by Zane Grey
“Howdy, Dick!” she said, brightly.
“Virginia!—Well, of all people!” he exclaimed, in delight. “Wherever did you come from?”
“Denver. I got in this morning. Hadn’t you heard? I might as well have had a brass band.”
“No, I hadn’t. But I’m sure glad. Say, Virginia, you just look wonderful.”
“Thanks. It’s the air. I looked like the devil in Denver.”
“Impossible. You’ve been with Ethel. How is she?”
“Fine. Announced her engagement. Nice little chap.”
“You don’t say. Ethel! Well, that accounts. She certainly had something up her sleeve. . . . Where are you bound for, may I ask?”
“Back to the hotel.”
“Suppose you have lunch with me there?”
“Thanks. It’ll be jolly. You can tell me all the news. . . . But, Dick, hold on. I forgot. I’m a respectable married woman.”
“By gosh! I forgot, too. Mrs. Clifton Forrest. . . . That lucky son-of-a-gun! But do you know, Virginia, as I couldn’t have you myself, I was glad Clifton was the man? None of us could stomach Malpass. And believe me we were all scared stiff. We were afraid if Malpass didn’t get you, some one of those Eastern galoots would. Clifton is Western and the real goods.”
“Dick, I like you for that speech,” returned Virginia, warmly. “Come, I’ll take you to lunch.”
It was only a step round the corner to the Castaneda, where Virginia presently found herself in the well-filled dining-room, sitting with Richard, and not unaware of the interest she roused.
“So you didn’t go to Reno?” queried Fenton, with good humor, though he was curious.
“Reno! Why there, for goodness sake? Denver is bad enough.”
“It was rumored you went to Reno to divorce Clifton. Pretty generally believed, Virginia.”
“Well, there’s absolutely no truth in it. I suppose I have father and Malpass to thank for that gossip. As if there weren’t scandal enough!”
“Personally I didn’t believe it,” went on Fenton, after he had given the waitress an order. “Your friends were ready to gamble that if you married Clifton, even to get rid of Malpass, you’d stick to him.”
“Dick, did they roast me for it?”
“I don’t think so. Sure no one ever did to your friends. You’ve had us guessing, though. Spoiled the romance by leaving Clifton behind.”
“Did I? . . . Dick, I’m ashamed to ask you.—Do you know anything about Clifton? Where he is—how he is?”
“Virginia, don’t you know?” queried Fenton in surprise.
“I—I—haven’t the least idea,” replied Virginia, her voice trembling a little.
“By George! The story went that Clifton got fired out of his home the same day you got yours. He disappeared. Naturally we all thought you had it planned to meet somewhere.”
“No. I didn’t see Clifton that day.”
“Then there was neither an elopement nor a divorce. . . . Virginia, I fear the tongues will begin to wag again.”
“Let them wag. I’ll give them some more to wag about, presently. . . . Dick, do you think I’ll be able to borrow some money?”
“From me? I should smile. How much do you want?”
“Child, not from you. But the bank. You’re supposed to work there.”
“Well, I imagine you could knock down any reasonable sum.”
“I haven’t any security. Of course I have my jewelry, Dick. I had to pawn some diamonds in Denver. Ethel was furious. But I couldn’t touch her.”
“You can touch father all right, even if he is a hard-headed banker. He always had a soft spot for you. Shall I ask him, Virginia?”
“Yes, if you’ll be so good. I don’t need any money right now, but I will soon. . . . Dick, I’m afraid I never valued my friends.”
“Better late than never,” he rejoined, lightly; and then, after a more general conversation, they finished lunch and parted.
She entered the lobby and a bell-boy accosted her.
“Call for you, madam.”
“Telephone?”
“No. There’s a man here who says his business is too important to be phoned or told to bell-boys.”
“Indeed! Where is he?”
“He’s waitin’ inside. I’ll call him.”
In a moment he returned, escorting an awkward rough-garbed man who bowed to her, embarrassed but earnest, and said:
“Are you Mrs. Clifton Forrest?”
“Yes,” replied Virginia, annoyed that she blushed.
“My name is Smith. I’m a sheepman. Today I was in San Luis an’ I had a talk with Don Lopez. An’ jest now I happened to hear you was in the hotel, so I made bold to ask for you. I reckon I’ve somethin’ interestin’ to tell you, if you can spare me a minute.”
