CHAPTER IV
AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH
Spring is already upon the prairie. The fur coat has already beenexchanged for the pea-jacket. No longer is the fur cap crushed down uponthe head and drawn over the ears until little more than the oval of theface is exposed to the elements; it is still worn occasionally, but nowit rests upon the head with the jaunty cant of an ordinary headgear.
The rough coated broncho no longer stands "tucked up" with the cold,with its hind-quarters towards the wind. Now he stands grazing on thepatches of grass which the melting snow has placed at his disposal. Thecattle, too, hurry to and fro as each day extends their field of fodder.When spring sets in in the great North-West it is with no show ofreluctance that grim winter yields its claims and makes way for itsgracious and all-conquering foe. Spring is upon everything with all thecharacteristic suddenness of the Canadian climate. A week--a littleseven days--and where all before had been cheerless wastes of snow andice, we have the promise of summer with us. The snow disappears as withthe sweep of a "chinook" in winter. The brown, saturated grass is tingedwith the bright emerald hue of new-born pasture. The bared trees donthat yellowish tinge which tells of breaking leaves. Rivers begin toflow. Their icy coatings, melting in the growing warmth of the sun,quickly returning once more to their natural element.
With the advent of spring comes a rush of duties to those whose interestare centered in the breeding of cattle. The Foss River Settlement isalready teeming with life. For the settlement is the center of the greatspring "round-up." Here are assembling the "cow-punchers" from all theoutlying ranches, gathering under the command of a captain (generally aman elected for his vast experience on the prairie) and making theirpreparations to scour the prairie east and west, north and south, to thevery limits of the far-reaching plains which spread their rollingpastures at the eastern base of the Rockies. Every head of cattle whichis found will be brought into the Foss River Settlement and thence willbe distributed to its lawful owners. This is but the beginning of thework, for the task of branding calves and re-branding cattle whosebrands have become obscured during the long winter months is a processof no small magnitude for those who number their stocks by tens ofthousands.
At John Allandale's ranch all is orderly bustle. There is no confusion.Under Jacky's administration the work goes on with a simple directnesswhich would astonish the uninitiated. There are the corrals to repairand to be put in order. Sheds and out-buildings to be whitewashed.Branding apparatus to be set in working order, fencing to be repaired,preparations for seeding to commence; a thousand and one things to beseen to; and all of which must be finished before the first "bands" ofcattle are rounded up into the settlement.
It is nearly a month since we saw this daughter of the prairie garbed inthe latest mode, attending the Polo Ball at Calford, and widelydifferent is her appearance now from what it was at the time of ourintroduction to her.
She is returning from an inspection of the wire fencing of the homepastures. She is riding her favorite horse, Nigger, up the gentle slopewhich leads to her uncle's house. There is nothing of the woman offashion about her now--and, perhaps, it is a matter not to be regretted.
She sits her horse with the easy grace of a childhood's experience. Herhabit, if such it can be called, is a "dungaree" skirt of a hardlyrecognizable blue, so washed out is it, surmounted by a beautifullybeaded buckskin shirt. Loosely encircling her waist, and resting uponher hips, is a cartridge belt, upon which is slung the holster of aheavy revolver, a weapon without which she never moves abroad. Her headis crowned by a Stetson hat, secured in true prairie fashion by a strapwhich passes under her hair at the back, while her beautiful hair itselffalls in heavy ringlets over her shoulders, and waves untrammelled inthe fresh spring breeze as her somewhat unruly charger gallops up thehill towards the ranch.
The great black horse was heading for the stable. Jacky leant over toone side and swung him sharply towards the house. At the veranda shepulled him up short. High mettled, headstrong as the animal was, he knewhis mistress. Tricks which he would often attempt to practice upon otherpeople were useless here--doubtless she had taught him that such was thecase.
