Shoe-Bar Stratton

by Joseph Bushnell Ames

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  TWO TRAILS CONVERGE

  Mrs. Archer sat alone in the ranch-house living-room, doing absolutelynothing. As a matter of fact, she had little use for those minor solacesof knitting or crocheting which soothe the waking hours of so many elderlywomen. More than once, indeed, she had been heard to state with mildemphasis that when she was no longer able to entertain herself with humannature, or, at the worst, with an interesting book, it would be high timeto retire into a nunnery, or its modern equivalent.

  Sitting there beside one of the sunny southern windows, her small, faintlywrinkled hands lying reposefully in her lap, she made a dainty, attractivepicture of age which was yet not old. Her hair was frankly gray, butluxuriant and crisply waving. No one would have mistaken the soft, fadedpink of her complexion, well preserved though it was, for that of a youngwoman. But her eyes, bright, eager, humorous, changing with every mood,were full of the fire of eternal youth.

  Just now there was a thoughtful retrospection in their clear depths.Occasionally she glanced interestedly out of the window, or turned herhead questioningly toward the closed door of her niece's bedroom. But forthe most part she sat quietly thinking, and the tolerant, humorous curveof her lips showed that her thoughts were far from disagreeable.

  "Astonishing!" she murmured presently. "Really quite amazing! And yetthings could scarcely have turned out more--" She paused, a faint wrinklemarring the smoothness of her forehead. "Really, I must guard against thishabit of talking to myself," she went on with mild vexation. "They sayit's one of the surest signs of age. Come in!"

  The outer door opened and Buck Stratton entered. Pausing for an instant onthe threshold, he glanced eagerly about the room, his face falling alittle as he walked over to where Mrs. Archer sat.

  She looked up at him for a moment in silence, surveying with frankapproval his long length, his wide chest and lean flanks, the clean-cutface which showed such few signs of fatigue or strain. Then her glancegrew quizzical.

  "You give yourself away too quickly," she smiled. "Even an old womanscarcely feels complimented when a man looks downcast at the sight ofher."

  "Rubbish!" retorted Buck. "You know it wasn't that." Bending swiftly, heput an arm about her shoulders and kissed her. "You brought it onyourself," he told her, grinning, as he straightened up. "You've nobusiness to look so--pretty."

  The pink in Mrs. Archer's cheeks deepened faintly. "Aren't you ratherlavish this morning?" she murmured teasingly. "Hadn't you better savethose for--" Suddenly her face grew serious. "I do understand, of course.She hasn't come out yet, but she's dressing. I made her eat her breakfastin bed."

  "Good business," approved Buck. "How is she?"

  "Very much better, physically. Her nerves are practically all right again;but of course she's very much depressed."

  Stratton's face clouded. "She still persists--"

  Mrs. Archer nodded. "Oh, dear me, yes! That is, she thinks she does. Butthere's no need to look as if all hope were lost. Indeed, I'm quitecertain that a little pressure at the right moment--" She broke off,glancing at the bedroom door. "I've an idea it would be better for me todo a little missionary work first. Suppose you go now and come back later.Come back," she finished briskly, "when you see my handkerchief lying hereon the window-ledge."

  He nodded and was half way across the room when she called to himguardedly:

  "Oh, Buck! There's a phrase I noticed in that rather lurid magazine Budbrought me two or three weeks ago." Her eyes twinkled. "'Cave-man stuff,'I think it was." Coming from her lips the words had an oddly bizarresound. "It seemed descriptive. Of course one would want to userefinements."

  "I get you!" Stratton grinned as he departed.

  His head had scarcely passed the window before the inner door opened andMary Thorne appeared.

  Her face was pale, with deep shadows under the eyes, and her slim, girlishfigure drooped listlessly. She walked slowly over to the table, took up abook, fluttered the pages, and laid it down again. Then a pile of mailcaught her eyes, and picking up the topmost letter, she tore it open andglanced through it indifferently.

  "From Stella," she commented aloud, dropping it on the table. "They gothome all right. She says she had a wonderful time, and asks after--"

  "After me, I suppose," said Mrs. Archer, as Mary paused. "Give her my lovewhen you write." She hesitated, glancing shrewdly at the girl. "Don't youwant to hear the news, dear?" she asked.

  Mary turned abruptly, her eyes widening with sudden interest. "News? Whatnews?"

  "Why, about everything that's happened. They caught all of the men exceptthat wretch, Pedro. The sheriff's taken them to Perilla for trial. He saysthey'll surely be convicted. Better yet, one of them has turned State'sevidence and implicated a swindler named Draper, who was at the bottom ofeverything."

  "Everything?" repeated the girl in a slightly puzzled tone, as shedropped listlessly into a chair beside her aunt. "What do you mean, dear,by--everything?"

  "How dull I am!" exclaimed Mrs. Archer. "I hope that isn't another sign ofencroaching age. I quite forgot you hadn't heard what it was all about. Itseems there's oil in the north pasture. Lynch found it and told this manDraper, and ever since then they've been trying to force you to sell theranch so they could gobble it up themselves."

  "Oil?" questioned Mary. "You mean oil wells, and that sort of thing?"

  "There'll be wells in time, I presume; just now it's merely in the ground.I understand it's quite valuable."

  She went on to explain in detail all she knew. Mary listened silently,head bent and hands absently plucking at the plaiting of her gown. WhenMrs. Archer finally ceased speaking, the girl made no comment for a time,but sat quite motionless, with drooping face and nervously movingfingers.