“Certainly. Let us go inside where we can sit down.”
She scanned his weatherbeaten face with the scrutiny of an eager and hopeful, yet fearful interrogator. He was middle-aged, and his coarse garments reeked of tobacco and sheep. His boots were muddy. He had great hairy hands, that rimmed his sombrero nervously. His strong chin had not come in contact with a razor for some time. He had keen blue eyes that met her gaze steadily.
“Malpass is dickerin’ with Don Lopez to buy his big flock of sheep,” said Smith, as if the matter was one of vital interest to her.
“Yes?” returned Virginia, encouragingly, though she had no glimmering how this circumstance could affect her.
“I heerd of this a month ago, an’ when I got back I went over to see Lopez. He an’ me have had lots in common, an’ I was shore he’d tell me. Yes, he says, ever since young Forrest went south with the big flock, Malpass had been dickerin’ to buy it. An’ Lopez wouldn’t sell because the offer was low. Malpass is a low bidder on my stock. He drives the Mexicans, but he could make it a go with Lopez. Wal, considerin’ the market jest now, Lopez will sell, but not too low. Now my errand here is a tip to you. I’m advisin’ you to forestall Malpass an’ buy thet flock from Lopez pronto.”
“And why do you advise me to do this?” inquired Virginia, too interested to be aloof.
“Wal, I was the last to see them sheep,” resumed Smith. “It was some four weeks an’ more ago, when I was goin’ out to a ranch. We run across your husband an’ a Mexican lad drivin’ this flock south. I had a good look at the sheep, an’ sheep is my business. I’m tellin’ you thet flock will come back mebbe a third more in number. If you buy from Lopez now you’ll not only beat Malpass to it, but make a big profit. It’s a pretty big deal for me to swing, as I’m aboot as deep in as I want to get, but if you don’t jump at it I’m goin’ to see what I can do.”
“You say—you saw my husband?” queried Virginia, trying to appear calm when she was very far from it.
“Yes, an’ I talked with him. He looked pretty sick, an’ I advised him to give up thet long drive to Guadaloupe Springs. I told him what Malpass was up to.”
“What is that?”
“Wal, I had the idee when I first heerd Malpass was dickerin’ for the sheep. An’ today I shore nailed it. Malpass never overlooks a deal to make money, but you can bet his prime motive in buyin’ them sheep is to send a couple of herders down there an’ fire Forrest. Like as not turn him loose without grub or tent! An’ as I was sayin’, Forrest didn’t look so well to me. I reckoned he took this job sheep-herdin’ on account of his health, an’ it was a blamed good idee. For if he doesn’t kill himself on the way he’d shore get cured at Guadaloupe. It’s jest the finest medicine in the world. . . . So, findin’ you was here, I jest made bold to give you this hunch. It jest shot through me, strange-like an’ I hope you see it my way.”
“I do. You are very good and I thank you. How many sheep in this flock and what are they worth?”
“I watched them cross the road, an’ me an’ my pardners gambled on the count, as we always do. We didn’t agree, natural-like. But there’s around three thousand head. An’ ten thousand dollars will buy them. They�
��re worth a good deal more right now. In the spring after lambin’ there’ll be—wal, I won’t risk a figger, but I’ll say it’s a big buy. An’ Malpass will grab it pronto.”
“We will beat him to it, as you say,” declared Virginia, emphatically, and held out her hand. “I shall lose no time. And I’d like you to call on me again—to tell me more about my—my husband.”
“Wal, I’d be most proud, Mrs. Forrest,” he returned. “But I’m leavin’ today, an’ I don’t know no more than I’ve told you. I’ll gamble, though, if you block Malpass’ deal, Forrest will come home in the spring as husky an’ strong as any young fellar around. Why thet’s the perfectest place in the world! The water an’ the air—they’d fetch a dead man back to life, almost.”
“Good-by, then, and don’t forget you’re a friend of the Cliff Forrests’,” returned Virginia, earnestly.
Ten minutes later she sat facing Richard Fenton’s father, president of the Las Vegas Bank.
“I want to borrow ten thousand dollars,” she announced, after greetings had been exchanged.
