Ben Blair

by Will Lillibridge

  CHAPTER IX

  A RIFFLE OF PRAIRIE

  Florence got her dogs promptly. They were two big mouse-coloredgrayhounds, with tails like rats and protruding ribs. They were named"Racer" and "Pacer," and were warranted by their late owner toout-distance any rabbit that ever drew breath. The girl felt that anevent as important as a coursing should be the occasion of a gatheringof the neighboring ranchers; but at the mere suggestion her conventionalmother threw up her hands in horror. It was bad enough for her daughterto go out alone, but as the one woman among all that lot of cowboys--itwas too much for her to endure. Finally, as a compromise, Florenceagreed to invite only the people of the Box R Ranch to the first event.So the invitations for a certain day, composed with fitting formality,were sent, and in due time were ceremoniously accepted.

  The chase was scheduled to begin soon after daybreak, and before thattime Rankin and Ben Blair were at the Baker house. They wore theirordinary clothes of wool and leather, but Scotty appeared in a wonderfulred hunting-coat, which, though a bit moth-eaten in spots, neverthelessshowed glaringly against the brown earth of the ranch-house yard.

  With the exception of the dogs, which were kept properly hungry for thehunt, and Mollie, who had washed her hands of the whole affair, theparty all had breakfast, Scotty himself serving the coffee with theskill of a head-waiter. Then the old buckboard, carefully oiled andtightened for the occasion, was gotten out, a team of the fastest,wiriest mustangs the Box R possessed was attached, and Rankin and Bakerupon the seat, Florence and Ben, well-mounted, trailing behind, theparty sallied forth. In order to avoid fences they had agreed to go tenmiles to the south before beginning operations. There a great tract ofgovernment land, well grazed but untouched by the hand of man, gave allbut unlimited room.

  The morning was beautiful and clear beyond the comprehension of citydwellers, a typical day of prairie Dakota in late Fall. Far out over thebroad expanse, indefinite as to distance, the rising sun seemed restingupon the very rim of the world. All about, near at hand, stretching intothe horizon, glistening, sparkling, innumerable frost crystals, productof the past night, gleamed like scattered gems, showing in theircoloring every blended shade of the rainbow. The glory of it allappealed to the girl, and throwing back her head she drew in deepbreaths of the tonic air.

  "I'm going to miss these mornings terribly when I'm gone," she saidsoberly.

  Ben Blair scrutinized the backs of the two men in the buckboard withapparent interest.

  "I didn't know you intended leaving," he said. "Where are you going?"

  Florence regarded her companion from the corner of her eye.

  "I'm going away for good," she said.

  Ben shifted half around in the saddle and folded back the rim of his bigsombrero.

  "For good, you say?"

  The girl's brown eyes were cast down demurely. "Yes, for good," sherepeated.

  They had been losing ground. Now in silence they galloped ahead, theregular muffled patter of their horses' feet upon the frozen sodsounding like the distant rattle of a snare-drum. Once again even withthe buckboard, they lapsed into a walk.

  "You haven't told me where you're going," repeated Blair.

  The question seemed to be of purest politeness, as a host inquires ifhis visitor has rested well; yet for a dozen years they two had livednearest neighbors, and had grown to maturity side by side. She concludedthere were some phases of this silent youth which she had not yetlearned.

  "We haven't decided where we're going yet," she replied. "Mamma wants togo to England, but papa and I refuse to leave this country. Then daddywants to live in a small town, and I vote for a big one. Just now we'reat deadlock."

  A smile started in Ben's blue eyes and spread over his thin face.

  "From the way you talk," he said, "I have a suspicion the deadlock won'tlast long. If I stretch my imagination a little I can guess pretty closeto the decision."

  Florence was sober a moment; then a smile flashed over her face and leftthe daintiest of dimples in either cheek.

  "Maybe you can," she said.

  For the second time they galloped ahead and caught up with the slowerbuckboard.

  "Florence," Ben threw one leg over the pommel of his saddle and facedhis companion squarely, "I've heard your mother talk, and of course Iunderstand why she wants to go back among her folks, but you were raisedhere. Why do you want to leave?"

  The girl hesitated, and ran her fingers through her horse's mane.

  "Mamma's been here against her will for a good many years. We ought togo for her sake."

  Ben made a motion of deprecation. "What I want to know is the realreason,--your own reason," he said.

  The warm blood flushed Florence's face. "By what right do you ask that?"she retorted. "You seem to forget that we've both grown up since we wentto school together."

  Ben looked calmly out over the prairie.

