CHAPTER XXII
PORTENTS OF WAR
There were signs of impending war on Bronco Mesa. As God sent the rainand the flowers and grass sprang up they grappled with each other likemurderers, twining root about root for the water, fighting upward forthe light--and when it was over the strongest had won. Every tree andplant on that broad range was barbed and fanged against assault; everycreature that could not flee was armed for its own defence; it was aland of war, where the strongest always won. What need was there forwords? Juan Alvarez was dead, shot from some distant peak whilerounding up his sheep--and his sheep, too, were dead.
They buried the boss herder under a pile of rocks on Lookout Point andplanted a cross above him, not for its Christian significance, nor yetbecause Juan was a good Catholic, but for the Mexicans to look at inthe Spring, when the sheep should come to cross. Jim Swope attended tothis himself, after the coroner had given over the body, and for aparting word he cursed Jeff Creede.
Then for a day the world took notice of their struggle--the greatoutside world that had left them to fight it out. Three thousand headof sheep had been killed; mutton enough to feed a great city for a dayhad been destroyed--and all in a quarrel over public land. The wordcrept back to Washington, stripped to the bare facts--three thousandsheep and their herder killed by cattlemen on the proposed SalaguaReserve--and once more the question rose, Why was not that SalaguaReserve proclaimed? No one answered. There was another sheep andcattle war going on up in Wyoming, and the same question was beingasked about other proposed reserves. But when Congress convened inDecember the facts began to sift out: there was a combination ofrailroad and lumber interests, big cattlemen, sheepmen, and"land-grabbers" that was "against any interference on the part of theFederal Government," and "opposed to any change of existing laws andcustoms as to the grazing of live stock upon the public domain." Thisanomalous organization was fighting, and for years had been fighting,the policy of the administration to create forest reserves and protectthe public land; and, by alliances with other anti-administrationforces in the East, had the President and his forester at their mercy.There would be no forestry legislation that Winter--so the newspaperssaid. But that made no difference to the Four Peaks country.
Only faint echoes of the battle at Washington reached the cowmen'sears, and they no longer gave them any heed. For years they had beentolled along by false hopes; they had talked eagerly of Forest Rangersto draw two-mile circles around their poor ranches and protect themfrom the sheep; they had longed to lease the range, to pay grazingfees, anything for protection. But now they had struck the first blowfor themselves, and behold, on the instant the sheep went round, thegrass crept back onto the scarred mesa, the cattle grew fat on therange! Juan Alvarez, to be sure, was dead; but their hands were clean,let the sheepmen say what they would. What were a few sheep carcassesup on the high mesa? They only matched the cattle that had died offduring the drought. When they met a sheep-herder now he gave them thetrail.
Tucked away in a far corner of the Territory, without money, friends,or influence, there was nothing for it but to fight. All nature seemedconspiring to encourage them in their adventure--the Winter came onearly, with heavy rains; the grass took root again among the barrenrocks and when, in a belated _rodeo_, they gathered their beef steers,they received the highest selling price in years. All over Arizona,and in California, New Mexico, and Texas, the great drought haddepleted the ranges; the world's supply of beef had been cut down;feeders were scarce in the alfalfa fields of Moroni; fat cattle werecalled for from Kansas City to Los Angeles; and suddenly the despisedcowmen of the Four Peaks saw before them the great vision which alwayshangs at the end of the rainbow in Arizona--a pot of gold, _if thesheep went around_. And what would make the sheep go around? Nothingbut a thirty-thirty.
The price of mutton had gone up too, adding a third to the fortune ofevery sheepman; the ewes were lambing on the desert, bringing forth ahundred per cent or better, with twins--and every lamb must eat! Tothe hundred thousand sheep that had invaded Bronco Mesa there wasadded fifty thousand more, and they must all eat. It was this that thesheepmen had foreseen when they sent Juan Alvarez around to raid theupper range--not that they needed the feed then, but they would needit in the Spring, and need it bad. So they had tried to break the wayand, failing, had sworn to come in arms. It was a fight for the grass,nothing less, and there was no law to stop it.
