Marble Range

by Robert J. Horton

  Cromer nodded without speaking.

  “Well,” said Bannister, wrinkling his brows as if he had just made up his mind, “I’ll take a hundred shares.”

  He drew a roll of bills from a pocket and took off ten $100 notes while Cromer sat and stared, wet his lips, looked out of the window, back at the bills on his desk, and then at Bannister. His expression had changed to one of commingled perplexity and uncertainty. Was Bannister really investing, or . . . ?

  “There’s the thousand, Mister Cromer,” said Bannister in a pleasant voice. “Just make out the certificate and I’ll be going so you can attend to your work.”

  Cromer hesitated a few moments, frowning, and then he jerked open a drawer and took out a pad of ornate certificates adorned with a big red seal. He wrote rapidly on the top certificate, impressed the seal with the company die, and pushed it across to Bannister, who, in turn, pushed across the bills.

  Bannister then folded the certificate, placed it in the inside pocket of his coat, rose, and went to the door.

  “Good morning, Mister Cromer,” he said with a slight bow, and went out the door, leaving Cromer staring after him. This time Cromer’s expression was blank.

  It was 11:00 a.m. when Bannister saw Howard and Florence Marble in the hotel lobby. The girl was dressed in a natty riding habit and wore the regulation stockman’s hat. In this attire she appeared even more attractive than the night before. Her face lit up with pleasure as she saw Bannister.

  “We’ve just had breakfast,” she said with a light laugh. “Isn’t this wild dissipation, Bannister? We’ll start for the ranch right away, if you’re ready.”

  “All set,” said Bannister. “C’mon, Howard, we’ll get the horses.”

  In a few minutes they were in the saddle. They rode down the street, past the spot at its end where Bannister had been attacked the night before, crossed the creek, and emerged from the trees upon the broad plain that stretched eastward, flat as a billiard table, to the purple bulwarks of Marble Dome.

  Howard led, setting the pace at an easy lope, and Florence and Bannister rode side-by-side. It was a world of gold. Golden grasses waving in the light breeze, golden sunshine flooding all, dust spirals spun golden pinwheels on the road ahead. And the air was scented with that elusive, intangible aroma of the prairie in late spring.

  Bannister lost no time in putting a query to Florence that had been in his mind since the night before. “Cromer must have a big job on his hands up there?”

  When she looked at him, he saw a slight cloud flit across her face. “It’s a big project,” she said.

  “I was wondering,” he continued, “if you told Cromer that I was going to work for you.”

  Her glance now was one of surprise. “Of course not,” she said emphatically. “I never discuss ranch business with outsiders. I was rather piqued at the way Mister Cromer acknowledged the introduction to you last night, Bannister. I told him so, too.”

  Bannister laughed. That was enough to set Cromer against him even if he didn’t know about the job. “I don’t think the irrigation king likes me,” he said. “He didn’t look too pleasant when he saw us talking together out there in that refreshment place.”

  “He has a great deal on his mind,” said Florence. “He’s the head, heart, and soul of the irrigation company, and he works night and day. Sometimes he forgets his manners when he’s trying to think of two or three things at once.”

  Bannister was silent after this. He saw that whatever Florence Marble might think of Cromer personally, she had respect for the work he was doing and his ability. He must not tread on treacherous ground.

  “I bought a thousand dollars’ worth of his stock this morning,” he vouchsafed.

  “You did?” Her eyes brightened. “Well, I believe you made a good investment, Bannister. I’m in for fifty thousand.”

  Bannister whistled softly. “If it doubles in value in six months, as he says it will in his notices, I’d say you’ve made a good investment, Miss Marble,” he told her with one of his flashing smiles. But he was thinking just the same.

  “I hope so,” she returned with a suggestion of that same cloud flitting across her face.

  “Will you put me in my place if I say something you don’t like, Miss Florence?” he asked in mock seriousness.

  “Why . . . what . . . ?”

  “I just wanted to say that you sure look like ready money in that riding habit under that big hat,” he declared firmly.

