The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XI

  THE CAMPAIGN OPENS

  The summit of a hill, however insignificant its altitude, is always aninspiring vantage point from which to survey the surrounding world.There is a briskness of atmosphere on a hilltop which is inspiriting tothe most jaded of faculties; there is a sparkling vitality in the breathof the morning air which must ever make life a joy and the world seem aninexpressible delight in which it is the acme of happiness to dwell.

  The exigencies of prairie life demand the habit of early rising, andmore often does the tiny human atom, which claims for its home the vasttracts of natural pasture, gaze upon the sloth of the orb of day thandoes that glorious sphere smile down upon a sleeping world.

  Far as the eye can reach stretch the mighty wastes of waving grass--theundulating plains of ravishing verdure. What breadth of thought mustthus be inspired in one who gazes out across the boundless expanse atthe glories of a perfect sunrise? How insignificant becomes the pettyaffairs of man when gazing upon the majesty of God's handiwork. Howutterly inconceivable becomes the association of evil with suchtranscendently beautiful creation? Surely no evil was intended to lurkin the shadow of so much simple splendor.

  And yet does the ghastly specter of crime haunt the perfect plains, themajestic valleys, the noiseless, inspiring pine woods, the glistening,snow-capped hills. And so it must remain as long as the battle of lifecontinues undecided--so long as the struggle for existence endures.

  The Hon. Bunning-Ford rose while yet the daylight was struggling toovercome the shades of night. He stood upon the tiny veranda whichfronted his minute house, smoking his early morning cigarette. He waswaiting for his coffee--that stimulating beverage which few who havelived in the wilds of the West can do without--and idly luxuriating inthe wondrous charm of scene which was spread out before him. "Lord" Billwas not a man of great poetic mind, but he appreciated his adoptedcountry--"God's country," as he was wont to call it--as can only thosewho have lived in it. The prairie had become part of his very existence,and he loved to contemplate the varying lights and colors which movedathwart the fresh spring-clad plains as the sun rose above the easternhorizon.

  The air was chill, but withal invigorating, as he watched the steelyblue of the daylit sky slowly give place to the rosy tint of sunrise.Slowly at first--then faster--great waves of golden light seemed to leapfrom the top of one green rising ground to another; the gray white ofthe snowy western mountains passed from one dead shade to another,until, at last, they gleamed like alabaster from afar with a diamondbrilliancy almost painful to the eye. Thus the sun rose like some mightycaldron of fire mounting into the cloudless azure of a perfect sky,showering unctuous rays of light and heat upon the chilled life that wasof its own creating.

  Bill was still lost in thought, gazing out upon the perfect scene fromthe vantage point of the hill upon which his "shack" stood, when roundthe corner of the house came a half-breed, bearing a large tin pannikinof steaming coffee. He took the pannikin from the man and proppedhimself against a post which helped to support the roof of the veranda.

  "Are the boys out yet?" he asked the waiting Breed, and nodding towardsthe corrals, which reposed at the foot of the hill and were overlookedby the house.

  "I guess," the fellow replied laconically. Then, as an afterthought,"They're getting breakfast, anyhow."

  "Say, when they've finished their grub you can tell 'em to turn to andlime out the sheds. I'm going in to the settlement to-day. If I'm notback to-night let them go right on with the job to-morrow."

  The man signified his understanding of the instructions with a grunt.This cook of "Lord" Bill's was not a man of words. His vocation hadinduced an irascibility of temper which took the form of silence. Hiswas an incipient misanthropy.

  Bill returned the empty pannikin and strolled down towards the corralsand sheds. The great barn lay well away from where the cattlecongregated. This ranch was very different from that of the Allandalesof Foss River. It was some miles away from the settlement. Itssurroundings were far more open. Timber backed the house, it is true,but in front was the broad expanse of the open plains. It was anexcellent position, and, governed by a thrifty hand, would undoubtedlyhave thrived and ultimately vied with the more elaborate establishmentover which Jacky held sway. As it was, however, Bill cared little forprosperity and money-making, and though he did not neglect his propertyhe did not attempt to extend its present limits.

