by Zane Grey
“Please don’t,” implored Virginia.
“Lass you made it easy for me,” said Mrs. Forrest, quaveringly. “Bless you!”
“Mother, not so long ago this tall dignified young woman was a red-headed tomboy with bare legs,” said Clifton.
“Laws — a — me, Cliff, she was indeed,” replied his mother, with a sigh. “She’s changed like everything.”
“My heart hasn’t changed,” returned Virginia, her cheeks hot.
“Virginia Lundeen, come closer,” commanded Clifton, “so I can see in your eyes...Do you know what your father did to my father?”
His query, sharp though it was, had nothing of the confounding quality of his accusing, soul-searching gaze.
“Clifton, I know nothing — nothing at all about what happened between my dad and yours,” she protested, wildly conscious of her inability to maintain composure. “I’ve been away most of the time since it happened.”
Forrest did not answer for several moments. He appeared to be lost in some mood of introspection. Then he said, quietly, almost matter-of-factly, “We’re ruined — penniless — and I’ve come home to die.”
“Oh, don’t say that last — don’t!” cried Virginia, entreatingly. “Say you will live! — You must not — you cannot give up now — and leave them alone, when they most need you...Clifton, you lived to get home!”
“My son, prayer and hope and will are mighty,” added his mother, fervently.
“Oh, Clifton, that is the spirit!” went on Virginia, eloquently. “You stood it all to get home. Now stand it all and more — to get well...And let me help you. I — I have more money than I know what to do with. If you will only let me make it easy for you — till you’re strong again!”
“Do you imagine I could take money from a girl whose father robbed mine?” demanded Forrest.
“Robbed! — Oh, that’s not true,” she returned, hotly. “You are unstrung. You speak wildly. My father might have been hard, unforgiving to your father, who was hard, too. But dishonest — no. I couldn’t believe it — and — and you must apologize.”
Heavy footfalls on the porch outside stopped Virginia’s lips. The door jarred — opened wide to disclose a tall man with upstanding, grizzled hair like the mane of a lion. Virginia knew him, though four years had passed since her last glimpse of this rugged face, gray like a stone, with eyes of burning jet that transfixed her.
“Mr. Forrest,” said Virginia, brave at the sight of him, “I’m Virginia Lundeen...Clifton came up to my — to Cottonwoods by mistake. And as he needed assistance, I — I brought him down.”
Forrest inclined his head, as if in forced acknowledgment, and his hand swept toward the open door, dismissing her from a roof that could not harbor a Lundeen.
Virginia fled. And as she reached the porch she heard his booming voice:
“Howdy, prodigal son! So the war drove you home to dad?”
Chapter Four
PERHAPS SOME OF Virginia’s breathlessness, when she reached the car, was due to haste; however, a little hurry could hardly have been responsible for her scarlet face.
“Ginia, what’d the old devil do?” demanded Ethel, bridling.
“He deigned me — a grand gesture of dismissal,” panted Virginia as she flounced into the car. “Take us back, driver.”
“Didn’t he say anything?”
“Not a word. I was dirt — in his house — and his hand swept me out.”
“After all your kindness? Mean of him! — Ginia, he was as nice as pie at first. Regular old beau. Not so old, either, and he’s sure handsome. I didn’t know what to say. But I jollied him along till he asked who was calling. Then I got fussed. I was afraid you’d come out. I spilled the beans all right. He turned as white as a sheet. It was good I wasn’t the one to tell Clifton’s mother. I felt sorry for him. Then when I got to Clifton’s mistake, going to your house, and your bringing him down here — whew! Oh, my!...Come to think it over, I don’t really believe he meant to curse us. Probably it was the rotten luck of it.”
“I wouldn’t put him above it.”
“But if he loves Clifton?...Pretty tough on Clifton, don’t you think?”
“Sickening to me. What must it have been to him?...But, oh, Ethel, he’s game! You should have seen him!”
“Tell me.”