The girl sprang, unaided, to the ground and hitched her picket rope to atying-post. For a moment she stood on the great veranda which ran downthe whole length of the house front. It was a one-storied,bungalow-shaped house, built with a high pitch to the roof and entirelyconstructed of the finest red pine-wood. Six French windows opened on tothe veranda. The outlook was westerly, and, contrary to the usualcustom, the ranch buildings were not overlooked by it. The corrals andstables were in the background.
She was about to turn in at one of the windows when she suddenlyobserved Nigger's ears cocked, and his head turned away towards theshimmering peaks of the distant mountains. The movement fixed herattention instantly. It was the instinct of one who lives in a countrywhere the eyes and ears of a horse are often keener and morefar-reaching than those of its human masters. The horse was gazing withstatuesque fixedness across a waste of partially-melted snow. A stretchof ten miles lay flat and smooth as a billiard-table at the foot of therise upon which the house was built. And far out across this the beastwas gazing.
Jacky shaded her eyes with her hand and followed the direction of thehorse's gaze. For a moment or two she saw nothing but the dazzling glareof the snow in the bright spring sunlight. Then her eyes becameaccustomed to the brilliancy, and far in the distance, she beheld ananimal peacefully moving along from patch to patch of bare grass,evidently in search of fodder.
"A horse," she muttered, under her breath. "Whose?"
She could find no answer to her monosyllabic inquiry. She realized atonce that to whomsoever it belonged its owner would never recover it,for it was grazing on the far side of the great "Muskeg," that mightybottomless mire which extends for forty miles north and south and whosenarrowest breadth is a span of ten miles. She was looking across it now,and innocent enough that level plain of terror appeared at that moment.And yet it was the curse of the ranching district, for, annually,hundreds of cattle met an untimely death in its cruel, absorbing bosom.
She turned away for the purpose of fetching a pair of field-glasses. Shewas anxious to identify the horse. She passed along the verandatowards the furthest window. It was the window of her uncle's office.Just as she was nearing it she heard the sound of voices coming fromwithin. She paused, and an ominous pucker drew her brows together. Herbeautiful dark face clouded. She had no wish to play the part of aneavesdropper, but she had recognized the voices of her uncle andLablache. She had also heard the mention of her own name. What woman,or, for that matter, man, can refrain from listening when they hear twopeople talking about them. The window was open; Jacky paused--andlistened.
Lablache's thick voice lolled heavily upon the brisk air.
"She is a good girl. But don't you think you are considering her futurefrom a rather selfish point of view, John?"
"Selfish?" The old man laughed in his hearty manner "Maybe you're right,though. I never thought of that. You see I'm getting old now. I can'tget around like I used to. Bless me, she's two-an'-twenty.Three-and-twenty years since my brother Dick--God rest hissoul!--married that half-breed girl, Josie. Yes, I guess you're right,she's bound to marry soon."
Jacky smiled a curious dark smile. Something told her why Lablache andher uncle were discussing her future.
"Why, of course she is," said Lablache, "and when that happy event isaccomplished I hope it will not be with any improvident--harum-scarumman like--like--"
"The Hon. Bunning-Ford I suppose you would say, eh?"
There was a somewhat sharp tone in the old man's voice which Jacky wasnot slow to detect.
"Well," went on Lablache, with one of those deep whistling breaths whichmade him so like an ancient pug, "since you mention him, for want of abetter specimen of improvidence, his name will do."
"So I thought--so I thought," laughed the old man. But his words rangstrangely. "Most people think," he went o
n, "that when I die Jacky willbe rich. But she won't."
"No," replied Lablache, emphatically.
There was a world of meaning in his tone.
"However, I guess we can let her hunt around for herself when she wantsa husband. Jacky's a girl with a head. A sight better head than I've goton my old shoulders. When she chooses a husband, and comes and tells meof it, she shall have my blessing and anything else I have to give. I'mnot going to interfere with that girl's matrimonial affairs, sir, notfor any one. That child, bless her heart, is like my own child to me. Ifshe wants the moon, and there's nothing else to stop her having it butmy consent, why, I guess that moon's as good as fenced in withtriple-barbed wire an' registered in her name in the Government LandOffice."
