CHAPTER XII
BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN
For several days following the incident of the two strugglinghorsemen, Patty rode, extending her quest farther and farther into thehills, and thus widening the circle of her exploration. She hadoverhauled her father's photographic outfit and found it containedcomplete supplies for the development and printing of his ownpictures, and having brought several rolls of films from town, sheproceeded to amuse herself by photographing the more striking bits ofscenery she encountered upon her daily rides.
It was mid-summer, now, the sun shone hot and brassy from a cloudlesssky, and the buffalo grass was beginning to exchange its freshgreenness for a shade of dirty tan. Only the delicious coolness of theshort nights made bearable the long, hot, monotonous days during whichthe girl stuck doggedly to her purpose. Upon these rides she met noone. It was as if human beings had entirely forsaken the world andleft it to the prairie dogs, the coyotes, and the lazily coiledrattle-snakes that lay basking upon the rocks in the hot glare of thesun. Even the occasional bunches of range cattle did not eye her withtheir accustomed interest, but lay in straggling groups close besidethe cold waters of tiny streams.
And it was upon one of these hot days, long past the noon hour, thatPatty dismounted in a narrow valley near the head of a cold mountainstream and, affixing the hobbles to her horse's legs, threw off thesaddle and bridle, and spread the sweat-dampened blanket to dry in thesun. Freed of his accouterments, the horse shook himself, shuffled tothe stream, and burying his muzzle to the eyes, sucked up great gulpsof the cold water, and playfully thrashing his head, sent volleys ofsilver drops flying from side to side, as he churned the tiny poolinto a veritable mud wallow. Tiring of that, he rolled luxuriously,the crisping buffalo grass scratching the irking saddle-feel from hisback and sides: and as the girl spread her luncheon upon a clean whitenapkin in the shade of a stunted cottonwood, fell to grazingcontentedly.
As Patty chipped at the shell of a hard-boiled egg she glanced towardthe horse, which had stopped grazing and stood facing down stream withears nervously alert. A few moments later the soft rattle ofbit-chains and the low shuffling of hoofs told her that a rider wasapproaching at a walk. "Probably my guardian devil, ostensibly payingstrict attention to his own business of prospecting, or trying tostrike the trail of the horse-thieves, but in reality hot on the trailof little me. I just wish I could find the mine. He'll have to stopand drive his stakes and fix his notice, and if his old buckskin is asgood as he thinks he is, he'll just about overtake me at Thompson's.And then on a fresh horse--I just want one good look into his facewhen I pass him, that's all!"
The horseman came suddenly into view a few yards distant, and the girllooked up into the black eyes of Monk Bethune.
"Well, well, my dear Miss Sinclair!" The quarter-breed's tone was oneof glad surprise, as he dismounted and advanced, hat in hand. "This isindeed an unexpected pleasure. La, la, la, the luck of it! Shall wesay, the romance? Hot and saddle-weary from a long ride, to comesuddenly upon the fairest of ladies, at luncheon alone in the mostcharming of little valleys. It is a situation to be dreamed of. And,am I not to be asked to share your repast?"
Patty laughed. The light whimsicality of the man's mood amused her:"Yes, you may consider yourself invited."
"And be assured that I accept, that is, upon condition that I beallowed to contribute my just share toward the feast." As he talked,Bethune fumbled at his pack-strings, and brought forth a small canvasbag, from which he drew sandwiches of fried trout and bacon thrustbetween two slabs of doubtful looking baking-powder bread. "No daintylunch prepared by woman's hand," he apologized, "but we of the hills,no matter how exotic or aesthetic our tastes may be, must of sternnecessity descend to the common level of cowboys and offscourings inthe matter of our eating. See, beside your own palatable food, thisrough fare of mine presents an appearance unappetizing almost torepugnance."
"At least, it looks eminently satisfying," said Patty, eyeing thethick sandwiches.
"Satisfying, I grant you. Satisfying to the beast that is in man, inthat it stays the pangs of hunger. So is the blood-dripping carcass ofthe fresh-killed calf satisfying to the wolf, and carrion satisfyingto the buzzard. But, not at all satisfying to the unbestial ego--tothe thing that makes man, man."
"You should have been a poet," smiled the girl. "But come, even poetsmust eat."
