by Harold Titus
CHAPTER III
THE NESTER--AND ANOTHER
"Now about the men, Miss Hunter," said Hepburn. When he reached thissubject he looked through the deep window far down the creek and hadJane known him better she might have seen hesitancy with hisdeliberation, as though he approached the subject reluctantly.
"How many will you need?" she asked.
"Not many yet. Four besides myself. There's seven here now. That is,there'll be six, because one is pullin' out this mornin' of his ownaccord. We'll need more when the round-up starts, but until then--aboutJune--we can get along. The fewer the better."
"That will be largely up to you. Of course, I will be consulted."
"I guess we'll keep Curtis and Oliver. Then there's Two-Bits--"
"Oh, keep Two-Bits by all means!" she laughed. "I'm in love with himalready!"
"All right, we'll keep Two-Bits. As for the other, there's a chance tochoose because--"
"Beck; how about him?"
Her manner was a bit too casual and she folded a sheet of memorandawith minute care before her foreman, who eyed her sharply, replied:
"He's settled that for himself, I guess. He was packin' his war bagwhen I come down here. I told him to come to the house for his time."
"You mean he's leaving?"
Hepburn nodded.
"Why?"
"Well, I guess his nose is out of joint at not bein' picked forforeman."
"But he wouldn't even draw. Said he wouldn't take a chance!"
"I know. He appeared not to give a hang for the job, but he's a funnyman. He an' I never got along any too well. We don't hitch."
"Is he a good worker?"
"If he wants to be. He don't say much, but he always.... Why, he alwaysseems to be laughin' at everybody and everything."
"I think _I_ could persuade him to want to work for me."
"Perhaps. But then, too, he's hot tempered. In kind of bad with some ofthe boys over trouble he's had."
"What trouble?"
"Why, principally because he beat up a man--Sam McKee--on the beef ridelast fall."
"What for?"
"Well.... He thought this man was a little rough with his horse."
"And he whipped him because he had abused a horse? That, it seems tome, isn't much against him."
"No; maybe not. He beat him a sight worse than he beat his horse," heexplained, moving uneasily. "Anyhow, he's settled that. Here he comesnow, after his time."
Jane stepped nearer the window. Beck approached, whistling softly. Hewore leather chaps with a leather fringe and great, silver conchos. Arevolver swung at his hip. His movements were easy and graceful. Sheopened the door and, seeing her, he removed his hat.
"I've come for my time, ma'am," he explained.
"Won't you come in? Maybe you're not going to go just yet."
He entered and she thought that as he glanced at Hepburn, who did notlook up, his eyes danced with a flicker of delight.
"I don't know as I can stay, ma'am. I told your foreman a little whileago that I'd be going. Somebody's got to go, and it may as well be oneas another."
"Don't you think my wishes should be consulted?" she asked.
He twirled his hat, looking at her with a half smile.
"This is your outfit, ma'am. I should think your wishes ought to go,but it won't do for you to start in with more trouble than's necessary."
"But if I want you and Mr. Hepburn wants you, where is the chance fortrouble? You _do_ want him, don't you, Mr. Hepburn?"
The older man looked up with a forced grin.
"Bless you, Miss Hunter, yes! Why, Tom, the only reason I thought wemight as well part was because I figured you'd be discontented here."
"Now! You see, your employer wants you and your foreman wants you. Whatmore can you ask?" the girl exclaimed, facing Beck.
"Nothin' much, of course, unless what I think about it might matter."
Her enthusiasm ebbed and she looked at him, clearly troubled.
"I am not urging you to stay because I need one more man. It isessential to have men I can trust. I can trust you. I need you. I ...I'm quite alone, you know, and I have decided to stay ... if I_can_ stay."
She flushed ever so slightly at the indefinable change in his eyes.
"You told me last night some of the things I must do, which I can't dowholly alone. I should like very much to have you stay,"--ending with agirlish simplicity quite unlike her usual manner.
"Maybe my advice and help ain't what you'd call good," he said.