As the news of the trouble filtered out and crept into obscure cornersof the daily press, Hardy received a long hortatory letter from JudgeWare; and, before he could answer it, another. To these he answeredbriefly that the situation could only be relieved by some form ofFederal control; that, personally, his sympathies were with thecattlemen, but, in case the judge was dissatisfied with hisservices--But Judge Ware had learned wisdom from a past experience andat this point he turned the correspondence over to Lucy. Then in asudden fit of exasperation he packed his grip and hastened across thecontinent to Washington, to ascertain for himself why the SalaguaForest Reserve was not proclaimed. As for Lucy, her letters were ascarefully considered as ever--she wrote of everything except the sheepand Kitty Bonnair. Not since she went away had she mentioned Kitty,nor had Hardy ever inquired about her. In idle moments he sometimeswondered what had been in that unread letter which he had burned withCreede's, but he never wrote in answer, and his heart seemed still anddead. For years the thought of Kitty Bonnair had haunted him, risingup in the long silence of the desert; in the rush and hurry of theround-up the vision of her supple form, the laughter of her eyes, thesuccession of her moods, had danced before his eyes in changingpictures, summoned up from the cherished past; but now his mind wasfilled with other things. Somewhere in the struggle against sheep andthe drought he had lost her, as a man loses a keep-sake which he hascarried so long against his heart that its absence is as unnoticed asits presence, and he never knows himself the poorer. After the droughthad come the sheep, the stampede, fierce quarrels with the Swopes,threats and counter-threats--and then the preparations for war. Thememory of the past faded away and another thought now haunted hismind, though he never spoke it--when the time came, would he fight, orwould he stay with Lucy and let Jeff go out alone? It was a questionnever answered, but every day he rode out without his gun, and Creedetook that for a sign.
As the Rio Salagua, swollen with winter rains, rose up like a writhingyellow serpent and cast itself athwart the land, it drew a line fromeast to west which neither sheep nor cattle could cross, and thecowmen who had lingered about Hidden Water rode gayly back to theirdistant ranches, leaving the peaceful Dos S where Sallie Winship hadhung her cherished lace curtains and Kitty Bonnair and Lucy Ware hadmade a home, almost a total wreck. Sheep, drought, and flood hadpassed over it in six months' time; the pasture fence was down, thecorrals were half dismantled, and the bunk-room looked like a desertedgrading camp. For a week Creede and Hardy cleaned up and rebuilt, butevery day, in spite of his partner's efforts to divert his mind, Jeffgrew more restless and uneasy. Then one lonely evening he went overto the corner where his money was buried and began to dig.
"What--the--hell--is the matter with this place?" he exclaimed,looking up from his work as if he expected the roof to drop. "Eversince Tommy died it gits on my nerves, bad." He rooted out his tomatocan and stuffed a roll of bills carelessly into his overalls pocket."Got any mail to go out?" he inquired, coming back to the fire, andHardy understood without more words that Jeff was going on anotherdrunk.
"Why, yes," he said, "I might write a letter to the boss. But how'reyou going to get across the river--she's running high now."
"Oh, I'll git across the river, all right," grumbled Creede. "Born tobe hung and ye can't git drowned, as they say. Well, give the boss mybest." He paused, frowning gloomily into the fire. "Say," he said, hisvoice breaking a little, "d'ye ever hear anything from Miss Bonnair?"
For a moment Hardy was silent. Then, reading what was in his partner'sheart, he answered gently:
"Not a word, Jeff."
The big cowboy sighed and grinned cynically.
"That was a mighty bad case I had," he observed philosophically. "Butd'ye know what was the matter with me? Well, I never tumbled to ittill afterward, but it was jest because she was like Sallie--talkedlike her and rode like her, straddle, that way. But I wanter tell you,boy," he added mournfully, "_Sal_ had a heart."
He sank once more into sombre contemplation, grumbling as he nursedhis wounds, and at last Hardy asked him a leading question aboutSallie Winship.
"Did I ever hear from 'er?" repeated Creede, rousing up from hisreverie. "No, and it ain't no use to try. I wrote to her three times,but I never got no answer--I reckon the old lady held 'em out on her.She wouldn't stand for no bow-legged cowpuncher--and ye can't blameher none, the way old man Winship used to make her cook for them_rodeo_ hands--but Sallie would've answered them letters if she'd got'em."