"God help the man who has no poetry in his soul--no imagination!"exclaimed Bethune, a trifle sententiously, thought the girl, as sheresumed the chipping of her egg. "Imagination," the word hoveredelusively in her brain--she had applied that word only recently tosomeone--oh, yes, the man whose habit it was to search her cabin. Shesmiled ever so slightly as she glanced sidewise at Bethune who wasnibbling at one of his own sandwiches.
"Please try one of mine," she urged, "and there are some pickles, andan olive or two. I have loads of them at home, and really I believe Ishould like that other sandwich of yours. I haven't tasted fish forages."
"Take it and welcome," smiled the man. "But do not deny yourself thepleasure of eating all the fish you want. Why, with a bent pin, a bitof thread, and housefly, you can catch yourself a mess of trout anymorning without venturing a hundred yards from your own door. Monte'sCreek is alive with them, and taken fresh from the water and fried toa crisp in butter, they make a breakfast fit for a king, or in thepresent instance, I should have said, a queen."
"Tell me," asked Patty, abruptly. "Has Vil Holland imagination?"
"Imagination! My dear lady, Vil Holland is the veriest clod! Too lazyto do the honest work for which he is fitted, he roams the hills underpretense of prospecting."
"But, how does he make a living?"
Bethune shrugged. "Who can tell? I know for a certainty that he hasnever made a cent out of his alleged prospecting. It is true he ridesthe round-up for a couple of months in the spring and fall, but fourmonths' work at forty dollars a month will hardly suffice for a man'syearly needs." He unconsciously lowered his voice, and continued:"Several ranchers have complained of losing horses and only a few daysago, up near the line, my good friend Corporal Downey, of the Mounted,told me that a number of American horses, with brands skillfullydoctored, had been regularly making their appearance in Canada. It isan ugly suspicion, and I am making no open accusation, but--one maywonder."
The man finished his sandwich, dipped his fingers into the creek, wipedthem upon his handkerchief, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. "Speaking ofVil Holland, why did you ask whether he had--imagination?"
"Oh, I don't know," replied the girl, lightly. "I just wondered."
Bethune regarded her steadily. "Has he been,--er, interfering in anyway with your attempt to locate your father's strike?"
"Hardly interfering, I should say."
"You believe he still follows you?"
"Yes."
"You do not fear him?"
"No."
"That is because you do not know him! I tell you he is a dangerousman!" Bethune puffed shortly at his cigarette, hurled it from him, andfaced the girl with glowing eyes: "Ah, Miss Sinclair, why don't youend this uncertainty? Why do you continue every day to jeopardize yourinterests--yes, your very life----?"
"Do you mean," interrupted the girl, "why don't I form a partnershipwith you?"
"A partnership! Ah, no, not a--and, yet--yes, a partnership. Apartnership of life, and love, and happiness!" The man moved close,and the black eyes seemed, in the intensity of their gaze to devourher very soul. "There I have said it--the thing I have been wanting tosay, yet have feared to say." Patty's lips moved, as if to speak, butthe man forestalled the words with a gesture. "Before you answer, letme tell you how, since you first came into the hills, I have lived inthe shadow of a mighty fear--I, who have lived my life among men, andhave never known the meaning of fear, have been harassed by amultitude of fears. From the moment of our first meeting I have lovedyou. And, by all the saints, I swear you are the only woman I haveever loved! And, yet, I feared to tell you of that love. Twice the
words have trembled on my tongue, and remained unspoken, because Ifeared that you might spurn me. Then in my heart rose another fear,and I cursed myself for a craven. I feared that chance might favor youin locating your father's strike, and then people would say, 'he lovesher for her wealth.' I even thought that you, yourself, mightdoubt--might ask yourself why he waited until I became rich before hetold me of his love? But, believe me, my dear lady, for your wealth, Icare not the snap of my fingers--so!" He snapped his fingers loudlyand continued: "But say the word, and we will go far from the hillcountry, and leave your father's secret to the guardianship of hisbeloved mountains. For I am rich. I own mines, mines, mines! What isone mine more or less to me?"
Patty Sinclair felt herself drifting under the spell of his compellingardor. "Why not?" she asked herself. "Why not marry this man and giveup the hopeless struggle?" She thought of her depleted bank account.At best, she could not hope to hold out much longer. Bethune had takenher hand as he talked, and she had not withdrawn it from his palm.Swiftly he bent his head and pressed the brown hand passionately tohis lips. She felt his grip tighten as the burning kisses covered herhand--her wrist. She drew the hand away.