  The roses in her cheeks bloomed a bit more violently. “Your duties with the Half Diamond do not include flattering its mistress,” she reproved.

  “Why, that isn’t flattery,” he objected. “That’s just making an . . . an observation. You can’t blame a man for observing when you put up such a good appearance. You see, it’s your own fault.”

  She looked at him in surprise. Here was a man supposed to be a cowhand who dealt in logic, who evidently was skilled in repartee. He looked mighty good himself this morning, she reflected. But she had no desire to engage in a friendly argument or banter when she wasn’t altogether sure of her ground.

  “Bannister,” she said seriously, “you may be running into more or less danger out here. I’m giving you a hard job. I expect there will be men on the ranch who will resent your being there. My foreman is a tough hombre and he won’t like it at all.”

  Bannister’s face was all but beaming. “Dear lady,” he said cheerfully, “danger and I are old bosom friends. We’ve ridden together, slept together, and played together for years. We go hand in hand, like babes in the woods.” He leaned toward her as they loped along the dusty road, and his eyes lost their smile. “When I go into danger, Miss Florence,” he said slowly, “I carry danger with me.”

  She turned her gaze away. She had seen something in the eyes of this man of mystery that almost frightened her. Perhaps she had gone too far in engaging him. He might prove to be more of a thunderbolt than she wished. At this point, Howard turned in his saddle and beckoned to them. Then he let out his bay.

  Florence and Bannister spurred their horses and they raced along the road at tremendous speed. All three were magnificently mounted. Bannister could not keep the admiration out of his eyes as he noted how well Florence Marble rode. She had been a girl of the cities the night before, but here was a girl of the West—riding as one born to the saddle, wisps of hair flying from under her stockman’s hat, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling like diamonds with joyous excitement.

  After the spurt she looked at Bannister with a flashing smile. “You ride well,” she bantered.

  A pained look came to his face. “That isn’t fair, Miss Florence,” he complained. “You took those very same words right out of my mouth, although I was going to make it stronger. And I want to say that your duties as employer do not include flattery.”

  She laughed merrily at this. No dub, this new hand of hers, she thought to herself. Well, all the better. If there was one thing she needed, it was a man with brains as well as a gun. The thought of the gun sobered her. She had told him she didn’t want to hire a gunman but she realized, with a thrill, that she had done so, just the same.

  There was little more said as they raced along toward Marble Dome and the Half Diamond. They gradually increased their pace until, when they reached the river, crossed at the main ford, and rode down the bottom lands—a different route than that taken by Bannister on his way to town—they were pushing their horses for all they were worth.

  They brought up in the courtyard, hemmed in by ranch buildings, in a cloud of dust. Bannister was off his horse in a twinkling to help Florence down. But he was not quick enough. She slipped out of her saddle even as her mount was coming to a rearing halt.

  “Howard will look after you,” she said as she started for the house.

  As they started for the barn with the horses, a small, weazened man with drooping black mustaches, his hat pulled low over his right eye, came out of the bunkhouse and looked intently at Bannister—so intentl
y, in fact, that it drew Bannister’s attention.

  “Who’s that fellow out there?” he asked Howard when they were in the barn.

  The boy scowled. “That’s Link,” he replied. “One of Big Bill Hayes’s pets. I don’t know what he’s doing in here today.”

  “Probably in to see that everybody got back from town all right,” Bannister observed dryly. “You know, Howard, I’ve got a funny mind. I should have been a fortune-teller or something. That’s the first man I’m going to have trouble with on this ranch.”

  Chapter Six

  The Half Diamond was bounded on the west and partly on the south by Indian River. This river flowed down from the mountains in the north, picking its course due south some sixty-odd miles, then curving gracefully and hurrying eastward to a point below Marble Dome, where it turned again and continued southward. The main ranch buildings were located in the bottoms, under the lee of the bench land, midway between the western and the eastern bends of the river. Thousands of Half Diamond cattle ranged northward and eastward about the Dome.

