“I’ll pay it at once,” she said briskly.
Bannister shook his head. “I wouldn’t take it from you. Howard can pay it back easy enough when he sells his cattle in the fall.”
“That’s right, Florence,” said Howard. “I’ll tend to it.”
Florence was thoughtful for a spell. Did Bannister have an ulterior motive in aiding Howard? Or had he done this to irritate Cromer? And how did he come to have so much money? Again Cromer’s hints were uppermost in her mind; again she felt a surge of doubt. Why should she be beset by doubts when they could be routed by a frank talk with this man before her.
“Howard, please go out a few minutes. I want to talk with Bannister.”
Somehow Bannister had a premonition of what was coming. He could tell by her nervous manner and by the look in her eyes. Someone had been talking—Cromer, probably. He decided to evade the issue, whatever it was, without directly lying to her.
“Bannister,” she said, when Howard had gone, “the range country is a great place for talk.” It was a lame start and she realized it with his answer.
“So I’ve heard,” he said.
“You know I engaged you without knowing anything at all about you except that you had befriended Howard,” she said with increasing spirit.
“That’s true,” he agreed.
“And I’ve heard rumors that you might not be just as you’ve represented yourself,” she said slowly.
“Who’s been doing this talking?” he asked so sharply that her eyes widened.
“There isn’t any need to go into that,” she answered tartly. “This concerns no one except you and I. I’ll come to the point. I don’t know where you come from or anything about your past. But you were suspected in Prairie City of being . . . well, of being a well-known character.”
“I was, while I was there,” he said lightly. “I showed the professionals several thousand dollars’ worth of fine points at stud poker, and that little incident where Howard was involved didn’t put me in the background none.”
“I don’t mean that,” said Florence, showing a trace of annoyance. “I mean elsewhere. It was said you bore a remarkable resemblance to an . . . an outlaw known as The Maverick.” She looked at him keenly.
“So?” he drawled. “Well, I suppose almost every man has a double. Do you think I’m this Maverick person?”
“I’m not saying any such thing,” she returned, “but you can see my situation. Do you blame me for being curious?”
“Not at all,” he replied heartily. “But, Miss Marble, if they thought I was this outlaw you mention, how does it come that the sheriff didn’t grab me?”
She frowned at this and tried to remember what Cromer had said on that point. “Well, I don’t know,” she confessed. “The whole matter is more or less of a mystery to me, just as you are. But because of these rumors and the fact that you’re employed here, I feel that I’m privileged to ask you a direct question. Bannister, are you The Maverick?”
He had decided upon his play before she put the question. His face froze. “I thought you could tell a man by his actions and by his eyes,” he said sternly, rising and taking up his hat. “I won’t answer such a question, because I thought you put more trust in me. Since you think, or maybe have some kind of an idea that I’m an outlaw . . . that I’m The Maverick . . . I’d best be leaving the ranch.”
He turned and walked out the door. He crossed the porch, but before he reached the top of the steps she came running after him.
“Bannister!” she cried. “I don’t think any such thing, and never did!” She grasped his arm with both hands. “Bannister,” she pleaded, “please don’t go.”
Chapter Seventeen
After the cattlemen had left his office, Cromer stood for some minutes at his desk, white-faced, white-lipped, his hands clenched. Then he took to pacing the room.
“I was a fool,” he muttered over and over. “Let my anger get away with me. Why didn’t I stall ’em off? Fool . . . fool!”
He closed the door into the outer office and continued his pacing. He knew his reply to the association committee’s questions meant trouble. He believed he was prepared to meet it. But he realized that had he used more tact in the delicate situation this trouble could have been avoided. He had thought it best to deal with the southern stockmen with an iron hand. Even now—he felt a thrill of hope at the thought—what could they do? He kept repeating the question: what could they do? His inability to answer this to his satisfaction made him uneasy. He was politically secure, since he had paid enough for that security. His was a small project, the first on the north range. The enterprise was a private one, as the great government projects were yet to come. It might be looked upon in the light of being an experiment. He had started it on a shoe string and was running it on a shoe string. Coming out from Chicago with the scheme in mind, he had invested such money as he had in securing the water rights and the land on time payments. There was a provision that one-third of the acreage was to be put under irrigation each year for three years. This he hoped to do. But he was selling the whole acreage on time payments at the start.