"I thought it over when you had gone," she said, "and I came to theconclusion that it was good advice." Her eyes remained on his,splendidly frank.
"Some of us are apt to be disconcerted when we listen to new things;and, again, when we know that they come sincerely and our pride quitshurting we're inclined, perhaps, to take a new point of view. I have,on some things."
His face sobered in the rare way it had and he said:
"I'm mighty glad."
Hepburn had watched them closely, not understanding, and in his usuallyamiable face was a cunning speculation.
"I wouldn't ask you to take a chance against your better judgment. Ifyou must move on, I'm sorry. But ... I need you."
With those three words she had ended: I need you. But in them was aplea, frank, unabashed, and her eyes were filled with it and as hestood looking down at his hat, evidently undecided, she lifted one handin appeal and spoke again in a tone that was low and sweet:
"Won't you, please?"
He nodded and said:
"I'll stay."
"I'm so glad!" she cried. "And you're glad, aren't you, Mr. Hepburn?"
The foreman had watched closely, trying to determine just what this allmeant, but not knowing what had gone before, he was mystified. At herquestion he forced a show of heavy enthusiasm and said:
"Bet your life!" Then looking up to see the tall cowboy eyeing him withthat half humorous smile, he rose and said:
"Now we can start doing business. Tom, Miss Hunter wants a horse, saysshe can ride and wants the best we've got, right off, to-day. There'sthat bunch that's been ranging in Little Pinon all winter. Guess we'dbetter bring 'em down this forenoon and let her pick one."
They departed. They had little to say to one another in the hours itrequired to gather the horses and bring them down, but when they werewithin sight of the corrals Hepburn began to speak as though what hehad to say was the result of careful deliberation.
"I don't want us to have any misunderstandin', Tom. This mornin' Ifigured you wanted to move and I don't want any man in the outfit who'drather be somewhere else, so long as I'm runnin' it." He shifted hisweight in the saddle and glanced at Beck, who rode looking straightahead. "'Course, you and I ain't been pals. I've thought sometimes youdidn't just like me--"
"I s'pose she'll want a gentle horse," the other broke in.
"Prob'ly....
"You and I can be friends, I know. We can get along--"
"Look at this outfit!" Beck interrupted again, this time with betterreason.
Around the bend in the road appeared a queer cavalcade. It was headedby a pair of ancient mules drawing a covered wagon, on the seat ofwhich sat a scrawny, discouraged man with drooping lids, mustache andshoulders. To the wagon were tied three old mares and behind themtrailed a half dozen colts, ranging from one only a few weeks old to arunty three-year-old.
These were followed by a score of cattle, mostly cows and yearlingcalves, and the rear was brought up by a girl, riding a big brown horse.
She was young, and yet her face was strangely mature. She wore a hat,the worse for wear, a red shirt, open at the throat, a riding skirt anddusty boots. She was slouched easily in the saddle, as one who hasridden much.
Tom spurred ahead to prevent their horses from entering a draw whichopened on the road just where they must pass and as he slowed to a walkand looked back he saw Hepburn making a movement of one hand. That handwas just dropping to the fork of his saddle but--and he knew that t
hismay have been purely a product of his imagination--he thought that ithad been lifted in a gesture of warning.
The foreman halted and the wagon stopped with a creak, as of relief.
"Just foller on down and swing to the left. Keep right on. You'll passthe state boundry," Beck heard Hepburn say.
The wagon started again and Dad joined him.
"Goin' some place?" Tom asked.
"Utah. He was askin' the way."
Just then the girl came within easy talking distance.
"Goin' far?" Tom asked.
"Not so very fur," the other replied sullenly and swung a worn quirtagainst her boot.
They rode on after their horses.
"Nesters," Beck commented grimly. "They're a bad lot to see comin' in."
"Thank God, they're headed for Utah," Dad replied.
"Yeah. Utah's a long ways, though. The girl didn't seem to think theywas going so very far."
The other made no answer and after a moment Beck said:
"Notice the brand on them cattle? THO? That ain't a good neighbor forthe HC to have.... Unless it's an honest neighbor."
