The Forbidden Way

by George Gibbs

  *CHAPTER VIII*

  *THE BRUSH*

  Jeff Wray was learning many things. The arrival of Lawrence Berkely onthe scene had at first seemed rather alarming. Several wires in cipherbefore Larry reached New York had apprised Jeff of an uncertain state ofmind in members of the directorate of the Denver and Western RailroadCompany. Collins, Hardy, and even Jim Noakes had been approached byrepresentatives of the Chicago and Utah with flattering offers for theirinterests in the D. & W., and Berkely reported them on the horns of adilemma. Collins and Hardy were big owners of land which lay along thetrunk line and were dependent on that company for all facilities formoving their wheat and other crops. It had not always been easy to getcars to haul their stuff to market, and this fall they only got theirhay and potatoes in by a dispensation from the men higher up. Noakes,as Jeff well knew, owned stock in the through line, but the showing ofthe Saguache Mountain Development Company for the year had been sostrong that he had felt sure his associates would see the importance ofkeeping their interests intact, temporizing, where they could, with theDenver crowd, who had it in their power to threaten his connections atSaguache.

  Mulrennan was wiring Jeff, too--copiously. There was an electionpending in Kinney, and the Denver crowd had advanced a candidate forjudge in opposition to the party with which Pete was affiliated. Otherreports both in New York and from the West indicated a strong pressurefrom the East on the officers of the D. & W. Berkely viewed all theseindications of a concerted movement against Jeff's railroad withincreasing dismay and lost no time in giving him his opinion as to thepossible outcome of the raid.

  But Jeff apparently was losing no sleep over the situation. He wasfully aware that the whole movement had originated in New York, and thatCornelius Bent and his crowd were back of it. He knew, too, that theAmalgamated Reduction Company wanted his new smelter. Long ago he hadforeseen this possibility and had laid his own plans accordingly. TheDenver and Saguache was his. With Noakes, Collins, and Hardy, he had acontrol of the Denver and Western, but their possible defection, whichhe had also foreseen, had made other plans necessary. Three monthsbefore he came East he had unobtrusively secured through other persons aright of way from Saguache to Pueblo, a distance of one hundred andtwenty miles. The line of this survey was well to the southward andwould open up a country occupied only by small settlers under theHomestead laws. He had turned the organization of the DevelopmentCompany loose for two months on that vast tract of land, and had, at areasonably small expense, secured by purchase or long-time options themost valuable land along his new line. His engineers were Germans,imported for the work, who had no affiliations with other roads, and hisplans had so far worked out to a T. He had also worked out (on paper)an irrigation scheme for the whole proposition.

  At Pueblo the new road would connect with the Denver and California, aline which had no connection with the Chicago and Utah, and which hadeven been recently engaged in a rate war with the other roads to thecoast. Its officers were friendly, and Wray's plans had all been workedout in their confidence and with their approval. Indeed, a good part ofhis backing had been furnished by capitalists in San Francisco.

  Jeff felt sure that the first move to capture the D. & W. was only abluff, and in his conferences with General Bent, Janney, and McIntyre,had played a waiting game. The "Daisy" was now a producer--not aproducer like the "Lone Tree"--but it was paying, and the "Comet," a newprospect that had been opened farther south, was doing a business of ahundred to the ton. His stamps were working night and day, and thesmelter was doing its share in Wray's triumphant progress. All hisother plans were working out, and the longer he could wait the moreformidable he could make himself as an adversary. He knew that the cruxof the situation was the ambition of the Amalgamated Reduction Company.They controlled every smelting concern in three states, and Wray's bigplant was a thorn in their side. By waiting, Jeff hoped that he couldmake them show their hands, so he made no attempt to force an issue,being content to play the part they themselves had assigned him. Theirhospitality, his welcome into their exclusive set, his use of theirclubs (to two of which he had been proposed for membership), thebusiness associations they were planning for him, did little to convinceJeff of the sincerity of their attentions. But he acted the dupe with agood grace, with one eye to windward, greatly amused at theirfriendliness, which, while it failed to flatter, gave him an increasingsense of the importance of his mission. General Bent had intimated thatwithin a week or so he would be in a position to make a definiteproposition for his railroad, which, of course, meant the absorption ofWray's plant into the Trust. Financially, there were great possibilitiesin a friendly association with these men.

