. You hear Gil coming, and you start forward and +listen, and look,—how far can she turn, Pete; without showing too much +of her face?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete squinted into the finder and gave the information. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Gil, you come from behind that bush. She'll be looking toward +you then without turning too much. You grin, and come up with that +eager, I-got-you-now look. Don't hurry too much; we'll give this scene +plenty of time. This is the feature scene. Jean, you're at the end of +your rope. You couldn't run another step if you wanted to, and you're +cornered anyway, so you can't get away; get me? You're scared. Did you +ever get scared in your life?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Jean simply, remembering last night when she had pulled the +blanket over her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you think of that time you were scared. And you make yourself +think that you're going to shoot the thing that scared you. You don't +put in half the punch when you shoot blanks; I've noticed that all +along. So that's why you shoot a bullet. See? And you come as close +to Gil as you can and not hit him. Gil, when you're shot, you go down +all in a heap; you know what I mean. And Jean, when he falls, you +start and lean forward, looking at him,—remember and keep your face +away from the camera!—and then you start toward him kind of horrified. +The scene stops right there, just as you start towards him. Then Gay +takes it up and does the remorse and horror stuff because she's killed +a man. That will be a close-up. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, now; take your places. Sure your gun is loose so you can +pull it quick? That's the feature of this scene, remember. You want +to get it across BIG! And make it real,—the scare, and all that. Hey, +you women get behind the camera! Bullets glance, sometimes, and play +the very mischief." He looked all around to make sure that everything +was as it should be, faced Jean again, and raised his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"All ready? Start your action! Camera!" +</P> + +<P> +Jean had never before been given so much dramatic work to do, and Burns +watched her anxiously, wishing that he dared cut the scene in two and +give Muriel that tense interval when Gil Huntley came creeping into the +scene from behind the bush. But after the first few seconds his +strained expression relaxed; anxiety gave place to something like +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +Jean stood leaning heavily against the rock, panting from the flight of +the day before,—for so must emotion be carried over into the next day +when photo-players work at their profession. Her face was dropped upon +her arms flung up against the rock in an attitude of complete +exhaustion and despair. Burns involuntarily nodded his head +approvingly; the girl had the idea, all right, even if she never had +been trained to act a part. +</P> + +<P> +"Come into the scene, Gil!" he commanded, when Jean made a move as +though she was tempted to drop down upon the ground and sob +hysterically. "Jean, register that you hear him coming." +</P> + +<P> +Jean's head came up and she listened, every muscle stiffening with +fear. She turned her face toward Gil, who stopped and looked at her +most villainously. Gil, you must know, had come from "legitimate" and +was a clever actor. Jean recoiled a little before the leering face of +him; pressed her shoulder hard against the ledge that had trapped her, +and watched him in an agony of fear. One felt that she did, though one +could not see her face. Gil spoke a few words and came on with a +certain tigerish assurance of his power, but Jean did not move a +muscle. She had backed as far away from him as she could get. She was +not the kind to weep and plead with him. She just waited; and one felt +that she was keyed up to the supreme moment of her life. +</P> + +<P> +Gil came closer and closer, and there was a look in his eyes that +almost frightened Jean, accustomed as she had become to his acting a +part; there was an intensity of purpose which she instinctively felt +was real. She did not know what it was he had in mind, but whatever it +was, she knew what it meant. He was almost within reach, so close that +one saw Jean shrink a little from his nearness. He stopped and +gathered himself for a quick, forward lunge— +</P> + +<P> +The two women screamed, though they had been expecting that swift +drawing of Jean's gun and the shot that seemed to sound the instant her +hand dropped. Gil stiffened, and his hand flew up to his temple. His +eyes became two staring questions that bored into the soul of Jean. +His hand dropped to his side, and his head sagged forward. He lurched, +tried to steady himself and then went down limply. +</P> + +<P> +Jean dropped her gun and darted toward him, her face like chalk, as she +turned it for one horrified instant toward Burns. She went down on her +knees and lifted Gil's head, looking at the red blotch on his temple +and the trickle that ran down his cheek. She laid his head down with a +gentleness wholly unconscious, and looked again at Burns. "I've killed +him," she said in a small, dry, flat voice. She put out her hands +gropingly and fell forward across Gil's inert body. It was the first +time in her life that Jean had ever fainted. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop the camera!" Burns croaked tardily, and Pete stopped turning. +Pete had that little, twisted grin on his face, and he was perfectly +calm and self-possessed. +</P> + +<P> +"You sure got the punch that time, Burns," he remarked unfeelingly, +while he held his palm over the lens and gave the crank another turn or +two to divide that scene from the next. +</P> + +<P> +"She's fainted! She's hit him!" cried Burns, and waddled over to where +the two of them lay. The two women drew farther away, clinging to each +other with excited exclamations. +</P> + +<P> +And then Gil Huntley lifted himself carefully so as not to push Jean +upon the ground, and when he was sitting up, he took her in his arms +with some remorse and a good deal of tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +"How was that for a punch?" he inquired of his director. "I didn't +tell her I was going to furnish the blood-sponge; I thought it might +rattle her. I never thought she'd take it so hard—" +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns stopped and looked at him in heavy silence. "Good +Lord!" he snapped out at last. "I dunno whether to fire you off the +job—or raise your salary! You got the punch, all right. And the +chances are you've ruined her nerve for shooting, into the bargain." +He stood looking down perturbedly at Gil, who was smoothing Jean's hair +back from her forehead after the manner of men who feel tenderly toward +the woman who cries or faints in their presence. "I'm after the punch +every time," Burns went on ruefully, "but there's no use being a hog +about it. Where's that water-bag, Lee? Go get it out of the machine. +Say! Can't you women do something besides stand there and howl? +Nobody's hurt, or going to be." +</P> + +<P> +While Muriel and Gil Huntley did what they could to bring Jean back to +consciousness and composure, Robert Grant Burns paced up and down and +debated within himself a subject which might have been called "punch +versus prestige." Should he let that scene stand, or should he order a +"re-take" because Jean had, after all, done the dramatic part, the +"remorse stuff"? Of course, when Pete sent the film in, the trimmers +could cut the scene; they probably would cut the scene just where Gil +went down in a decidedly realistic heap. But it hurt the professional +soul of Robert Grant Burns to retake a scene so compellingly dramatic, +because it had been so absolutely real. +</P> + +<P> +Jean was sitting up with her back against the ledge looking rather pale +and feeling exceedingly foolish, while Gil Huntley explained to her +about the "blood-sponge" and how he had held it concealed in his hand +until the right moment, and had used it in the interest of realism and +not to frighten her, as she might have reason to suspect. Gil Huntley +was showing a marked tendency to repeat himself. He had three times +assured her earnestly that he did not mean to scare her so, when the +voice of the chief reminded him that this was merely an episode in the +day's work. He jumped up and gave his attention to Burns. +</P> + +<P> +"Gil, take that same position you had when you fell. Put a little more +blood on your face; you wiped most of it off. That right leg is +sprawled out too far. Draw it up a little. Throw out your left arm a +little more. Whoa— Enough is plenty. Now, Gay, you take Jean's gun +and hold it down by your side, where her hand dropped right after she +fired. You stand right about here, where her tracks are. Get INTO her +tracks! We're picking up the scene right where Gil fell. She looked +straight into the camera and spoiled the rest, or I'd let it go in. +Some acting, if you ask me, seeing it wasn't acting at all." He sent +one of his slant-eyed glances toward Jean, who bit her lips and looked +away. +</P> + +<P> +"Lean forward a little, and hold that gun like you knew what it was +made for, anyway!" He regarded Muriel glumly. "Say! that ain't a +stick of candy you're trying to hide in your skirt," he pointed out, +with an exasperated, rising inflection at the end of the sentence. +"John Jimpson! If I could take you two girls to pieces and make one +out of the two of you, I'd have an actress that could play Western +leads, maybe! +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well—thunder! All you can do is put over the action so they'll +forget the gun. Say, you drop it the second the camera starts. You +pick up the action where Jean dropped the gun and started for Gil. See +if you can put it over the way she did. She really thought she'd +killed him, remember. You saw the real, honest-to-John, horror-dope +that time. Now see how close you can copy it. +</P> + +<P> +"All ready? START your ACTION!" he barked. "Camera!" +</P> + +<P> +Brutally absorbed in his work he might be; callous to the tragedy in +Jean's eyes at what might have happened; unfeeling in his greedy +seizure of her horror as good "stuff" for Muriel Gay to mimic. Yet the +man's energy was dynamic; his callousness was born of his passion for +the making of good pictures. He swept even Jean out of the emotional +whirlpool and into the calm, steady current of the work they had to do. +</P> + +<P> +He instructed Pete to count as spoiled those fifteen feet of film which +recorded Jean's swift horror. But Pete Lowry did not always follow +slavishly his instructions. He sent the film in as it was, without +comment. Then he and Gil Huntley counted on their fingers the number +of days that would probably elapse before they might hope to hear the +result, and exchanged knowing glances now and then when Robert Grant +Burns seemed especially careful that Jean's face should not be seen by +the recording eye of the camera. And they waited; and after awhile +they began to show a marked interest in the mail from the west. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A LEADING LADY THEY WOULD MAKE OF JEAN +</H3> + +<P> +Sometimes events follow docilely the plans that would lead them out of +the future of possibilities and into the present of actualities, and +sometimes they bring with them other events which no man may foresee +unless he is indeed a prophet. You would never think, for instance, +that Gil Huntley and his blood sponge would pull from the future a +chain of incidents that would eventually—well, never mind what. Just +follow the chain of incidents and see what lies at the end. +</P> + +<P> +Pete Lowry and Gil had planned cunningly for a certain readjustment of +Jean's standing in the company, for no deeper reasons than their +genuine liking for the girl and a common human impulse to have a hand +in the ordering of their little world. In ten days Robert Grant Burns +received a letter from Dewitt, president of the Great Western Film +Company, which amply fulfilled those plans, and, as I said, opened the +way for other events quite unforeseen. +</P> + +<P> +There were certain orders from the higher-ups which Robert Grant Burns +must heed. They were, briefly, the immediate transfer of Muriel Gay to +the position of leading woman in a new company which was being sent to +Santa Barbara to make light comedy-dramas. Robert Grant Burns grunted +when he read that, though it was a step up the ladder for Muriel which +she would be glad to take. The next paragraph instructed him to place +the young woman who had been doubling for Miss Gay in the position +which Miss Gay would leave vacant. It was politely suggested that he +adapt the leading woman's parts to the ability of this young woman; +which meant that he must write his scenarios especially with her in +mind. He was informed that he should feature the young woman in her +remarkable horsemanship, etc. It was pointed out that her work was +being noticed in the Western features which Robert Grant Burns had been +sending in, and that other film companies would no doubt make overtures +shortly, in the hope of securing her services. Under separate cover +they were mailing a contract which would effectually forestall such +overtures, and they were relying upon him to see that she signed up +with the Great Western as per contract. Finally, it was suggested, +since Mr. Dewitt chose always to suggest rather than to command, that +Robert Grant Burns consider the matter of writing a series of short +stories having some connecting thread of plot and featuring this Miss +Douglas. (This, by the way, was the beginning of the serial form of +motion-picture plays which has since become so popular.) +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns read that letter through slowly, and then sat down +heavily in an old arm-chair in the hotel office, lighted one of his +favorite fat, black cigars, and mouthed it absently, while he read the +letter through again. He said "John Jimpson!" just above a whisper. He +held the letter in his two hands and regarded it strangely. Then he +looked up, caught the quizzical, inquiring glance of Pete Lowry, and +beckoned that secret-smiling individual over to him. "Read that!" he +grunted. "Read it and tell me what you think of it." +</P> + +<P> +Pete Lowry read it carefully, and grinned when he handed it back. He +did not, however, tell Robert Grant Burns just exactly what he thought +of it. He merely said that it had to come sometime, he guessed. +</P> + +<P> +"She can't put over the dramatic stuff," objected Robert Grant Burns. +"She's got the face for it, all right, and when she registers real +emotions, it gets over big. The bottled-up kind of people always do. +But she's never acted an emotion she didn't feel—" +</P> + +<P> +"How about that all-in stuff, and the listening-and—waiting business +she put across before she took a shot at Gil that time she fainted?" +Pete reminded him. "If you ask me, that little girl can act." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, whether she can or not, she's got to try it," said Burns with +some foreboding. "She's been going big, with Gay to do all the +close-up, dramatic work. The trouble is, Pete, that girl always does as +she darn pleases! If I put her opposite Lee in a scene and tell her to +act like she is in love with him, and that he's to kiss her and she's +to kiss back,—" he flung out his hands expressively. "You must know +the rest, as well as I do. She'd turn around and give me a call-down, +and get on her horse and ride off; and I and my picture could go to +thunder, for all of her. That's the point; she ain't been through the +mill. She don't know anything about taking orders—from me or anybody +else." It is a pity that Lite did not hear that! He might have amended +the statement a little. Jean had been taking orders enough; she knew a +great deal about receiving ultimatums. The trouble was that she seldom +paid any attention to them. Lite was accustomed to that, but Robert +Grant Burns was not, and it irked him sore. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she's sure got the screen personality," Pete defended. "I've +said it all along. That girl don't have to act. Put her in the part, +and she is the part! She's got something better than technique, Burns. +She's got imagination. She puts herself in a character and lives it." +</P> + +<P> +"Put her on a horse and she does," Burns conceded gloomily. "But will +you tell me what kind of work she'll make of interior scenes, and love +scenes, and all that? You've got to have it, to pad out your story. +You can't let your leading character do a whole two—or three-reel +picture on horseback. There wouldn't be any contrast. Dewitt don't +know that girl the way I do. If he'd had to side-step and scheme and +give in the way I've done to keep her working, he wouldn't put her +playing straight leads, not until she'd had a year or two of training—" +</P> + +<P> +"Taming is a better word," Pete suggested drily. "There'll be fun when +she gets to playing love scenes opposite Lee. You better let him take +the heavies, and put Gil in for leads, Burns." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns was so cast down by the prospect that he made no +attempt to reply, beyond grunting something about preferring to drive a +team of balky mules to making Jean do something she did not want to do. +But, such is the mind trained to a profession, insensibly he drifted +away into the world of his imagination, and began to draw therefrom the +first tenuous threads of a plot wherein Jean's peculiar accomplishments +were to be featured. Robert Grant Burns had long ago learned to adjust +himself to circumstances which in themselves were not to his liking. +He adjusted himself now to the idea of making Jean the Western star his +employers seemed to think was inevitable. +</P> + +<P> +That night before he went to bed he wrote a play which had in it +fifty-two scenes. Thirty-five of them were what is known technically +as exteriors. In most of them Jean was to ride on horseback through +wild places. The rest were dramatic close-ups. Robert Grant Burns +went over it carefully when it was finished, and groaning inwardly he +cut out two love scenes which were tense, and which Muriel Gay and Lee +Milligan would have "eaten up," as he mentally expressed it. The love +interest, he realized bitterly, must be touched upon lightly in his +scenarios from now on; which would have lightened appreciably the heart +of Lite Avery, if he had only known it, and would have erased from his +mind a good many depressing visions of Jean as the film sweetheart of +those movie men whom he secretly hated. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not hesitate five minutes before she signed the contract which +Burns presented to her the next morning. She was human, and she had +learned enough about the business to see that, speaking from a purely +professional point of view, she was extremely fortunate. Not every +girl, surely, can hope to jump in a few weeks from the lowly position +of an inexperienced "extra" to the supposedly exalted one of leading +woman. And to her that hundred dollars a week which the contract +insured her looked a fortune. It spelled home to her, and the +vindication of her beloved dad, of whom she dared not think sometimes, +it hurt her so. +</P> + +<P> +Her book was not progressing as fast as she had expected when she began +it. She had been working at it sporadically now for eight weeks, and +she had only ten chapters done,—and some of these were terribly short. +She had looked through all of the novels that she owned, and had +computed the average number of chapters in each; thirty she decided +would be a good, conservative number to write. She had even divided +those thirty into three parts, and had impartially allotted ten to +adventure, ten to mystery and horror, and ten to love-making. Such an +arrangement should please everybody, surely, and need only be worked +out smoothly to prove most satisfying. +</P> + +<P> +But, as it happened, comedy would creep into the mystery and horror, +which she mentally lumped together as agony. Adventure ran riot, and +straight love-making chapters made her sleepy, they bored her so. She +had tried one or two, and she had found it impossible to concentrate +her mind upon them. Instead, she had sat and planned what she would do +with the money that was steadily accumulating in the bank; a pitiful +little sum, to be sure, to those who count by the thousands, but +cheering enough to Jean, who had never before had any money of her own. +</P> + +<P> +So she signed the contract and worked that day so light-heartedly that +Robert Grant Burns forgot his pessimism. When the light began to fade +and grow yellow, and the big automobile went purring down the trail to +town, she rode on to the Bar Nothing to find Lite, and tell him how +fortune had come and tapped her on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +She did not see Lite anywhere about the ranch, and so she did not put +her hopes and her plans and her good fortune into speech. She did see +her Aunt Ella, who straightway informed her that people were talking +about the way she rode here and there with those painted-up people, and +let the men put their arms around her and make love to her. Her Aunt +Ella made it perfectly plain to Jean that she, for one, did not +consider it respectable. Her Aunt Ella said that Carl was going to do +something about it, if things weren't changed pretty quick. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not appear to regard her aunt's disapproval as of any +importance whatever, but the words stung. She had herself worried a +little over the love-making scenes which she knew she would now be +called upon to play. Jean, you will have observed, was not given to +sentimental adventurings; and she disliked the idea of letting Lee +Milligan make love to her the way he had made love to Muriel Gay +through picture after picture. She would do it, she supposed, if she +had to; she wanted the salary. But she would hate it intolerably. She +made reply with sarcasm which she knew would particularly irritate her +Aunt Ella, and left the house feeling that she never wanted to enter it +again as long as she lived. +</P> + +<P> +The sight of her uncle standing beside Pard in an attitude of disgusted +appraisement of the new Navajo blanket and the silver-trimmed bridle +and tapideros which Burns had persuaded her to add to her riding +outfit,—for photographic effect,—brought a hot flush of resentment. +She went up quietly enough, however. Indeed, she went up so quietly +that he started when she appeared almost beside him and picked up +Pard's reins, and took the stirrup to mount and ride away. She did not +speak to him at all; she had not spoken to him since that night when +the little brown bird had died! Though perhaps that was because she +had managed to keep out of his way. +</P> + +<P> +"I see you've been staking yourself to a new bridle," Carl began in a +tone quite as sour as his look. "You must have bought out all the tin +decorations they had in stock, didn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean swung up into the saddle before she looked at him. "If I did, +it's my own affair," she retorted. "I paid for the tin decorations +with my own money." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you did! Well, you might have been in better business than paying +for that kind of thing. You might," he sneered up at her, "have been +paying for your keep these last three years, if you've got more money +of your own than you know what to do with." +</P> + +<P> +Jean could not ride off under the sting of that gratuitous insult. She +held Pard quiet and looked down at him with hate in her eyes. "I +expect," she said in a queer, quiet wrath, "to prove before long that +my own money has been paying for my 'keep' these last three years; for +that and for other things that did not benefit me in the least." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to know what you mean by that!" Carl caught Pard by the +bridle-rein and looked up at her in a white fury that startled even +Jean, accustomed as she was to his sudden rages that contrasted with +his sullen attitude toward the world. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think I would mean? Let go my bridle. I don't want to +quarrel with you." +</P> + +<P> +"What did you mean by proving—what do you expect to prove?" His hand +was heavy on the rein, so that Pard began to fret under the restraint. +"You've got to quit running around all over the country with them show +folks, and stay at home and behave yourself. You've got to quit hanging +out at the Lazy A. I've stood as much as I'm going to stand of your +performances. You get down off that horse and go into the house and +behave yourself; that's what you'll do! If you haven't got any shame +or decency—" +</P> + +<P> +Jean scarcely knew what she did, just then. She must have dug Pard +with her spurs, because the first thing that she realized was the lunge +he gave. Carl's hold slipped from the rein, as he was jerked sidewise. +He made an ineffective grab at Jean's skirt, and he called her a name +she had never heard spoken before in her life. A rod or so away she +pulled up and turned to face him, but the words she would have spoken +stuck in her throat. She had never seen Carl Douglas look like that; +she had seen him when he was furious, she had seen him when he sulked, +but she had never seen him look like that. +</P> + +<P> +He called her to come back. He made threats of what he would do if she +refused to obey him. He shook his fist at her. He behaved like a man +temporarily robbed of his reason; his eyes, as he came up glaring at +her, were the eyes of a madman. +</P> + +<P> +Jean felt a tremor of dread while she looked at him and listened to +him. He was almost within reach of her again when she wheeled and went +off up the trail at a run. She looked back often, half fearing that he +would get a horse and follow her, but he stood just where she had left +him, and he seemed to be still uttering threats and groundless +accusations as long as she was in sight. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FOR ONCE AT LEAST LITE HAD HIS WAY +</H3> + +<P> +Half a mile she galloped, and met Lite coming home. She glanced over +her shoulder before she pulled Pard down to a walk, and Lite's +greeting, as he turned and rode alongside her, was a question. He +wanted to know what was the matter with her. He listened with his old +manner of repression while she told him, and he made no comment +whatever until she had finished. +</P> + +<P> +"You must have made him pretty sore," he said dispassionately. "I +don't think myself that you ought to stay over to the ranch alone. Why +don't you do as he says?" +</P> + +<P> +"And go back to the Bar Nothing?" Jean shivered a little. "Nothing +could make me go back there! Lite, you don't understand. He acted like +a crazy man; and I hadn't said anything to stir him up like that. He +was—Lite, he scared me! I couldn't stay on the ranch with him. I +couldn't be in the same room with him." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't go on staying at the Lazy A," Lite told her flatly. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no other place where I'd stay." +</P> + +<P> +"You could," Lite pointed out, "stay in town and go back and forth with +the rest of the bunch. It would be a lot better, any way you look at +it." +</P> + +<P> +"It would be a lot worse. There's my book; I wouldn't have any chance +to write on that. And there's the expense. I'm saving every nickel I +possibly can, Lite, and you know what for. And there's the bunch—I +see enough of them during working hours. I'd go crazy if I had to live +with them. Lite, they've put me in playing leads! I'm to get a +hundred dollars a week! Just think of that! And Burns says that I'll +have to go back to Los Angeles with them when they go this fall, +because the contract I signed lasts for a year." +</P> + +<P> +She sighed. "I rode over to tell you about it. It seemed to be good +news, when I left home. But now, it's just a part of the black tangle +that life's made up of. Aunt Ella started things off by telling me +what a disgrace it is for me to work in these pictures. And Uncle +Carl—" She shivered in spite of herself. "I just can't understand +Uncle Carl's going into such a rage. It was—awful." +</P> + +<P> +Lite rode for some distance before he lifted his head or spoke. Then +he looked at Jean, who was staring straight ahead and seeing nothing +save what her thoughts pictured. +</P> + +<P> +He did not say a word about her going to Los Angeles. +</P> + +<P> +He was the bottled-up type; the things that hit him hardest he seldom +mentioned, so by that rule it might be inferred that her going hit +hard. But his voice was normally calm, and his tone was the tone of +authority, which Jean knew very well, and which nearly always amused +her because she firmly believed it to be utterly useless. +</P> + +<P> +He said in the tone of an ultimatum: "If you're bound to stay at the +ranch, you've got to have somebody with you. I'll ride in and get +Hepsy Atwood in the morning. You're getting thin. I don't believe you +take time to cook enough to eat. You can't work on soda crackers and +sardines. The old lady won't charge much to come and stay with you. +I'll come over after I'm through work to-morrow and help her get things +looking a little more like living." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll do nothing of the sort." Jean looked at him mutinously. "I'm +all right just as I am. I won't have her, Lite. That's settled." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure, it's settled," Lite agreed, with more than his usual +pertinacity. "I'll have her out here by noon, and a supply of real +grub. How are you fixed for bedding?" +</P> + +<P> +"I won't have her, I tell you. You're always trying to make me do +things I won't do. Don't be silly." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure not." Lite shifted in the saddle with the air of a man who rides +at perfect ease with himself and with the world. "She'll likely have +plenty of bedding of her own," he meditated, after a brief silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Lite, if you haul Hepsibah out here, I'll send her back!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll haul her out," said Lite in a tone of finality, "but you won't +send her back." He paused. "She ain't much protection, maybe," he +remarked somewhat enigmatically, "but it'll beat staying alone nights. +You—you can't tell who might come prowling around the place." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean? Do you know about—" Jean caught herself on the +verge of betrayal. +</P> + +<P> +"You want to keep your gun handy. Just on general principles," Lite +remonstrated. "You can't tell; it's away off from everywhere." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't have Hepsy Atwood. Haven't I enough to drive me mad, without +her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anybody else that you'd rather have?" Lite looked at her +speculatively. +</P> + +<P> +"No, there isn't. I won't have anybody. It would be a nuisance having +some old lady in the house gabbling and gossiping. I'm not the least +bit afraid, except,—I'm not afraid, and I like to be alone. I won't +have her, Lite." +</P> + +<P> +Lite said no more about it until they reached the house, huddled +lonesomely against the barren bluff, its windows staring black into the +dusk. Jean did not seem to expect Lite to dismount, but he did not +wait to see what she expected him to do. In his most matter-of-fact +manner he dismounted and turned his horse, still saddled, into the +stable with Pard. He preceded Jean up the path, and went into the +kitchen ahead of her; lighted a match and found the lamp, and set its +flame to brightening the dingy room. +</P> + +<P> +Jean had not done much in the way of making that part of the house more +attractive. She used the kitchen to cook in, because the stove was +there, and the dishes. She had spread an old braided rug over the +brown stain on the floor, and she ate in her own room with the door +shut. +</P> + +<P> +Without being told, Lite seemed to know all about her secret aversion +to the kitchen. He took up the lamp and went now on a tour of +inspection through the house. Jean followed him, wondering a little, +and thinking that this was the way that mysterious stranger came and +prowled at night, except that he must have used matches to light the +way, or a candle, since the lamp seemed never to be disturbed. Lite +went into all the rooms and held the lamp so that its brightness +searched out all the corners. He looked into the small, stuffy +closets. He stood in the middle of her father's room and seemed to +meditate deeply, while Jean stood in the doorway and watched him +inquiringly. He came back finally to the kitchen and looked into the +cupboard, as though he was taking an inventory of her supply of +provisions. +</P> + +<P> +"You might cook me some supper, Jean," he said, when he had put the +lamp on the table. "I see you've got eggs and bacon. I'm pretty +hungry,—for a man that had his dinner six or seven hours ago." +</P> + +<P> +Jean cooked supper, and they ate together in the kitchen. It did not +seem so gruesome with Lite there, and she told him some funny things +that had happened in her work, and mimicked Robert Grant Burns with an +accuracy of manner and tone that would have astonished that pompous +person a good deal and flattered him not at all. She almost recovered +her spirits under the stimulus of Lite's presence, and she quite forgot +that he had threatened her with Hepsibah Atwood. +</P> + +<P> +But when he had wiped the dishes and had taken up his hat to go, Lite +proved how tenaciously his mind could hold to an idea, and how even +Jean could not quite match him for stubbornness. +</P> + +<P> +"That mattress in the little bedroom looks all right," he said. "I'll +pack it outside before I go, so it will have all day to-morrow out in +the sun. I'll have Hepsy bring her own bedding. Well—so long." +</P> + +<P> +Jean would have sworn in perfect good faith that Lite led his horse out +of the stable, mounted it, and rode away to the Bar Nothing. He did +mount and ride away as far as the mouth of the coulee. But that night +he spent in the loft over the shop, and he did not sleep five minutes +during the night. Most of the time he spent leaning against his rolled +bedding, smoking and gazing at the silent house where Jean slept. You +may interpret that as you will. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not see or hear anything more of him, until about four o'clock +the next afternoon, when he drove calmly up to the house and deposited +Hepsibah Atwood upon the kitchen steps. He did not wait for Jean to +order them away. He hurried the unloading, released the wagon brake, +and drove off. So Jean, coming from the spring behind the house, +really got her first sight of him as he went rattling down to the gate. +</P> + +<P> +Jean stood and looked after him, twitched her shoulders in a mental +yielding of the point for the time being, and said "How-da-do" to the +old lady. +</P> + +<P> +She was not so old, as years go; fifty-five or thereabouts. And she +could have whispered into Lite's ear without standing on her toes or +asking him to bend his head. Lite was a tall man, at that. She had +gray hair that was frizzy around her brows and at the back of her neck, +and she had an Irish disposition without the brogue to go with it. +</P> + +<P> +The first thing she did was to find an axe and chop a lot of +fence-posts into firewood, as easily as Lite himself could have done +it, and in other ways proceeded to make herself very much at home. The +next day she dipped the spring almost dry, and used up all the soap in +the house; and for three days went around with her skirts tucked up and +her arms bare and the soles of her shoes soggy from wet floors. Jean +kept out of her way, but she owned to herself that, after all, it was +not unpleasant to come home tired and not have to cook a solitary +supper and eat it in silent meditation. +</P> + +<P> +The third night after Hepsy's arrival, Jean awoke to hear a man's +furtive footsteps in her father's room. This was the fifth time that +the prowler had come in the night, and custom had dulled her fear a +little. She had not reached the point yet of getting up to see who it +was and what he wanted. It was much easier to lie perfectly still with +her six-shooter gripped in her hand and wait for him to go. Beyond +stealthily trying her door and finding it fastened on the inside, he +had never shown any disposition to invade her room. +</P> + +<P> +To-night was as all other nights when he came and made that mysterious +search, until he went into the little bedroom where slept Hepsibah +Atwood. Jean listened to the faint creaking of old boards which told +her that he was approaching Hepsy's room, and she wondered if Hepsy +would hear him. Hepsy did hear him. There was a squeak of the old +bedstead that told how a hundred and seventy-two pounds of indignant +womanhood was rising to do battle. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's that? Git outa here, or I'll smash you!" There was no fear but +a great deal of determination in Hepsy's voice, and there was the sound +of her bare feet spatting on the floor. +</P> + +<P> +The man's footsteps retreated hurriedly. Jean heard the kitchen door +open and slam shut with a shrill squeal of its rusty hinges, and the +sound of a man running down the path. She heard Hepsy muttering +threats while she followed to the door and looked out, and she heard +the muttering continue while Hepsy returned to bed. +</P> + +<P> +It was very comforting. Jean tucked her gun under her pillow, laughed +to herself for having shuddered under the blankets at the sound of a +man so easily put to flight, and went to sleep feeling quite secure and +for the first time really glad that Hepsibah Atwood was in the house. +</P> + +<P> +She listened the next morning to Hepsy's colorful account of the +affair, but she did not tell Hepsy that the man had been there before. +She did not even tell her that she had heard the disturbance, and was +lying with her gun in her hand ready to shoot if he came into her room. +For a girl as frank and outspoken as was Jean, she had almost as great +a talent as Lite for holding her tongue. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"WHY DON'T YOU GIVE THEM SOMETHING REAL?" +</H3> + +<P> +"Well, you don't seem crazy about it. What's the matter?" Robert Grant +Burns stood in his favorite attitude with his hands on his hips and his +feet far apart, and looked down at Jean with a secret anxiety in his +eyes. Without realizing it in the least, Jean's opinion had come to +have a certain weight with Robert Grant Burns. "What's wrong with +that?" Burns, having sat up until two o'clock to finish that particular +scenario to his liking, plainly resented the expression on Jean's face +while she read it. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nothing, only I'm getting awfully sick of these kidnap-and-rescue, +and kiss-in-the-last-scene pictures, and Wild West stuff without a real +Western man in the whole thing. I'd like to do something real for a +change." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns grunted and reached for his slighted brain-child. +"What you want? Mother on, knitting. Girl washing dishes. Lover +arrives; they sit on front steps and spoon. Become engaged. Lover +hitches up team, girl climbs into wagon, they drive to town. Ten +scenes of driving to town. Lover gets out, ties team in front of +courthouse. Goes in and gets license. Three scenes of license +business. Goes out. Two scenes of driving to minister and hitching +team to gate. One scene of getting to door. One scene getting inside +the house. One scene preacher calling his wife and hired girl. One +scene 'Do you take this woman,' one scene 'I do.' Fifteen scenes +getting team untied and driving back to ranch. That's about as much +pep as there is in real life in the far West, these days. Something +like that would suit you, maybe. It don't suit the people who pay good +nickels and dimes to get a thrill, though." +</P> + +<P> +"Neither does this sort of junk, if they've got any sense. Think of +paying nickel after nickel to see Lee Milligan rush to the girl's door, +knock, learn the fatal news, stagger back and clap his hand to his brow +and say 'Great Heaven! GONE!'" Jean, stirred to combat by the sarcasm +of Robert Grant Burns, did the stagger and the hand-to-brow and +great-heaven scene with a realism that made Pete Lowry turn his back +suddenly. "They've seen Gil abduct me or Muriel seven times in a +perfectly impossible manner, and they—oh, why don't you give them +something REAL? Things that are thrilling and dangerous and terrible +do happen out here, Mr. Burns. Real adventures and real tragedies—" +She stopped, and Burns turned his eyes involuntarily toward the +kitchen. He had heard all about the history of the Lazy A, though he +had been very careful to hide the fact that he had heard it. Jean's +glance, following that of her director, was a revealing one. She bit +her lip; and in a moment she went on, with her chin held a shade higher +and her pride revolting against subterfuge. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't mean that," she said quietly. "But—well, up to a certain +point, I don't mind if you put in real things, if it will be good +picture-stuff. You're featuring me, anyway, it seems. Listen." +Jean's face changed. Her eyes took that farseeing look of the dreamer. +She was looking full at Burns, but he knew that she did not see him at +all. She was looking at a mental picture of her own conjuring, he +judged. He stood still and waited curiously, wondering, to use his +manner of speech, what the girl was going to spring now. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen: Instead of all this impossible piffle, let's start a real +story. I—I've—" +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of a real story?" The tone of Robert Grant Burns was +carefully non-committal, but his eyes betrayed his eagerness. The girl +did have some real ideas, sometimes! And Robert Grant Burns was not +the one to refuse a real idea because it did not come from his own +brain. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," Jean flushed with an adorable shyness at the apparent egotism +of her idea, "since you seem to want me for the central figure in +everything, suppose we start a story like this: Suppose I am left here +at the Lazy A with my mother to take care of and a ranch and a lot of +cattle; and suppose it's a hard proposition, because there's really a +gang of rustlers that have been running off stock and never getting +caught, and they have a grudge against my family and grab our cattle +every chance they get. Suppose—suppose they killed my brother when he +was about to round them up, and they want to drive me and my mother out +of the country. Scare us out, you know. Well,—" she hesitated and +glanced diffidently at the boys who had edged up to listen,—"that +would leave room for all kinds of feature stuff. Say that I have just +one or two boys that I can depend on, boys that I know are loyal. With +an outfit the size of ours, that keeps me in the saddle every day and +all day; and I would have some narrow escapes, I reckon. You've got +your rustlers all made to order,—only I'd make them up differently, if +I were doing it. Have them look real, you know, instead of stagey." +(Whereat Robert Grant Burns winced.) "Lee could be one of my loyal +cowboys; you'd want some dramatic acting, I reckon, and he could do +that. But I'd want one puncher who can ride and shoot and handle a +rope. For that, to help me do the real work in the picture, I want +Lite Avery. There are things I can do that you have never had me do, +for the simple reason that you don't know the life well enough ever to +think of them. Real stunts, not these made-to-order, +shoot-the-villain-and-run-to-the-arms-of-the-hero stuff. I'd have to +have Lite Avery; I wouldn't start without him." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, go on." Robert Grant Burns still tried to sound non-committal, +but he was plainly eager to hear all that she had to say. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's the idea. They're trying to drive us out of the country, +without really hurting me. And I've got my mind set on staying. Not +only that, but I believe they killed my brother, and I'm going to hunt +them down and break up their gang or die in the attempt. There's your +plot. It needn't be overdone in the least, to have thrills enough. +And there would be all kinds of chance for real range-stuff, like the +handling of cattle and all that. +</P> + +<P> +"We can use this ranch just as it is, and have the outlaws down next +the river. I'm glad you haven't taken any scenes that show the ranch +as a whole. You've stuck to your close-up, great-heaven scenes so +much," she went on with merciless frankness, "that you've really not +cheapened the place by showing more than a little bit at a time. +</P> + +<P> +"You might start by making Lee up for my brother, and kill him in the +first reel; show the outlaws when they shoot him and run off with a +bunch of stock they're after. Lite can find him and bring him home. +Lite would know just how to do that sort of thing, and make people see +it's real stuff. I believe he'd show he was a real cow-puncher, even +to the people who never saw one. There's an awful lot of difference +between the real thing and your actors." She was so perfectly sincere +and so matter-of-fact that the men she criticised could do no more than +grin. +</P> + +<P> +"You might, for the sake of complications, put a traitor and spy on the +ranch. Oh, I tell you! Have Hepsibah be the mother of one of the +outlaws. She wouldn't need to do any acting; you could show her +sneaking out in the dark to meet her son and tell him what she has +overheard. And show her listening, perhaps, through the crack in a +door. Mrs. Gay would have to be the mother. Gil says that Hepsibah +has the figure of a comedy cook and what he calls a character face. I +believe we could manage her all right, for what little she would have +to do, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean having poured out her inspiration with a fluency born of her first +enthusiasm, began to feel that she had been somewhat presumptuous in +thus offering advice wholesale to the highest paid director of the +Great Western Film Company. She blushed and laughed a little, and +shrugged her shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"That's just a suggestion," she said with forced lightness. "I'm +subject to attacks of acute imagination, sometimes. Don't mind me, Mr. +Burns. Your scenario is a very nice scenario, I'm sure. Do you want +me to be a braid-down-the-back girl in this? Or a +curls-around-the-face girl?" +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns stood absent-mindedly tapping his left palm with the +folded scenario which Jean had just damned by calling it a very nice +scenario. Nice was not the adjective one would apply to it in sincere +admiration. Robert Grant Burns himself had mentally called it a +hummer. He did not reply to Jean's tentative apology for her own +plot-idea. He was thinking about the idea itself. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns was not what one would call petty. He would not, +for instance, stick to his own story if he considered that Jean's was a +better one. And, after all, Jean was now his leading woman, and it is +not unusual for a leading woman to manufacture her own plots, +especially when she is being featured by her company. There was no +question of hurt pride to be debated within the mind of him, therefore. +He was just weighing the idea itself for what it was worth. +</P> + +<P> +"Seems to me your plot-idea isn't so much tamer than mine, after all." +He tested her shrewdly after a prolonged pause. "You've got a killing +in the first five hundred feet, and outlaws and rustling—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but don't you see, it isn't the skeleton that makes the +difference; it's the kind of meat you put on the bones! Paradise Lost +would be a howling melodrama, if some of you picture-people tried to +make it. You'd take this plot of mine and make it just like these +pictures I've been working in, Mr. Burns: Exciting and all that, but +not the real West after all; spectacular without being probable. What +I mean,—I can't explain it to you, I'm afraid; but I have it in my +head." She looked at him with that lightening of the eyes which was not +a smile, really, but rather the amusement which might grow into +laughter later on. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better fine me for insubordination," she drawled whimsically, +"and tell me whether it's to be braids or curls, so I can go and make +up." At that moment she saw Gil Huntley beckoning to her with a +frantic kind of furtiveness that was a fair mixture of pinched-together +eyebrows and slight jerkings of the head, and a guarded movement of his +hand that hung at his side. Gil, she thought, was trying to draw her +away before she went too far with her trouble-inviting freedom of +speech. She laughed lazily. +</P> + +<P> +"Braids or curls?" she insisted. "And please, sir, I won't do so no +more, honest." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns looked at her from under his eyebrows and made a +sound between his grunt of indignation and his chuckle of amusement. +"Sure you won't?" he queried shortly. "Stay the way you are, if you +want to; chances are you won't go to work right away, anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +Jean flashed him a glance of inquiry. Did that mean that she had at +last gone beyond the limit? Was Robert Grant Burns going to FIRE her? +She looked at Gil, who was sauntering off with the perfectly apparent +expectation that she would follow him; and Mrs. Gay, who was regarding +her with a certain melancholy conviction that Jean's time as leading +woman was short indeed. She pursed her lips with a rueful resignation, +and followed Gil to the spring behind the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, you mustn't hand out things like that, Jean!" he protested, when +they were quite out of sight and hearing of the others. "Let me give +you a tip, girl. If you've got any photo-play ideas that are worth +talking about, don't go spreading them out like that for Bobby to pick +and choose!" +</P> + +<P> +"Pick to pieces, you mean," Jean corrected. +</P> + +<P> +"You're going to tell me I'm in bad. But I can't help it; he's putting on +some awfully stagey plots, and they cost just as much to produce as—" +</P> + +<P> +"Listen here. You've got me wrong. That plot of yours could be worked +up into a dandy series; the idea of a story running through a lot of +pictures is great. What I mean is, it's worth something. You don't +have to give stuff like that away, make him a present of it, you know. +I just want to put you wise. If you've got anything that's worth +using, make 'em pay for it. Put 'er into scenario form and sell it to +'em. You're in this game to make money, so why overlook a bet like +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Gil! Could I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure, you could! No reason why you shouldn't, if you can deliver the +goods. Burns has been writing his own plays to fit his company; but +aside from the features you've been putting into it, it's old stuff. +He's a darned good director, and all that, but he hasn't got the knack +of building real stories. You see what I mean. If you have, why—" +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder," said Jean with a sudden small doubt of her literary +talents, "if I have!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure, you have!" Gil's faith in Jean was of the kind that scorns +proof. "You see, you've got the dope on the West, and he knows it. +Why, I've been watching how he takes the cue from you right along for +his features. Ever since you told Lee Milligan how to lay a saddle on +the ground, Burns has been getting tips; and half the time you didn't +even know you were giving them. Get into this game right, Jean. Make +'em pay for that kind of thing." +</P> + +<P> +Jean regarded him thoughtfully, tempted to yield. "Mrs. Gay says a +hundred dollars a week—" +</P> + +<P> +"It's good pay for a beginner. She's right, and she's wrong. They're +featuring you in stuff that nobody else can do. Who would they put in +your place, to do the stunts you've been doing? Muriel Gay was a good +actress, and as good a Western lead as they could produce; and you know +how she stacked up alongside you. You're in a class by yourself, Jean. +You want to keep that in mind. They aren't just trying to be nice to +you; it's hard-boiled business with the Great Western. You're going +awfully strong with the public. Why, my chum writes me that you're +announced ahead on the screen at one of the best theaters on Broadway! +'Coming: Jean Douglas in So-and-so.' Do you know what that means? No, +you don't; of course not. But let me tell you that it means a whole +lot! I wish I'd had a chance to tip you off to a little business +caution before you signed that contract. That salary clause should +have been doctored to make a sliding scale of it. As it is, you're +stuck for a year at a hundred dollars a week, unless you spring +something the contract does not cover. Don't give away any more dope. +You've got an idea there, if Burns will let you work up to it. Make 'em +pay for it." +</P> + +<P> +"O-h-h, Gil!" came the throaty call of Burns; and Gil, with a last, +earnest warning, left her hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +Jean sat down on a rock and meditated, her chin in her palms, and her +elbows on her knees. Vague shadows; of thoughts clouded her mind and +then slowly clarified into definite ideas. Unconsciously she had been +growing away from her first formulated plans. She was gradually laying +aside the idea of reaching wealth and fame by way of the story-trail. +She was almost at the point of admitting to herself that her story, as +far as she had gone with it, could never be taken seriously by any one +with any pretense of intelligence. It was too unreal, too fantastic. +It was almost funny, in the most tragic parts. She was ready now to +dismiss the book as she had dismissed her earlier ambitions to become a +poet. +</P> + +<P> +But if she and Lite together could really act a story that had the +stamp of realism which she instinctively longed for, surely it would be +worth while. And if she herself could build the picture story they +would later enact before the camera,—that would be better, much better +than writing silly things about an impossible heroine in the hope of +later selling the stuff! +</P> + +<P> +Automatically her thoughts swung over to the actual building of the +scenes that would make for continuity of her lately-conceived plot. +Because she knew every turn and every crook of that coulee and every +board in the buildings snuggled within it, she began to plan her scenes +to fit the Lazy A, and her action to fit the spirit of the country and +those countless small details of life which go to make what we call the +local color of the place. +</P> + +<P> +There never had been an organized gang of outlaws just here in this +part of the country, but—there might have been. Her dad could +remember when Sid Cummings and his bunch hung out in the Bad Lands +fifty miles to the east of there. Neither had she ever had a brother, +for that matter; and of her mother she had no more than the indistinct +memory of a time when there had been a long, black box in the middle of +the living-room, and a lot of people, and tears which fell upon her +face and tickled her nose when her father held her tightly in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +But she had the country, and she had Lite Avery, and to her it was +very, very easy to visualize a story that had no foundation in fact. +It was what she had done ever since she could remember—the +day-dreaming that had protected her from the keen edge of her +loneliness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A NEW KIND OF PICTURE +</H3> + +<P> +"What you doing now?" Robert Grant Burns came around the corner of the +house looking for her, half an hour later, and found her sitting on the +doorstep with the old atlas on her knees and her hat far back on her +head, scribbling away for dear life. +</P> + +<P> +Jean smiled abstractedly up at him. "Why, I'm—why-y, I'm becoming a +famous scenario writer! Do you want me to go and plaster my face with +grease-paint, and become a mere common leading lady again?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't." Robert Grant Burns chuckled fatly and held out his hand +with a big, pink cameo on his little finger. "Let's see what a famous +scenario looks like. What is it,—that plot you were telling me awhile +ago?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes. I'm putting on the meat." There was a slight hesitation +before Jean handed him the pages she had done. "I expect it's awfully +crude," she apologized, with one of her diffident spells. "I'm afraid +you'll laugh at me." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns was reading rapidly, mentally photographing the +scenes as he went along. He held out his hand again without looking +toward her. "Lemme take your pencil a minute. I believe I'd have a +panoram of the coulee,—a long shot from out there in the meadow. And +show the brother and you leaving the house and riding toward the +camera; at the gate, you separate. You're going to town, say. He +rides on toward the hills. That fixes you both as belonging here at +the ranch, identifies you two and the home ranch both in thirty feet or +so of the film, with a leader that tells you're brother and sister. +See what I mean?" He scribbled a couple of lines, crossed out a couple, +and went on reading to where he had interrupted Jean in the middle of a +sentence. +</P> + +<P> +"I see you're writing in a part for that Lite Avery; how do you know +he'd do it? Or can put it over if he tries? He don't look to me like +an actor." +</P> + +<P> +"Lite," declared Jean with a positiveness that would have thrilled +Lite, had he heard her, "can put over anything he tries to put over. +And he'll do it, if I tell him he must!" Which showed what were Jean's +ideas, at least on the subject of which was the master. +</P> + +<P> +"What you going to call it a The Perils of the Prairie, say?" Burns +abandoned further argument on the subject of Lite's ability. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no! That's awfully cheap. That would stamp it as a melodrama +before any of the picture appeared on the screen." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns had not been serious; he had been testing Jean's +originality. "Well, what will we call it, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we'll call it—" Jean nibbled the rubber on her pencil and looked +at him with that unseeing, introspective gaze which was a trick of +hers. "We'll call it—does it hurt if we use real names that we've a +right to?" She got a head-shake for answer. "Well, we'll call +it,—let's just call it—Jean, of the Lazy A. Would that sound as if—" +</P> + +<P> +"Great! Girl, you're a winner! Jean, of the Lazy A! Say, that title +alone will jump the releases ten per cent., if I know the game. +Featuring Jean herself; pictures made right at the Lazy A Ranch. Say, +the dope I can give our publicity man—" +</P> + +<P> +Thereupon Jean, remembering Gil Huntley's lecture on the commercial +side of the proposition, startled his enthusiasm with one naive +question. +</P> + +<P> +"How much will the Great Western Film Company pay me extra for +furnishing the story I play in?" +</P> + +<P> +"How much?" Robert Grant Burns blurted the words automatically. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. How much? If it will jump your releases ten per cent. they +ought to pay me quite a lot more than they're paying me now." +</P> + +<P> +"You're doing pretty well as it is," Burns reminded her, with a visible +dampening of his eagerness. +</P> + +<P> +"For keeping your cut-and-dried stories from falling flat, yes. But +for writing the kind of play that will have just as many 'punches' and +still be true to life, and then for acting it all out and putting in +those punches,—that's a different matter, Mr. Burns. And you'll have +to pay Lite a decent salary, or I'll quit right here. I'm thinking up +stunts for us two that are awfully risky. You'll have to pay for that. +But it will be worth while. You wait till you see Lite in action!" +</P> + +<P> +Gil would have been exuberant over the literal manner in which Jean was +taking his advice and putting it to the test, had he overheard her +driving her bargain with Robert Grant Burns. He would have been +exuberant, but he would never have dared to say the things that Jean +said, or to have taken the stand that she took. Robert Grant Burns +found himself very much in the position which Lite had occupied for +three years. He had well-defined ideas upon the subject before them, +and he had the outer semblance of authority; but his ideas and his +authority had no weight whatever with Jean, since she had made up her +mind. +</P> + +<P> +Before Jean left the subject of salary, Robert Grant Burns found +himself committed to a promise of an increase, provided that Jean +really "delivered the goods" in the shape of a scenario serial, and did +the stunts which she declared she could and would do. +</P> + +<P> +Before she settled down to the actual planning of scenes, Robert Grant +Burns had also yielded to her demands for Lite Avery, though you may +think that he thereby showed himself culpably weak, unless you realize +what sort of a person Jean was in argument. Without having more than a +good-morning acquaintance with Lite, Burns agreed to put him on "in +stock" and to pay him the salary Jean demanded for him, provided that, +in the try-out of the first picture, Lite should prove he could deliver +the goods. Burns was always extremely firm in the matter of having the +"goods" delivered; that was why he was the Great Western's leading +director. Mere dollars he would yield, if driven into a corner and kept +there long enough, but he must have results. +</P> + +<P> +These things being settled, they spent about two hours on the doorstep +of Jean's room, writing the first reel of the story; which is to say +that Jean wrote, and Burns took each sheet from her hands as it was +finished, and read and made certain technical revisions now and then. +Several times he grunted words of approbation, and several times he let +his fat, black cigar go out, while he visualized the scenes which +Jean's flying pencil portrayed. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go over and get Lite," she said at last, rubbing the cramp out of +her writing-hand and easing her shoulders from their strain of +stooping. "There'll be time, while you send the machine after some +real hats for your rustlers. Those toadstool things were never seen in +this country till you brought them in your trunk; and this story is +going to be real! Your rustlers won't look much different from the +punchers, except that they'll be riding different horses; we'll have to +get some paint somewhere and make a pinto out of that wall-eyed cayuse +Gil rides mostly. He'll lead the rustlers, and you want the audience +to be able to spot him a mile off. Lite and I will fix the horse; +we'll put spots on him like a horse Uncle Carl used to own." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe you can't get Lite," Burns pointed out, eyeing her over a match +blaze. "He never acted to me like he had the movie-fever at all. +Passes us up with a nod, and has never showed signs of life on the +subject. Lee can ride pretty well," he added artfully, "even if he +wasn't born in the saddle. And we can fake that rope work." +</P> + +<P> +"All right; you can send the machine in with a wire to your company for +a leading woman." Jean picked up her gloves and turned to pull the +door shut behind her, and by other signs and tokens made plain her +intention to leave. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well, you can see if he'll come. I said I'd try him out, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"He'll come. I told you that before." Jean stopped and looked at her +director coldly. "And you'll keep your word. And we won't have any +fake stuff in this,—except the spots on the pinto." She smiled then. +"We wouldn't do that, but there isn't a pinto in the country right now +that would be what we want. You had better get your bunch together, +because I'll be back in a little while with Lite." +</P> + +<P> +As it happened, Lite was on his way to the Lazy A, and met Jean in the +bottom of the sandy hollow. His eyes lightened when he saw her come +loping up to him. But when she was close enough to read the expression +of his face, it was schooled again to the frank friendship which Jean +always had accepted as a matter of course. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Lite! I've got a job for you with the movies," Jean announced, +as soon as she was within speaking distance. "You can come right back +with me and begin. It's going to be great. We're going to make a real +Western picture, Lite, you and I. Lee and Gil and all the rest will be +in it, of course; but we're going to put in the real West. And we're +going to put in the ranch,—the REAL Lazy A, Lite. Not these dinky +little sets that Burns has toggled up with bits of the bluff showing +for background, but the ranch just as it—it used to be." Jean's eyes +grew wistful while she looked at him and told him her plans. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm writing the scenario myself," she explained, "and that's why you +have to be in it. I've written in stuff that the other boys can't do +to save their lives. REAL stuff, Lite! You and I are going to run the +ranch and punch the cows,—Lazy A cattle, what there are left of +them,—and hunt down a bunch of rustlers that have their hangout +somewhere down in the breaks; we don't know just where, yet. The +places we'll ride, they'll need an airship to follow with the camera! +I haven't got it all planned yet, but the first reel is about done; +we're going to begin on it this afternoon. We'll need you in the first +scenes,—just ranch scenes, with you and Lee; he's my brother, and +he'll get killed— Now, what's the matter with you?" She stopped and +eyed him disapprovingly. "Why have you got that stubborn look to your +mouth? Lite, see here. Before you say a word, I want to tell you that +you are not to refuse this. It—it means money, Lite; for you, and for +me, too. And that means—dad at home again. Lite—" +</P> + +<P> +Bite looked at her, looked away and bit his lips. It was long since he +had seen tears in Jean's steady, brown eyes, and the sight of them hurt +him intolerably. There was nothing that he could say to strengthen her +faith, absolutely nothing. He did not see how money could free her +father before his sentence expired. Her faith in her dad seemed to +Lite a wonderful thing, but he himself could not altogether share it, +although he had lately come to feel a very definite doubt about Aleck's +guilt. Money could not help them, except that it could buy back the +Lazy A and restock it, and make of it the home it had been three years +ago. +</P> + +<P> +Lite, in the secret heart of him, did not want Jean to set her heart on +doing that. Lite was almost in a position to do it himself, just as he +had planned and schemed and saved to do, ever since the day when he +took Jean to the Bar Nothing, and announced to her that he intended to +take care of her in place of her father. He had wanted to surprise +Jean; and Jean, with her usual headlong energy bent upon the same +object, seemed in a fair way to forestall him, unless he moved very +quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Lite, you won't spoil everything now, just when I'm given this great +opportunity, will you?" Jean's voice was steady again. She could even +meet his eyes without flinching. "Gil says it's a great opportunity, +in every way. It's a series of pictures, really, and they are to be +called 'Jean, of the Lazy A.' Gil says they will be advertised a lot, +and make me famous. I don't care about that; but the company will pay +me more, and that means—that means that I can get out and find Art +Osgood sooner, and—get dad home. And you will have to help. The +whole thing, as I have planned it, depends upon you, Lite. The riding +and the roping, and stuff like that, you'll have to do. You'll have to +work right alongside me in all that outdoor stuff, because I am going +to quit doing all those spectacular, stagey stunts, and get down to +real business. I've made Burns see that there will be money in it for +his company, so he is perfectly willing to let me go ahead with it and +do it my way. Our way, Lite, because, once you start with it, you can +help me plan things." Whereupon, having said almost everything she +could think of that would tend to soften that stubborn look in Lite's +face, Jean waited. +</P> + +<P> +Lite did a great deal of thinking in the next two or three minutes, but +being such a bottled-up person, he did not say half of what he thought; +and Jean, closely as she watched his face, could not read what was in +his mind. Of Aleck he thought, and the slender chance there was of any +one doing what Jean hoped to do; of Art Osgood, and the meager +possibility that Art could shed any light upon the killing of Johnny +Croft; of the Lazy A, and the probable price that Carl would put upon +it if he were asked to sell the ranch and the stock; of the money he +had already saved, and the chance that, if he went to Carl now and made +him an offer, Carl would accept. He weighed mentally all the various +elements that went to make up the depressing tangle of the whole +affair, and decided that he would write at once to Rossman, the lawyer +who had defended Aleck, and put the whole thing into his hands. He +would then know just where he stood, and what he would have to do, and +what legal steps he must take. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at Jean and grinned a little. "I'm not pretty enough for a +picture actor," he said whimsically. "Better let me be a rustler and +wear a mask, if you don't want folks to throw fits." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll be what I want you to be," Jean told him with the little smile +in her eyes that Lite had learned to love more than he could ever say. +"I'm going to make us both famous, Lite. Now, come on, Bobby Burns has +probably chewed up a whole box of those black cigars, waiting for us to +show up." +</P> + +<P> +I am not going to describe the making of "Jean, of the Lazy A." It +would be interesting, but this is not primarily a story of the +motion-picture business, remember. It is the story of the Lazy A and +the problem that both Jean and Lite were trying to solve. The Great +Western Film Company became, through sheer chance, a factor in that +problem, and for that reason we have come into rather close touch with +them; but aside from the fact that Jean's photo-play brought Lite into +the company and later took them both to Los Angeles, this particular +picture has no great bearing upon the matter. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns had intended taking his company back to Los Angles +in August, when the hot winds began to sweep over the range land. But +Jean's story was going "big." Jean was throwing herself into the part +heart and mind. She lived it. With Lite riding beside her, helping +her with all his skill and energy and much enthusiasm, she almost +forgot her great undertaking sometimes, she was so engrossed with her +work. With his experience, suggesting frequent changes, she added new +touches of realism to this story that made the case-hardened audience +of the Great Western's private projection room invent new ways of +voicing their enthusiasm, when the negative films Pete Lowry sent in to +headquarters were printed and given their trial run. +</P> + +<P> +They were just well started when August came with its hot winds. They +stayed and worked upon the serial until it was finished, and that meant +that they stayed until the first October blizzard caught them while +they were finishing the last reel. +</P> + +<P> +Do you know what they did then? Jean changed a few scenes around at +Lite's suggestion, and they went out into the hills in the teeth of the +storm and pictured Jean lost in the blizzard, and coming by chance upon +the outlaws at their camp, which she and Lite and Lee had been hunting +through all the previous installments of the story. It was great +stuff,—that ride Jean made in the blizzard,—and that scene where, +with numbed fingers and snow matted in her dangling braid, she held up +the rustlers and marched them out of the hills, and met Lite coming in +search of her. +</P> + +<P> +You will remember it, if you have been frequenting the silent drama and +were fortunate enough to see the picture. You may have wondered at the +realism of those blizzard scenes, and you may have been curious to know +how the camera got the effect. It was wonderful photography, of +course; but then, the blizzard was real, and that pinched, half frozen +look on Jean's face in the close-up where she met Lite was real. Jean +was so cold when she turned the rustlers over to Lite that when she +started to dismount and fell in a heap,—you remember?—she was not +acting at all. Neither was Lite acting when he plunged through the +drift and caught Jean in his arms and held her close against him just +as that scene ended. In the name of realism they cut the scene, +because Lite showed that he forgot all about the outlaws and the part +he was playing. +</P> + +<P> +So they finished the picture, and the whole company packed their trunks +thankfully and turned their faces and all their thoughts westward. +</P> + +<P> +Jean was not at all sure that she wanted to go. It seemed almost as +though she were setting aside her great undertaking; as though she were +weakly deserting her dad when she closed the door for the last time +upon her room and turned her back upon Lazy A coulee. But there were +certain things which comforted her; Lite was going along to look after +the horses, he told her just the day before they started. For Robert +Grant Burns, with an eye to the advertising value of the move, had +decided that Pard must go with them. He would have to hire an express +car, anyway, he said, for the automobile and the scenery sets they had +used for interiors. And there would be plenty of room for Pard and +Lite's horse and another which Robert Grant Burns had used to carry him +to locations in rough country, where the automobile could not go. The +car would run in passenger service, Burns said,—he'd fix that,—so +Lite would be right with the company all the way out. +</P> + +<P> +Jean appreciated all that as a personal favor, which merely proved how +unsophisticated she really was. She did not know that Robert Grant +Burns was thinking chiefly of furnishing material for the publicity man +to use in news stories. She never once dreamed that the coming of +"Jean, of the Lazy A" and Jean's pet horse Pard, and of Lite, who had +done so many surprising things in the picture, would be heralded in all +the Los Angeles papers before ever they left Montana. +</P> + +<P> +Jean was concerned chiefly with attending to certain matters which +seemed to her of vital importance. If she must go, there was something +which she must do first,—something which for three years she had +shrunk from doing. So she told Robert Grant Burns that she would meet +him and his company in Helena, and without a word of explanation, she +left two days in advance of them, just after she had had another +maddening talk with her Uncle Carl, wherein she had repeated her +intention of employing a lawyer. +</P> + +<P> +When she boarded the train at Helena, she did not tell even Lite just +where she had been or what she had been doing. She did not need to +tell Lite. He looked into her face and saw there the shadow of the +high, stone wall that shut her dad away from the world, and he did not +ask a single question. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IN LOS ANGELES +</H3> + +<P> +When she felt bewildered, Jean had the trick of appearing merely +reserved; and that is what saved her from the charge of rusticity when +Robert Grant Burns led her through the station gateway and into a small +reception. No less a man than Dewitt, President of the Great Western +Film Company, clasped her hand and held it, while he said how glad he +was to welcome her. Jean, unawed by his greatness and the honor he was +paying her, looked up at him with that distracting little beginning of +a smile, and replied with that even-more distracting little drawl in +her voice, and wondered why Mrs. Gay should become so plainly flustered +all at once. +</P> + +<P> +Dewitt took her by the arm, introduced her to a curious-eyed group with +a warming cordiality of manner, and led her away through a crowd that +stared and whispered, and up to a great, beautiful, purple machine with +a colored chauffeur in dust-colored uniform. Dewitt was talking easily +of trivial things, and shooting a question now and then over his +shoulder at Robert Grant Burns, who had shed much of his importance and +seemed indefinably subservient toward Mr. Dewitt. Jean turned toward +him abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's Lite? Did you send some one to help him with Pard?" she asked +with real concern in her voice. "Those three horses aren't used to +towns the size of this, Mr. Burns. Lite is going to have his hands +full with Pard. If you will excuse me, Mr. Dewitt, I think I'll go and +see how he's making out." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Dewitt glanced over her head and met the delighted grin of Jim +Gates, the publicity manager. The grin said that Jean was "running +true to form," which was a pet simile with Jim Gates, and usually +accompanied that particular kind of grin. There would be an +interesting half column in the next day's papers about Jean's arrival +and her deep concern for Lite and her wonderful horse Pard, but of +course she did not know that. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got men here to help with the horses," Mr. Dewitt assured her, +while he gently urged her into the machine. "They'll be brought right +out to the studio. I'm taking you home with me in obedience to my +wife's, orders. She is anxious to meet the young woman who can +out-ride and out-shoot any man on the screen, and can still be sweet +and feminine and lovable. I'm quoting my wife, you see, though I won't +say those are not my sentiments also." +</P> + +<P> +"Your poor wife is going to receive a shock," said Jean in an +unimpressed tone. "But it's dear of her to want to meet me." Back of +her speech was an irritated impatience that she should be gobbled and +carried off like this, when she was sure that she ought to be helping +Lite get that fool Pard unloaded and safely through the clang and +clatter of the down-town district. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns, half facing her on a folding seat, sent her a +queer, puzzled glance from under his eyebrows. Four months had Jean +been working under his direction; four months had he studied her, and +still she puzzled him. She was not ignorant—the girl had been out +among civilized folks and had learned town ways; she was not +stupid—she could keep him guessing, and he thought he knew all the +quirks of human nature, too. Then why, in the name of common sense, did +she take Dewitt and his patronage in this matter-of-fact way, as if it +were his everyday business to meet strange employees and take them home +to his wife? He glanced at Dewitt and caught a twinkle of perfect +understanding in the bright blue eyes of his chief. Burns made a sound +between a grunt and a chuckle, and turned his eyes away immediately; +but Dewitt chose to make speech upon the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't spoiled our new leading woman—yet," he observed idly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but he has," Jean dissented. "He has got me trained so that when +he says smile, my mouth stretches itself automatically. When he says +sob, I sob. He just snaps his fingers, Mr. Dewitt, and I sit up and go +through my tricks very nicely. You ought to see how nicely I do them." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Dewitt put up a hand and pulled at his close-cropped, white +mustache that could not hide the twitching of his lips. "I have seen," +he said drily, and leaned forward for a word with the liveried +chauffeur. "Turn up on Broadway and stop at the Victoria," he said, and +the chin of the driver dropped an inch to prove he heard. +</P> + +<P> +Dewitt laid his fingers on Jean's arm to catch her attention. "Do you +see that picture on the billboard over there?" he asked, with a special +inflection in his nice, crisp voice. "Does it look familiar to you?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked, and pinched her brows together. Just at first she did not +comprehend. There was her name in fancy letters two feet high: "JEAN, +OF THE LAZY A." It blared at the passer-by, but it did not look +familiar at all. Beneath was a high-colored poster of a girl on a +horse. The horse was standing on its hind feet, pawing the air; its +nostrils flared red; its tail swept like a willow plume behind. The +machine slowed and stopped for the traffic signal at the crossing, and +still Jean studied the poster. It certainly did not look in the least +familiar. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that supposed to be me, on that plum-colored horse?" she drawled, +when they slid out slowly in the wake of a great truck. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, don't you like it?" Dewitt looked at Jim Gates, who was again +grinning delightedly and surreptitiously scribbling something on the +margin of a folded paper he was carrying. +</P> + +<P> +Jean turned upon him a mildly resentful glance. "No, I don't. Pard is +not purple; he's brown. And he's got the dearest white hoofs and a +white sock on his left hind foot; and he doesn't snort fire and +brimstone, either." She glanced anxiously at the jam of wagons and +automobiles and clanging street-cars. "I don't know, though," she +amended ruefully, "I think perhaps he will, too, when he sees all this. +I really ought to have stayed with him." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't think Lite quite capable of taking care of him." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, of course he is! But I just feel that way." +</P> + +<P> +Dewitt shifted a little, so that he was half facing her, and could look +at her without having to turn his head. If his eyes told anything of +his thoughts, the President of the Great Western Film Company was +curious to know how she felt about her position and her sudden fame and +the work itself. Before they had worked their way into the next block, +he decided that Jean was not greatly interested in any of these things, +and he wondered why. +</P> + +<P> +The machine slowed, swung to the curb, and crept forward and stopped in +front of the Victoria. Dewitt looked at Burns and Pete Lowry, who was +on the front seat. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you'd like to take a glance at the lobby display the +Victoria is making," he said casually. "They are running the Lazy A +series, you know,—to capacity houses, too, they tell me. Shall we get +out?" +</P> + +<P> +The chauffeur reached back with that gesture of toleration and infinite +boredom common to his kind and swung open the door. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Grant Burns started up. "Come on, Jean," he said eagerly. "I +don't suppose that eternal calm of yours will ever show a wrinkle on +the surface, but let's have a look, anyway." +</P> + +<P> +Pete Lowry was already out and half way across the pavement. Pete had +lain awake in his bed, many's the night, planning the posing of +"stills" that would show Jean at her best; he had visioned them on +display in theater lobbies, and now he collided with a hurrying shopper +in his haste to see the actual fulfillment of those plans. +</P> + +<P> +Jean herself was not so eager. She went with the others, and she saw +herself pictured on Pard; on her two feet; and sitting upon a rock with +her old Stetson tilted over one eye and her hair tousled with the wind. +She was loading her six-shooter, and talking to Lite, who was sitting +on his heels with a cigarette in his fingers, looking at her with that +bottled-up look in his eyes. She did not remember when the picture was +taken, but she liked that best of all. She saw herself leaning out of +the window of her room at the Lazy A. She remembered that time. She +was talking to Gil outside, and Pete had come up and planted his tripod +directly in front of her, and had commanded her to hold her pose. She +did not count them, but she had curious impressions of dozens of +pictures of herself scattered here and there along the walls of the +long, cool-looking lobby. Every single one of them was marked: "Jean, +of the Lazy A." Just that. +</P> + +<P> +On a bulletin board in the middle of the entrance, just before the +marble box-office, it was lettered again in dignified black type: +"JEAN OF THE LAZY A." Below was one word: "To-day." +</P> + +<P> +"It looks awfully queer," said Jean to Mr. Dewitt, who wanted to know +what she thought of it all; "they don't explain what it's all about, or +anything." +</P> + +<P> +"No, they don't." Dewitt pulled his mustache and piloted her back to +the machine. "They don't have to." +</P> + +<P> +"No," echoed Robert Grant Burns, with the fat chuckle of utter content +in the knowledge of having achieved something. "From the looks of +things, they don't have to." He looked at Jean so intently that she +stared back at him, wondering what was the matter; and when he saw that +she was wondering, he gave a snort. +</P> + +<P> +"Good Lord!" he said to himself, just above a whisper, and looked away, +despairing of ever reading the riddle of Jean's unshakable composure. +Was it pose Was the girl phlegmatic,—with that face which was so alive +with the thoughts that shuttled back and forth behind those steady, +talking eyes of hers? She was not stupid; Robert Grant Burns knew to +his own discomfiture that she was not stupid. Nor was she one to pose; +the absolute sincerity of her terrific frankness was what had worried +Robert Grant Burns most. She must know that she had jumped into the +front rank of popular actresses, and stood out before them all,—for +the time being, at least. And,—he stole a measuring sidelong glance +at her, just as he had done thousands of times in the past four +months,—here she was in the private machine of the President of the +Great Western Film Company, with that great man himself talking to her +as to his honored guest. She had seen herself featured alone at one of +the biggest motion-picture theaters in Los Angeles; so well known that +"Jean, of the Lazy A" was deemed all-sufficient as information and +advertisement. She had reached what seemed to Robert Grant Burns the +final heights. And the girl sat there, calm, abstracted, actually not +listening to Dewitt when he talked! She was not even thinking about +him! Robert Grant Burns gave her another quick, resentful glance, and +wondered what under heaven the girl WAS thinking about. +</P> + +<P> +As a matter of fact, having accepted the fact that she seemed to have +made a success of her pictures, her thoughts had drifted to what seemed +to her more vital. Had she done wrong to come away out here, away from +her problem? The distance worried her. She had not even found out who +was the mysterious night-prowler, or what he wanted. He had never come +again, after that night when Hepsy had scared him away. From long +thinking about it, she had come to a vague, general belief that his +visits were somehow connected with the murder; but in what manner, she +could not even form a theory. That worried her. She wished now that +she had told Lite about it. She was foolish not to have done +something, instead of sticking her head under the bedclothes and just +shivering till he left. Lite would have found out who the man was, and +what he wanted. Lite would never have let him come and go like that. +But the visits had seemed so absolutely without reason. There was +nothing to steal, and nothing to find. Still, she wished she had told +Lite, and let him find out who it was. +</P> + +<P> +Then her talk with the great lawyer had been disquieting. He had not +wanted to name his fee for defending her dad; but when he had named it, +it did not seem so enormous as she had imagined it to be. He had asked +a great many questions, and most of them puzzled Jean. He had said +that he would take up the matter,—by which she believed he meant an +investigation of her uncle's title to the Lazy A. He said that he +would see her father, and he told her that he had already been retained +to investigate the whole thing, so that she need not worry about having +to pay him a fee. That, he said, had already been arranged, though he +did not feel at liberty to name his client. But he wanted to assure +her that everything was being done that could be done. +</P> + +<P> +She herself had seen her father. She shrank within herself and tried +not to think of that horrible meeting. Her soul writhed under the +tormenting memory of how she had seen him. She had not been able to +talk to him at all, scarcely. The words would not come. She had said +that she and Lite were on their way to Los Angeles, and would be there +all winter. He had patted her shoulder with a tragic apathy in his +manner, and had said that the change would do her good. And that was +all she could remember that they had talked about. And then the guard +came, and— +</P> + +<P> +That is what she was thinking about while the big, purple machine slid +smoothly through the tunnel, negotiated a rough stretch where the +street-pavers were at work, and sped purring out upon the boulevard +that stretched away to Hollywood and the hills. That was what she kept +hidden behind the "eternal calm" that so irritated Robert Grant Burns +and so delighted Dewitt and so interested Jim Gates, who studied her +for what "copy" there was in her personality. +</P> + +<P> +It was the same when, the next