"And in the meantime you are going to make that same child work for herdaily bread like any 'hired man,' and keep company with any scoun--"
"Hi, stop there, Lablache! Stop there," thundered "Poker" John, andJacky heard a thud as of a fist falling upon the table. "You've takenthe unwarrantable liberty of poking your nose into my affairs, and,because of our old acquaintance, I have allowed it. But now let me tellyou this is no d----d business of yours. There's no make with Jacky.What she does, she does of her own accord."
At that moment the girl in question walked abruptly in from the veranda.She had heard enough.
"Ah, uncle," she said, smiling tenderly up into the old man's face,"talking of me, I guess. You shouted my name just as I was coming along.Say, I want the field-glasses. Where are they?"
Then she turned on Lablache as if she had only just become aware of hispresence.
"What, Mr. Lablache, you here? And so early, too. Guess this isn't likeyou. How is your store--that temple of wealth and high interest--to geton without you? How are the 'improvident'--'harum-scarums' to live ifyou are not present to minister to their wants--upon the best ofsecurity?" Without waiting for a reply the girl picked up the glassesshe was in search of and darted out, leaving Lablache glaring hisbilious-eyed rage after her.
"Poker" John stood for a moment a picture of blank surprise; then heburst into a loud guffaw at the discomfited money-lender. Jacky heardthe laugh and smiled. Then she passed out of earshot and concentratedher attention upon the distant speck of animal life.
The girl stood for some moments surveying the creature as it movedleisurely along, its nose well down amongst the roots of the tawnygrass, seeking out the tender green shoots of the new-born pasture. Thenshe closed her glasses and her thoughts wandered to other matters.
The gorgeous landscape was, for a moment, utterly lost upon her. Thesnowy peaks of the Rockies, stretching far as the eye could see away tothe north and south, like some giant fortification set up to defend therolling pastures of the prairies from the ceaseless attack of the stormyPacific Ocean, were far from her thoughts. Her eyes, it is true, wereresting on the level flat of the muskeg, beyond the grove of slenderpines which lined the approach to the house, but she was not thinking ofthat. No, recollection was struggling back through two years of a busylife, to a time when, for a brief space, she had watched over thewelfare of another than her uncle, when the dark native blood whichflowed plentifully in her veins had asserted itself, and a nature whichwas hers had refused to remain buried beneath a superficial Europeantraining. She was thinking of a man who had formed a secret part of herlife for a few short years, when she had allowed her heart to dictate acourse for her actions which no other motive but that of love could havebrought about. She was thinking of Peter Retief, a pretty scoundrel, arenowned "bad man," a man of wild and reckless daring. He had been theterror of the countryside. A cattle-thief who feared neither man nordevil; a man who for twelve months and more had carried, his life in hishands, the sworn enemy of law and order, but who, in his worst moments,had never been known to injure a poor man or a woman. The wild blood ofthe half-breed that was in her had been stirred, as only a woman's bloodcan be, by his reckless dealings, his courage, effrontery, and withalhis wondrous kindliness of disposition. She was thinking of this mannow, this man whom she knew to be numbered amongst the countless victimsof that dreadful mire. And what had conjured this thought? A horse--ahorse peacefully grazing far out across the mire in the direction of thedistant hills which she knew had once been this desperado's home.
Her train of recollection suddenly became broken, and a sigh escaped heras the sound of her uncle's voice fell upon her ears. She did not move,however, for she knew that Lablache was with him, and this man she hatedwith the fiery hatred only to be found in the half-breeds of any nativerace.