  They were closely in touch with No. -- Broadway and, if they chose,could point the way to power such as he had never dreamed of. But inhis heart he mistrusted them. He thought of Mrs. Rumsen's words ofwarning, and he knew that what she said was true. They would not sparehim if he offered them a chance which would give them a command of thesituation. Well, they hadn't command of it yet, and he knew he heldsome cards which they had never seen. If they continued to weave theirweb as they had begun it, there would still be time to side-step.

  Meanwhile, he gave himself up to a thorough enjoyment of the situation.There was nothing he liked better than a fight, and the fact that hisadversaries were formidable lent a zest to the situation. He reassuredLarry, sent a lot of wires to Mulrennan, took a few successful flyers inthe stock market (which went to show that his luck had not yet turned),and spent his leisure moments in a riding school uptown going over thejumps with Camilla.

  Curtis Janney's dinner table held nothing in common with General Bent's.The viands were well cooked but not heavy; the wines of a lightervariety, dry, for the most part, and sparkling; the service deft anddignified but not austere. The table decorations were not made up ofset-pieces from the florists', but came from Janney's own conservatoriesand were more in the way of colored embroideries against the damaskcloth. General conversation was, therefore, continuous, and everyperson at this table could see and be seen by every other. Theformality of the city seemed to be banished by common consent, andCamilla, who went in with Cortland Bent (a mischievous dispensation ofMiss Janney), felt very much at home in the frank, friendly atmosphere.Almost all the conversation, she discovered, was of the "horsey"variety, at least at Camilla's end of the table, where their hostpresided, and, as she had never ridden to hounds before, she seized theopportunity to acquaint herself with the interesting details of themorning which awaited her.

  The Sunnybrook Hunt Club, she learned, was only a mile away, but oncertain days the Braebank hounds were used and members of the Hunt Clubliving in the vicinity added their numbers to the field. There wereplenty of foxes, Mr. Janney assured her, and to-morrow they were to drawa cover over toward the Chelten Hills. Mrs. Cheyne, she heard, wasthought to be the best horsewoman in the county. Her own country-placewas but five miles away, and, in spite of her boasted love of ease, shewas to be found at every Meet in the season, no matter how early thehour. To-morrow was to be one of the big days of the year, Mr. Janneyinformed Camilla, and all the farmers over whose fields they hunted wereinvited to lunch after the Meet, in the Long Gallery.

  So when, in the early morning, after a light breakfast, Mr. Janney'sguests met on the terrace, it was with a feeling of intense interest andexcitement that Camilla drew on her gloves and joined them. Of the men,Curtis Janney, Worthington Rumsen, and Billy Haviland wore the pinkcoats with gray facings of Sunnybrook, while their host wore in additionthe velvet cap which distinguished him as Master of the Hounds. Thehounds were already loose on the great lawn, while the Huntsman andWhippers-in rode among them. The sun had not yet risen, and the heavyfrost which lay upon the lawns caught the chill greenish opalescenttints of the dawn. Mrs. Cheyne was already in the saddle, her hunter, alean, rangy boy, pirouetting and mouthing his bits, eager to be off.The Baroness Charny, dainty and v
ery modish in a dark green habit andsilk hat, was chatting gaily with Larry Berkely while a groom adjustedher stirrup-leather. Mrs. Haviland, Wray, Perot, and her host werewaiting for their horses, which the men were bringing up from thestables. Curtis Janney came forward gaily when Camilla appeared.

  "We're all here, Mrs. Wray," he greeted her. "The others will meet us atthe Chelten Crossroads. Your horse is ready," and then, with a glanceat her habit, "You're riding across, I believe?"

  She nodded. "What a heavenly morning!"

  "The conditions are perfect. This white frost will soften at sun-up.We'll have a fine run. Won't you let me help you mount?"

  They were all in the saddle in a few moments and, walking their horses,with the Huntsman and hounds in the lead, were soon on their way pastthe big entrance gates. Camilla saw Jeff draw his horse alongside thatof Mrs. Cheyne and realized that the few days during which LawrenceBerkely had been in the city had done much for her husband's appearance.She saw the look and heard the laugh with which Mrs. Cheyne greeted herhusband and experienced, in spite of herself, a sense of annoyance thatJeff continually showed a preference for her company to that of any ofthe other women of the party. She knew that in her heart it made nodifference to her into whose hands Jeff entrusted himself. Mrs.Cheyne's languid air of patronage had provoked her, and her priderebelled at the thought of any slight, however thoughtless, at the handsof her husband. But as Cortland Bent came alongside of her, sherealized that the friendly relations of her husband and his femininepartner might progress far on extravagantly sentimental lines and stillprovide no just cause for complaint.