"But where were they living in St. Louis?" persisted Hardy. "Maybe yougot the wrong address."
"Nope, I got it straight--Saint Louie, Mo., jest the way you see it inthese money-order catalogues."
"But didn't you give any street and number?" cried Hardy, aghast."Why, for Heaven's sake, Jeff, there are half a million people in St.Louis--she'd never get it in the world."
"No?" inquired Creede apathetically. "Well, it don't make nodifference, then. I don't amount to a dam', anyhow--and this is noplace for a woman--but, by God, Rufe, I do git awful lonely when Isee you writin' them letters to the boss. If I only had somebody thatcared for me I'd prize up hell to make good. I'd do anything in God'sworld--turn back them sheep or give up my six-shooter, jest as shesaid; but, nope, they's no such luck for Jeff Creede--he couldn't makea-winnin' with a squaw."
"Jeff," said Hardy quietly, "how much would you give to get a letterfrom Sallie?"
"What d'ye mean?" demanded Creede, looking up quickly. Then, seeingthe twinkle in his partner's eye, he made a grab for his money. "Mywhole wad," he cried, throwing down the roll. "What's the deal?"
"All right," answered Hardy, deliberately counting out the bills,"there's the ante--a hundred dollars. The rest I hold back for thattrip to St. Louis. This hundred goes to the Rinkerton DetectiveAgency, St. Louis, Missouri, along with a real nice letter that I'llhelp you write; and the minute they deliver that letter into the handsof Miss Sallie Winship, formerly of Hidden Water, Arizona, and returnan answer, there's another hundred coming to 'em. Is it a go?"
"Pardner," said Creede, rising up solemnly from his place, "I want toshake with you on that."
The next morning, with a package of letters in the crown of his blackhat, Jefferson Creede swam Bat Wings across the swift current of theSalagua, hanging onto his tail from behind, and without even stoppingto pour the water out of his boots struck into the long trail forBender.
One week passed, and then another, and at last he came back, wet anddripping from his tussle with the river, and cursing the very name ofdetectives.
"W'y, shucks!" he grumbled. "I bummed around in town there for twoweeks, hatin' myself and makin' faces at a passel of ornery sheepmen,and what do I git for my trouble? 'Dear Mister Creede, your letter ofumpty-ump received. We have detailed Detective Moriarty on this caseand will report later. Yours truly!' That's all--keep the change--wemake a livin' off of suckers--and they's one born every minute. Tohell with these detectives! Well, I never received nothin' more andfinally I jumped at a poor little bandy-legged sheep-herder, a crossbetween a gorilla and a Digger Injun--scared him to death. But Ipulled my freight quick before we had any international complications.Don't mention Mr. Allan Q. Rinkerton to me, boy, or I'll throw a fit.Say," he said, changing the subject abruptly, "how many hundredthousand sheep d'ye think I saw, comin' up from Bender? Well, sir,they was sheep as far as the eye could see--millions of 'em--andthey've got that plain et down to the original sand and cactus,already. W'y, boy, if we let them sheepmen in on us this Spring we'lllook like a watermelon patch after a nigger picnic; we'll be cleanedlike Pablo Moreno; they won't be pickin's for a billy goat! And Jim'n' Jasp have been ribbin' their herders on scandalous. This littlebandy-legged son-of-a-goat that I jumped at down in Bender actuallyhad the nerve to say that I killed Juan Alvarez myself. Think of that,will ye, and me twenty miles away at the time! But I reckon if youtook Jasp to pieces you'd find out he was mad over them three thousandwethers--value six dollars per--that I stompeded. The dastard! D'yesee how he keeps away from me? Well, I'm goin' to call the _rodeo_right away and work that whole upper range, and when the river goesdown you'll find Jeff Creede right there with the goods if Jasp islookin' for trouble. Read them letters, boy, and tell me if I'm goin'to have the old judge on my hands, too."
According to the letters, he was; and the boss was also lookingforward with pleasure to her visit in the Spring.