“There’s not much to tell, really. But what there was of it will do this little lady for a spell...I must have been some time waiting. Ethel, I used to peel potatoes on that very porch. Hated it. And there I stood — and inside there he...Well, his mother asked me in presently. She looked beautiful. And Clifton lay on the couch. His face was wet with tears. I had an insane desire to kiss them away.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Ethel!...Well, Clifton said they were ruined, penniless, and he’d come home to die. That broke me all up. I — I don’t know just what I said, Ethel, but I told him that he had to live. And his mother spoke the same way. And by the expression in his face, I guessed the idea was taking hold...I wish I had come away then. But I didn’t, and he asked me to come close and he looked through me as if I’d been an inch of crystal water. And he asked me if I knew my father had robbed his. That upset me more, in a different way. I was raving when his father came in. Then my courage went to my boots. He left the door open, bowed to me as if I were a rich duchess and he a poor peasant, with the pride all on his side. And you bet I beat it.”
Ethel laid her head on Virginia’s shoulder in an eloquent silence. The car was now rolling down into the valley, which spread out fan-shaped, a green, triangularly cut gem in a bold bronze setting. The silver sunlight glanced dazzlingly off the stream. The freshness and beauty of spring took hold of Virginia’s senses, but she was conscious of a stultifying change in her reception of them. Something, like a black cloud spreading over a blue sky, had come between her and the joy of her return, the pride in her beautiful home.
“Ginia,” murmured Ethel, dreamily, “you’ll fall in love with Clifton Forrest.”
“I would if it’d help him get well,” flashed Virginia, unreckoning. Then she was appalled at a reply which had not emanated from her thoughtful self.
“You’ve fallen already,” went on Ethel, bent on completing her case.
“Ethel, you’re a sentimental little idiot,” declared Virginia, impatiently.
“Well, darling, if you don’t fall in love with Clifton, I will.”
“Ethel Wayne! I’ll pack you back home to Denver, and never ask you here again.”
“You’ve asked me for two months. You can’t go back on that. And, honey, you’ve likely forgotten how much I can do in little time.”
“Do be serious, Ethel. This — this thing has made me unhappy.”
“I am serious. And I wouldn’t give a hoot for you if you weren’t unhappy. But, Ginia, you’re as cold as a fish. All our Western boy friends say as much, anyhow. Who’d ever think you were born in the South? You slip into a Southern accent once in a while — just enough to make me want more, but as for Southern love and passion, why, you’re simply not there.”
“Ethel, it strikes me you’re not paying the Southern girls much of a compliment. And your own mother came from Louisiana.”
“I sure am. Love, anyway, is the only thing in the world.”
“You speak from a wide experience — that is, deario, if by flirtation you mean love.”
“Is that so? You’ve got a pair of eyes yourself. Don’t be a prune, Virginia. Be a good sport, as you always used to be. You’ve toddled home from the East for good, so you say. You’ve certainly been away long enough. And you’ve sure skidded into a rotten mess. Well, there’s only one thing you can do, if you’re a thoroughbred. And Heaven knows that’s your middle name.”
“Very good, wise little monitor. What is the only thing I can do?”
“Help this poor almost destroyed Clifton. Love him back to hope and strength. Give him yourself, for all he’s lost.”
“Ethel, you sound like a book
. But all the same you hurt...If Clifton doesn’t despise me now, his father’s hate of all Lundeens will soon make him.”
“Fiddlesticks! You talk like a ninny! It needs only one to start a love-affair, especially if it’s the girl.”
“You shameless child!” retorted Virginia, driven to heat. “Would you have me throw myself into Clifton’s arms?”
“Sure Mike,” coolly replied this tantalizing friend. “Soon as he is strong enough to hold you.”
The car stopped, and Virginia looked up to see they had arrived at Cottonwoods. She gave Ethel a significant little push.
“I’m glad that’s over — and your mushy talk, too,” she declared. “Here we are home. And I’m reminded I have a house party, worse luck.”
Ethel let out a little peal of silvery laughter. “It’s coming to you, Ginia, old girl. I always said so. You’re too darned pretty and fascinating and good and rich and lucky.”