  If Mrs. Cheyne had any mental reservations, her graceful back gave nosign of them. She sat her horse squarely, even a little stiffly, whichbrought into contrast the easy, rather slouchy seat which Jeff hadlearned on the plains. But Wray was in his element. On a horse, atleast, he felt himself the equal of any one in the party and need ask nofavors or give any. He examined Mrs. Cheyne's costume curiously. Herlong coat was a mere subterfuge, for beneath it she wore white breecheslike his own and patent leather boots. Her hair was done in a compactmass on the back of her head, and her hat was held in place by a strongelastic band. The shoulders of her coat were square and her mannereasy. He recalled the flowing feminine lines of her costume at dinnerthe night before, and it seemed difficult to appreciate that she was thesame person with whom he had talked so late in the smoking room.

  "Am I a freak?" she asked amiably, "or is there a hiatus somewhere? Idressed in a tearing hurry--without a maid."

  "Oh, no. Only you're another kind of a person--on the back of a horse."

  "Am I? How?"

  "Last night you were all woman. You and I are making friends prettyfast, but I was a little afraid of you."

  "Why?"

  "You're different at night, so sleepy and handsome, like a rattler inthe sun, the kind you hate to wake up but must, to see how far he'llstrike."

  She laughed. "I don't know whether I like that or not. And yet I thinkI do. How am I different to-day?"

  "To-day you're only part woman. The rest of you is just kid. If itwasn't for that knot of hair I'd take you for a boy--a very nice,good-looking boy."

  She looked up at him mischievously. "You know you have a faculty ofsaying unpleasant things very pleasantly. I'm glad I look youthful. Myonly horror is of growing old. I don't think I like the idea of yourthinking me anything unfeminine."

  He glanced frankly at her protruding knee. "I don't. Most of you iswoman all right--but you don't scare me half as much this morning."

  "Why should you be scared? You haven't struck me as being a man whocould be scared at anything."

  "Not out here, but inside--in the drawing room--you've got me at adisadvantage. I'm new to soft speeches, low lights, and the way youEastern women dress. There's too much glamor. I never know whether youmean what you say or whether it's all just a game--and I'm _It_."

  She threw back her head and laughed with a full throat.

  "You dear, delicious, impossible creature! Don't you know that theworld is a tangle of illusions, and that you and I and everybody elsewere made to help keep them tangled? Nobody ever means what he says.Half of the joy in life consists in making people think you differentfrom what you are."

  "Which are you? The kid on the horse or the woman--back there--lastnight?"

  "Do you think I'll tell you?"

  "No, I suppose not. And it wouldn't help me much if you're going to lieabout it--I mean," he corrected, "if you're trying to keep me guessing."

  "My poor, deluded friend, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Sowhat's the use. For the present," she added defiantly, "I'm the kid onthe horse."

  "And I guess I'm _It_, all right," he laughed.

  As they approached Chelten Hills they made out at the cross-roads anumber of figures on horseback. The sun, a pale madder ball, hadsuddenly sprung from behind the hills and painted with its rosy hues thestreaks of mist which hung in the valleys below them. As its shadowsdeepened and its glow turned from pink to orange, the figures at thecross-roads stood out in silhouette against the frosty meadows beyond.There were three women and at least a dozen men, most of them wearingthe club colors, which took on added brilliancy as the sun emerged frombehind the distant hills. A cloud of vapor rose from the flanks of thehorses. There was much "hallo-ing" and waving of riding crops as theHuntsman and his hounds rode into their midst and the two parties met.A brief consultation, and the hounds were sent down a narrow lane andacross a wooden bridge toward a patch of woods which darkened thehillside half a mile away.

  "We'll draw that cover first," said Curtis Janney. "Perhaps we can coaxthe old Chelten Fox to come out to-day." It was the name they had givento an old quarry of theirs, the elusive victor in half a dozen runs inthe last few years.