He had interested small town bankers and big stockmen to the east and west, and had sold a huge block of stock to Florence Marble, but he had not been able to interest the stockmen south of Indian River, who failed to see how the project would in any way benefit them and who regarded his flattering promises of big stock dividends with stoic reserve. So far his expenditure had not been so great. One great ditch from the river and the building of the dam. He had expert salesmen out selling stock as far south as the Montana-Wyoming line, other salesmen in Minneapolis and St. Paul and Chicago, and they were making good. Every mail brought a sheaf of checks, to be deposited in Prairie City and Big Falls until such time as he would open his own bank. He controlled the bank as he did the irrigation enterprise. Sydney Cromer was president and general manager of the Marble Dome Land and Irrigation Company for one reason—to get the money.
But when he met Florence Marble he realized there was something he wanted besides money. He realized, too, the vast acres and fat herds of stock that would go with the prize. Cromer could not be said to be altogether scrupulous in his dealings and schemes, yet things were going nicely until the advent of Bannister and his employment by Florence. Cromer could recognize ability and cleverness on sight, and he saw at once that Bannister possessed both. Therefore, Bannister was dangerous and a man to be gotten rid of as soon as possible. But how? In his position Cromer had to be careful. There could be no boomerang to fasten the blame on him for anything that might happen. Even after his warning to Florence about the man, she had sent him with the association committee as her representative!
It was this more than anything else that caused Cromer to walk the floor of his private office, numbing his brain in a futile effort to seek a loophole through the net that Bannister apparently was weaving. He wondered what Bannister would tell Florence and what affect his report would have upon the girl. This uncertainty increased his uneasiness. He would have to go down to the Half Diamond and find out. But what excuse could he make for the trip?
On his desk was a pad of gaudy stock certificates for the Marble State Bank. His eye brightened. Of course! He was offering a limited amount of stock in the bank. An excellent excuse. He might see Bannister, but . . . Cromer stopped dead in his tracks with a startled look on his face. There was one thing he hadn’t tried on Bannister. Money. And now Cromer imagined that he had discovered the cause of all his trouble. Bannister was carrying out a clever scheme to compel him to buy him off. Cromer resumed his pacing at a much faster gait in his excitement. He reasoned that it was as plain as day. Bannister was a gambler, a rover—he might be The Maverick. In the latter case Cromer knew he would be right beyond the peradventure of a doubt. Bannister had gotten into Florence Marble’s good graces through Howard. It had been clever work. It was ridiculous that a man such as he would be working in any capacity on a ranch at a nominal wage. Cromer w
as certain he had struck it. Bannister was blackmailing him, but doing it in a way that was well within the law. He was covered at every angle in such manner that Cromer himself would have to make the overtures.
“Well, he can have it!” Cromer exclaimed aloud. The only question would be as to the amount. At this juncture there came three light raps on the rear door. Cromer started and his eyes fairly glistened. “Come in,” he invited amiably.
The door opened and Le Beck slipped into the office, carefully closing the door after him. Two fingers of his left hand were bandaged. There were numerous patches of court plaster on his face where he had been cut by the glass when he went through the window. His eyes gleamed fiercely.
“Decorated up for some kind of a carnival?” asked Cromer sweetly.
“Bah!” Le Beck spat the word out with venom.
“Looks as if you’d had some kind of an accident,” Cromer ventured pleasantly.
Le Beck came around the desk like a cat. “Don’t you fool with me,” he whistled through his teeth. “No like.”