  The milch cows were slowly mouching from the corrals as he neared thesheds. A diminutive herder was urging them along with shrill, pipingshrieks--vicious but ineffective. Far more to the purpose were theefforts to a well-trained, bob-tailed sheep dog who was awaking echoeson the brisk morning air with the full-toned note of his bark.

  "Lord" Bill found one or two hands quietly enjoying theirafter-breakfast smoke, but the majority had not as yet left the kitchen.Outside the barn two men were busily soft-soaping their saddles andbridles, whilst a third, seated on an upturned box, was wiping out hisrevolver with a coal-oil rag. Bill passed them by with a nod andgreeting, and went into the stable. The horses were feeding, but as yetthe stalls had not been cleaned out. He returned and gave someinstructions to one of the men. Then he walked slowly back to the house.Usually he would have stayed down there to see the work of the daycarried out; now, however, he was preoccupied. On this particularmorning he took but little interest in the place; he knew only too wellhow soon it must pass from his possession.

  Half-way up the hill he paused and turned his sleepy eyes towards thesouth. At a considerable distance a vehicle was approaching at aspanking pace. It was a buckboard, one of those sturdy conveyances builtespecially for light prairie transport. As yet it was not sufficientlynear for him to distinguish its occupant, but the speed and cut of thehorses seemed familiar to him. He continued on towards the house, andseated himself leisurely on the veranda, and, rolling himself anothercigarette, calmly watched the on-coming conveyance.

  It was the habit of this man never to be prodigal in the display ofenergy. He usually sat when there was no need for standing; he alwaysconsidered speech to be golden, but silence, to his way of thinking, waspriceless. And like most men of such opinion he cultivated thought andobservation.

  He propped his back against the veranda post, and, taking a deepinhalation from his cigarette, gazed long and earnestly, withhalf-closed eyes, down the winding southern trail.

  His curiosity, if such a feeling might have been attributed to him, wassoon set at rest, for, as the horses raced up the hill towards him, hehad no difficulty in recognizing the bulky proportions of his visitor.Seeing the driver of the buckboard making for the house, two of the"hands" had hastened up the hill to take the horses. Lablache, for itwas the fleshy money-lender, slid, as agilely as his great bulk wouldpermit him, from the vehicle, and the two men took charge of the horses.Bill was not altogether cordial. It was not his way to be so to anybodybut his friends.

  "How are you?" he said with a nod, but without rising from his recumbentattitude. "Goin' to stay long?"

  His latter question sounded churlish, but Lablache understood hismeaning. It was of the horses the rancher was thinking.

  "An hour, maybe," replied Lablache, breathing heavily as a result of hisclimb out of the buckboard.

  "Right Take 'em away, boys. Remove the harness and give 'em a good rubdown. Don't water or feed 'em till they're cool. They're spanking'plugs,' Lablache," he added, as he watched the horses being led down tothe barn. "Come inside. Had breakfast?" rising and knocking the dustfrom the seat of his moleskin trousers.

  "Yes, I had breakfast before daylight, thanks," Lablache said, glancingquickly down at the empty corrals, where his horses were about toundergo a rubbing down. "I came out to have a business chat with you.Shall we go in-doors?"

  "Most certainly."

  There was an expressive curtness in the two words. Bill permittedhimself a brief survey of the great man's back as the latter turnedtowards the front door. And although his half-closed lids hid theexpression of
his eyes, the pursing of the lips and the fluctuatingmuscles of his jaw spoke of unpleasant thoughts passing through hismind. A business talk with Lablache, under the circumstances, could notafford the rancher much pleasure. He followed the money-lender into thesitting-room.

  The apartment was very bare, mannish, and scarcely the acme of neatness.A desk, a deck chair, a bench and a couple of old-fashioned windsorchairs; a small table, on which breakfast things were set, an oldsaddle, a rack of guns and rifles, a few trophies of the chase in theshape of skins and antelope heads comprised the furniture anddecorations of the room. And too, in that slightly uncouth collection,something of the character of the proprietor was revealed.