  Florence Marble’s father, Will Marble, and his young wife had been the first settlers in this north range country. They had come in the ’Eighties and prosperity had smiled upon them with the sanction of favorable winters. Their small herd increased rapidly. They built slowly, but sturdily. They acquired thousands of acres of land and controlled a vast domain of range. They saw others come; Macy and Berlinger were the first south of the river and their nearest neighbors. They saw Prairie City born and watched it grow. Will Marble waxed rich—richer than many suspected—and his thoroughbred herds became the talk of the north range.

  When Florence, their only child, was sixteen years old the mother died. This loss had a depressing effect on Will Marble. He became listless, careless. Four years later, when Florence was away to school in the East, he was thrown from a horse and suffered injuries that resulted in his death before she could get back to the ranch. He left his vast property to his daughter. Almost at the same time, the widow of Will Marble’s brother died, leaving Howard alone, and at Florence’s insistence he came to live on the Half Diamond. With keen foresight, Florence made the foreman, Henry Manley, manager. He was not like the ordinary ranch foreman, for he was quieter and accustomed to think well before acting. She then made the range boss, big, burly Bill Hayes—known as Big Bill—foreman. Hayes was the direct opposite of Manley. But he knew men and cows and could run both. Also, he was the one choice left to her. She undertook the supervision of the accounting and financing herself, with the assistance of George French, who virtually owned the First State Bank of Prairie City, an old friend of her father’s. But French had died the year before, throwing her more than ever upon her own resources. But the Half Diamond continued to prosper and was prospering when Bannister rode up from the south and into the tangle of adventure.

  When Bannister and Howard had finished attending to their horses, they repaired to the bunkhouse, Bannister carrying his slicker pack, which had been tied on the rear of his saddle. There he changed into light corduroy trousers, dark sateen shirt, a large, dark-blue handkerchief, knotted behind in the cowboy fashion, but retained his splendid boots and the fine hat he had worn in town. He buckled on his gun belt with the man Link looking on, his beady, black eyes glistening curiously, and, Bannister thought, suspiciously.

  “How come you’re in today?” Howard demanded of Link.

  “Message to Manley from Big Bill,” was the reply—short, almost insolent.

  “What about?” Howard asked.

  “Didn’t open the envelope,” Link answered, his eyes on Bannister.

  “Well, when are you going back?” Howard queried sharply.

  Link looked at him then. “After supper,” he snapped.

  “Well, it’s two hours an’ more before supper,” said Howard, his brows knitting angrily at the other’s tone, “so I guess you can make the cook wagon up by the Dome by then. You might as well trail along.”

  “I missed dinner,” said Link. This time his words fairly dripped insolence. “I reckon I’ll wait for grub.”

  “Why, you . . .” Howard hurled himself toward the smaller man on the bunk. But Link’s right hand winked at his side and the heavy barrel of his gun knocked Howard’s blow aside. The youth winced with pain as Link leaped, cat-like, from the bunk.

  “Put that gun away!”

  It was Bannister, and Link whirled to find himself covered. He looked steadfastly at Bannister for some ten seconds and then slipped his weapon into its holster. Howard was standing, white-faced, his eyes snapping with hot anger.

  “You’d . . . pull a gun on me?” he said slowly. “Get off this ranch! Get off this ranch, you hear me?”

  “I’m workin’ under Big Bill,” said Link in a smooth voice. He was cool, unruffled. His manner was almost that of a man who was pleased. “Big Bill hired me an’ Big Bill fires me . . . if I’m fired.”

  “That’s right,” said Bannister, to Howard’s amazement. “Link has it right. He’s working for this Big Bill, after all. Did Big Bill tell you to stay in for supper?”

  Link’s eyes glinted coldly. “What’s it to you?” he demanded.

  “Just this much,” Bannister replied sternly. “If you are going to stay in to supper, you’re going to take that gun belt off and hang it with your saddle.”

  “Yes?” purred Link. “Your orders?”