  "No, I don't forget; and I admit I have no right to ask. But I may askas a friend, I am sure. Why do you want to go?"

  Again the girl hesitated. Logically she should refuse to answer. To dootherwise was to admit that her first answer was an evasion; butsomething, an influence that always controlled her in Ben's presence,prevented refusal. Slow of speech, deliberate of movement as he was,there was about him a force that dominated her, even as she dominatedher parents, and, worst of all--to her inmost self she admitted thefact--it fascinated her as well. With all her strength she rebelledagainst the knowledge and combated the influence, but in vain. Insteadof replying, she chirruped to her horse. "It seems to me," she said,"it's just as well to begin hunting here as to go further. I'm going onahead to ask papa and Mr. Rankin."

  With a grave smile, Blair reached over and caught her bridle-rein,saying carelessly: "Pardon me, but you forget something you were goingto tell me."

  The girl's brown cheeks crimsoned anew, but this time there was nohesitation in her reply.

  "Very well, since you insist, I'll answer your question; but don't besurprised if I offend you." A dainty hand tugged at the loosened buttonof her riding-glove. "I'm going away, for one reason, because I want tobe where things move, and where I don't always know what is going tohappen to-morrow." She turned to her companion directly. "But most ofall, I'm going because I want to be among people who have ambitions, whodo things, things worth while. I am tired of just existing, like theanimals, from day to day. I was only a young girl when we were going toschool, but now I know why I liked that life so well. It was because ofthe intense activity, the constant movement, the competition, theevolution. I like it! I want to be a part of it!"

  "Thank you for telling me," said Ben, quietly.

  But now the girl was in no hurry to hasten on. She forgot that herexplanation was given under protest. It had become a confession.

  "Up to the last few years I never thought much about the future--I tookit for granted; but since then it has been different. Unconsciously,I've become a woman. All the little things that belong to women's lives,too small to tell, begin to appeal to me. I want to live in a good houseand have good clothes and know people. I want to go to shops andtheatres and concerts; all these things belong to me and I intend tohave them."

  "I think I understand," said Ben, slowly. "Yes, I'm sure I understand,"he repeated.

  But the girl did not heed him. "Last of all, there's another reason,"she went on. "I don't know why I shouldn't speak it, as well as thinkit, for it's the greatest of all. I'm a young woman. I won't remain suchlong. I don't want to be a spinster. I know I'm not supposed to saythese things, but why not? I want to meet men, men of my own class, myparents' class, men who know something besides the weight of a steer andthe value of a bronco,--some man I could respect and care for." Againshe turned directly to her companion. "Do you wonder I want to change,that I want to leave these prairies, much as I like them?"

  It was long before Ben Blair spoke. He scarcely stirred in his seat;then of a sudden, rousing, he threw his leg back over the saddle.

  "No," he said slowly
, "I don't wonder--looking at things your way. It'sall in the point of view. But perhaps yours is wrong, maybe you don'tthink of the other side of that life. There usually is another side toeverything, I've noticed." He glanced ahead. A half-mile on, theblackboard had stopped, and Scotty was standing up on the seat andmotioning the laggards energetically.

  "I think we'd better dust up a little. Your father seems to have strucksomething interesting."

  Florence seemed inclined to linger, but Scotty's waving cap wasinsistent, and they galloped ahead.

  They found Rankin sitting upon the wagon seat, smoking impassively asusual; but the Englishman was upon the ground holding the two hounds bythe collars. Behind the big compound lenses his eyes were twinklingexcitedly, and he was smiling like a boy.

  "Look out there!" he exclaimed with a jerk of his head, "over to thewest. We all but missed him! Are you ready?"

  They all looked and saw, perhaps thirty rods away, a grayish-whitejack-rabbit, distinct by contrast with the brown earth. The hounds hadalso caught sight of the game and pulled lustily at their collars.

  Instantly Florence was all excitement. "Of course we're ready! No, waita second, until I see about my saddle." She dismounted precipitately."Tighten the cinch a bit, won't you, Ben? I don't mind a tumble, but itmight interfere at a critical moment." She put her foot in his extendedhand, and sprang back into her seat. "Now, I'm ready. Come on, Ben! Letthem go, papa! Be in at the finish if you can!" and, a second behind thehounds, she was away. Simultaneously, the great jack-rabbit, scentingdanger, leaped forward, a ball of animate rubber, bounding farther andfarther as he got under full motion, speeding away toward the bluedistance.