"Well, wouldn't that jar you," commented Creede, and then he laughedslyly. "Cheer up," he said, "it might be worse--they's nothin' saidabout Kitty Bonnair."
Sure enough--not a word about Kitty, and the year before Lucy hadspoken about her in every letter! There was something mysterious aboutit, and sinister; they both felt it.
And when at last the wagon came in, bearing only Judge Ware and Lucy,somehow even Jeff's sore heart was touched by a sense of loss. Butwhile others might dissemble, Bill Lightfoot's impulsive nature madeno concealment of its chiefest thought.
"Where's Miss Bunnair?" he demanded, as soon as Lucy Ware was free,and there was a sudden lull in the conversation roundabout as thecowboys listened for the answer.
"I'm sorry," said Miss Ware, politely evasive, "but she wasn't able tocome with me."
"She'll be down bimeby, though, won't she?" persisted Lightfoot; andwhen Lucy finally answered with a vague "Perhaps" he turned to theassembled cowboys with a triumphant grin. "Um, now, what'd I tellyou!" he said; and one and all they scowled and stabbed him with theireyes.
The _rodeo_ camp was already established beneath the big mesquite, andwhile three or four careless cowmen held the day herd over against themesa the rest of the outfit was busy raking The Rolls. It was all verydifferent from what Judge Ware and Lucy had anticipated. There was nosign of excitement in their midst, no ostentatious display of arms orposting of patrols, and what surprised the judge most of all was thatin their friendly gatherings around the fire there was no one, saveHardy, who would argue against the sheep.
The judge had been on to Washington and was possessed of all thematerial facts, but nobody was interested any more in the SalaguaForest Reserve; he had consulted with the Chief Forester and even withthe President himself, laying before them the imminence of the danger,and they had assured him that everything possible would be done torelieve the situation. Did it not, then, he demanded, behoove thelaw-abiding residents of prospective forest reserves to cooperate withsuch an enlightened administration, even at the risk of some temporarypersonal loss? And with one voice the Four Peaks cowmen agreed that itdid. There was something eerie about it--the old judge was dazed bytheir acquiescence.
Of all the cowmen at Hidden Water, Rufus Hardy was the only man whowould discuss the matter at length. A change had come over him now; hewas very thin and quiet, with set lines along his jaw, but instead ofriding nervously up and down the river as he had the year before helingered idly about the ranch, keeping tally at the branding andentertaining his guests. No matter how pedantic or polemical the oldjudge became, Hardy was willing to listen to him; and Lucy, hoveringin the background, would often smile to hear them argue, the judgelaying down the law and equity of the matter and Rufus meeting himlike an expert swordsman with parry and thrust. Day by day, hisprejudice wearing away from lack of any real opposition, Judge Warebecame more and more pleased with his daughter's superintendent; butLucy herself was troubled. There was a look in his eyes that she hadnever seen before, a set and haggard stare that came when he satalone, and his head was always turned aside, as if he were listening.The sheep came trooping in from the south, marching in long lines tothe river's edge, and still he sat quiet, just inside the door
,listening.
"Tell me, Rufus," she said, one day when her father was inspecting theupper range with Creede, "what is it that made you so sad? Isit--Kitty?"
For a minute he gazed at her, a faint smile on his lips.
"No," he said, at last, "it is not Kitty." And then he lapsed backinto silence, his head turned as before.
The wind breathed through the _corredor_, bringing with it a distant,plaintive bleating--the sheep, waiting beyond the turbid river tocross.
"I have forgotten about Kitty," he said absently. "For me there isnothing in the world but sheep. Can't you hear them bleating downthere?" he cried, throwing out his hands. "Can't you smell them? Ah,Lucy, if you knew sheep as I do! I never hear a sheep now that I don'tthink of that day last year when they came pouring out of Hell's HipPocket with a noise like the end of the world. If I had been there tostop them they might never have taken the range--but after that, allthrough the hot summer when the cattle were dying for feed, every timethe wind came up and roared in my ears I would hear sheep--_baaa_,_baaa_--and now I hear them again."
He paused and looked up at her intently.