“So Dick was telling me,” replied the elder Fenton, smiling.
“But when I mentioned borrowing to him I had no idea I would come so soon or ask for so much.”
“He guessed it, then. For he sure said ten thousand. May I ask, Virginia, what you want with so much money?”
Virginia told him briefly.
“That’s different. You must forgive me, Virginia. I imagined you wanted it for your usual luxuries. This is good sound business, outside of your desire to help Clifton. I’ll lend you the money. The sheep will be ample security. I’d like to make that buy for myself.”
“Give me something to sign, then, and a certified check. And if you’ll be so kind—a little advice about the purchase of these sheep.”
“Take Dick with you. He’s our attorney, and he’ll draw up a bill of sale to protect you.”
Fenton pressed a button on his desk, while looking kindly and thoughtfully at Virginia.
“There! The color has come back to your cheeks,” he said. “You were white when you came in. I like the roses best, lass. Long ago, when you were a ragged school kid, I took a liking to you. Used to watch you and Dick and your kid schoolmates. And not so long ago I hoped you might make Dick the lucky boy. But life teaches we can’t have all we want. Like Dick, I’m glad it was Clifton. . . . I hope and believe all will turn out happily for you.”
That night Virginia was so fatigued by the rough ride to San Luis and so stirred by the success of her venture that she could not enjoy her dinner. And afterward she was beset by her friends. She was dead spent when she crawled into bed, almost asleep before she stretched out.
Next morning she awakened rested, cheerful, eager. At breakfast she found an item in the morning paper, on the front page, anent the return to Las Vegas of Mrs. Clifton Forrest, who aside from seeing many welcoming friends, had found time to run over to San Luis and buy from Don Lopez one of the largest flocks of sheep on the range.
It was not the news that caused Virginia’s face to burn, but the name in print—Mrs. Clifton Forrest! It gave her the most unaccountable sensation of mingled shame, pride, and ache. Yet she had to confess she liked the look of it in print.
Not so long after breakfast the hotel clerk rang her room, and said: “Your father calling. Shall I send him up?”
“No. I’ll come down,” hastily replied Virginia, surprised into that much of an armistice. She had wit enough, even though flustered, to think that her father could not very well bully her in the hotel parlor. As she went downstairs, however, she decided if he did try that, or if he had Malpass with him, she would promptly beat a retreat. And with that in mind, and a freezing dignity, she swept into the parlor.
Lundeen was alone and rose at her entrance. Pity had been farthest from Virginia’s emotions, but the instant she saw his altered face and manner she felt it. His greeting seemed less stilted than hers. Perhaps he was less aware that others were present.
“I thought I’d better run down an’ see you,” he said, motioning Virginia to be seated.
“Yes?” answered Virginia, interrogatively. She looked penetratingly to see what purpose hid behind this unfamiliar front. There was none. He seemed strange, but as composed as she forced herself to be.
“I’ll come to that presently,” he replied, with dark unfathomable eyes on her. “I reckon I never seen you look better. Like your mother when I met her. Only handsomer.” He sighed, and then tapped the newspaper he held. “I see you’re goin’ in the sheep business.”
“Yes. But I was as surprised as anyone to see that in print.”
He scanned the page. “Mrs. Clifton Forrest!—Where’d you get the money, Virginia?”
“I borrowed it.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand.”
“You’re no fool, that’s shore. But I reckon you weren’t lookin’ to make money. Why’d you buy them?”
Virginia told him bluntly. His astonishment was not feigned. Then his expression changed and she could not gauge him so well, but she divined something of resentment, either at her or Malpass. Next his troubled gaze sought the floor, and he twisted the newspaper in vise-like hands.
“Virginia, I can take a beatin’,” he said.
“Can you? First I ever knew of it,” she returned, with a laugh.
“Wal, I shore can. An’ I reckon you’ve beat me aboot this young Forrest. Will you tell me a few things—honest?”
“Yes, dad, since you make such amazing statement as that last,” returned Virginia, thawing in spite of herself.
“You didn’t marry Forrest only just to fool me an’ Malpass?”
“Indeed, no. But I couldn’t truthfully say that wasn’t included in my motive.”
“You care real genuine for him?”