Virginia’s mother met the girls as they entered the house. No one else was in evidence, which fact afforded Virginia some ease. She certainly did not want to meet her father just then.
“Dear, you shouldn’t have disobeyed your father,” said Mrs. Lundeen, reprovingly. She was a woman whose handsome, stately presence failed to hide the travail of earlier years.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t,” rejoined Virginia, with resignation. “But, mother, I don’t always do what I should...Has the baggage come from the station?”
“Yes. And your guests are all settled in their rooms. Ethel is to share yours.”
“I’ll need a maid.”
“You may have Juanita. She speaks English, and is the best of the lot. All our help is Mexican. It doesn’t please me any too well. But Malpass runs the ranch.”
“Malpass?” echoed Virginia, puzzled.
“Augustine Malpass. You remember him, don’t you?’
“The name, but not the man.”
“He is your father’s partner, formerly superintendent. But he still superintends, as you will see. I advise you to remember him.”
There seemed more in her mother’s words than a hint not to displease her father. But Virginia made no reply, and led Ethel through the magnificent patio, shaded by the single great cottonwood around which the house had been built. Tinkle of flowing water and fragrance of flowers attested to the luxuriance of this walled-in garden. Virginia’s rooms were located in the west wing, overlooking the beautiful valley of cottonwoods and the vast sloping stretches of desert and range, and the purple mountains dim and far away.
Ethel threw off her hat and coat, then flung her arms round Virginia’s neck.
“You know I love you, Ginia?” she asked, in manner far removed from the recent tormenting one.
“Why, of course, you goose!” replied Virginia, heartily returning embrace and kiss.
“I’m not serious often, but I am now,” went on Ethel. “Ginia, I’m something of a mystic in spells.”
“You certainly are mysterious on occasions. Now what’s troubling you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s this tremendous overshadowing Spanish house. But it makes me say I’m no ordinary friend of yours. I don’t care a hang for your riches or your favors. I do care, though, for you, very, very much. And if you fell upon evil days — then you’d know me best.”
“Evil days? For me!”
Ethel nodded her blond head, like a bright-eyed bird: “I’ve got a queer feeling you might. And it’s not in my little toe, either.”
Virginia gave her a hug. “You adorable wretch! Don’t come any more of your psychic stuff on me...But, Ethel dear, you are my best friend — my only intimate friend. I shall never forget your loyalty. But let me — help me to forget this — this that happened today. Oh, it goes so deep and so far back. I’m afraid — —”
“So am I, but don’t forget. Not — —”
Virginia stopped her lips with a kiss. “Come, we must unpack. Look at the trunks — and the bags!...And here’s more in this room. While we unpack, honey, we’ll talk. We have a houseful for a week, then, thank goodness, I’ll have you alone for a time — till June, when the mob comes. Then we will eat and drink and smoke and dance and flirt — and ride, ride, ride. Dad has the finest horses in the West, and he loves to show off and spend money.”
“Drink and smoke and flirt?” queried Ethel, with thoughtful softness. “Since when have you acquired these habits?”
“I haven’t yet, but I shall. Then we’ll ride, ride, ride right into a couple of husbands,” replied Virginia, recklessly, and she threw her hat aloft.
“Thanks. But I’ll choose mine,” said Ethel, demurely. “I’ve just about picked him. He’s pretty young yet and callow. Needs training, which he’s getting unknown to himself.”
“Ethel Wayne! — You’ve never told me.”
“Well, we never got thick enough until today.”
“Tell me who he is. I’ll telegraph him to come on,” said Virginia, eagerly.
“Indeed not! Do you think I’ll risk that precious lad with you? Not now, you lovely, rich, mad creature. Some day, maybe, when I have him corralled. Meanwhile, this riding for husbands, as you so elegantly put it, narrows down to you and — —”
“Shut up!” screamed Virginia, “or I will be a mad creature.”
The entrance of a maid put an end to possible hostilities.
“Señorita, I come. It is Juanita.”
Luncheon brought Virginia’s guests together, a merry half dozen, all Western people, among whom was Ethel’s mother. Some of these had assembled at the station to welcome Virginia home, and she had whisked them off to Cottonwoods for a week-end.