  “Sure as tootin’,” said Bannister with a nod. “And prepared to see that they’re carried out. Your tongue is too slippery and your right hand too well greased for safety.” He shook his head at Howard as the boy made as if to speak.

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Link, endowing his words with a double meaning. “Maybe I better go back to the Dome. When the boy made his rush, I happened to remember that I ain’t a fist fighter.”

  He turned on his heel and went out. Howard bent his puzzled gaze at Bannister. But Bannister merely frowned and put up his gun. Before there could be any talk, a Chinese cook appeared in the open doorway of the bunkhouse.

  “Lunch leady,” he announced.

  “Let’s go,” said Howard. He led the way to the wash bench on the little back porch of the ranch house.

  When they were using the roller towels, Bannister spoke in a low tone. “You know I told you I’ve got a funny mind, Howard. Now this Link person. Whatever he brought in didn’t amount to much, I reckon. I’ve got a dead-sure feeling that Big Bill knows everything that went on in town, and knew this morning that I was coming out here. A man would have had plenty of time to ride back after midnight and tell him. He sent Link down to keep his eyes and ears open. Now why should Big Bill be so interested in me?”

  “That’s no question to ask a man with an empty stomach,” said Howard. “But there may be some sense in what you say.”

  “If you get my point,” said Bannister dryly, “you’ll understand why I didn’t want you to run Link off the ranch.”

  Florence Marble had a dainty, but sustaining lunch ready for them, and they sat down at table in the big dining room with its heavy beams and dark-stained wainscoting. They talked but little, and their conversation hung on the celebration in town. As they rose after the meal, Henry Manley, the ranch manager, appeared in the doorway leading to the huge living room and the office in the front of the house.

  He nodded to Florence and looked at Bannister. “So you changed your mind, I hear,” he said, his gaze shifting from Bannister to Florence and back again. “Well, we can use you. I think I’ll send you up north of the Dome to try you out.”

  “Bannister won’t be taking any definite place until I’ve talked with him,” Florence told the manager. “And that’ll be after supper.”

  Manley made a poor show of concealing his surprise, but acquiesced gracefully. His bearing was so soldierly that Bannister would not have blinked an eye if he had saluted. “Of course, Miss Florence,” he said in precise tones, “you hired him . . . not me. I couldn’t get him.”

  “That was before t
he holiday,” Bannister drawled, smiling comfortably.

  “So it was,” said Manley soberly. “And now, I suppose, you’re good until the Fourth of July.” With this he left them to go into the office. Florence followed him and Bannister went out with Howard into the courtyard. Link was nowhere in sight, nor was he in the bunkhouse or barn. They assumed he had gone.

  They spent the balance of the afternoon and early evening looking over the fields in the bottoms, the breeded horses in the pasture, and the buildings. It was nearly dusk when the ranch bell struck for supper.

  Manley ate with them, and now the talk was of range matters. Bannister learned that Big Bill’s message had been to the effect that the beef tally had showed ten steers missing.

  “I sent a man down to look over the fence along the breaks,” he told Florence. “He said the fence was tight as a drum.”

  Neither of the cousins spoke, but Bannister saw a significant look pass between them. Manley did not refer to the matter again. They finished supper, and Manley and Howard went out, while Florence invited Bannister into the living room.

  The girl sat down in an easy chair by the table. The subdued rays from the shaded lamp shone upon her hair, touching it with a darker, smoldering fire and casting highlights of shadow upon her face. Bannister was not unaware of her beauty and its changing moods. She was plainly troubled, and the look in her eyes, the slight pout of her lips, only served to enhance her loveliness.

  Bannister took a chair between the table and a window. The room had been kept closed against the heat of the day and was cool.

  “Bannister,” said Florence slowly, “I hired you, as Manley said.” She looked at him soberly.

  “And now that you’ve hired me, Miss Florence,” he said, “I’m ready to take your orders.”

  The troubled look deepened. “That’s just it,” she said. “I don’t know what orders to give you.”

  If he was astonished, he failed to show it. “Is it something about the cattle?” he asked casually. “Too many strays, or something like that?”