  Bunning-Ford was essentially careless of comfort. And surely he wasnothing if not a keen and ardent sportsman.

  "Sit down." Bill indicated the chairs with a wave of the arm. Lablachedubiously eyed the deck chair, then selected one of the unyieldingWindsor chairs as more safe for the burden of his precious body, testedit, and sat down, emitting a gasp of breath like an escape of steam froma safety-valve. The younger man propped himself on the corner of hisdesk.

  Lablache looked furtively into his companion's face. Then he turned hiseyes in the direction of the window. Bill said nothing, his face wascalm. He intended the money-lender to speak first. The latter seemedindisposed to do so. His lashless eyes gazed steadily out at the prairiebeyond. "Lord" Bill's persistent silence at length forced the other intospeech. His words came slowly and were frequently punctuated with deepbreaths.

  "Your ranch--everything you possess is held on first mortgage."

  "Not all." Bunning-Ford's answer came swiftly. The abruptness of theother's announcement nettled him. The tone of the words conveyed achallenge which the younger man was not slow to accept.

  Lablache shrugged his shoulders with deliberation until his fleshy jowlcreased against the woolen folds of his shirt front.

  "It comes to the same thing," he said; "what I--what is not mortgaged isheld in bonds. The balance, practically all of it, you owe undersignature to Pedro Mancha. It is because of that--latest--debt I amhere."

  "Ah!"

  Bill rolled a fresh cigarette and lit it. He guessed something of whatwas coming--but not all.

  "Mancha will force you to meet your liabilities to him. Your interest isshortly due to the Calford Loan Co. You cannot meet both."

  Lablache gazed unblinkingly into the other's face. He was thoroughlyenjoying himself.

  Bill was staring pensively at his cigarette. One leg swung pendulumfashion beside the desk. His indebtedness troubled him not a jot. He wastrying to fathom the object of this prelude. Lablache, he knew, had notcome purposely to make these plain statements. He blew a cloud of smokedown his nostrils with much appreciation. Then he heaved a sigh asthough his troubles were too great for him to bear.

  "Right--dead right, first time."

  The lazy eyes appeared to be staring into space. In reality they werewatching the doughy countenance before him. "What do you propose to do?"Lablache asked, ignoring the other's flippant tone.

  Bill shrugged.

  "Debts of honor must be met first," he said quietly. "Mancha must bepaid in full. I shall take care of that. For the rest, I have no doubtyour business knowledge will prompt you as to what course the CalfordLoan Co. and yourself had best adopt."

  Lablache was slightly taken aback at the cool indifference of this man.He scarcely knew how to deal with him. He had driven out this morningintending to coerce, or, at least, strike a hard bargain. But the objectof his attentions was, to say the least of it, difficult.

  He moved uneasily and crossed his legs.

  "There is only one course open to your creditors. It is a harsh methodand one which goes devilishly against the grain. But--"

  "Pray don't apologize, Mr. Lablache," broke in the other, smilingsardonically. "I am fully aware of the tender condition of yourfeelings. I only trust that in this matter you will carry outyour--er--painful duty without worrying me with the detail of thenecessary routine. I shall settle Mancha's debt at once and then you arewelcome to the confounded lot."

  Bill moved from his position and walked towards the door. Thesignificance of his action was well marked. Lablache, however, had nointention of going yet. He moved heavily round upon his chair so as toface his man.

  "One moment--er--Ford. You are a trifle precipitate. I was going on tosay, when you interrupted me, that if you cared to meet me half-way Ihave a proposition to make which might solve your difficulty. It is anunusual one, I admit, but," with a meaning smile, "I rather fancy thatthe Calford Loan Co. might be induced to see the advantage, _to them_,of delaying action."

  The object of this early morning visit was about to be made apparent.Bill returned to his position at the desk and lit another cigarette. Thesuave manner of his unwelcome guest was dangerous. He was prepared.There was something almost feline in the attitude and the expression ofthe young rancher as he waited for the money-lender to proceed. PerhapsLablache understood him. Perhaps his understanding warned him to adopthis best manner. His usual method in dealing with his victims was hardlythe same as he was now using.