"Do you know what that noise means to me?" he demanded, almostroughly. "It means little calves dying around the water hole; motherslowing for their little ones that they have left to starve; it meanslong lines of cows following me out over the mesa for brush, and allthe trees cut down. Ah, Lucy, how can your father talk of waiting whenit means as much as that?"
"But last year was a drought," protested Lucy pitifully. "Will it beas bad this year?"
"Every bit! Did you notice that plain between Bender and the river? Itwill be like that in a week if we let them cross the river."
"Oh," cried Lucy, "then you--do you mean to turn them back?"
"The river is very high," answered Hardy sombrely. "They cannotcross." And then as a quail strikes up leaves and dust to hide hernest, he launched forth quickly upon a story of the flood.
The Salagua was long in flood that Spring. Day after day, while thesheep wandered uneasily along its banks rearing up to strip the lastremnants of browse from the tips of willows and burro bushes, itrolled ponderously forth from its black-walled gorge and flowed pastthe crossing, deep and strong, sucking evenly into the turbidwhirlpool that waited for its prey. At the first approach of theinvaders the unconsidered zeal of Judge Ware overcame him; he was forpeace, reason, the saner judgment that comes from wider views and ariper mind, and, fired by the hope of peaceful truce, he rodefurtively along the river waving a white handkerchief whenever he sawa sheep-herder, and motioning him to cross. But however anxious he wasfor an interview the desires of the sheepmen did not lean in thatdirection, and they only stared at him stolidly or pretended not tosee.
Thwarted in his efforts for peace the judge returned to camp deep inthought. The sheep were at his very door and nothing had been done tostay them; a deadly apathy seemed to have settled down upon thecowmen; after all their threats there were no preparations fordefence; the river was not even patrolled; and yet if quick action wasnot taken the upper range might be irreparably ruined before thereserve was proclaimed. Not that he would countenance violence, but ajudicious show of resistance, for instance, might easily delay thecrossing until the President could act, or even so daunt the invadersthat they would go around. It was not strictly legal, of course, butthe judge could see no harm in suggesting it, and as soon as thecowmen were gathered about their fire that evening he went out and satdown by Creede, who lay sprawled on his back, his head pillowed on hishands, smoking.
"Well, Jefferson," he began, feeling his way cautiously, "I see thatthe sheep have come down to the river--they will be making a crossingsoon, I suppose?"
Creede sucked studiously upon his cigarette, and shifted it to acorner of his mouth.
"W'y yes, Judge," he said, "I reckon they will."
"Well--er--do you think they intend to invade our upper range thisyear?"
"Sure thing," responded Creede, resuming his smoke, "that's what theycome up here for. You want to take a last long look at this grass."
"Yes, but, Jefferson," protested the judge, opening up his eyes, "whatwill our cattle feed upon then?"
"Same old thing," answered Creede, "_palo verde_ and giant cactus.I've got most of mine in the town herd."
"What!" exclaimed Judge Ware, astounded at the suggestion, "you don'tmean to say that you are preparing to go out of business? Why, my dearJefferson, this country may be set aside as a forest reserve at anyminute--and think of the privileges you will be giving up! As an ownerof cattle already grazing upon the range you will be entitled to thefirst consideration of the Government; you will be granted the firstgrazing permit; there will be forest rangers to protect you; thesheep, being transient stock and known to be very destructive toforest growth, will undoubtedly be confined to a narrow trail farbelow us; by the payment of a nominal grazing fee you will beabsolutely guaranteed in all your rights and watched over by theFederal Government!"
"Oh, hell!" exclaimed the big cowboy, rising up suddenly from hisplace, "don't talk Government to me, whatever you do! W'y, Judge," hecried, throwing out his hands, "they ain't no Government here. Theyain't no law. I could go over and kill one of them sheep-herders andyou wouldn't see an officer in two days. I've lived here for nigh ontotwenty-six years and the nearest I ever come to seein' the Governmentwas a mule branded 'U. S.'"
He stopped abruptly and, striding out into the darkness, picked up alog of wood and laid it carefully upon the fire.