“Well, somebody’s been fooling with you and I’ve an idea who it was,” observed Cromer, evidently unafraid. “Why did you fire that shot? Did you think you could scare him?”
The half-breed—for such he was, as everybody knew—snarled like a wild animal. “I theenk to stop heem . . . make heem shoot.”
“That would have been fine business,” sneered Cromer. “I told you to keep your gun in the leather unless they started to shoot first. In that case . . . well, I’m entitled to a bodyguard and it would be all right.” He scowled heavily.
“How he know I’m there?” Le Beck pointed to the washstand and the fallen curtain.
“Probably saw your feet under the curtain,” Cromer replied.
“Leeson,” said Le Beck, with an evil glare in his eyes, “I no fight with the hands. An’ he ees too beeg. I fight with the gun.” He tapped the butt of his weapon with long, slender fingers. “Now I keel heem. You savvy?” The light in his eyes changed to one of savage anticipation.
“You’ll do no such thing,” said Cromer, sternly showing he was startled.
“Ah, you will see.” Le Beck nodded his head energetically.
“Get that out of your fool head!” Cromer thundered. “Don’t you know that cattle bunch saw you here, saw Bannister throw you through the window after you fired a shot at him?”
“But that is eet,” Le Beck interrupted, holding up a finger. “That give me the right, you see?”
“No, I don’t see,” said Cromer angrily. “It would come right back on me. You lay off him till … till the time comes. Are you going to take my orders?”
“Oh,” lisped Le Beck, “I take thees orders, but I no like the insult.”
“Well, you’ve got to stand for it at the present,” growled Cromer, looking at his henchman speculatively. “He did that more on my account than on yours. He wanted to show off in front of me, understand?”
“Mebbe so, but he show off with me,” hissed Le Beck. “I no like.” He shook his head ominously.
Cromer wasn’t sure of Le Beck. He might obey orders and he might not. If he went gunning straightaway for Bannister, it would be well nigh fatal. He reached into a pocket and brought out some gold pieces.
“Here, take these,” he said, “and go gamble and forget it. Forget it, understand, until you get orders from me.”
Le Beck’s eyes glistened as he caught the yellow gleam of the gold in Cromer’s palm. He hesitated. Then, without a word, he took the money and went out the rear door, leaving Cromer to sigh with relief and wonder if he hadn’t engaged a spirit too wild to control.
He sat down at his desk and fingered the bank stock certificates. It was time he began offering the stock. The bank building would soon be completed and ready for business. The vault was already at the railhead, and would soon be transported to Marble. Cromer’s eyes gained luster as he thought of the large sum of cash that would be carried. Most of the farm tracts already had been contracted for and a down payment made. In another month a big drawing would be held and the tracts allotted according to the numbers drawn by the purchasers. Thus everyone had an equal chance for choice locations. It was a gamble that appealed to purchasers, most of whom were from the Middle West. At the drawing another payment was due. Cash. Cromer’s eyes glistened, but his face clouded again as he remembered the threatened trouble with the Indian River cattlemen. Above all things this trouble must be averted until after the drawing at least. If it were to come before the drawing, it might scare off the prospective purchasers. He had a sudden inspiration. He would ride down and see John Macy, chairman of the Cattlemen’s Association committee, tell him they had misunderstood him in some ways and that he had reconsidered and would guarantee to protect them for such water as they needed.
He thumped his desk in exultation. An excellent way out of the mess he was in, and he could shoot the water down there so far as that was concerned. In fact, he could live up to the bargain without endangering his supply of water for the project—until the main ditches and laterals were in. And on the way down to see Macy, he could stop and see Florence Marble, explain the purpose of his errand—which was sure to please her—and indirectly ascertain what effect Bannister’s attendance at the conference had had at the Half Diamond. Then, if conditions appeared favorable, he could approach Bannister. His plans fully laid, he decided to start early next morning.