Virginia noted the absence of her father, and of his partner, Mr. Malpass, who, she understood, shared the hospitality of the house more as one of the family than as a guest. She had tried several times to place this individual in memory, and to establish clearly in her mind why his name had significance.
“If you all don’t mind, let’s go out to see the horses,” suggested Virginia, at the conclusion of luncheon.
A yelp of delight went up from the young people. The Lundeen horses were famous, and Virginia assured her friends that as horseback-riding was a passion with her, they were all invited to choose any mount they liked, and keep up with her, or ride when and where they chose.
“Ha! Ha! Catch her on a horse!” laughed Richard Fenton. “I’d like to see any of you try it. She’s a vaquero.”
“Virginia, don’t, for mercy’s sake, lead us after the staghounds,” implored Ethel. “That last jack rabbit chase was a nightmare.”
“Fine Westerners you two are! I dare say I’ll have to rely on the cow-punchers for company. But you forget. I haven’t been in a saddle for over two years. Do you think I’d be leaving you in the dust?”
“I’ll bet two bits you would.”
On the way down to the stables Fenton contrived by strategy and a little force to draw Virginia behind the others, and he proposed to her.
“Dick Fenton! I’ve been home just half a day and you begin that again!” exclaimed Virginia, in plaintive consternation.
“Sure,” he said, with complacence. “I want to get my bid in first.”
“Why the rush?”
“Virginia, your father recently made a crack in the Castaneda that has gone the rounds. He bragged he intended to marry you off quick.”
“He did? Well, how funny!” returned Virginia, merrily. But the gossip was more thought-provoking than humorous.
“It’s not funny to me. I’ve found out a number of things. Your father’s big money comes from his phosphate mines in the South. Well, August Malpass is in on every deal Lundeen makes. They’re as thick as hops. Now, Virginia, you’ve been away, on and off, since you were sixteen. You don’t know things. And I want to tip you off pronto. Malpass was never well thought of. My father knows something shady about him. It’s common gossip that Malpass engineered the deals for Lundeen which ruined Clay Forrest. And to come to the point, everybody believes
— indeed, I have a jealous lover’s certainty of it — that Lundeen intends Malpass to be the lucky man.”
“Ridiculous!” burst out Virginia, but her lips were tight. What kind of an intrigue had she come home to? This linked up with her mother’s vague intimation. And suddenly she was realizing that since she had come to call Cottonwoods home, for nearly five years she had been packed off here and there to schools, and finally abroad. During that period her father had come to be almost the stranger he now seemed. She had attributed that to success, money, and the power these controlled, which he had always worshiped.
“Virginia, I am most darned glad to hear that,” Fenton was saying, fervently. “What’s your answer to my offer?”
“No, you wild and sudden Westerner,” answered Virginia. “But if you’re so serious, I’ll be serious...Thank you, Dick, for the honor you do me. I appreciate it, but I must decline. And I have only the same old excuse.”
“Reckon I expected it,” he said, cheerfully. “But I’ve started again and I’ll soon get in the habit...Hold on now! Just one more word. Suppose it’s true. You can’t marry Malpass. He calls himself part Spanish, but he’s sure half greaser.”
“Suppose what’s true, Dick?”
“That Lundeen would want you to marry Malpass.”
“Why do you always call my father Lundeen?”
“Pardon. Everybody calls him that.”
“Well, Dick, in that case, if I couldn’t outwit them, I might have to flee to you for protection,” she replied, archly.
“Devil!”
Virginia ran on ahead to escape him. “Ethel, hang on to me,” she begged with a laugh.
“Heavens!” rejoined Ethel, locking arms with hers. “Dick has gone and done it already. Poor simp!”
They entered the zone of barns and corrals, all new to Virginia, and the place appeared to be overrun by Mexicans.
“Isn’t there a cowboy on the place?” queried Virginia, impatiently.
“Virginia I used to be a plumb good one,” spoke up Mark Ashbridge, who was escorting Ethel’s mother. “Want to hire me?”
“What wages?”