"I'm sorry, John, we can't agree on the point," Lablache was saying inhis wheezy voice, as the two men stood at the other end of the veranda,"but I'm quite determined Upon the matter myself. The land intersectsmine and cuts me clean off from the railway siding, and I am forced totake my cattle a circle of nearly fifteen miles to ship them. If hewould only be reasonable and allow a passage I would say nothing. I willforce him to sell."
"If you can," put in the rancher. "I reckon you've got chilled steel todeal with when you endeavor to 'force' old Joe Norton to sell the finestwheat land in the country."
At this point in the conversation three men came round from the back ofthe house. They were "cow" hands belonging to the ranch. They approachedJacky with the easy assurance of men who were as much companions asservants of their mistress. All three, however, touched theirwide-brimmed hats in unmistakable respect. They were clad in buckskinshirts and leather "chaps," and each had his revolver upon his hip. Thegirl lost the rest of the conversation between her uncle and Lablache,for her attention was turned to the men.
"Well?" she asked shortly, as the men stood before her.
One of the men, a tall, lank specimen of the dark-skinned prairiehalf-breed, acted as spokesman.
He ejected a squirt of tobacco juice from his great, dirty mouth beforehe spoke. Then with a curious backward jerk of the head he blurted out astream of Western jargon.
"Say, missie," he exclaimed in a high-pitched nasal voice, "it ain't nouse in talkin', ye kent put no tenderfoot t' boss the round-up. There'sthem all-fired Donoghue lot jest sent right in t' say, 'cause, I s'pose,they reckon as they're the high muck-i-muck o' this location, that thattarnation Sim Lory, thar head man, is to cap' the round-up. Why, heain't cast a blamed foot on the prairie sence he's been hyar. An' I'llswear he don't know the horn o' his saddle from a monkey stick. Et ain'tright, missie, an' us fellers t' work under him an' all."
His address came to an abrupt end, and he gave emphasis to his words bya prolonged expectoration. Jacky, her eyes sparkling with anger, wasquick to reply.
"Look you here, Silas, just go right off and throw your saddle on yourpony--"
"Guess it's right thar, missie," the man interrupted.
"Then sling off as fast as your plug can lay foot to the ground, andgive John Allandale's compliments to Jim Donoghue and say, if they don'tsend a capable man, since they've been appointed to find the 'captain,'he'll complain to the Association and insist on the penalty beingenforced. What, do they take us for a lot of 'gophers'? Sim Lory,indeed; why, he's not fit to prise weeds with a two tine hay fork."
The men went off hurriedly. Their mistress's swift methods of dealingwith matters pleased them. Silas was more than pleased to be able to geta "slant" (to use his own expression) at his old enemy, Sim Lory. As themen departed "Poker" John came and stood beside his niece.
"What's that about Sim Lory, Jacky?"
"They've sent him to run this 'round-up.'"
"And?"
"Oh, I just told them it wouldn't do," indifferently.
Old John smiled.
"In those words?"
"Well, no, uncle," the girl said with a responsive smile. "But theyneeded a 'jinning' up. I sent the message in your name."
The old man shook his head, but his indulgent smile remained.
"You'll be getting me into serious trouble with that impetuosity ofyours, Jacky," he said absently. "But there--I daresay you know best."
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br /> His words were characteristic of him. He left the entire control of theranch to this girl of two-and-twenty, relying implicitly upon herjudgment in all things. It was a strange thing to do, for he was still avigorous man. To look at him was to make oneself wonder at the reason.But the girl accepted the responsibility without question. There was asubtle sympathy between uncle and niece. Sometimes Jacky would gaze upinto his handsome old face and something in the twitching cheek, thecuriously-shaped mouth, hidden beneath the gray mustache, would causeher to turn away with a sigh, and, with stimulated resolution, hurlherself into the arduous labors of managing the ranch. What she read inthat dear, honest face she loved so well she kept locked in her ownsecret heart, and never, by word or act, did she allow herself to betrayit. She was absolute mistress of the Foss River Ranch and she knew it.Old "Poker" John, like the morphine "fiend," merely continued to keep uphis reputation and the more fully deserve his sobriquet. His mind, hischaracter, his whole being was being slowly but surely absorbed in thelust of gambling.