  "Did you hear about--about--" she began in an uncertain voice, and thenstopped, unable to go on.

  "Yes, dear," returned Mrs. Archer simply. "Bud told me. It's a--a terriblething, of course, but I think--" She paused, choosing her words. "Youmustn't spoil your life, my dear, by taking it--too seriously."

  Mary turned suddenly and stared at her, surprise battling with the miseryin her face.

  "Too seriously!" she cried. "How can I possibly help taking it seriously?It's too dreadful and--and horrible, almost, to think of."

  "It's dreadful, I admit," returned the old lady composedly. "But afterall, it's your father's doings. You are not to blame."

  The girl made a swift, dissenting gesture with both hands. "Perhaps not,in the way you mean. I didn't do the--stealing." Her voice was bitter. "Ididn't even know about it. But I--profited. Oh, how could Dad ever havedone such an awful thing? When I think of his--his deliberately robbingthis man who--who had given his life bravely for his country, I could dieof shame!"

  Her lips quivered and she buried her face in her hands. Mrs. Archerreached out and patted her shoulder consolingly.

  "But he didn't die for his country," she reminded her niece practically."He's very much alive, and here. He's got his ranch back, with theaddition of valuable oil deposits, or whatever you call them, which, Budtells me, might not have been discovered for years but for this." Shepaused, her eyes fixed intently on the girl. "Do you--love him, Mary?" sheasked abruptly.

  The girl looked up at her, a slow flush creeping into her face. "Whatdifference does that make?" she protested. "I could never make up to himfor--for what--father did."

  "It makes every difference in the world," retorted Mrs. Archer positively."As for making up-- Why, don't you know that you're more to him thanranches, or oil wells, or--anything on earth? You must realize that inyour heart."

  Placing her handkerchief on the window-ledge, she rose briskly.

  "I really must go and change my shoes," she said in quite a differenttone. "These slippers seem to--er--pinch a bit."

  If they really did pinch, there was no sign of it as she crossed the roomand disappeared through a door at the farther end. Mary stared after her,puzzled and a little hurt at the apparent lack of sympathy in
one to whomshe had always turned for comfort and understanding. Then her mind flashedback to her aunt's farewell words, and her brow wrinkled thoughtfully.

  A knock at the door made her start nervously, and for a long moment shehesitated before replying. At the sight of Buck Stratton standing on thethreshold, she flushed painfully and sprang to her feet.

  "Good morning," he said gently, as he came quickly over to her. "I hopeyou're feeling a lot better."

  "Oh, yes," she answered briefly. "I'm really quite all right now."

  He had taken her hand and still held it, and somehow the mere pressure ofhis fingers embarrassed her oddly and seemed to weaken her resolution.

  "You don't quite look it," he commented. "I reckon it'll take some time toget rid of those--those shadows and hollows and all."

  He was looking down at her with that same tender, whimsical smile thatquirked the corners of his mouth unevenly, and the expression in his eyesset Mary's heart to fluttering. She could not bear it, somehow! To givehim up was even harder than she had expected, and suddenly her lidsdrooped defensively to hide the bright glitter that smarted in her eyes.

  Suddenly he broke the brief silence. "When are you going to marry me,dear?" he asked quietly.

  Her lids flew up and she stared at him through a blurring haze of tears."Oh!" she cried unsteadily. "I can't! I--can't. You--you don't know how Ifeel. It's all too--dreadful! It doesn't seem as if I could ever--look youin the face again."

  Swiftly his arms slid about her, and she was drawn gently but irresistiblyto him.

  "Don't try just now, dear, if you'd rather not," he murmured, smiling downinto her tear-streaked face. "You'll have a long time to get used to it,you know."

  Instinctively she tried to struggle. Then all at once a wave of incrediblehappiness swept over her. Abruptly nothing seemed to matter--nothing onearth save this one thing. With a little sigh like that of a tired child,her arm stole up about his neck, her head fell gently back against hisshoulder.

  * * * * *

  "Oh!" Mary said abruptly, struck by a sudden recollection. It was an hourlater, and they sat together on the sofa. "I had a letter from Stellato-day." A faintly mischievous light sparkled in her eyes. "She sent herlove--to you."

  Buck flushed a little under his tan. "Some little kidder, isn't she, onshort acquaintance?" he commented.

  "Short!" Mary's eyes widened. "Why, she knew you before I did!"

  "Maybe so, but I didn't know her."

  Buck had rather dreaded the moment when he would have to tell her of thatbeastly, vanished year, but somehow he did not find it hard.

  "As long as you don't ever let it happen again, I sha'n't mind," shesmiled, when he had finished. "I simply couldn't bear it, though, if youshould lose your memory--now."

  "No danger," he assured her, with a look that deepened the color in herradiant face.

  For a moment she did not speak. Then all at once her smile faded and sheturned quickly to him.

  "The--the ranch, dear," she said abruptly. "There's something, isn'tthere, I should do about--about turning it over--to you?"

  He drew her head down against his shoulder. "No use bothering about thatnow," he shrugged. "We're going to be made one so soon that-- How aboutriding to Perilla to-morrow and--"

  "Oh, Buck!" she protested. "I--I couldn't."

  His arm tightened about her. "Well, say the day after," he suggested. "I'mafraid we'll have to spend our honeymoon right here getting things torights, so you won't have to get a lot of new clothes and all that.There's nothing unlucky about Thursday, is there?"

  She hid her face against his coat. "No-o; but I don't see how--I can--sosoon. Well, maybe--perhaps--"