CHAPTER XXXII
CHETWOOD UNMASKED
As Angus drove homeward he was at first unable to adjust himself toactuality. He had given up all hope of retaining the ranch. The wrenchof loss had been over. But now the ranch was his again, subject to thedebt already existing, to keep if he chose.
But he realized that it would be folly to retain it as a ranch, torefuse a proposition which McGinity had just made amounting to afifty-fifty partnership with the Airline in the project of a townsite.Again, no matter what his individual preference, he must think ofothers. In reality, his own individual interest in the ranch amounted tobut one-third. Sooner or later there must be a division--an adjustmentof shares between Jean, Turkey and himself. In justice to them he couldnot refuse an offer which promised more than he could ever hope to makeor receive for the ranch as a ranch.
And so the ranch, as a ranch, was done. Its broad fields and pasturesand broad stretches of timbered levels would be broken up, surveyed intobuilding lots, pegged out with stakes, gridironed with embryonicstreets. For a while it would lie raw, unsightly, ruined as a ranch,unmade as a town. And then people would come in. Shacks would spring up,stores with false fronts, all sorts of makeshifts which accompanyconstruction days. Later would come permanence, better buildings,churches, schools, gardens, sidewalks. Where the Ranch had been wouldstand the Town. It was Progress, the history of the West since the firststeel road adventured among the ancient buffalo trails. The old orderwas changing, but he, though young, was more of the old order than thenew, because he had been bred in the former.
Faith touched his arm lightly.
"Tell me I'm awake. It seems like a dream."
He put his arm around her and she snuggled in the crook of it, leaningcomfortably against his shoulder. He pulled the team to a walk.
"Now say it yourself."
"Say what? How _did_ you know I wanted to say something? But it'snothing particular. It's just--everything!"
"It's sure a surprise to me. Why, only yesterday I hinted to Chetwoodthat it was doubtful if he could support a wife--and to-day he bids inmy whole ranch." He laughed, but with little mirth, for the sense ofobligation lay heavy on him.
"I wonder if Jean knew?"
"I don't think so. Why, she wanted him to homestead--said he'd have tomake good before she'd marry him."
"Jean is so practical!" sighed his wife. "Now I'd never have saidanything like that to _you_. I'm glad that Braden didn't get the ranch.Odious beast!" Angus chuckled. "Well, he _is_!"
"Easily! I never happened to think of that particular descriptivephrase, though."
"I don't want to hear _your_ descriptive phrases. He's a horrible man. Ishudder when he looks at me. He--he seems to be thinking evil thingsabout me--plotting--Oh, I don't know. Did you see his face when he sawthat he would be overbidden? It turned white, and then _green_. Oh, youmay laugh! I _saw_ it."
"It was a jolt for him. He had it working like an oiled lock up to then.Some day I will play even with him."
"He didn't accomplish his end. He's beneath your notice."
"No man who tried to hand me what he did is beneath my notice," he saidgrimly. "Yes, I'll settle with him some day."
"I thought I might see your brother at the sale."
"No, he wouldn't go near it. I'll be glad when I can hand him over hisshare to do what he likes with."
"It's odd that I've never seen him. Why don't you make it up with him,Angus?"
Angus' mouth tightened grimly. "Make it up! Now, I'll tell yousomething, Faith, which you must never repeat, even to Jean: I believehe is in cahoots with Braden."
"Oh, surely not!" she cried, and when he told her the grounds of hisbelief she was unconvinced. "There's some mistake, Angus."
"It's not on my part. I'm through with him--except to give him hisshare. He shall have that, to the last cent. He shall not say I did notplay fair with him."
"You would play fair with every one," she told him. "I know that."
His arm tightened for an instant by way of acknowledgment. But he foundher words only just. To the best of his ability he had tried to playfair all his life. On that score he could not reproach himself at all.
They drove up to the ranch, and at the sound of wheels Jean ran out. Shehad been waiting, regretting that she had not accompanied them, anxiousto know the worst and have it over.