“Yes, dad.”
“You love him like—like your mother did me?”
“I hope it’s that well. Mother has loved you wondrously, dad. Infinitely more than you ever deserved.”
“I reckon it makes a difference,” he rejoined, ponderingly. “You see, I never had any idea you really loved Forrest. Not till yesterday. Somethin’ you said on the phone. It got me. An’ it struck me that I hated young Forrest only because of his father. . . . So I’ve come down to surrender. If you’ll make up with me I’ll take back my demand aboot the divorce.”
“Oh, dad—you surprise me!” she exclaimed, gladly. “That’s good of you. It’s big. It makes me think better of you.”
“Wal, it’s not easy to come to. But that’s my stand. Will you forgive me an’ come home? This means for him, too.”
She touched his hand, almost overcome. “I do forgive you, dad. And I will come home on one condition—that you break with Malpass.”
He jerked as if he had been struck by a stinging whip.
“Reckon I feared just aboot that,” he returned, his voice breaking a little. “Virginia, I can’t do it.”
“Why not? Even if you had to sacrifice money it would be better for you in the end.”
“It’s not money, lass, though I’d hate to let Malpass get any more of mine. But I’d sacrifice if that was enough. . . . Virginia, he hasn’t ever given up expectin’ to get you.”
“The conceited jackass!” ejaculated Virginia, in angry amaze.
“So he’d hang on to me like grim death.”
“But, father, he’s crooked.”
“Shore. An’ there’s the rub. He has made me crooked, too. I was easy to lead, though, an’ can’t brag. But if I’d break with him it’d be my ruin.”
“Father, has it ever occurred to you that Malpass might have been crooked with you?”
“What you mean, girl?” he demanded, gruffly.
“Might he not have cheated you?”
“No. That never occurred to me. I’d swear by him.”
“But suppose he had. Would that make any difference? Would you break with him then?”
“Ha! I’d no
t only break with him, but——” he growled, and rumbled the rest in his cavernous breast.
Virginia shivered, but she had committed herself to this supposition and would not heed a warning. He rose to glare sadly down at her.
“Wal, then we split on Malpass again, an’ for good?”
“Dad, we don’t split at all,” she replied, rising to face him and to speak eloquently and low. “I can’t come back to you yet, but I’ll live in hopes. You’ve given me back something of respect for you—perhaps more. That means a great deal to me. I thank you for it. . . . Let’s not split. Don’t be angry with me any more. I’m sure I can help you. Oh, dad, I know it. . . . Let’s be friends—until——”
“Wal, I’ll think aboot it,” he returned, and strode away.
Chapter Sixteen
NEXT day at an early hour Virginia telegraphed Jarvis, the mining expert, to come on at once. That done she anticipated calm, but she was in a fever of impatience, hope, and dread. What a step to take! But the plan had been conceived in cold, stern reasoning. She would abide by it, come what might. Her return home, all the news about Clifton Forrest, and her father’s incredible capitulation had stormed her emotions.
It helped somewhat to write to Ethel—a letter she dared not read over for fear she would never sanction such raving. This act, however, was keeping faith with her staunch friend; and the mere expression of the facts, fancies, and fears occasioned by her return mitigated in some degree their dismaying power.
In the afternoon she went to see a motion picture. It happened to be a Western melodrama of ancient vintage, and in spite of a cherub-faced hero and a doll of a heroine, a plot that had no semblance to any possible life on the range, a villain who was a perfect counterfeit of Malpass, miraculous hairbreadth escapes from flood, fire, avalanche and the glass-eyed pursuer, it diverted her mind, amused, disgusted, and thrilled her.
Dinner was an ordeal, and to woo sleep seemed futile. Yet at length she dropped away and dreamed Clifton returned well and strong and handsome, but would have none of her. Helen Andrews, after the manner of dreams, appeared from nowhere, ravishingly lovely and mad about Clifton. Dispensing with the formality of marriage, they were building a marble palace above Cottonwoods when Virginia awakened to the blast of a factory whistle. “Whew!” she breathed, grateful for rationality. Her face was damp and her body cold. What fiendish power some dreams had! Weird, grotesque, impossible life seen through an opaque distorting veil, it was yet appallingly real.