"But, I do not want to leave the hill country," she said, quitecalmly. "I shall never leave it until I have vindicated my father'scourse in the eyes of the people back home--the men who scoffed athim, and called him a ne'er-do-well, and a dreamer--who refused toback his judgment with their miserable dollars--who killed him withtheir cruelty, and their doubt!"
"I hoped you would say that!" exclaimed Bethune, his eyes alight withapproval. "I knew you would say it! The daughter of your father couldnot do otherwise. I knew him well, and loved him as a son should love.And I, too, would see his judgment vindicated in the eyes of all theworld. Listen, together we will remain, and together we will locatethe lost strike, if it takes every cent I own." The man's voicegripped in its intensity, and Patty's eyes returned from the distancewhere the summer haze bathed far mountain tops in soft purple, andlooked into the eyes of velvet black.
"But, why should you want to marry me?" she inquired, a puzzled littlefrown wrinkling her forehead. "You hardly know me. You have not alwayslived in the hills. You have met many women."
"A man meets many women. He marries but one. You ask me why I want tomarry you. I cannot tell you why. Many times since we first met I haveasked myself why. I, who have openly scoffed at the yoke, and boastedproudly of my freedom. I do not know why, unless it is that to me youare the embodiment of all womanhood--of all that is desirable andworth while, or maybe the reason is in the fact that while I am withyou I am supremely happy, and while I am absent from you I amrestless and unhappy--a prey to my fears. I suppose it all sums up inthe reason--world-old, but ever new--because I love you." The man wasupon his feet, now, bending toward her with arms outstretched. Forjust an instant Patty hesitated, then shook her head.
"No!" she cried and struggling to her feet, faced him across theremains of the luncheon. "No, it would not be playing the game. I havemy work to do, and I'll do it alone. It would be like quitting--likecalling for help before I am beaten. This is my work--not yours, thisvindication of my father!"
"But think," interrupted Bethune, "you will not let such Quixoticideals stand between us and happiness! You have your right tohappiness, and so have I, and in the end 'twill be the same, yourfather's name will be cleared of any suspicion of unworthiness."
"It is my work," Patty repeated, stubbornly, "and besides, I do notthink I love you. I do not know----"
"Ah, but you will love me!" cried Bethune. "Such love as mine will notbe denied!" The black eyes glowed, and he took a step toward her, butthe girl drew away.
"Not now--not yet! Stop!" At the command Bethune recoiled slightly,and the arms that had been about to encircle the girl, fell slowly tohis sides. Patty had suddenly drawn herself erect and looked him eyefor eye: and as she looked, from behind the soft glow of the velveteyes, leaped a wolfish gleam--a glint of baffled rage, a flash ofhate. In a moment it was gone and the man's lips smiled.
"Pardon," he said, "for the moment I forgot I have not the right." Thevoice had lost its intense timbre, and sounded dull, as if held undercontrol only by a mighty effort of will. And in that moment a strangefear of him took possession of the girl, so that her own voicesurprised her with its calm.
"I must be going, now."
Bethune bowed. "I will saddle your horse, while you clear up thetable." He nodded toward the napkin spread upon the grass with theremains of the luncheon upon it. "My way takes me within a shortdistance of your cabin; may I ride with you?" he asked a few momentslater, as he led her horse, bridled and saddled, to his own.
"Why certainly. I should be glad to have you. And we can talk."
"Of love?"
The girl laughed: "No, not of love. Surely there are other things----"
"Yes, for instance, I may again warn you that you are in danger."
"Danger?" she glanced up quickly.
"From Vil Holland." They had mounted, and turned their horses toward along divide.
"Oh, yes, from Vil Holland," she repeated slowly, as she drew inbeside him. "I had almost forgotten Vil Holland."
"I wish to God I could forget him," retorted the man, viciously. "But,as long as you remain unprotected in these hills I shall never for onemoment forget him. Your secret is not safe. Your person is not safe.He dogs your footsteps. He visits your cabin during your absence. Heis bad--_bad!_ And here I must tell you of an incident--or ratherexplain an incident, the unfortunate conclusion of which you saw withyour own eyes. Poor Clen! He is beside himself with mortification atthe sorry spectacle he presented when you rode up and saw him crawldripping from the creek.