"Well, dear!" said Faith tantalizingly.
"You know what. Who bought the ranch? Was it Braden?"
"No," Faith replied, "it was a young man named Chetwood."
"Wha-a-t!" cried Jean in tones which left no doubt of her utteramazement. "Oh, stop joking! This is serious."
"He bought it," Angus assured her.
"But--but he _couldn't_!" Jean exclaimed incredulously. "Angus, you knowhe couldn't. Why he's _broke_! He's working for you for _wages_."
"Just what the old sheriff said," Angus laughed. "But it's straight,Jean. He bid the ranch in for twenty-four thousand."
"But where did he get the money?"
"I don't know. But he had it."
"Then," Jean flashed, "I'll never speak to him again--never! To buy theranch, your ranch, our ranch--at a sale! Oh, the miserable,contemptible--"
"Hi, hold on!" Angus interrupted. "You don't understand. He didn't buyit for himself; he bought it in for us--to save it. He's a white man,all right, Jean."
"I don't care what he bought the ranch for!" Jean cried. "And he's _not_a white man. He's a sneak. He deceived me. He said his remittance hadstopped. He let me make a fool of myself advising him to homestead andget a place of his own, and work hard, so that--so that--"
"So that you could be married!" Angus chuckled.
"Ye--yes," Jean confessed, and her brother roared. "Oh, you think itfunny, do you? Well, _he_ won't. I never want to see him. I _won't_ seehim."
"But, Jean dear, listen," Faith put in, for she saw that to Jean therewas nothing humorous in the situation. The girl was deeply offended,bitterly angry.
"I don't want to listen," Jean snapped. "I don't want to be rude, Faith,but he--he _lied_ to me. He led me to believe that he was poor, that hehadn't a dollar. He was playing with me, amusing himself, laughing at mewhen I was--oh, I can't talk about it!"
"Oh, shucks, old girl!" said Angus. "You're going into the air aboutnothing. You ought to be glad he isn't broke."
"Ought I?" Jean retorted. "Well, I'm not. He wasn't straight with me, hewasn't fair. He talked about a little cottage, and wanted me to marryhim right away, and--and--"
"And share his poverty," Angus grinned. "Weren't you game, sis?"
"Angus!" Faith warned. But Jean's cheeks flamed.
"No, I wasn't," she replied bitterly. "I told him he would have to makegood first, if you want to know, not because I didn't love him, poor asI thought he was, but because I thought it would make him work inearnest. Can you understand that, Angus Mackay? Do you think, aftertelling him that, I'd marry him now that he has money? I'd rather _die_!And--and I half believe I want to."
With which tragic ultimatum Miss Jean turned and fled. Angus gaped afterher and at his wife.
"Well, of all darn fool girls--" he exclaimed.
"You don't understand. You made it worse."
"Why, what did I--"
"Never mind now. I'll talk to her after a while, but in her place I'dfeel much the same. I only hope she will get over it."
"Of course she will. Rot! She fooled herself about Chetwood, same as Idid. Go and make her behave sensibly."
"You don't know a blessed thing about girls," his wife told him.
"Well, I'll bet if you let the two of them get together they'll make itup. She'll go for him red-headed for five minutes, then it'll be over."
But Faith vetoed this simple plan. She saw that Jean's pride had beendeeply hurt. When Chetwood appeared, later, he met the surprise of hisyoung life. He did not see Jean. Faith took the matter into her ownhands.
"But--but, hang it," he exclaimed when the situation was made clear tohim, "it'
s all a beastly, rotten misunderstanding. I mean to say it'sall wrong. Jean--why, bless the girl, I never dreamed of offending her."
"But you've done it. Do you mind answering one or two questions?"
"I'll tell you anything," Chetwood replied with fervor.
"Well--they may be impertinent. Have you much money? And is it yours,or--remittances?"
"'Much money' is rather a relative term. But I have enough to live on,and it is mine."
"Then what on earth made you work as a ranch hand?"