Chapter Eighteen
It was hardly 9:00 next morning when Florence, who was tending the flowers in the yard, looked up quickly as a horseman came riding in through the cottonwoods and saw that it was Cromer. Surprised at the early visit, she was surprised also that she should be assailed by a vague feeling of annoyance.
“’Morning!” called Cromer with a wave of the hand. Then after he had dismounted: “I know I’m early, Florence, but I’m on my way down to the Macy Ranch to see John Macy, and I thought I’d stop in and say hello.”
Again she was conscious of the feeling of annoyance, this time because of the use of her first name, although she hadn’t particularly resented it before. “You’re welcome any time, Mister Cromer,” she said, trying to shake off her irritation, “but I don’t understand your going to the Macy Ranch. I understand he was chairman of that committee yesterday and that they came away from your office pretty mad.”
“Well, they misunderstood some things,” he answered with a depreciatory gesture, “and I got mad myself when I thought they were going a little strong, and . . . well, there was a general misunderstanding. We didn’t get at the thing right on either side.”
“But Bannister tells me you refused them water and offered to sell it to them,” Florence contended.
“I meant I would sell them what they wanted in excess of the amount left after we had exercised our water rights,” he explained.
For the first time a doubt as to Cromer’s intentions and his principles surged through Florence’s mind. “But you said nothing about selling water to the stockmen when you explained this irrigation proposition to me,” she accused.
“Nor do I intend to sell them any,” he said uncomfortably. “I’ve changed my mind about that since cooling off after yesterday’s conference. I’ll protect them for what they need and I’m going to tell them that. That’s why I’m going down this morning to see Macy.”
“Well, you won’t have to go down,” she said, “for here he comes.”
John Macy rode in through the cottonwoods and waved a cheery good morning to Florence, but, when he recognized Cromer, his smile froze and he frowned heavily. Bannister sauntered from the bunkhouse.
“You’re on the job already, I see,” said Macy angrily, eyeing Cromer with a malevolent stare. “Putting more trash into Miss Flo’s head, I suppose. Telling her how you’re goin’ to make suckers outta the cattlemen an’ tryin’ to get her to buy more stock, an’ . . .”
“I was on my way to your place,” said Cromer.
“My place,” Macy returned. “If I
ever catch you on my range, I’ll give you a treatment with a sawed-off shotgun.”
“I was going to tell you that a mistake had been made yesterday,” Cromer explained with a great show of dignity.
“There sure was,” Macy agreed, nodding his head. “You’re right there. An you’re the one that made the mistake. Telling us you’d sell us water, sticking a hired gunman behind a curtain where he could shoot us up if need be. Good thing Bannister was along, at that, I reckon. That’s one thing I came up to tell Miss Flo about.”
Florence saw Cromer’s face go white. She looked from him to Bannister and caught Bannister in the act of signaling to Macy to keep still. “What is this, Bannister?” she demanded. “You didn’t tell me anything about a gunman behind a curtain.”
“I was entitled to a bodyguard after all the threats that have been made by that bunch down here,” Cromer declared in a loud, blustering tone. “How did I know what might happen, with every one of the committee armed and boiling over about nothing.”
“I suppose it would be a small item if our cattle were to die of thirst or something like that?” sneered Macy.
“But they’re not going to die of thirst,” insisted Cromer desperately. “That’s why I was on my way to see you this morning. But you won’t give a man a chance to talk.”
“You had plenty of chance to talk yesterday,” Macy pointed out. “But you didn’t talk in the right direction.”
“We were all excited,” said Cromer in a modulated voice. He was striving to save his face before Florence Marble and to avert the dreaded prospect of trouble with the cattlemen before the big drawing. “I cooled down, thought it over, and looked for you after the conference, but you had already gone. So I decided to see you this morning. There’s no use having trouble over this, for there will be enough water for all of us.”
“That’s more’n you could say yesterday,” growled Macy, staring at Cromer doubtfully.
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