"I was away to the northward, on important business, and knowing thatit had become my custom to ride over occasionally to see how youfared, he decided to do the same during my absence. Arriving at thecabin, he was surprised to see Vil Holland's horse before the door. Herode boldly up, dismounted, and caught the scoundrel in the act ofsearching among your effects. The sight, together with the memory ofthe cut pack sack, enraged him to such an extent that, despite thefact that the other was armed, he attacked him with his fists. In thefighting that ensued, Holland, being much the younger and more agile,succeeded in pitching Clen over the edge of the bank into the creek.Whereupon, he leaped into the saddle and vanished.
"When Clen finally succeeded in reaching the bank and drawing himselfover the top, he was horrified to see you approaching. Above allthings Clen is a gentleman, and rather than appear before you in hisbedraggled condition, he fled. Upon my return he insisted that I seeyou and explain the awkward situation to you in person. I beg of younever to refer to the incident in Clen's presence, especially not inlevity, for he has, more strongly than anyone I ever knew, theEnglishman's horror of appearing ridiculous."
Patty smiled: "It was too funny for words. The way he gave onehorrified glance in my direction and then scrambled into his saddleand dashed away, with the water flowing from him in rivulets. But ofcourse, I shall never mention it to Lord Clendenning, and I wish youwould thank him for his valiant championship of my cause."
Bethune shot her a swift sidewise glance. Was there just a trace ofmockery in the tone? If so, her expression masked it perfectly.
They rode in silence for a time, following down the course of a broadvalley, and presently came out onto the trail. A rider approached themat a walk, the low-hung white dust cloud in his wake marking thecourse of the long, hot trail. Bethune scrutinized the man intently."Jack Pierce," he announced. "He runs a little yak outfit, a few headof horses, and some cattle over on Big Porcupine." A moment laterBethune drew up and greeted the rider with a great show of cordiality."Hello, Pierce, old hand! How's everything over on Porcupine?"
The rancher returned the greeting with a curt nod, and a level stare:"Things on Porky's all right, I guess--so far."
"I hear old man Samuelson's sick?"
"Yes."
"How's he getting on?"<
br />
"Ain't heard. So long." He touched his horse with a quirt and theanimal continued down the trail at a brisk trot.
"Surly devil," growled Bethune, as he gazed for a moment at theretreating horseman, and this time Patty was sure she detected thesnake-like gleam in the black eyes. He dug his horse viciously withhis spurs and jerked him in, dancing and fighting the bit. He laughed,shortly. "These little ranchers--bah!"
"Mr. Christie rode over to see Mr. Samuelson the other day. I met himat Thompson's."
"Oh, so you know the soul-puncher, do you? Makes a big play with hisyellow chaps and six-gun. Suppose he had to be there to see that oldSamuelson gets a ring-side seat if he happens to cash in."
"He said he was going over to see if there was anything he could do,"answered the girl, ignoring the venom of the man's words.
"Pretty slick graft--preaching. Educated for it myself. OldSamuelson's rich. Christie goes over and pulls a long face, and sendsup a hatful of prayers, and if he gets well Samuelson will hand him anice fat check for the church. If he don't, the old woman kicks in.And you know, and I know how much of it the church ever sees. Did thesoul-puncher have anything to say about me?"
"About you?" asked the girl in apparent surprise. "Why should he sayanything about you?"
"Because they all take a crack at me!" said Bethune in an injuredtone. "You just saw how Pierce answered a civil question. They allhate me because I have made money. They never made any, and they neverwill, and they're jealous of my success. They never lose a chance tomalign and injure me in every way possible--but I'll show them! Damnthem! I'll show them all!" They rode for a short distance in silence,then Bethune laughed. It was the ringing boyish laugh that held nohint of bitterness or sneer. "I hope you will pardon my outburst. Ihave my moments of irascibility, for which I am heartily ashamed.But--poof! Like a summer cloud, they are gone as quickly as they come.Why should I care what they say of me. They betray their own meannessof soul in their envy of my success. We part here for the time. I mustride over onto the east slope--a little matter of some horses." Againhe laughed: "In a few days I shall return--I give you fairwarning--return to win your love. And I will win--I am Monk Bethune--Ialways win!" Without waiting for a reply, the man drove his spursinto his horse's sides and, swerving abruptly from the trail,disappeared down a narrow rock chasm that led directly into the heartof the hills.
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