"Judge," he said, turning suddenly and wagging an accusing finger athis former employer, "I've heard a lot from you about this reserve,how the President was goin' to telegraph you the news the minute hesigned the proclamation, and send a ranger in to protect the range,and all that, but I ain't seen you _do_ nothin'! Now if you're goin'to make good you've got jest about three days to do it in--after thatthe sheep will have us dished. Maybe you could use your pull to kinderhurry things up a little--do a little telegraphin', or somethin' likethat."
"I'll do it!" cried the judge, taking the bait like a fish, "I'll doit at once! I want your best horse, Jeff, and a guide. I'll wire thechief forester from Bender!"
"Keno!" said Creede sententiously, "and give my regards to Teddy."
As the old judge disappeared over the western rim the next morningthe _rodeo_ boss smiled grimly behind his hand, and glancedsignificantly at Hardy. Then, with the outfit behind him, he rodeslowly up the canyon, leaving his partner to his steady job as"family man"--entertaining the boss.
For two days the sheepmen watched the river eagerly, waiting for adrop; then suddenly, as the snow water ran by and a cool day checkedthe distant streams, it fell, and the swift pageant of the crossingbegan. At sun-up a boss herder rode boldly out into the current andswam it with his horse; brawny Mexicans leapt into the thicket of_palo verdes_ that grew against the cliff and cut branches to build achute; Jasper Swope in his high sombrero and mounted on his black mulegalloped down from the hidden camp and urged his men along. Still thesame ominous silence hung about the shore where Juan Alvarez layburied beneath the cross. There was no watcher on Lookout Point, nohorsemen lurking in the distance; only the lowing of the day herd, farup the canyon, and the lapping of muddy waters. Across the river thelow _malpai_ cliffs rose up like ramparts against them and Black Buttefrowned down upon them like a watch tower, but of the men who might bethere watching there was no sign.
The sheepman studied upon the situation for a while; then he sent amessenger flying back to camp and soon a hardy band of wethers camedown, led by an advance guard of goats, and their plaintive bleatingechoed in a confused chorus from the high cliffs as they entered thewings of the chute. Already the camp rustlers had driven them outon the slanting rock and encircled the first cut with their canvaswagon cover, when Jasper Swope held up his hand for them to stop. Atthe last moment and for no cause he hesitated, touched by somepremonition, or suspicious of the silent shore. One after anotherthe herders clambered back and squatted idly against
the coolcliff, smoking and dangling their polished carbines; the sheep, leftstanding upon the rock, huddled together and stood motionless; thegoats leapt nimbly up on adjacent bowlders and gazed across theriver intently; then, throwing up his hand again, the sheepmanspurred his black mule recklessly into the water, waving his big hatas he motioned for the sheep to cross.
As the long hours of that portentous morning wore on, palpitating tothe clamor of the sheep, a great quiet settled upon Hidden Water.Sitting just within the door Hardy watched Lucy as she went about herwork, but his eyes were wandering and haggard and he glanced from timeto time at the Black Butte that stood like a sentinel against thecrossing. In the intervals of conversation the bleating of the sheeprose suddenly from down by the river, and ceased; he talked on,feverishly, never stopping for an answer, and Lucy looked at himstrangely, as if wondering at his preoccupation. Again the deeptremolo rose up, echoing from the cliffs, and Hardy paused in themidst of a story to listen. He was still staring out the doorway whenLucy Ware came over and laid her hand on his shoulder.
"Rufus," she said, "what is it you are always listening for? Day afterday I see you watching here by the door, and when I talk you listenfor something else. Tell me--is it--are you watching for Kitty?"
"Kitty?" repeated Hardy, his eyes still intent. "Why no; why should Ibe watching for her?"
At his answer, spoken so impassively, she drew away quickly, but hecaught her hand and stopped her.
"Ah no," he said, "if I could only listen for something else it wouldbe better--but all I hear is sheep. I'm like old Bill Johnson; I canstill shoot straight and find my way in the mountains, but every timeI hear a sheep blat I change. Poor old Bill, he's over across theriver there now; the boys have heard his hounds baying up in the highcliffs for a week. I've seen him a time or two since he took to thehills and he's just as quiet and gentle with me as if he were myfather, but if anybody mentions sheep he goes raving crazy in aminute. Jeff says he's been that way himself for years, and now it'sgot me, too. If I get much worse," he ended, suddenly glancing up ather with a wistful smile, "you'll have to take me away."