  The chase that followed was a thing to live in memory. From the natureof the land, gently rolling to the horizon without an obstruction theheight of a man's hand, there was no possibility of escape for thequarry. The outcome was as mathematically certain as a problem inarithmetic; the only uncertain element was that of time. At first thejack seemed to be gaining, but gradually the greater endurance of thehounds began to count, and foot by foot the gap between pursuers andpursued lessened. In the beginning the rabbit ran in great leaps, asthough glorying in the speed that it would seem no other animal couldequal, but very soon his movements changed; his ears were flattenedtight to his head, and, with every muscle strained to the utmost, he ranwildly for his life.

  Meanwhile, the four hunters were following as best they might. In theall but soundless atmosphere, the rattle of the old buckboard could beheard a quarter of a mile. Alternately losing and gaining ground as theycut off angles and followed the diameter instead of the circumference ofthe great circles the rabbit described, the drivers were always withinsight. Closer behind the hounds and following the same course, Florencerode her thoroughbred like mad, with Ben Blair at her side. The pace wasterrific. The rush of the crisp morning air sang in their ears and cutkeenly at their faces. The tattoo of the horses' feet upon the hardearth was continuous. Beneath her riding-cap, the girl's hair wasloosened and swept free in the wind. Her color was high, her eyessparkled. Never before had the man at her side seen her so fair to gazeupon; but despite the excitement, despite the rush of action, there wasa jarring note in her beauty. Deep in his nature, ingrained, elemental,was the love of fair play. Though he was in the chase and a part of it,his sympathies were far from being with the hounds. That the girl shouldfavor the strong over the weak was something he could not understand--ablemish that even her beauty did not excuse.

  A quarter-hour passed. The sun rose from the lap of the prairie andscattered the frost-crystals as though they had been mist. The chase wasnear its end. All moved more slowly. A dozen times since they hadstarted, it seemed as if the hounds must soon catch their prey, that inanother second all would be over; but each time the rabbit had escaped,had at the last instant shot into the air, while the hounds rushedharmlessly beneath, and, ere they recovered, had gained a goodly leadagain in a new course. But now that time was past, and he was tired andweak. It was a straight-away race, with the hounds scarcely twenty feetbehind. Back of the latter, perhaps ten rods, were the riders, stillside by side as at first. Their horses were covered with foam andblowing steadily, but nevertheless they galloped on gallantly. Bringingup the rear, just in sight but now out of sound, was the buckboard. Thusthey approached the finish.

  Inch by inch the dogs gained upon the rabbit. Standing in his stirrups,Ben Blair, the seemingly stolid, watched the scene. The twenty feetlessened to eighteen, to fifteen, and, turning his head, the man lookedat his companion. Beautiful as she was, there now appeared to his eye anexpression of anticipation,--anticipation of the end, anticipation of adeath,--the death of a weaker animal!

  A determination which had been only latent became positive with Blair.He urged on his horse to the uttermost and sprang past his companion.His right hand went to his hip and lingered there. His voice rang outabove the sound of the horses' feet and of their breathing.

  "Hi, there, Racer, Pacer!" he shouted. "Come here!"

  There was no response from the hounds; no sign that they had heard him.They were within ten feet of the rabbit now, and no voice on earth couldhave stopped them.

  "Pacer! Racer!" shouted Ben. There was a pause, and then the quick barkof a revolver. A puff of dust arose before the nose of the leading dog.

  Again no response, only the steadily lessening distance.

  For a second Ben Blair hesitated; but it was for a second only. Florencewatched him, too surprised to speak, and saw what for a moment made herdoubt her own eyes. The hand that held the big revolver was raised,there was a report, then another, and the two dead hounds went tumblingover and over with their own momentum upon the brown prairie. Beyondthem the rabbit bounded away into distance and safety.

  Without a word Ben Blair drew rein, returned the revolver to itsholster, and came back to where the girl had stopped.

  "I beg your pardon," he said. "I'll pay you for the dogs, if you like."A pause and a straight glance from out the blue eyes. "I couldn't helpdoing what I did."

  Having in mind the look he had last seen upon the girl's face, heexpected an explosion of wrath; but he was destined to surprise. Therewas silence, instead, while two great tears gathered slowly in her softeyes, and brimmed over upon the brown cheeks.

  "I don't want you to pay for the dogs; I'm glad they're gone." Shebrushed back a straggling lock of hair. "It's a horrid sport, and I'llnever have anything to do with it again." A look that set the youth'sheart bounding shot out sideways from beneath the long lashes. "I'm veryglad you did--what you did."

  Just then the noisy old buckboard, with Rankin and Scotty clinging tothe seat, drove up and stopped short, with a protest from every joint ofthe ancient vehicle.