  "Well, what is this 'unusual' course?" asked Bill, in no very toleranttone. He wished it made quite plain that he cared nothing about the"selling up" process to which he knew he must be subjected. Lablachenoted the haughty manner and resented it, but still he gave no outwardsign. He had a definite object to attain and he would not allow hisanger to interfere with his chances of success.

  "Merely a pleasant little business arrangement which should meet allparties' requirements," he said easily. "At present you are paying a tenper cent, interest on a principal of thirty-five thousand dollars to theCalford Loan Co. A debt of twenty thousand to me includes an amount ofinterest which represents ten per cent, interest for ten years. Verywell, Your ranch should be yielding a greater profit than it is. Withyour permission the Calford Trust Co. shall put in a competent manager,whose salary shall be paid out of the profits. The balance of saidprofits shall be handed Over to your creditors, less an annual income toyou of fifteen hundred dollars. Thus the principal of your debts, at acareful computation, should be liquidated in seven years. Inconsideration of thus shortening the period of the loans by three yearsthe Calford Trust Co. shall allow you a rebate of five per cent,interest. Failing the profits in seven years amounting to the sums ofmoney required, the Calford Trust Co. and myself will forego the balancedue to us. Let me plainly assure you that this is no philanthropicscheme but the result of practical calculation. The advantage to you isobvious. An assured income during that period, and your ranch well andably managed and improved. Your property at the end of seven years willreturn to you a vastly more valuable possession than it is at present.And we, on our part, will recover our money and interest without theunpleasant reflection that, in doing so, we have beggared you."

  Lablache, usurer, scoundrel, smiled benignly at his companion as hepronounced his concluding words. The Hon. Bunning-Ford looked, thought,and looked again. He began to think that Lablache was meditating a morerascally proceeding than he had given him credit for. His words were sospecious. His pie was so delicately crusted with such a temptingexterior. What was the object of this magnanimous offer? He felt he mustknow more.

  "It sounds awfully well, but surely that is not all. What, in return, isdemanded of me?"

  Lablache had carefully watched the effect of his words. He was wonderingwhether the man he was dealing with was clever beyond the average, or afool. He was still balancing the point in his mind when Bill put thequestion.

  Lablache looked away, produced a snuff-box and drew up a large pinch ofsnuff before answering. He blew his nose with trumpet-like vehemence ona great red bandana.

  "The only return asked of you is that you vacate the country for thenext two years," he said heavily. And in that rejoinder "Lord" Billunderstood the man's guile.

  It was a sudden awakening, but it came to him as no sort of surprise. Hehad long suspected, althoug
h he had never given serious credence to hissuspicions, the object the money-lender had in inveigling both himselfand "Poker" John into their present difficulties. Now he understood, anda burning desire swept over him to shoot the man down where he sat. Thena revulsion of feeling came to him and he saw the ludicrous side of thesituation. He gazed at Lablache, that obese mountain of blubber, andtried to think of the beautiful, wild Jacky as the money-lender's wife.The thing seemed so preposterous that he burst out into a mocking laugh.

  Lablache, whose fishy eyes had never left the rancher's face, heard thetone and slowly flushed with anger. For an instant he seemed about torise, then instead he leant forward.

  "Well?" he asked, breathing his monosyllabic inquiry hissing upon theair.

  Bill emitted a thin cloud of smoke into the money-lender's face. Hiseyes had suddenly become wide open and blazing with anger. He pointed tothe door.

  "I'll see you damned first! Now--git!"

  At the door Lablache turned. In his face was written all the fury ofhell.

  "Mancha's debt is transferred to me. You will settle it without delay."

  He had scarcely uttered the last word when there was a loud report, andsimultaneously the crash of a bullet in the casing of the door. Lablacheaccepted his dismissal with precipitation and hastened to where hishorses were stationed, to the accompaniment of "Lord" Bill's mockinglaugh. He had no wish to test the rancher's marksmanship further.