day, Dewitt himself took her over to the +big plant which he spoke of as the studio. It was immense, and yet +Jean seemed unimpressed. She was gladder to see Pard and Lite again +than she was to meet the six-hundred-a-week star whose popularity she +seemed in a fair way to outrival. Men and women who were "in stock," +and therefore within the social pale, were introduced to her and said +nice, hackneyed things about how they admired her work and were glad to +welcome her. She felt the warm air of good-fellowship that followed +her everywhere. All of these people seemed to accept her at once as +one of themselves. When she noticed it, she was amused at the way the +"extras" stood back and looked at her and whispered together. More +than once she overheard what seemed almost to have become a +catch-phrase out here; "Jean of the lazy A" was the phrase. +</P> + +<P> +Jean was not made of wood, understand. In a manner she recognized all +these little tributes, and to a certain degree she appreciated them. +She was glad that she had made such a success of it, but she was glad +because it would help her to take her dad away from that horrible, +ghastly place and that horrible, ghastly death-in-life under which he +lived. In three years he had grown old and stooped—her dad! +</P> + +<P> +And Burns twitted her ironically because she could not simper and lose +her head over the attentions these people were loading upon her! Save +for the fact that in this way she could earn a good deal of money, and +could pay that lawyer Rossman, and trace Art Osgood, she would not have +stayed; she could not have endured the staying. For the easier they +made life for her, the greater contrast did they make between her and +her dad. +</P> + +<P> +Gil brought her a great bunch of roses, unbelievably beautiful and +fragrant, and laughed and told her they didn't look much like those +snowdrifts she waded through the last day they worked on the Lazy A +serial. For just a minute he thought Jean was going to throw them at +him, and he worried himself into sleeplessness, poor boy, wondering how +he had offended her, and how he could make amends. Could he have +looked into Jean's soul, he would have seen that it was seared with the +fresh memory of iron bars and high walls and her dad who never saw any +roses; and that the contrast between their beauty and the terrible +barrenness that surrounded him was like a blow in her face. +</P> + +<P> +Dewitt himself sensed that something was wrong with her. She was not +her natural self, and he knew it, though his acquaintance with her was +a matter of hours only. Part of his business it was to study people, +to read them; he read Jean now, in a general way. Not being a +clairvoyant, he of course had no inkling of the very real troubles that +filled her mind, though the effect of those troubles he saw quite +plainly. He watched her quietly for a day, and then he applied the +best remedy he knew. +</P> + +<P> +"You've just finished a long, hard piece of work," he said in his +crisp, matter-of-fact way, on the second morning after her arrival. +"There is going to be a delay here while we shape things up for the +winter, and it is my custom to keep my people in the very best +condition to work right up to the standard. So you are all going to +have a two-weeks vacation, Jean-of-the-Lazy-A. At full salary, of +course; and to put you yourself into the true holiday spirit, I'm going +to raise your salary to a hundred and seventy-five a week. I consider +you worth it," he added, with a quieting gesture of uplifted hand, "or +you may be sure I wouldn't pay it. +</P> + +<P> +"Get some nice old lady to chaperone you, and go and play. The ocean +is good; get somewhere on the beach. Or go to Catalina and play there. +Or stay here, and go to the movies. Go and see 'Jean, of the Lazy A,' +and watch how the audience lives with her on the screen. Go up and talk +to the wife. She told me to bring you up for dinner. You go climb +into my machine, and tell Bob to take you to the house now. Run along, +Jean of the Lazy A! This is an order from your chief." +</P> + +<P> +Jean wanted to cry. She held the roses, that she almost hated for +their very beauty and fragrance, close pressed in her arms, while she +went away toward the machine. Dewitt looked after her, thought she +meant to obey him, and turned to greet a great man of the town who had +been waiting for five minutes to speak to him. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not climb into the purple car and tell Bob to drive her to +"the house." She walked past it without even noticing that it stood +there, an aristocrat among the other machines parked behind the great +studio that looked like a long, low warehouse. She knew the +straightest, shortest trail to the corrals, you may be sure of that. +She took that trail. +</P> + +<P> +Pard was standing in a far corner under a shed, switching his tail +methodically at the October crop of flies. His head lay over the neck +of a scrawny little buckskin, for which he had formed a sudden and +violent attachment, and his eyes were half closed while he drowsed in +lazy content. Pard was not worrying about anything. He looked so +luxuriously happy that Jean had not the heart to disturb him, even with +her comfort-seeking caresses. She leaned her elbows on the corral gate +and watched him awhile. She asked a bashful, gum-chewing youth if he +could tell her where to find Lite Avery. But the youth seemed never to +have heard of Lite Avery, and Jean was too miserable to explain and +describe Lite, and insist upon seeing him. She walked over to the +nearest car-line and caught the next street car for the city. Part of +her chief's orders at least she would obey. She would go down to the +Victoria and see "Jean, of the Lazy A," but she was not going because +of any impulse of vanity, or to soothe her soul with the applause of +strangers. She wanted to see the ranch again. She wanted to see the +dear, familiar line of the old bluff that framed the coulee, and ride +again with Lite through those wild places they had chosen for the +pictures. She wanted to lose herself for a little while among the +hills that were home. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHANCE TAKES A HAND +</H3> + +<P> +A huge pipe organ was filling the theater with a vast undertone that +was like the whispering surge of a great wind. Jean went into the soft +twilight and sat down, feeling that she had shut herself away from the +harsh, horrible world that held so much of suffering. She sighed and +leaned her head back against the curtained enclosure of the loges, and +closed her eyes and listened to the big, sweeping harmonies that were +yet so subdued. +</P> + +<P> +Down next the river, in a sheltered little coulee, there was a group of +great bull pines. Sometimes she had gone there and leaned against a +tree trunk, and had shut her eyes and listened to the vast symphony +which the wind and the water played together. She forgot that she had +come to see a picture which she had helped to create. She held her +eyes shut and listened; and that horror of high walls and iron bars +that had haunted her for days, and the aged, broken man who was her +father, dimmed and faded and was temporarily erased; the lightness of +her lips eased a little; the tenseness relaxed from her face, as it +does from one who sleeps. +</P> + +<P> +But the music changed, and her mood changed with it. She did not know +that this was because the story pictured upon the screen had changed, +but she sat up straight and opened her eyes, and felt almost as though +she had just awakened from a vivid dream. +</P> + +<P> +A Mexican series of educational pictures were being shown. Jean +looked, and leaned forward with a little gasp. But even as she fixed +her eyes and startled attention upon it, that scene was gone, and she +was reading mechanically of refugees fleeing to the border line. +</P> + +<P> +She must have been asleep, she told herself, and had gotten things +mixed up in her dreams. She shook herself mentally and remembered that +she ought to take off her hat; and she tried to fix her mind upon the +pictures. Perhaps she had been mistaken; perhaps she had not seen what +she believed she had seen. But—what if it were true? What if she had +really seen and not imagined it? It couldn't be true, she kept telling +herself; of course, it couldn't be true! Still, her mind clung to that +instant when she had first opened her eyes, and very little of what she +saw afterwards reached her brain at all. +</P> + +<P> +Then she had, for the first time in her life, the strange experience of +seeing herself as others saw her. The screen announcement and +expectant stir that greeted it caught her attention, and pulled her +back from the whirl of conjecture into which she had been plunged. She +watched, and she saw herself ride up to the foreground on Pard. She +saw herself look straight out at the audience with that peculiar little +easing of the lips and the lightening of the eyes which was just the +infectious beginning of a smile. Involuntarily she smiled back at her +pictured self, just as every one else was smiling back. For that, you +must know, was what had first endeared her so to the public; the human +quality that compelled instinctive response from those who looked at +her. So Jean in the loge smiled at Jean on the screen. Then +Lite—dear, silent, long-legged Lite!—came loping up, and pushed back +his hat with the gesture that she knew so well, and spoke to her and +smiled; and a lump filled the throat of Jean in the loge, though she +could not have told why. Then Jean on the screen turned and went +riding with Lite back down the trail, with her hat tilted over one eye +because of the sun, and with one foot swinging free of the stirrup in +that absolute unconsciousness of pose that had first caught the +attention of Robert Grant Burns and his camera man. Jean in the loge +heard the ripple of applause among the audience and responded to it +with a perfectly human thrill. +</P> + +<P> +Presently she was back at the Lazy A, living again the scenes which she +herself had created. This was the fourth or fifth picture,—she did +not at the moment remember just which. At any rate, it had in it that +incident when she had first met the picture-people in the hills and +mistaken Gil Huntley and the other boys for real rustlers stealing her +uncle's cattle. You will remember that Robert Grant Burns had told +Pete to take all of that encounter, and he had later told Jean to write +her scenario so as to include that incident. +</P> + +<P> +Jean blushed when she saw herself ride up to those three and "throw +down on them" with her gun. She had been terribly chagrined over that +performance! But now it looked awfully real, she told herself with a +little glow of pride. Poor old Gil! They hadn't caught her roping +him, anyway, and she was glad of that. He would have looked absurd, +and those people would have laughed at him. She watched how she had +driven the cattle back up the coulee, with little rushes up the bank to +head off an unruly cow that had ideas of her own about the direction in +which she would travel. She loved Pard, for the way he tossed his head +and whirled the cricket in his bit with his tongue, and obeyed the +slightest touch on the rein. The audience applauded that cattle drive; +and Jean was almost betrayed into applauding it herself. +</P> + +<P> +Later there was a scene where she had helped Lite Avery and Lee +Milligan round up a bunch of cattle and cut out three or four, which +were to be sold to a butcher for money to take her mother to the +doctor. Lite rode close to the camera and looked straight at her, and +Jean bit her lips sharply as tears stung her lashes for some +inexplicable reason. Dear old Lite! Every line in his face she knew, +every varying, vagrant expression, every little twitch of his lips and +eyelids that meant so much to those who knew him well enough to read +his face. Jean's eyes softened, cleared, and while she looked, her lips +parted a little, and she did not know that she was smiling. +</P> + +<P> +She was thinking of the day, not long ago, when she had seen a bird fly +into the loft over the store-house, and she had climbed in a spirit of +idle curiosity to see what the bird wanted there. She had found Lite's +bed neatly smoothed for the day, the pillow placed so that, lying +there, he could look out through the opening and see the house and the +path that led to it. There was the faint aroma of tobacco about the +place. Jean had known at once just why that bed was there, and almost +she knew how long it had been there. She had never once hinted that +she knew; and Lite would never tell her, by look or word, that he was +watching her welfare. +</P> + +<P> +Here came Gil, dashing up to the brow of the hill, dismounting and +creeping behind a rock, that he might watch them working with the +cattle in the valley below. Jean met his pictured approach with a +little smile of welcome. That was the scene where she told him he got +off the horse like a sack of oats, and had shown him how to swing down +lightly and with a perfect balance, instead of coming to the earth with +a thud of his feet. Gil had taken it all in good faith; the camera +proved now how well he had followed her instructions. And afterwards, +while the assistant camera-man (with whom Jean never had felt +acquainted) shouldered the camera and tripod, and they all tramped down +the hill to another location, there had been a little scene in the +shade of that rock, between Jean and the star villain. She blushed a +little and wondered if Gil remembered that tentative love-making scene +which Burns had unconsciously cut short with a bellowing order to +rehearse the next scene. +</P> + +<P> +It was wonderful, it was fascinating to sit there and see those days of +hard, absorbing work relived in the story she had created. Jean lost +herself in watching how Jean of the Lazy A came and went and lived her +life bravely in the midst of so much that was hard. Jean in the loge +remembered how Burns had yelled, "Smile when you come up; look +light-hearted! And then let your face change gradually, while you +listen to your mother crying in there. There'll be a cut-back to show +her down on her knees crying before Bob's chair. Let that tired, +worried look come into your face,—the load's dropping on to your +shoulders again,—that kind of dope. Get me?" Jean in the loge +remembered how she had been told to do this deliberately, just out of +her imagination. And then she saw how Jean on the screen came +whistling up to the house, swinging her quirt by its loop and with a +spring in her walk, and making you feel that it was a beautiful day and +that all the meadow larks were singing, and that she had just had a +gallop on Pard that made her forget that she ever looked trouble in the +face. +</P> + +<P> +Then Jean in the loge looked and saw screen—Jean's mother kneeling +before Bob's chair and sobbing so that her shoulders shook. She looked +and saw screen Jean stop whistling and swinging her quirt; saw her +stand still in the path and listen; saw the smile fade out of her eyes. +Jean in the loge thought suddenly of that moment when she had looked at +dad coming in where she waited, and swallowed a lump in her throat. A +woman near her gave a little stifled sob of sympathy when screen-Jean +turned and went softly around the corner of the house with all the +light gone from her face and all the spring gone out of her walk. +</P> + +<P> +Jean in the loge gave a sigh of relaxed tension and looked around her. +The seats were nearly all full, and every one was gazing fixedly +forward, lost in the pictured story of Jean on the screen. So that was +what all those made-to-order smiles and frowns meant! Jean had done +them at Burns' command, because she had seen that the others simulated +different emotions whenever he told them to. She knew, furthermore, +that she had done them remarkably well; so well that people responded +to every emotion she presented to them. She was surprised at the +vividness of every one of those cut-and-dried scenes. They imposed +upon her, even, after all the work and fussing she had gone through to +get them to Burns' liking. And there, in the cool gloom of the +Victoria, Jean for the first time realized to the full the true ability +of Robert Grant Burns. For the first time she really appreciated him +and respected him, and was grateful to him for what he had taught her +to do. +</P> + +<P> +Her mood changed abruptly when the Jean picture ended. The music +changed to the strain that had filled the great place when she entered, +nearly an hour before. Jean sat up straight again and waited, alert, +impatient, anxious to miss no smallest part of that picture which had +startled her so when she had first looked at the screen. If the thing +was true which she half believed—if it were true! So she stared with +narrowed lids, intent, watchful, her whole mind concentrated upon what +she should presently see. +</P> + +<P> +"Warring Mexico!" That was the name of it; a Lubin special release, of +the kind technically called "educational." Jean held her breath, +waiting for the scene that might mean so much to her. There: this must +be it, she thought with a flush of inner excitement. This surely must +be the one: +</P> + +<P> +"NOGALES, MEXICO. FEDERAL TROOPS OF GENERAL KOSTERLISKY, WITH AMERICAN +SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE SERVING ON STAFF OF NOTED GENERAL." +</P> + +<P> +Jean had it stamped indelibly upon her brain. She waited, with a quick +intake of breath when the picture stood out with a sudden clarity +before her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +A "close-up" group of officers and men,—and some of the men Americans +in face, dress, and manner. But it was one man, and one only, at whom +she looked. Tall he was, and square-shouldered and lean; with his hat +set far back on his head and a half smile curling his lips, and his +eyes looking straight into the camera. Standing there with his weight +all on one foot, in that attitude which cowboys call "hipshot." Art +Osgood! She was sure of it! Her hands clenched in her lap. Art +Osgood, at Nogales, Mexico. Serving on the staff of General +Kosterlisky. Was the man mad, to stand there publicly before the +merciless, revealing eye of a motion-picture camera? Or did his vanity +blind him to the risk he was taking? +</P> + +<P> +The man at whom she sat glaring glanced sidewise at some person unseen; +and Jean knew that glance, that turn of the head. He smiled anew and +lifted his American-made Stetson a few inches above his head and held +it so in salute. Just so had he lifted and held his hat high one day, +when she had turned and ridden away from him down the trail. Jean +caught herself just as her lips opened to call out to him in +recognition and sharp reproach. He turned and walked away to where the +troopers were massed in the background. It was thus that she had first +glimpsed him for one instant before the scene ended; it was just as he +turned his face away that she had opened her eyes, and thought it was +Art Osgood who was walking away from the camera. +</P> + +<P> +She waited a minute, staring abstractedly at the refugees who were +presented next. She wished that she knew when the picture had been +taken,—how long ago. Her experience with motion-picture making, her +listening to the shop-talk of the company, had taught her much; she +knew that sometimes weeks elapse between the camera's work and the +actual projection of a picture upon the theater screens. Still, this +was, in a sense, a news release, and therefore in all probability +hurried to the public. Art Osgood might still be at Nogales, Mexico, +wherever that was. He might; and Jean made up her mind and laid her +plans while she sat there pinning on her hat. +</P> + +<P> +She got up quietly and slipped out. She was going to Nogales, Mexico, +wherever that was. She was going to get Art Osgood, and she didn't +care whether she had to fight her way clear through "Warring Mexico." +She would find him and get him and bring him back. +</P> + +<P> +In the lobby, while she paused with a truly feminine instinct to tip +her hat this way and that before the mirror, and give her hair a +tentative pat or two at the back, the grinning face of Lite Avery in +his gray Stetson appeared like an apparition before her eyes. She +turned quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Lite!" she said, a little startled. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Jean!" he mimicked, in the bantering voice that was like home to +her. "Don't rush off; haven't seen you to-day. Wait till I get you a +ticket, and then you come back and help me admire ourselves. I came +down on a long lope when somebody said you caught a street car headed +this way. Thought maybe I'd run across you here. Knew you couldn't +stay away much longer from seeing how you look. Ain't too proud to sit +alongside a rough-neck puncher, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked at him understandingly. Lite's exuberance was unusual; but +she knew, as well as though he had told her, that he had been lonesome +in this strange city, and that he was overjoyed at the sight of her, +who was his friend. She unpinned her hat which she had been at some +pains to adjust at the exact angle decreed by fashion. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'll go back with you," she drawled. "I want to see how you like +the sight of yourself just as you are. It—it's good for one, after the +first shock wears off." She would not say a word about that Mexican +picture, she thought; but she wanted to see if Lite also would +recognize Art Osgood, and feel as sure of his identity as she had felt. +That would make her doubly sure of her self. She could do what she +meant to do without any misgivings whatsoever. She could afford to +wait a little while and have the pleasure of Lite's presence beside +her. Lite was homesick and lonesome;—she felt it in every tone and in +every look;—almost as homesick and lonesome as she was herself. She +would not hurt him by going off and leaving him alone, even if she had +not wanted to be with him and to watch the effect that Mexican picture +would have upon him. Lite believed Art Osgood was in the Klondyke. +She would wait and see what he believed after he had seen that Nogales +picture. +</P> + +<P> +She waited. She had missed Lite in the last day or so; she had seemed +almost as far away from him as from the Lazy A. But all the while she +talked to him in whispers when he had wanted to discuss the Jean +picture, she was waiting, just waiting, for that Nogales picture. +</P> + +<P> +When it came at last, Jean turned her head and watched Lite. And Lite +gave a real start and said something under his breath, and plucked at +her sleeve afterwards to attract her attention. +</P> + +<P> +"Look—quick! That fellow standing there with his arms folded. Skin +me alive if it isn't Art Osgood!" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure?" Jean studied him. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure? Where're your eyes? Look at him! It sure ain't anybody else, +Jean. Now, what do you reckon he's doing down in Mexico?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JEAN BELIEVES THAT SHE TAKES MATTERS INTO HER OWN HANDS +</H3> + +<P> +After all, Jean did not have to fight her way clear through "Warring +Mexico" and back again, in order to reach Nogales. She let Lite take +her to the snug little apartment which she was to share with Muriel and +her mother, and she fancied that she had been very crafty and very +natural in her manner all the while he was with her, and that Lite did +not dream of what she had in her mind to do. At any rate, she watched +him stalk away on his high-heeled riding-boots, and she thought that +his mind was perfectly at ease. (Jean, I fear, never will understand +Lite half as well as Lite has always understood Jean.) +</P> + +<P> +She caught the next down-town car and went straight to the information +bureau of the Southern Pacific, established for the convenience of the +public and the sanity of employees who have something to do besides +answer foolish questions. +</P> + +<P> +She found a young man there who was not averse to talking at length +with a young woman who was dressed trimly in a street suit of the +latest fashion, and who had almost entrancing, soft drawl to her voice +and a most fascinating way of looking at one. This young man appeared +to know a great deal, and to be almost eager to pass along his wisdom. +He knew all about Nogales, Mexico, for instance, and just what train +would next depart in that general direction, and how much it would +cost, and how long she would have to wait in Tucson for the once-a-day +train to Nogales, and when she might logically expect to arrive in that +squatty little town that might be said to be really and truly divided +against itself. Here the nice young man became facetious. +</P> + +<P> +"Bible tells us a city divided against itself cannot stand," he +informed Jean quite gratuitously. "Well, maybe that's straight goods, +too. But Nogales is cut right through at the waist line with the +international boundary line. United States customhouse on one corner +of the street, Mexican customhouse in talking distance on the other +corner. Great place for holdups, that!" This was a joke, and Jean +smiled obligingly. "First the United States holds you up, and then the +Mexicans. You get it coming and going. Well, Nogales don't have to +stand. It squats. It's adobe mostly." +</P> + +<P> +Jean was interested, and she did not discourage the nice young man. +She let him say all he could think of on the subject of Nogales and the +Federal troops stationed there, and on warring Mexico generally. When +she left him, she felt as if she knew a great deal about the end of her +journey. So she smiled and thanked the nice young man in that soft +drawl that lingered pleasantly in his memory, and went over to another +window and bought a ticket to Nogales. She moved farther along to +another window and secured a Pullman ticket which gave her lower five +in car four for her comfort. +</P> + +<P> +With an impulse of wanting to let her Uncle Carl know that she was not +forgetting her mission, she sent him this laconic telegram: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Have located Art. Will bring him back with me. +<BR> + JEAN.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +After that, she went home and packed a suit-case and her six-shooter +and belt. She did not, after all, know just what might happen in +Nogales, Mexico, but she meant to bring back Art Osgood if he were to +be found alive; hence the six-shooter. +</P> + +<P> +That evening she told Muriel that she was going to run away and have +her vacation—her "vacation" hunting down and capturing a murderer who +had taken refuge in the Mexican army!—and that she would write when +she knew just where she would stop. Then she went away alone in a taxi +to the depot, and started on her journey with a six-shooter jostling a +box of chocolates in her suit-case, and with her heart almost light +again, now that she was at last following a clue that promised +something at the other end. +</P> + +<P> +It was all just as the nice young man had told her. Jean arrived in +Tucson, and she left on time, on the once-a-day train to Nogales. +</P> + +<P> +Lite also arrived in Tucson on time, though Jean did not see him, since +he descended from the chair car with some caution just as she went into +the depot. He did not depart on time as it happened; he was thirsty, +and he went off to find something wetter than water to drink, and while +he was gone the once-a-day train also went off through the desert. +Lite saw the last pair of wheels it owned go clipping over the switch, +and he stood in the middle of the track and swore. Then he went to the +telegraph office and found out that a freight left for Nogales in ten +minutes. He hunted up the conductor and did things to his bank roll, +and afterwards climbed into the caboose on the sidetrack. Lite has +been so careful to keep in the background, through all these chapters, +that it seems a shame to tell on him now. But I am going to say that, +little as Jean suspected it, he had been quite as interested in finding +Art Osgood as had she herself. When he saw her pass through the gate +to the train, in Los Angeles, that was his first intimation that she +was going to Nogales; so he had stayed in the chair car out of sight. +But it just shows how great minds run in the same channel; and how, +without suspecting one another, these two started at the same time upon +the same quest. +</P> + +<P> +Jean stared out over the barrenness that was not like the barrenness of +Montana, and tried not to think that perhaps Art Osgood had by this +time drifted on into obscurity. Still, if he had drifted on, surely +she could trace him, since he had been serving on the staff of a +general and should therefore be pretty well known. What she really +hated most to think of was the possibility that he might have been +killed. They did get killed, sometimes, down there where there was so +much fighting going on all the time. +</P> + +<P> +When the shadows of the giant cactus stretched mutilated hands across +the desert sand, and she believed that Nogales was near, Jean carried +her suit-case to the cramped dressing-room and took out her six-shooter +and buckled it around her. Then she pulled her coat down over it with +a good deal of twisting and turning before the dirty mirror to see that +it looked all right, and not in the least as though a perfect lady was +packing a gun. +</P> + +<P> +She went back and dipped fastidious fingers into the box of chocolates, +and settled herself to nibble candy and wait for what might come. She +felt very calm and self-possessed and sure of herself. Her only fear +was that Art Osgood might have been killed, and his lips closed for all +time. So they rattled away through the barrenness and drew near to +Nogales. +</P> + +<P> +Casa del Sonora, whither she went, was an old, two-story structure of +the truly Spanish type, and it was kept by a huge, blubbery creature +with piggish eyes and a bloated, purple countenance and the palsy. As +much of him as appeared to be human appeared to be Irish; and Jean, +after the first qualm of repulsion, when she faced him over the hotel +register, detected a certain kindly solicitude in his manner, and was +reassured. +</P> + +<P> +So far, everything had run smoothly, like a well-staged play. Absurdly +simple, utterly devoid of any element of danger, any vexatious obstacle +to the immediate achievement of her purpose! But Jean was not thrown +off her guard because of the smoothness of the trail. +</P> + +<P> +The trip from Tucson had been terribly tiresome; she was weary in every +fibre, it seemed to her. But for all that she intended, sometime that +evening, to meet Art Osgood if he were in town. She intended to take +him with her on the train that left the next morning. She thought it +would be a good idea to rest now, and to proceed deliberately, lest she +frustrate all her plans by over-eagerness. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps she slept a little while she lay upon the bed and schooled +herself to calmness. A band, somewhere, playing a pulsing Spanish air, +brought her to her feet. She went to the window and looked out, and saw +that the street lay cool and sunless with the coming of dusk. +</P> + +<P> +From the American customhouse just on the opposite corner came Lite +Avery, stalking leisurely along in his high-heeled riding-boots. Jean +drew back with a little flutter of the pulse and watched him, wondering +how he came to be in Nogales. She had last seen him boarding a car +that would take him out to the Great Western Studio; and now, here he +was, sauntering across the street as if he lived here. It was like +finding his bed up in the loft and knowing all at once that he had been +keeping watch all the while, thinking of her welfare and never giving +her the least hint of it. That at least was understandable. But to +her there was something uncanny about his being here in Nogales. When +he was gone, she stepped out through the open window to the veranda +that ran the whole length of the hotel, and looked across the street +into Mexico. +</P> + +<P> +She was, she decided critically, about fifteen feet from the boundary +line. Just across the street fluttered the Mexican flag from the +Mexican customhouse. A Mexican guard lounged against the wall, his +swarthy face mask-like in its calm. While she leaned over the railing +and stared curiously at that part of the street which was another +country, from the hills away to the west, where were camped +soldiers,—the American soldiers,—who prevented the war from slopping +over the line now and then into Arizona, came the clear notes of a +bugle held close-pressed against the lips of a United States soldier in +snug-fitting khaki. The boom of the sundown salute followed +immediately after. In the street below her, Mexicans and Americans +mingled amiably and sauntered here and there, killing time during that +bored interval between eating and the evening's amusement. +</P> + +<P> +Just beyond the Mexican boundary, the door of a long, adobe cantina was +flung open, and a group of men came out and paused as if they were +wondering what they should do next, and where they should go. Jean +looked them over curiously. Mexicans they were not, though they had +some of the dress which belonged on that side of the boundary. +</P> + +<P> +Americans they were; one knew by the set of their shoulders, by the +little traits of race which have nothing to do with complexion or +speech. +</P> + +<P> +Jean caught her breath and leaned forward. There was Art Osgood, +standing with his back toward her and with one palm spread upon his hip +in the attitude she knew so well. If only he would turn! Should she +run down the stairs and go over there and march him across the line at +the muzzle of her revolver? The idea repelled her, now that she had +actually come to the point of action. +</P> + +<P> +Jean, now that the crisis had arrived, used her woman's wile, rather +than the harsher but perhaps less effective weapons of a man. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Art!" she called, just exactly as she would have called to him on +the range, in Montana "Hello, Art!" +</P> + +<P> +Art Osgood wheeled and sent a startled, seeking glance up at the +veranda; saw her and knew who it was that had called him, and lifted +his hat in the gesture that she knew so well. Jean's fingers were +close to her gun, though she was not conscious of it, or of the +strained, tense muscles that waited the next move. +</P> + +<P> +Art, contrary to her expectations, did the most natural thing in the +world. He grinned and came hurrying toward her with the long, eager +steps of one who goes to greet a friend after an absence that makes of +that meeting an event. Jean watched him cross the street. She waited, +dazed by the instant success of her ruse, while he disappeared under +the veranda. She heard his feet upon the stairs. She heard him come +striding down the hall to the glass-paneled door. She saw him coming +toward her, still grinning in his joy at the meeting. +</P> + +<P> +"Jean Douglas! By all that's lucky!" he was exclaiming. "Where in the +world did you light down from?" He came to a stop directly in front of +her, and held out his hand in unsuspecting friendship. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JEAN MEETS ONE CRISIS AND CONFRONTS ANOTHER +</H3> + +<P> +"Well, say! This is like seeing you walk out of that picture that's +running at the Teatro Palacia. You sure are making a hit with those +moving-pictures; made me feel like I'd met somebody from home to stroll +in there and see you and Lite come riding up, large as life. How is +Lite, anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +If Art Osgood felt any embarrassment over meeting her, he certainly +gave no sign of it. He sat down on the railing, pushed back his hat, +and looked as though he was preparing for a real soul-feast of +reminiscent gossip. "Just get in?" he asked, by way of opening wider +the channel of talk. He lighted a cigarette and flipped the match down +into the street. "I've been here three or four months. I'm part of +the Mexican revolution, though I don't reckon I look it. We been +keeping things pretty well stirred up, down this way. You looking for +picture dope? Lubin folks are copping all kinds of good stuff here. +You ain't with them, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean braced herself against slipping into easy conversation with this +man who seemed so friendly and unsuspicious and so conscience-free. +Killing a man, she thought, evidently did not seem to him a matter of +any moment; perhaps because he had since then become a professional +killer of men. After planning exactly how she should meet any +contingency that might arise, she found herself baffled. She had not +expected to meet this attitude. She was not prepared to meet it. She +had taken it for granted that Art Osgood would shun a meeting; that she +would have to force him to face her. And here he was, sitting on the +porch rail and swinging one spurred and booted foot, smiling at her and +talking, in high spirits over the meeting—or a genius at acting. She +eyed him uncertainly, trying to adjust herself to this emergency. +</P> + +<P> +Art came to a pause and looked at her inquiringly. "What's the matter?" +he demanded. "You called me up here—and I sure was tickled to death +to come, all right!—and now you stand there looking like I was a kid +that had been caught whispering, and must be kept after school. I know +the symptoms, believe me! You're sore about something I've said. What, +don't you like to have anybody talk about you being a movie-queen? You +sure are all of that. You've got a license to be proud of yourself. +Or maybe you didn't know you was speaking to a Mexican soldier, or +something like that." He made a move to rise. "Ex-cuse ME, if I've +said something I hadn't ought. I'll beat it, while the beating's good." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you won't. You'll stay right where you are." His frank acceptance +of her hostile attitude steadied Jean. "Do you think I came all the +way down here just to say hello?" +</P> + +<P> +"Search me." Art studied her curiously. "I never could keep track of +what you thought and what you meant, and I guess you haven't grown any +easier to read since I saw you last. I'll be darned if I know what you +came for; but it's a cinch you didn't come just to be riding on the +cars." +</P> + +<P> +"No," drawled Jean, watching him. "I didn't. I came after you." +</P> + +<P> +Art Osgood stared, while his cheeks darkened with the flush of +confusion. He laughed a little. "I sure wish that was the truth," he +said. "Jean, you never would have to go very far after any man with +two eyes in his head. Don't rub it in." +</P> + +<P> +"I did," said Jean calmly. "I came after you. I'd have found you if I +had to hunt all through Mexico and fight both armies for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Jean!" There was a queer, pleading note in Art's voice. "I wish I +could believe that, but I can't. I ain't a fool." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you are." Jean contradicted him pitilessly. "You were a fool +when you thought you could go away and no one think you knew anything +at all about—Johnny Croft." +</P> + +<P> +Art's fingers had been picking at a loose splinter on the wooden rail +whereon he sat. He looked down at it, jerked it loose with a sharp +twist, and began snapping off little bits with his thumb and +forefinger. In a minute he looked up at Jean, and his eyes were +different. They were not hostile; they were merely cold and watchful +and questioning. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, somebody did think so. I've thought so for three years, and so +I'm here." Jean found that her breath was coming fast, and that as she +leaned back against a post and gripped the rail on either side, her +arms were quivering like the legs of a frightened horse. Still, her +voice had sounded calm enough. +</P> + +<P> +Art Osgood sat with his shoulders drooped forward a little, and +painstakingly snipped off tiny bits of the splinter. After a short +silence, he turned his head and looked at her again. +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't think you'd want to stir up that trouble after all this +while," he said. "But women are queer. I can't see, myself, why you'd +want to bother hunting me up on account of—that." +</P> + +<P> +Jean weighed his words, his look, his manner, and got no clue at all to +what was going on back of his eyes. On the surface, he was just a +tanned, fairly good-looking young man who has been reluctantly drawn +into an unpleasant subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I did consider it worth while bothering to hunt you up," she +told him flatly. "If you don't think it's important, you at least +won't object to going back with me?" +</P> + +<P> +Again his glance went to her face, plainly startled. "Go back with +you?" he repeated. "What for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—" Jean still had some trouble with her breath and to keep her +quiet, smooth drawl, "let's make it a woman's reason. Because." +</P> + +<P> +Art's face settled to a certain hardness that still was not hostile. +"Becauses don't go," he said. "Not with a girl like you; they might +with some. What do you want me to go back for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I want you to go because I want to clear things up, about Johnny +Croft. It's time—it was cleared up." +</P> + +<P> +Art regarded her fixedly. "Well, I don't see yet what's back of that +first BECAUSE," he sparred. "There's nothing I can do to clear up +anything." +</P> + +<P> +"Art, don't lie to me about it. I know—" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know?" Art's eyes never left her face, now. They seemed +to be boring into her brain. Jean began to feel a certain confusion. +To be sure, she had never had any experience whatever with fugitive +murderers; but no one would ever expect one to act like this. A little +more, she thought resentfully, and he would be making her feel as if +she were the guilty person. She straightened herself and stared back +at him. +</P> + +<P> +"I know you left because you—you didn't want to stay and face-things. +I—I have felt as if I could kill you, almost, for what you have done. +I—I don't see how you can SIT there and—and look at me that way." +She stopped and braced herself. "I don't want to argue about it. I +came here to make you go back and face things. It's—horrible—" She +was thinking of her father then, and she could not go on. +</P> + +<P> +"Jean, you're all wrong. I don't know what idea you've got, but you +may as well get one or two things straight. Maybe you do feel like +killing me; but I don't know what for. I haven't the slightest notion +of going back; there's nothing I could clear up, if I did go." +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked at him dumbly. She supposed she should have to force him +to go, after all. Of course, you couldn't expect that a man who had +committed a crime will admit it to the first questioner; you couldn't +expect him to go back willingly and face the penalty. She would have to +use her gun; perhaps even call on Lite, since Lite had followed her. +She might have felt easier in her mind had she seen how Lite was +standing just within the glass-paneled door behind the dimity curtain, +listening to every word, and watching every expression on Art Osgood's +face. Lite's hand, also, was close to his gun, to be perfectly sure of +Jean's safety. But he had no intention of spoiling her feeling of +independence if he could help it. He had lots of faith in Jean. +</P> + +<P> +"What has cropped up, anyway?" Art asked her curiously, as if he had +been puzzling over her reasons for being there. "I thought that affair +was settled long ago, when it happened. I thought it was all straight +sailing—" +</P> + +<P> +"To send an innocent man to prison for it? Do you call that straight +sailing?" Jean's eyes had in them now a flash of anger that steadied +her. +</P> + +<P> +"What innocent man?" Art threw away the stub of the splinter and sat +up straight. "I never knew any innocent man—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! You didn't know?" +</P> + +<P> +"All I know," said Art, with a certain swiftness of speech that was a +new element in his manner, "I'm dead willing to tell you. I knew +Johnny had been around knocking the outfit, and making some threats, +and saying things he had no business to say. I never did have any use +for him, just because he was so mouthy. I wasn't surprised to +hear—how it ended up." +</P> + +<P> +"To hear! You weren't there, when it happened?" Jean was watching him +for some betraying emotion, some sign that she had struck home. She +got a quick, sharp glance from him, as if he were trying to guess just +how much she knew. +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I have been there? The last time I was ever at the Lazy +A," he stated distinctly, "was the day before I left. I didn't go any +farther than the gate then. I had a letter for your father, and I met +him at the gate and gave it to him." +</P> + +<P> +"A letter for dad?" It was not much, but it was better than nothing. +Jean thought she might lead him on to something more. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes! A note, or a letter. Carl sent me over with it." +</P> + +<P> +"Carl? What was it about? I never heard—" +</P> + +<P> +"I never read it. Ask your dad what it was about, why don't you? I +don't reckon it was anything particular." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe it was, though." Jean was turning crafty. She would pretend to +be interested in the letter, and trip Art somehow when he was off his +guard. "Are you sure that it was the day before—you left?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Some high talk in the street caught his attention, and Art +turned and looked down. Jean caught at the chance to study his averted +face, but she could not read innocence or guilt there. Art, she +decided, was not as transparent as she had always believed him to be. +He turned back and met her look. "I know it was the day before. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I wondered. Dad didn't say— What did he do with it—the letter?" +</P> + +<P> +"He opened it and read it." A smile of amused understanding of her +finesse curled Art's lips. "And he stuck it in the pocket of his chaps +and went on to wherever he was going." His eyes challenged her +impishly. +</P> + +<P> +"And it was from Uncle Carl, you say?" +</P> + +<P> +Art hesitated, and the smile left his lips. "It—it was from Carl, +yes. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I just wondered." Jean was wondering why he had stopped smiling, +all at once, and why he hesitated. Was he afraid he was going to +contradict himself about the day or the errand? Or was he afraid she +would ask her Uncle Carl, and find that there was no letter? +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you ask your dad, if you are so anxious to know all about +it?" Art demanded abruptly. "Anyway, that's the last time I was ever +over there." +</P> + +<P> +"Ask dad!" Jean's anger flamed out suddenly. "Art Osgood, when I think +of dad, I wonder why I don't shoot you! I wonder how you dare sit +there and look me in the face. Ask dad! Dad, who is paying with his +life and all that's worth while in life, for that murder that you +deny—" +</P> + +<P> +"What's that? Paying how?" Art leaned toward her; and now his face +was hard and hostile, and so were his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Paying! You know how he is paying! Paying in Deer Lodge +penitentiary—" +</P> + +<P> +"Who? YOUR FATHER?" Had Art been ready to spring at her and catch her +by the throat, he would not have looked much different. +</P> + +<P> +"My father!" Jean's voice broke upon the word. "And you—" She did +not attempt to finish the charge. +</P> + +<P> +Art sat looking at her with a queer intensity. "Your father!" he +repeated. "Aleck! I never knew that, Jean. Take my word, I never +knew that!" He seemed to be thinking pretty fast. "Where's Carl at?" +he asked irrelevantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Uncle Carl? He's home, running both ranches. I—I never could make +Uncle Carl see that you must have been the one." +</P> + +<P> +"Been the one that shot Crofty, you mean?" Art gave a short laugh. He +got up and stood in front of her. "Thanks, awfully. Good reason why +he couldn't see it! He knows well enough I didn't do it. He knows—who +did." He bit his lips then, as if he feared that he had said too much. +</P> + +<P> +"Uncle Carl knows? Then why doesn't he tell? It wasn't dad!" Jean +took a defiant step toward him. "Art Osgood, if you dare say it was +dad, I—I'll kill you!" +</P> + +<P> +Art smiled at her with a brief lightening of his eyes. "I believe you +would, at that," he said soberly. "But it wasn't your dad, Jean." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't—know." +</P> + +<P> +"You do! You do know, Art Osgood! And you ran off; and they gave dad +eight years—" +</P> + +<P> +Art spoke one word under his breath, and that word was profane. "I +don't see how that could be," he said after a minute. +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not answer. She was biting her lips to keep back the tears. +She felt that somehow she had failed; that Art Osgood was slipping +through her fingers, in spite of the fact that he did not seem to fear +her or to oppose her except in the final accusation. It was the lack +of opposition, that lack of fear, that baffled her so. Art, she felt +dimly, must be very sure of his own position; was it because he was so +close to the Mexican line? Jean glanced desperately that way. It was +very close. She could see the features of the Mexican soldiers lounging +before the cantina over there; through the lighted window of the +customhouse she could see a dark-faced officer bending over a littered +desk. The guard over there spoke to a friend, and she could hear the +words he said. +</P> + +<P> +Jean thought swiftly. She must not let Art Osgood go back across that +street. She could cover him with her gun—Art knew how well she could +use it!—and she would call for an American officer and have him +arrested. Or, Lite was somewhere below; she would call for Lite, and +he could go and get an officer and a warrant. +</P> + +<P> +"How soon you going back?" Art asked abruptly, as though he had been +pondering a problem and had reached the solution. "I'll have to get a +leave of absence, or go down on the books as a deserter; and I wouldn't +want that. I can get it, all right. I'll go back with you and +straighten this thing out, if it's the way you say it is. I sure +didn't know they'd pulled your dad for it, Jean." +</P> + +<P> +This, coming so close upon the heels of her own decision, set Jean all +at sea again. She looked at him doubtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you said you didn't know, and you wouldn't go back." +</P> + +<P> +Art grinned sardonically. "I'll lie any time to help a friend," he +admitted frankly. "What I do draw the line at is lying to help some +cowardly cuss double-cross a man. Your father got the double-cross; I +don't stand for anything like that. Not a-tall!" He heaved a sigh of +nervous relaxation, for the last half hour had been keyed rather high +for them both, and pulled his hat down on his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Jean! Want to go across with me and meet the general? You can +make my talk a whole lot stronger by telling what you came for. I'll +get leave, all right, then. And you'll know for sure that I'm playing +straight. You see that two-story 'dobe about half-way down the +block,—the one with the Mexican flag over it?" He pointed. "There's +where he is. Want to go over?" +</P> + +<P> +"Any objections to taking me along with you?" This was Lite, coming +nonchalantly toward them from the doorway. Lite was still perfectly +willing to let Jean manage this affair in her own way, but that did not +mean that he would not continue to watch over her. Lite was much like a +man who lets a small boy believe he is driving a skittish team all +alone. Jean believed that she was acting alone in this, as in +everything else. She had yet to learn that Lite had for three years +been always at hand, ready to take the lines if the team proved too +fractious for her. +</P> + +<P> +Art turned and put out his hand. "Why, hello, Lite! Sure, you can +come along; glad to have you." He eyed Lite questioningly. "I'll +gamble you've heard all we've been talking about," he said. "That +would be you, all right! So you don't need any wising up. Come on; I +want to catch the chief before he goes off somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +To see the three of them go down the stairs and out upon the street and +across it into Mexico,—which to Jean seemed very queer,—you would +never dream of the quest that had brought them together down here on +the border. Even Jean was smiling, in a tired, anxious way. She +walked close to Lite and never once asked him how he came to be there, +or why. She was glad that he was there. She was glad to shift the +whole matter to his broad shoulders now, and let him take the lead. +</P> + +<P> +They had a real Mexican dinner in a queer little adobe place where Art +advised them quite seriously never to come alone. They had thick soup +with a strange flavor, and Art talked with the waiter in Mexican +dialect that made Jean glad indeed to feel Lite's elbow touching hers, +and to know that although Lite's hand rested idly on his knee, it was +only one second from his weapon. She had no definite suspicion of Art +Osgood, but all the same she was thankful that she was not there alone +with him among all these dark, sharp-eyed Mexicans with their +atmosphere of latent treachery. +</P> + +<P> +Lite ate mostly with his left hand. Jean noticed that. It was the +only sign of watchfulness that he betrayed, unless one added the fact +that he had chosen a seat which brought his back against an adobe wall +and his face toward Art and the room, with Jean beside him. That might +have been pure chance, and it might not. But Art was evidently playing +fair. +</P> + +<P> +A little later they came back to the Casa del Sonora, and Jean went up +to her room feeling that a great burden had been lifted from her +shoulders. Lite and Art Osgood were out on the veranda, gossiping of +the range, and in Art's pocket was a month's leave of absence from his +duties. Once she heard Lite laugh, and she stood with one hand full of +hairpins and the other holding the brush and listened, and smiled a +little. It all sounded very companionable, very care-free,—not in the +least as though they were about to clear up an old wrong. +</P> + +<P> +She got into bed and thumped the hard pillow into a little nest for her +tired head, and listened languidly to the familiar voices that came to +her mingled with confused noises of the street. Lite was on guard; he +would not lose his caution just because Art seemed friendly and +helpfully inclined, and had meant no treachery over in that queer +restaurant. Lite would not be easily tricked. So she presently fell +asleep. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A LITTLE ENLIGHTENMENT +</H3> + +<P> +Sometime in the night Jean awoke to hear footsteps in the corridor +outside her room. She sat up with a start, and her right hand went +groping for her gun. Just for the moment she thought that she was in +her room at the Lazy A, and that the night-prowler had come and was +beginning his stealthy search of the house. +</P> + +<P> +Then she heard some one down in the street call out a swift sentence in +Spanish, and get a laugh for an answer. She remembered that she was in +Nogales, within talking distance of Mexico, and that she had found Art +Osgood, and that he did not behave like a fugitive murderer, but like a +friend who was anxious to help free her father. +</P> + +<P> +The footsteps went on down the hall,—the footsteps of Lite, who had +come and stood for a minute outside her door to make sure that all was +quiet and that she slept. But Jean, now that she knew where she was, +lay wide awake and thinking. Suddenly she sat up again, staring +straight before her. +</P> + +<P> +That letter,—the letter Art had taken to her father, the letter he had +read and put in the pocket of his chaps! Was that what the man had +been hunting for, those nights when he had come searching in that +secret, stealthy way? She did not remember ever having looked into the +pocket of her father's chaps, though they had hung in her room all +those three years since the tragedy. Pockets in chaps were not, as a +general thing, much used. Men carried matches in them sometimes, or +money. The flap over her dad's chap-pocket was buttoned down, and the +leather was stiff; perhaps the letter was there yet. +</P> + +<P> +She got up and turned on the light, and looked at her watch. She +wanted to start then, that instant, for Los Angeles. She wanted to +take her dad's chaps out of her trunk where she had packed them just +for the comfort of having them with her, and she wanted to look and see +if the letter was there still. There was no particular reason for +believing that this was of any particular importance, or had any +bearing whatever upon the crime. But the idea was there, and it nagged +at her. +</P> + +<P> +Her watch said that it was twenty-five minutes after two o'clock. The +train, Lite had told her, would leave for Tucson at seven-forty-five in +the morning. She told herself that, since it was too far to walk, and +since she could not start any sooner by staying up and freezing, she +might just as well get back into bed and try to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +But she could not sleep. She kept thinking of the letter, and trying +to imagine what clue it could possibly give if she found it still in +the pocket. Carl had sent it, Art said. A thought came to Jean which +she tried to ignore; and because she tried to ignore it, it returned +with a dogged insistence, and took clearer shape in her mind, and +formed itself into questions which she was compelled at last to face +and try to answer. +</P> + +<P> +Was it her Uncle Carl who had come and searched the house at night, +trying to find that letter? If it were her uncle, why was he so +anxious to find it, after three years had passed? What was in the +letter? If it had any bearing whatever upon the death of Johnny Croft, +why hadn't her dad mentioned it? Why hadn't her Uncle Carl said +something about it? Was the letter just a note about some ranch +business? Then why else should any one come at night and prowl all +through the house, and never take anything? Why had he come that first +night? +</P> + +<P> +Jean drew in her breath sharply. All at once, like a flashlight turned +upon a dark corner of her mind, she remembered something about that +night. She remembered how she had told her Uncle Carl that she meant +to prove that her dad was innocent; that she meant to investigate the +devious process by which the Lazy A ranch and all the stock had ceased +to belong to her or her father; that she meant to adopt sly, +sleuth-like methods; she remembered the very words which she had used. +She remembered how bitter her uncle had become. Had she frightened +him, somehow, with her bold declaration that she would not "let +sleeping dogs lie" any longer? Had he remembered the letter, and been +uneasy because of what was in it? But what COULD be in it, if it were +written at least a day before the terrible thing had happened? +</P> + +<P> +She remembered her uncle's uncontrolled fury that evening when she had +ridden over to see Lite. What had she said to cause it? She tried to +recall her words, and finally she did remember saying something about +proving that her own money had been paying for her "keep" for three +years. Then he had gone into that rage, and she had not at the time +seen any connection between her words and his raving anger. But +perhaps there was a connection. Perhaps— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed aloud. She was remembering the +telegram which she had sent him just before she left Los Angeles for +Nogales. "He'll just simply go WILD when he gets that wire!" She +recalled now how he had insisted all along that Art Osgood knew +absolutely nothing about the murder; she recalled also, with an uncanny +sort of vividness, Art's manner when he had admitted for the second +time that the letter had been from Carl. She remembered how he had +changed when he found that her father was being punished for the crime. +</P> + +<P> +She did not know, just yet, how all these tangled facts were going to +work out. She had not yet come to the final question that she would +presently be asking herself. She felt sure that her uncle knew +more,—a great deal more,—about Johnny Croft's death than he had +appeared to know; but she had not yet reached the point to which her +reasonings inevitably would bring her; perhaps her mind was +subconsciously delaying the ultimate conclusion. +</P> + +<P> +She got up and dressed; unfastening her window, she stepped out on the +veranda. The street was quiet at that time in the morning. A sentry +stood on guard at the corner, and here and there a light flared in some +window where others were wakeful. But for the most part the town lay +asleep. Over in what was really the Mexican quarter, three or four +roosters were crowing as if they would never leave off. The sound of +them depressed Jean, and made her feel how heavy was the weight of her +great undertaking,—heavier now, when the end was almost in sight, than +it had seemed on that moonlight night when she had ridden over to the +Lazy A and had not the faintest idea of how she was going to accomplish +any part of her task which she had set herself. She shivered, and +turned back to get the gay serape which she had bought from an old +Mexican woman when they were coming out of that queer restaurant last +evening. +</P> + +<P> +When she came out again, Lite was standing there, smoking a cigarette +and leaning against a post. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better get some sleep, Jean," he reproved her when she came and +stood beside him. "You had a pretty hard day yesterday; and to-day +won't be any easier. Better go back and lie down." +</P> + +<P> +Jean merely pulled the serape snugger about her shoulders and sat down +sidewise upon the railing. "I couldn't sleep," she said. "If I could, +I wouldn't be out here; I'd be asleep, wouldn't I? Why don't you go to +bed yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah-h, Art's learned to talk Spanish," he said drily. "I got myself all +worked up trying to make out what he was trying to say in his sleep, +and then I found out it wasn't my kinda talk, anyway. So I quit. +What's the matter that you can't sleep?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean stared down at the shadowy street. A dog ran out from somewhere, +sniffed at a doorstep, and trotted over into Mexico and up to the +sentry. The sentry patted it on the head and muttered a friendly word +or two. Jean watched him absently. It was all so peaceful! Not at all +what one would expect, after seeing pictures of all those refugees and +all those soldiers fighting, and the dead lying in the street in some +little town whose name she could not pronounce correctly. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you hear Art tell about taking a letter to dad the day before?" +she asked abruptly. "He wasn't telling the truth, not all the time. +But somehow I believe that was the truth. He said dad stuck it in the +pocket of his chaps. I believe it's there yet, Lite. I don't remember +ever looking into that pocket. And I believe—Lite, I never said +anything about it, but somebody kept coming to the house in the night +and hunting around through all the rooms. He never came into my room, +so I—I didn't bother him; but I've wondered what he was after. It +just occurred to me that maybe—" +</P> + +<P> +"I never could figure out what he was after, either," Lite observed +quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"You?" Jean turned her head, so that her eyes shone in the light of a +street lamp while she looked up at him. "How in the world did you know +about him?" +</P> + +<P> +Lite laughed drily. "I don't think there's much concerns you that I +don't know," he confessed. "I saw him, I guess, every time he came +around. He couldn't have made a crooked move,—and got away with it. +But I never could figure him out exactly." +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked at him, touched by the care of her that he had betrayed in +those few words. Always she had accepted him as the one friend who +never failed her, but lately,—since the advent of the motion-picture +people, to be exact,—a new note had crept into his friendship; a new +meaning into his watching over her. She had sensed it, but she had +never faced it openly. She pulled her thoughts away from it now. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you know who he was?" +</P> + +<P> +It was like Jean to come straight to the point. Lite smiled faintly; +he knew that question would come, and he knew that he would have to +answer it. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure. I made it my business to know who he was." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was it, Lite?" +</P> + +<P> +Lite did not say. He knew that question was coming also, but he did +not know whether he ought to answer it. +</P> + +<P> +"It was Uncle Carl, wasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +Lite glanced down at her quickly. "You're a good little guesser." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it was that letter he was after." She was silent for a minute, +and then she looked at her watch. "And I can't get at those chaps +before to-morrow!" She sighed and leaned back against the post. +</P> + +<P> +"Lite, if it was worth all that hunting for, it must mean something to +us. I wonder what it can be; don't you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Lite slowly, "I don't. And it's something a man don't want +to do any guessing about." +</P> + +<P> +This, Jean felt, was a gentle reproof for her own speculations upon the +subject. She said no more about the letter. +</P> + +<P> +"I sent him a telegram," she informed Lite irrelevantly, "saying I'd +located Art and was going to take him back there. I wonder what he +thought when he got that!" +</P> + +<P> +Lite turned half around and stared down at her. He opened his lips to +speak, hesitated, and closed them without making a sound. He turned +away and stared down into the street that was so empty. After a little +he glanced at his own watch, with the same impulse Jean had felt. The +hours and minutes were beginning to drag their feet as they passed. +</P> + +<P> +"You go in," he ordered gently, "and lie down. You'll be all worn out +when the time comes for you to get busy. We don't know what's ahead of +us on this trail, Jean. Right now, it's peaceful as Sunday morning +down in Maine; so you go in and get some sleep, while you have a +chance, and stop thinking about things. Go on, Jean. I'll call you +plenty early; you needn't be afraid of missing the train." +</P> + +<P> +Jean smiled a little at the tender, protective note of authority in his +voice and manner. Whether she permitted it or not, Lite would go right +on watching over her and taking care of her. With a sudden desire to +please him, she rose obediently. When she passed him, she reached out +and gave his arm a little squeeze. +</P> + +<P> +"You cantankerous old tyrant," she drawled in a whisper, "you do love +to haze me around, don't you? Just to spite you, I'll do it!" She went +in and left him standing there, smoking and leaning against the post, +calm as the stars above. But under that surface calm, the heart of +Lite Avery was thumping violently. His arm quivered still under the +thrill of Jean's fingers. Your bottled-up souls are quick to sense the +meaning in a tone or a touch; Jean, whether she herself knew it or not, +had betrayed an emotion that set Lite's thoughts racing out into a +golden future. He stood there a long while, staring out upon the +darkness, his eyes shining. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LETTER IN THE CHAPS +</H3> + +<P> +Though hours may drag themselves into the past so sluggishly that one +is fairly maddened by the snail's pace of them, into the past they must +go eventually. Jean had sat and listened to the wheels of the Golden +State Limited clank over the cryptic phrase that meant so much. +"Letter-in-the-chaps! Letter-in-the chaps!" was what they had said +while the train pounded across the desert and slid through arroyas and +deep cuts which leveled hills for its passing. "Letter-in-the-chaps! +Letter-in-the-chaps!" And then a silence while they stood by some +desolate station where the people were swarthy of skin and black of +hair and eyes, and moved languidly if they moved at all. Then they +would go on; and when the wheels had clicked over the switches of the +various side tracks, they would take up again the refrain: +"Letter-in-the-chaps! Letter-in-the-chaps!" until Jean thought she +would go crazy if they kept it up much longer. +</P> + +<P> +Little by little they drew near to Los Angeles. And then they were +there, sliding slowly through the yards in a drab drizzle of one of +California's fall rains. Then they were in a taxicab, making for the +Third Street tunnel. Then Jean stared heavy-eyed at the dripping palms +along the boulevard which led away from the smoke of the city and into +Hollywood, snuggled against the misty hills. "Letter-in-the-chaps!" +her tired brain repeated it still. +</P> + +<P> +Then she was in the apartment shared with Muriel Gay and her mother. +These two were over at the studio, the landlady told her when she let +them in, and Jean was glad that they were gone. +</P> + +<P> +She knelt, still in her hat and coat and with her gloves on, and fitted +her trunk key into the lock. And there she stopped. What if the +letter were not in the chaps, after all? What if it were but a trivial +note, concerning a matter long since forgotten; a trivial note that had +not the remotest bearing upon the murder? "Letter-in-the-chaps!" The +phrase returned with a mocking note and beat insistently through her +brain. She sat back on the floor and shivered with the chill of a +fireless room in California, when a fall rain is at its drizzling worst. +</P> + +<P> +In the next room one of the men coughed; afterwards she heard Lite's +voice, saying something in an undertone to Art Osgood. She heard Art's +voice mutter a reply. She raised herself again to her knees, turned +the key in the lock, and lifted the trunk-lid with an air of +determination. +</P> + +<P> +Down next the bottom of her big trunk they lay, just as she had packed +them away, with her dad's six-shooter and belt carefully disposed +between the leathern folds. She groped with her hands under a couple of +riding-skirts and her high, laced boots, got a firm grip on the fringed +leather, and dragged them out. She had forgotten all about the gun and +belt until they fell with a thump on the floor. She pulled out the +belt, left the gun lying there by the trunk, and hurried out with the +chaps dangling over her arm. +</P> + +<P> +She was pale when she stood before the two who sat there waiting with +their hats in their hands and their faces full of repressed eagerness. +Her fingers trembled while she pulled at the stiff, leather flap of the +pocket, to free it from the button. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe it ain't there yet," Art hazarded nervously, while they watched +her. "But that's where he put it, all right. I saw him." +</P> + +<P> +Jean's fingers went groping into the pocket, stayed there for a second +or two, and came out holding a folded envelope. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it!" Art leaned toward her eagerly. "That's the one, all +right." +</P> + +<P> +Jean sat down suddenly because her knees seemed to bend under her +weight. Three years—and that letter within her reach all the time! +</P> + +<P> +"Let's see, Jean." Lite reached out and took it from her nerveless +fingers. "Maybe it won't amount to anything at all." +</P> + +<P> +Jean tried to hold herself calm. "Read it—out loud," she said. "Then +we'll know." She tried to smile, and made so great a failure of it +that she came very near crying. The faint crackle of the cheap paper +when Lite unfolded the letter made her start nervously. "Read it—no +matter—what it is," she repeated, when she saw Lite's eyes go rapidly +over the lines. +</P> + +<P> +Lite glanced at her sharply, then leaned and took her hand and held it +close. His firm clasp steadied her more than any words could have +done. Without further delay or attempt to palliate its grim +significance, he read the note: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Aleck: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +If Johnny Croft comes to you with anything about me, kick him off the +ranch. He claims he knows a whole lot about me branding too many +calves. Don't believe anything he tells you. He's just trying to make +trouble because he claims I underpaid him. He was telling Art a lot of +stuff that he claimed he could prove on me, but it's all a lie. Send +him to me if he comes looking for trouble. I'll give him all he wants. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Art found a heifer down in the breaks that looks like she might have +blackleg. I'm going down there to see about it. Maybe you better ride +over and see what you think about it; we don't want to let anything +like that get a start on us. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Don't pay any attention to Johnny. I'll fix him if he don't keep his +face shut. +<BR><BR> + CARL.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Carl!" Jean repeated the name mechanically. "Carl." +</P> + +<P> +"I kinda thought it was something like that," Art Osgood interrupted +her to say. "Now you know that much, and I'll tell you just what I +know about it. It was Carl shot Crofty, all right. I rode over with +him to the Lazy A; I was on my way to town and we went that far +together. I rode that way to tell you good-by." He looked at Jean +with a certain diffidence. "I kinda wanted to see you before I went +clear outa the country, but you weren't at home. +</P> + +<P> +"Johnny Croft's horse was standing outside the house when we rode up. +I guess he must have just got there ahead of us. Carl got off and went +in ahead of me. Johnny was eating a snack when I went in. He said +something to Carl, and Carl flared up. I saw there wasn't anybody at +home, and I didn't want to get mixed up in the argument, so I turned +and went on out. And I hadn't more than got to my horse when I heard a +shot, and Carl came running out with his gun in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Johnny was dead, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. +Carl told me to beat it outa the country, just like I'd been planning; +he said it would be a whole lot better for him, seeing I wasn't an +eye-witness. He said Johnny started to draw his gun, and he shot in +self-defense; and he said I better go while the going was good, or I +might get pulled into it some way. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I thought it over for a minute, and I didn't see where it would +get me anything to stay. I couldn't help Carl any by staying, because +I wasn't in the house when it happened. So I hit the trail for town, +and never said anything to anybody." He looked at the two contritely. +"I never knew, till you folks came to Nogales looking for me, that +things panned out the way they did. I thought Carl was going to give +himself up, and would be cleared. I never once dreamed he was the +kinda mark that would let his own brother take the blame that way." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess nobody did." Lite folded the letter and pushed it back into +the envelope. "I can look back now, though, and see how it come about. +He hung back till Aleck found the body and was arrested; and after that +he just simply didn't have the nerve to step out and say that he was +the one that did it. He tried hard to save Aleck, but he wouldn't—" +</P> + +<P> +"The coward! The low, mean coward!" Jean stood up and looked from one +to the other, and spoke through her clinched teeth. "To let dad suffer +all this while! Lite, when did you say that train left for Salt Lake? +We can take the taxi back down town, and save time." She was at the +door when she turned toward the two again. "Hurry up! Don't you know +we've got to hurry? Dad's in prison all this while! And Uncle +Carl,—there's no telling where Uncle Carl is! That wire I sent him was +the worst thing I could have done!" +</P> + +<P> +"Or the best," suggested Lite laconically, as he led the way down the +hall and out to the rain-drenched, waiting taxicab. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LITE COMES OUT OF THE BACKGROUND +</H3> + +<P> +For hours Jean had sat staring out at the drear stretches of desert +dripping under the dismal rain that streaked the car windows. The +clouds hung leaden and gray close over the earth; the smoke from the +engine trailed a funereal plume across the grease-wood covered plain. +Away in the distance a low line of hills stretched vaguely, as though +they were placed there to hold up the sky that was so heavy and dank. +Alongside the track every ditch ran full of clay-colored water that +wrapped little, ragged wreaths of dirty foam around every obstruction, +like the tawdry finery of the slums. +</P> + +<P> +From the smoking-room where he had been for the past two hours with Art +Osgood, Lite came unsteadily down the aisle, heralded as it were by the +muffled scream of the whistle at a country crossing. Jean turned +toward him a face as depressed as the desert out there under the rain. +Lite, looking at her keenly, saw on her cheeks the traces of tears. He +let himself down wearily into the seat beside her, reached over calmly, +and took her hand from off her lap and held it snugly in his own. +</P> + +<P> +"This is likely a snowstorm, up home," he said in his quiet, +matter-of-fact way. "I guess we'll have to make our headquarters in +town till I get things hauled out to the ranch. That's it, when you +can't look ahead and see what's coming. I could have had everything +ready to go right on out, only I thought there wouldn't be any use, +before spring, anyway. But if this storm ain't a blizzard up there, a +couple of days will straighten things out." +</P> + +<P> +Jean turned her head and regarded him attentively. "Out where?" she +asked him bluntly. "What are you talking about? Have you and Art been +celebrating?" She knew better than that. Lite never indulged in liquid +celebrations, and Jean knew it. +</P> + +<P> +Lite reached into his pocket with the hand that was free, and drew +forth a telegram envelope. He released her hand while he drew out the +message, but he did not hand it to her immediately. "I wired Rossman +from Los Angeles," he informed her, "and told him what was up, and +asked him to put me up to date on that end of the line. So he did. I +got this back there at that last town." He laid his hand over hers +again, and looked down at her sidelong. +</P> + +<P> +"Ever since the trouble," he began abruptly, but still in that quiet, +matter-of-fact way, "I've been playing a lone hand and kinda holding +back and waiting for something to drop. I had that idea all along that +you've had this summer: getting hold of the Lazy A and fixing it up so +your dad would have a place to come back to. I never said anything, +because talking don't come natural to me like it does to some, and I'd +rather do a thing first and then talk about it afterwards if I have to. +</P> + +<P> +"So I hung on to what money I had saved up along; I was going to get me +a bunch of cattle and fix up that homestead of mine some day, and maybe +have a little home." His eyes went surreptitiously to her face, and +lingered there wistfully. "So after the trouble I buckled down to work +and saved a little faster, if anything. It looked to me like there +wasn't much hope of doing anything for your dad till his sentence ran +out, so I never said anything about it. Long as Carl didn't try to +sell it to anybody else, I just waited and got together all the money I +could. I didn't see as there was anything else to do." +</P> + +<P> +Jean was chewing a corner of her lip, and was staring out of the +window. "I didn't know I was stealing your thunder, Lite," she said +dispiritedly. "Why didn't you tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +'Wasn't anything to tell—till there was something to tell. Now, this +telegram here,—this is what I started out to talk about. It'll be +just as well if you know it before we get to Helena. I showed it to +Art, and he thought the same as I did. You know,—or I reckon you +don't, because I never said anything,—away last summer, along about +the time you went to work for Burns, I got to thinking things over, and +I wondered if Carl didn't have something on his mind about that +killing. So I wrote to Rossman. I didn't much like the way he handled +your dad's case, but he knew all the ins and outs, so I could talk to +him without going away back at the beginning. He knew Carl, too, so +that made it easier. +</P> + +<P> +"I wrote and told him how Carl was prowling around through the house +nights, and the like of that, and to look up the title to the Lazy A—" +</P> + +<P> +"Why wouldn't you wait and let me buy it myself?" Jean asked him with +just a shade of sharpness in her voice. "You knew I wanted to." +</P> + +<P> +"So I got Rossman started, quite a while back. He thought as I did, +that Carl was acting mighty funny. I was with Carl more than you was, +and I could tell he had something laying heavy on his mind. But then, +the rest of us had things laying pretty heavy on our minds, too, that +wasn't guilt; so there wasn't any way to tell what was bothering Carl." +Lite made no attempt to answer the question she had asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, here's this wire Rossman sent me. You don't want to get the +wrong idea, Jean, and feel too bad about this. You don't want to think +you had anything to do with it. Carl was gradually building up to +something of this kind,—has been for a long time. His coming over to +the ranch nights, looking for that letter that he had hunted all over +for at first, shows he wasn't right in his mind on the subject. But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, heavens and earth, Lite!" Jean's tone was exasperated more than +it was worried. "Why don't you say what you want to say? What's it +all about? Let me read that telegram and be done with it. I—I should +think you'd know I can stand things, by this time. I haven't shown any +weak knees, have I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I hate to pile on any more," Lite muttered defensively. "But +you've got to know this. I wish you didn't, but—" +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not say any more. She reached over and with her free hand +took the telegram from him. She did not pull away the hand Lite was +holding, however, and the heart of him gave an exultant bound because +she let it lie there quiet under his own. She pinched her brows +together over the message, and let it drop into her lap. Her head went +back against the towel covered head-rest, and for a minute her eyes +closed as if she could not look any longer upon trouble. +</P> + +<P> +Lite waited a second, pulled her head over against his shoulder, and +picked up the telegram and read it through slowly, though he could have +repeated it word for word with his eyes shut. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +L Avery, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> + En Route Train 23, S. L. & D. R. R.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Carl Douglas suicided yesterday, leaving letter confessing murder of +Croft. Had just completed transfer of land and cattle to your name. +Am taking steps placing matter before governor immediately expect him +to act at once upon pardon. Bring your man my office at once +deposition may be required. +<BR><BR> + J. W. ROSSMAN.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Now, I told you not to worry about this," Lite reminded the girl +firmly. "Looks to me like it takes a load off our hands,—Carl's doing +what he done. Saves us dragging it all through court again; and, Jean, +it'll let your dad out a whole lot quicker. Sounds kinda cold-blooded, +maybe, but if you could look at it as good news,—that's the way it +strikes me." +</P> + +<P> +Jean did not say a word, just then. She did what you might not expect +Jean to do, after all her strong-mindedness and her independence: She +made an uncertain movement toward sitting up and facing things calmly, +man-fashion; then she leaned and dropped her very independent brown +head back upon Lite's shoulder, and behind her handkerchief she cried +quietly while Lite held her close. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, that's long enough to cry," he whispered to her, after a season +of mental intoxication such as he had never before experienced. "I +started out three years ago to be the boss. I ain't been working at it +regular, as you might say, all the time. But I'm going to wind up that +way. I hate to turn you over to your dad without some little show of +making good at the job." +</P> + +<P> +Jean gave a little gurgle that may have been related to laughter, and +Lite's lips quirked with humorous embarrassment as he went on. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't guess," he said slowly, "that I'm going to turn you over at +all, Jean. Not altogether. I guess I've just about got to keep you. +It—takes two to make a home, and—I've got my heart set on us making a +home outa the Lazy A again; you and me, making a home for us and your +dad. How—how does that sound to you, Jean?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean was wiping her eyes as unobtrusively as she might. She did not +answer. +</P> + +<P> +"How does it sound, you and me making a home together?" Lite was +growing pale, and his hands trembled. "Tell me." +</P> + +<P> +"It sounds—good," said Jean unsteadily. +</P> + +<P> +For several minutes Lite did not say a word. They sat there holding +hands quite foolishly, and stared out at the drenched desert. +</P> + +<P> +"Soon as your dad comes," he said at last, very simply, "we'll be +married." He was silent another minute, and added under his breath +like a prayer, "And we'll all go—home." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW HAPPINESS RETURNED TO THE LAZY A +</H3> + +<P> +When Lite rapped with his knuckles on the door of the room where she +was waiting, Jean stood with her hands pressed tightly over her face, +every muscle rigid with the restraint she was putting upon herself. +For Lite this three-day interval had been too full of going here and +there, attending to the manifold details of untangling the various +threads of their broken life-pattern, for him to feel the suspense +which Jean had suffered. She had not done much. She had waited. And +now, with Lite and her dad standing outside the door, she almost +dreaded the meeting. But she took a deep breath and walked to the door +and opened it. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, dad," she cried with a nervous gaiety. "Give your dear daughter +a kiss!" She had not meant to say that at all. +</P> + +<P> +Tall and gaunt and gray and old; lines etched deep ground his bitter +mouth; pale with the tragic prison pallor; looking out at the world +with the somber eyes of one who has suffered most cruelly,—Aleck +Douglas put out his thin, shaking arms and held her close. He did not +say anything at all; and the kiss she asked for he laid softly upon her +hair. +</P> + +<P> +Lite stood in the doorway and looked at the two of them for a moment. +"I'm going down to see about—things. I'll be back in a little while. +And, Jean, will you be ready?" +</P> + +<P> +Jean looked up at him understandingly, and with a certain shyness in +her eyes. "If it's all right with dad," she told him, "I'll be ready." +</P> + +<P> +"Lite's a man!" Aleck stated unsmilingly, with a trace of that apathy +which had hurt Jean so in the warden's office. "I'm glad you'll have +him to take care of you, Jean." +</P> + +<P> +So Lite closed the door softly and went away and left those two alone. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +In a very few words I can tell you the rest. There were a few things +to adjust, and a few arrangements to make. The greatest adjustment, +perhaps, was when Jean begged off from that contract with the Great +Western Company. Dewitt did not want to let her go, but he had read a +marked article in a Montana paper that Lite mailed to him in advance of +their return, and he realized that some things are greater even than +the needs of a motion-picture company. He was very nice, therefore, to +Jean. He told her by all means to consider herself free to give her +time wholly to her father—and her husband. He also congratulated Lite +in terms that made Jean blush and beat a hurried retreat from his +office, and that made Lite grin all the way to the hotel. So the +public lost Jean of the Lazy A almost as soon as it had learned to +welcome her. +</P> + +<P> +Then there was Pard, that had to leave the little buckskin and take +that nerve-racking trip back to the Lazy A. Lite attended to that with +perfect calm and a good deal of inner elation. So that detail was soon +adjusted. +</P> + +<P> +At the Lazy A there was a great deal to do before the traces of its +tragedy were wiped out. We'll have to leave them doing that work, +which was only a matter of time, after all, and not nearly so hard to +accomplish as their attempts to wipe out from Aleck's soul the black +scar of those three years. I think, on the whole, we shall leave them +doing that work, too. As much as human love and happiness could do +toward wiping out the bitterness they would accomplish, you may be +sure,—give them time enough. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Jean of the Lazy A, by B. M. Bower + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JEAN OF THE LAZY A *** + +***** This file should be named 538-h.htm or 538-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/538/ + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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