"Jean did. She had a strong prejudice against remittance men, and sheclassed me as one of them. I was an idler, and she rather despised me.Of course she didn't tell me so, but I could see how the land lay. So Imade up my mind to remove that objection, anyway. The best place to doit seemed to be where she could see me working, and I really wanted toknow something about ranching. Struck me as a good joke, being paid forwhat I was perfectly willing to pay for myself. Then I thought I mightas well live up to the part and really throw myself on my own resources,which I did. I've been living on my wages. But of course I had to havesome adequate explanation. I couldn't tell Angus I wanted to live on theranch to make love to his sister. Now, could I? So I merely let it beunderstood that my remittances had stopped. May not have been exactlycricket, but I can't see that I'm very much to blame. If I could seeJean--"
"Not now. She refused to marry you till you were in a position tosupport a wife. That's the bitter part of it."
"But I _am_ able to support one."
"Yes, but don't you see having refused to marry you until you had made alittle money she won't put herself in the position of doing so now forfear you or somebody might think the money had something to do with it."
Chetwood took his bewildered head in his hands.
"O, my sainted Aunt Jemima!" he murmured. "In the picturesque languageof the country this sure beats--er--I mean it's a bit too thick for me.She didn't approve of me because I was an idler and presumably aremittance man. Very well. I cut off my income and became a hired man.Then she wouldn't marry me because I was. Now she won't see me or speakto me because I'm not. Kind lady, having been a girl yourself, will youplease tell me what I am to do about it?"
Faith laughed at his woebegone countenance. "The whole trouble is thatyou weren't frank with her. What was play to you--a good joke--was themost serious thing in life to her. While she was considering andplanning in earnest for the future you were laughing at her. Perhaps aman can't appreciate it; but a woman finds such things hard to forgive."
"I'll apologize," Chetwood said. "I'll eat crow. Mrs. Angus, like anangel, do help me with the future Lady Chet--er--I mean--"
"What!" Faith cried.
"Oh, Lord!" Chetwood ejaculated, "there go the beans. Nothing, nothing!I don't know what I'm saying, really!"
"Don't you dare to deceive me!" Faith admonished sternly. "LadyChetwood! What do you mean?"
"But it's not my fault," the luckless young man protested. "I can't helpit. It's hereditary. When the old boy died--"
"What old boy?"
"My uncle, Sir Eustace. I was named after him. And I couldn't help_that_."
"Do you mean to tell me," Faith accused him severely, "that on top ofall your deceptions you have a title? Oh, Jean will never forgive this!"
"But it's not much of a title," its owner palliated. "It's just a littleold one. Nothing gaudy about it, like these new brewers'. It'sconsidered quite respectable, really, at home, and nobody objects.It--it runs in the family, like red hair or--er--insanity."
"Insanity!" Faith gasped. "Good heavens, is there _that_? Oh, poor Jean!That explains--"
"No, no!" Chetwood protested desperately. "I didn't mean that. Quite thecontrary. Not a trace. Why, dash it all, there isn't even genius!"
Whereat, with a wild shriek, Faith collapsed weakly in her chair andlaughed until she wept. "Oh, oh, oh!" she gasped feebly, wiping hereyes, "this is lovely--I mean it's awful. Mr. Chetwood--I mean SirEustace--"
"'Bill!'" the object of her mirth amended. "Poor Bill. Poor old Bill!Dear, kind, pretty lady, have a heart!"
"A heart! If it gets any more shocks like this--But what am I to tellJean? Here's a poor country girl and a noble knight--"
"Don't rub it in. You see Sir Eustace was alive when I came over here.When I heard of his death I said nothing to anybody, because there are alot of silly asses who seem to think a title makes some difference in aman. And then I was afraid some beastly newspaper would print some rotabout my working as a ranch hand."
"Well, I don't know what's to be done about it," Faith admitted; "but Ido know that now isn't the time for you to see Jean. Really, I think thebest thing you can do is to go away for a week or two."
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