The girl laid her hand upon the old man's arm.
"Uncle--what was Lablache talking to you about? I mean when I came forthe field-glasses."
"Poker" John was gazing abstractedly into the dense growth of pineswhich fringed the house. He pulled himself together, but his eyes had inthem a far-away look.
"Many things," he replied evasively.
"Yes, I know, dear, but," bending her face while she removed one of herbuckskin gauntlets from her hand, "I mean about me. You twowere-discussing me, I know."
She turned her keen gray eyes upon her relative as she finishedspeaking. The old man turned away. He felt that those eyes were readinghis very soul. They made him uncomfortable.
"Oh, he said I ought not to let you associate with certain people."
"Why?" The sharp question came with the directness of a pistol-shot.
"Well, he seemed to think that you might think of marrying."
"Ah, and--"
"He seemed to fancy that you, being impetuous, might make a mistake andfall--"
"In love with the wrong man. Yes, I understand; and from his point ofview, if ever I do marry it will undoubtedly be the wrong man."
And the girl finished up with a mirthless laugh.
They stood for some moments in silence. They were both thinking. Thenoise from the corrals behind the house reached them. The steady drip,drip of the water from the melting snow upon the roof of the housesounded loudly as it fell on the sodden ground beneath.
"Uncle, did it ever strike you that that greasy money-lender wants tomarry me himself?"
The question startled John Allandale more than anything else could havedone. He turned sharply round and faced his niece.
"Marry you, Jacky?" he repeated. "I never thought of it."
"It isn't to be supposed that you would have done so."
There was the faintest tinge of bitterness in the girl's answer.
"And do you really think that he wants to marry you?"
"I don't know quite. Perhaps I am wrong, uncle, and my imagination hasrun away with me. Yes, I sometimes think he wants to marry me."
They both relapsed into silence. Then her uncle spoke again.
"Jacky, what you have just said has made something plain to me which Icould not understand before. He came and gave me--unsolicited, mind--"alittle eagerly, "a detailed account of Bunning-Ford's circumstances,and--"
"Endeavored to bully you into sending him about his business. Poor oldBill! And what was his account of him?"
The girl's eyes were glowing with quickly-roused passion, but she keptthem turned from her uncle's face.
"He told me that the boy had heavy mortgages on his land and stock. Hetold me that if he were to realize to-morrow there would be little ornothing for himself. Everything would go to some firm in Calford. Inshort, that he has gambled his ranch away."
"And he told this to you, uncle, dear." Then the girl paused and lookedfar out across the great muskeg. In her abrupt fashion she turned againto the old man. "Uncle," she went on, "tell me truly, do you oweanything to Lablache? Has he any hold upon you?"
There was a world of anxiety in her voice as she spoke. John Allandaletried to follow her thought before he answered. He seemed to graspsomething of her meaning, for in a moment his eyes took on an expressionof pain. Then his words came slowly, as from one who is not sure of whathe is saying.
"I owe him some--money--yes--but--"
"Poker?"
The question was jerked viciously from the girl's lips.
"Yes."
Jacky turned slowly away until her eyes rested upon the distant, grazinghorse. A strange restlessness seemed to be upon her. She was fidgetingwith the gauntlet which she had just removed. Then slowly her right handpassed round to her hip, where it rested upon the butt of her revolver.There was a tight drawnness about her lips and her keen gray eyes lookedas though gazing into space.
"How much?" she said at last, breaking the heavy silence which hadfollowed upon her uncle's admission. Then before he could answer shewent on deliberately: "But there--I guess it don't cut any figure.Lablache shall be paid, and I take it his bill of interest won't amountto more than we can pay if we're put to it. Poor old Bill!"
The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest Page 4