  Cortland Bent had refused to relinquish his post beside Camilla. Thereseemed no reason why he should, since Gretchen had so completelyappropriated Larry, and Jeff, Mrs. Cheyne.

  "Be careful, Camilla," he was saying. "You're new at this game, and thegoing is none too safe."

  But Camilla only smiled. She looked forward at Mrs. Cheyne's intolerantback, and there was a joyous flash in her eyes like the one heremembered two years ago when she led the chase of a coyote, which sheran down and roped unaided. She leaned forward gaily and patted herhorse's neck.

  "We understand each other, don't we, Mackinaw?"

  And then, as though to express her emancipation from all earthlybarriers, she gave her horse his head in the pasture and followed aparty which had scorned the open gate. Mackinaw took the three railslike a bird and shook his head viciously when Camilla restrained him.Cortland followed her, smiling, and in a moment they had all stopped atthe foot of the hill, while the hounds went forward into the cover.

  Janney had planned well. They waited a while, chatting amongthemselves, and then suddenly the hounds gave tongue. At the fartherend of the cover, taking a diagonal course across an old cornfield upthe hill, the old fox emerged, while the hounds, getting the scent,followed hot-foot after him.

  "Tally-ho!" was the cry from one of the whips, and it echoed again andagain the length of the field. In a second they were off, Curtis Janneyin the lead, roaring some instructions which nobody understood. Camilla,overanxious, cleared the brook at a bound and won her way among theleaders. Gretchen Janney and Mrs. Cheyne, their horses well in hand,were a little to the left, following the Master, whose knowledge of thelay of the land foresaw that the run would follow the ridge whichfarther on turned to the eastward. Camilla only knew that she must ridestraight, and went forward up the hill toward the line of bushes aroundwhich the last hound had disappeared. Bent thundered after her,watching her anxiously as she took the fence at the top of the hill--atall one--and landed safely in the stubble beyond.

  "Pull up a little, Camilla!" he shouted. "You'll blow him if you don't.This may last all morning."

  "I--I can't!" she cried. "He's pulling me. He do
esn't want to stop, andneither do I."

  "It's the twenty pounds of under weight--but you'd better use yourcurb."

  As they cleared the bushes they "viewed" again from a distance thehounds running in a straight line, skirting a pasture at the edge of awood half a mile away. The field below to their left was now a thinline of single horsemen or groups of twos and threes. Behind Bent wereBilly Haviland and the Baroness. Down the hill they went, more carefullythis time, then up again over rocky ground dotted with pitfalls of iceand snow which made the going hazardous. Janney's crowd below on thelevel meadows was forging ahead, but when Camilla reached the top of thenext hill she saw that, instead of surging toward the river, the houndswere far away to the right in open country and going very fast. Theyreached the road from the meadow just as Curtis Janney, closely followedby Gretchen and Mrs. Cheyne, Larry, and Jeff, came riding into the open.

  "Have you 'viewed'?"

  Cortland Bent pointed with his crop, and they all saw the pack makingfor the woods and the trees which lined the creek in the hollow beyond.It was a wide stretch of open country made up of half a dozen fields andfences. The short, sharp cry of the hounds as they sighted the fox wasmusic to Camilla, but the roar of the wind in her ears and the thunderof the horses' hoofs were sweeter. It was a race for the creek. TheMaster, on his big thoroughbred, was three lengths in the lead, butJeff, Mrs. Cheyne, and Camilla, just behind him, were taking their jumpstogether.

  At the third fence, for some reason, Mackinaw refused, and, scarcelyknowing how it had happened, Camilla slid forward over his ears to theground. She was a little stunned, but managed to keep her hold on thereins, and before Cortland Bent could dismount she was on her feetagain, her cheeks a little pale, but in nowise injured.

  "Are you hurt, Camilla?"

  "No. Help me up quickly, Cort." She had seen Jeff and Mrs. Cheyne drawrein a moment on the other side of the fence, but, when she rose, rideon together. Jeff shouted something to her, but she could not hear it.

  "I didn't give him his head," Camilla stammered. "I'll know better now."

  "For God's sake, be careful," whispered Bent.