"Well, they're goin' into Utah," Dad said doggedly.
"You know, Hepburn, one of the first things I'd do if I was foreman ofthis outfit?" Beck asked.
"What's that?"
"Take up the water in Devil's Hole. That's the best early feed thisoutfit has got, but without water it's worthless. Nesters are comin'in, which would worry me, if I was foreman. The Colonel had somebodyfile on it once, planning to buy when he'd patented the claim. Thisparty didn't make good, and the matter dropped."
The other did not reply for a moment, but looked hard at his horse'sears, as if struggling to control himself.
"I've already took that up with her," he said sulkily, and stirred inhis saddle.
"If I wasn't foreman of an outfit, do you know what I'd do? I'd let theforeman do the worryin'."
Beck scratched his chin with a concern which surely could not have beengenuine, for he said:
"Yeah. That's the best way. Only..."
"Well, you had your chance to be foreman; why didn't you take it?"
Beck pondered a moment.
"In the first place I wasn't crazy wild to stay with this outfit,'cause when I lift my nose in the air and sniff real careful, I cansmell a lot of hell coming this way, and I'm a mighty meek and peacefulcitizen.
"In the second place, I don't care much about drawing the best job inthe country like I'd draw a prize cake at a church social."
Hepburn sniffed.
"You passed it up, though. Now, why don't you pass up worryin' about myjob?"
Beck did not reply at once, but turned on the other a taunting,maddening smile.
"You're right. I passed it up, but there's something that won't let mepass up the worry.
"You know what that is,"--nodding toward the distant ranch house. "Youknow she's in a jack pot. You heard her tell me she needed good men,men she could trust, and the good Lord knows that's so. You know Istayed on because she asked me like she meant it and not because Ifancied the job.
"I've got a notion that makin' good out here means more to her thanmaking money; I like her style, and I like to help her sort if I can.That's why I may do more 'n an ordinary hand's share of worryin'.
"You know, somebody's got to,"--significantly.
"What's meant by that, Beck?" Dad asked after a moment and the grit inhis tone told that the insinuation had not missed its mark.
"If it was so awful hard for you to guess, Hepburn, I don't think you'dget on the peck so easy. I mean that since she's asked me to stay andwork for her, I'm on the job. Not only with both hands and feet andwhat head I've got, but with my eyes and my ears and my heart.
"I don't want trouble, but if I've got to take trouble on, I'll do iton the run; you can tie to that! I don't like you, Hepburn; I don'ttrust you. Your way ain't my way--No, no, you listen to _me!_" asthe other attempted to interrupt. "A while back you was trying to talkfriendship to me when I'm about as popular with you as fever. I don'tdo things in that style. I ain't got a thing on you, but if this was myranch I wouldn't want you for my foreman."
"You mean you think I'd double cross her an--"
"I don't recall bein' that specific. I just mentioned that I don'ttrust you. There's no use in your getting so wrought up over it. I maybe wrong. If I am you'll win. I may be takin' a chance, which isagainst my religion, but I'm here to work for this Hunter girl and heronly and it won't be healthy for anybody who is working against her tobring himself to my notice.
"I guess we understand each other. Maybe you can get me fired. If so,that's satisfactory to me. So long as I'm here and working for you,I'll be the best hand you've got. If you're lookin' for good hands I'llsatisfy you. If you ain't ... we may not get along so well."
There was a seriousness in his eyes, but behind it was again theflicker of mockery as though this might not be such a serious matterafter all.
"We'll see, Beck," Hepburn said with a slow nodding. "We understandeach other. You've covered a lot of territory. Your cards are on thetable. Bet!"
Tom stroked his horse's withers thoughtfully. He continued to smile,but the smile was not pleasant.
When they entered the big gate an automobile was standing before thebunkhouse and after turning the horses into a corral they dismountedand walked towards it.
"Hello, Larry!" exclaimed Hepburn. "What brings you out?"
"Nothin' much, judgin' by his conversation," replied the man who haddriven the car.
"Visitor?"