"Away!" cried Lucy eagerly, "would you go? You know father and I havetalked of it time and again, but you just stick and stick, and nothingwill make you leave. But listen--what was that?"
A succession of rifle shots, like the popping of wet logs over a fire,came dully to their ears, muffled by the bleating of sheep and theechoing of the cliffs. Hardy leapt to his feet and listened intently,his eyes burning with suppressed excitement; then he steppedreluctantly back into the house and resumed his seat.
"I guess it's only those Mexican herders," he said. "They shoot thatway to drive their sheep."
"But look!" cried Lucy, pointing out the door, "the Black Butte isafire! Just see that great smoke!"
Hardy sprang up again and dashed out into the open. The popping ofthirty-thirtys had ceased, but from the summit of the square-toppedbutte a signal fire rose up to heaven, tall and straight and black.
"Aha!" he muttered, and without looking at her he ran out to thecorral to saddle Chapuli. But when he came back he rode slowly,checking the impatience of his horse, until at last he dismountedbeside her. For days his eyes had been furtive and evasive, but now atlast they were steady.
"Lucy," he said, "I haven't been very honest with you, but I guess youknow what this means--the boys are turning back the sheep." His voicewas low and gentle, and he stood very straight before her, like asoldier. Yet, even though she sensed what was in his mind, Lucysmiled. For a month he had been to her like another man, a man withoutemotion or human thought, and now in a moment he had come back, theold Rufus that she had known in her heart so long.
"Yes," she said, holding out her hand to him, "I knew it. But you areworking for me, you know, and I cannot let you go. Listen, Rufus," shepleaded, as he drew away, "have I ever refused you anything? Tell mewhat you want to do."
"I want to go down there and help turn back those sheep," he said,bluntly. "You know me, Lucy--my heart is in this fight--my friends arein it--and I must go."
He waited for some answer, but Lucy only turned away. There were tearsin her eyes when she looked back at him and her lips trembled, but shepassed into the house without a word. Hardy gazed wonderingly afterher and his heart smote him; she was like some sensitive little childto whom every rough word was a blow, and he had hurt her. He glancedat the signal fire that rolled up black and sombre as the watcherpiled green brush upon it, then he dropped his bridle rein and steppedquickly into the house.
"You must forgive me, Lucy," he said, standing humbly at the door."I--I am changed. But do not think that I will come to any harm--thisis not a battle against men, but sheep. No one will be killed. And nowmay I go?" Once more his voice became low and gentle and he stoodbefore her like some questing knight before his queen, but she onlysat gazing at him with eyes that he could not understand.
"Listen, Lucy," he cried, "I will not go unless you tell me--and nowmay I go?"
A smile came over Lucy's face but she did not speak her thoughts.
"If you will stay for my sake," she said, "I shall be very happy, butI will not hold you against your will. Oh, Rufus, Rufus!" she cried,suddenly holding out her hands, "can't you understand? I can't setmyself against you, and yet--think what it is to be a woman!" She roseup and stood before him, the soft light glowing in her eyes, and Hardystepped forward to meet her; but in that moment a drumming of hoofsechoed through the doorway, there was a rush of horsemen leaningforward as they rode, and then Jefferson Creede thundered by, glancingback as he spurred down the canyon to meet the sheep.
"My God!" whispered Hardy, following his flight with startled eyes,and as the rout of cowboys flashed up over the top of Lookout Pointand were gone he bowed his head in silence.
"Lucy," he said, at last, "my mind has been far away. I--I have notseen what was before me, and I shall always be the loser. But look--Ihave two friends in all the world, you and Jeff, and you are thedearer by far. But you could see as Jeff went by that he was mad. Whathe will do at the river I can only guess; he is crazy, and a crazy manwill do anything. But if I am with him I can hold him back--will youlet me go?" He held out his hands and as Lucy took them she saw forthe first time in his shy eyes--love. For a moment she gazed at himwistfully, but her heart never faltered. Whatever his will might beshe would never oppose it, now that she had his love.
"Yes, Rufus," she said, "you may go, but remember--me."
Hidden Water Page 22