  If she heard him she gave no sign of it, for, with her face pale and herlips compressed, she made a wide turn, and, before the rest of the fieldcame up, she had put Mackinaw at the jump again, giving him his head andthe crop on his flank just before he rose to it. The frightened animalcleared the rails with two feet to spare and a good six feet on thefarther side, and, when Jeff turned at the bank of the creek to look, hesaw Mackinaw nobly clearing the last fence that remained between them.

  Camilla, her color coming slowly back, kept her eyes fixed on the smartsilk hat of Mrs. Cheyne. The memory of Mrs. Cheyne's smile infuriatedher. Her manner was so superior, her equipment so immaculate, her seatsuch a fine pattern of English horsemanship. The run was to be long,they said. Perhaps there would still be time to show that she couldride--as the boys in the West rode, for every inch--for every pound.

  Through the ford she dashed, with Cortland close at her heels, the waterdeluging them both, up the bank and over the rise of the hill, toward apatch of bushes where the fox doubled and went straight with the windacross the valley for the hills. The going was rougher here--boulders,stone walls, and ploughed fields. Camilla cut across the angle and in amoment was riding beside her husband and Mrs. Cheyne, who seemed to besetting the pace.

  "Are you all right?" Jeff asked. But she only smiled at him and touchedMackinaw with her heel. She was riding confidently now, sure of herselfand surer of her horse. They understood each other, and Mackinawresponded nobly, for when he found his place by the side of RitaCheyne's bay mare he sensed the will of his rider that here was thehorse that he must outstay. The pace was terrific, and once or twiceCamilla felt the eyes of the other woman upon her, but she rodejoyously, grimly, looking neither to left nor right, as she realizedthat Mrs. Cheyne's mount was tiring and that Mackinaw seemed to begaining strength at every jump.

  The old Chelten Fox gained immortality that day. Twice the foremosthounds were snapping at his very heels, when, from some hidden source ofenergy, he drew another store and ran away from them, doubling throughthe brush and throwing them off the scent, which they recovered onlywhen he had put a safe distance between them. Camilla had lost her hat,her hair had fallen about her shoulders, and a thorn had gashed hercheek. The pace was telling on Mackinaw, whose stride was not so longor his jumps so powerful, but Mrs. Cheyne still rode beside her, herface a little paler than before, but her seat as firm--her hands aslight as ever. If there were any other riders near them, both womenwere oblivious, seeing nothing but the blur of the flying turf beneaththem, hearing nothing but the sharp note of the hounds in front, whichtold that the chase was nearly ended.

  Before them was a lane with two fences of four rails, an "in and out,"with a low "take off" from the meadow. Camilla rose in her stirrups tolook and saw that Mrs. Cheyne had drawn rein. It was a jump which wouldtax the mettle of fresher animals. With a smile on her face which mighthave been a counterfeit of the one Mrs. Cheyne had worn earlier in themorning, Camilla turned in her saddle, catching the eye of hercompanion, and pointed with her crop straight before her to where thehounds had "killed" in the meadow just beyond, then set Mackinaw for thehighest panel she could find.

  "Come on, Mrs. Cheyne!" she cried hoarsely. "Come on!"

  Mackinaw breasted the fence and reached the road--a pause of a seconduntil Camilla's spurs sank into his flanks, when, mad with pain, heleaped forward into the air, just clearing the other fence and the ditchthat lay on the farther side. Camilla pulled up sharply as the Huntsmandismounted and made his way among the dogs. Turning, she saw Mrs.Cheyne's horse rise awkwardly from the lane and go crashing through thefence, breaking the top rail and landing in the ditch. Its rider,thrown forward out of the saddle, landed heavily and then rolled to oneside and lay quiet.

  "Turning, she saw Mrs. Cheyne's horse go crashing throughthe fence."]

  With a quick cry of dismay, Camilla dismounted, conscience-stricken, andran to her fallen foe, just as the others rode up and caught thefrightened horse.

  "Dear Mrs. Cheyne," she heard herself saying, "I'm so sorry. Are youreally badly hurt?" But the only reply she got was a feeble shake ofthe head. Curtis Janney brought out a brandy flask, and, after a sip ortwo, Mrs. Cheyne revived and looked about her.

  "I'm all here, I think," she said. "That was a bad cropper--in my ownbarnyard, too--the Brush must be yours, Mrs. Wray. Give me a cigarette,somebody."