"Dude. Regular dude from N'Yawk, b' Gosh!" He spat and grinned. "Comein yesterday and was busier 'n hell all day buzzin' around town. Firstthing this a. m. he wants to come here. Great attraction you've got, itseems."
"The new boss?"
"Th' same, indeed! I seen her. Quite a peach, I'll go on record. But... Th' boys tell me she's going to run this outfit with her own lilywhite hands."
"So she says," replied Dad benevolently. "I think she'll do a good job,too."
"Like so much hell, you do! An' I hear you're foreman, Dad. Youfigurin' on marryin' the outfit or gettin' rich by honest endeavor?"
"Sho, Larry! You and your jokes!" the man grumbled good naturedly andentered the building.
"Well, if any of you waddies are calculatin' marryin' this filly you'vegot to build to her. This dude sure means business. He's found out moreabout the HC in one day than I ever knew. Besides, what I knew an' hedidn't he got comin' out. Sure's a devil for obtainin' news.
"There he is now; see?"
He gestured toward the ranch house where Jane and the stranger stood onthe veranda, the girl pointing to the great sweep of country whichshowed down creek. Then they turned and reentered the house.
"And so this is yours!" the man laughed. "Yours and your business!"
"My business, Dick! For the first time I feel as though I had a realobject in living."
He smiled cynically.
"Jane, Queen of the Range!" he mocked.
She did not smile with him, but said soberly:
"I expect it is funny to you. It must be funny to all the old crowd. Ican hear them, as soon as they know that I have decided to stay here,the girls at tea, the men in their clubs, talking it over. Jane Hunter,burying herself in the mountains and _doing_ something, becomingearnest and serious minded, getting up with the sun and going to bed atdark! It is strange!"
"It's too strange for life, Jane," he said, pulling up his trousersgingerly and sitting on the davenport. He leaned back and smoothed hissleek hair. "It isn't real. You're going to wake up before long andfind that out.
"It was absurd enough for you to come here, but this preposterousnotion that you are going to _stay_.... Why, that's beyond words!What got into you, anyhow?"
He eyed her closely.
"I don't know, yet. It's a strange impulse but it's real, the firstreal thing that's ever gotten into me, I guess. I know only that ...except that it is a pleasant sensation.
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"When I left New York I was desperate. I came here to take somethingtangible that was mine and go back with it and now I've found out thatthe thing I want is nothing that I can see or touch, that I can't takeit away with me. Not for a long time, anyhow. It isn't waitingready-made for me; I must create it from the materials that are in myhands."
He continued to look at her a thoughtful moment.
"You've told me a lot about yourself and about this ranch and aboutthese men who are working for you. You've told me about this countryand, rather vaguely, about your plans. I suspect you don't know muchabout them yet," he added parenthetically. "You've not asked a questionabout New York, nor why I came."
She picked a yellowed leaf from a geranium plant and turned to face him.
"As for New York," she said with a lift of the eyebrows and a quicktilt of her head, "I don't give a ... damn,"--softly. "As for yourcoming, I didn't need ask. When a man has followed a girl wherever shehas gone, to sea, to other countries, for four years, there is nothingsurprising in the fact that he should trail her only two-thirds of theway across this continent....
"But it's no use, Dick. I made up my mind that I would not marry youbefore I came here. I tried to convince you of the honesty of mypurpose in my last letter, but perhaps I failed because I wasn't trulyhonest with myself then. I thought I was through, but, in reality, Iwas only planning a variation of the old way of doing things.
"Now I'm finished, absolutely, with the rot I've called life!"
She lifted her chin and shook her head in emphasis. The man laughed.
"You amuse as much as you thrill me," he said, looking at her hungrily.
"That's a splendid way to help a fellow: to laugh at the first effort Imake to justify my existence."
"I want to help you, Jane. I've always wanted to help you. I've putmyself and what I have at your disposal. I've not only done that, butI've begged and pleaded and schemed to make you take them. You'd neverlisten when I talked love to you.
"You've always seemed to be a peculiarly material-minded girl and I hadto play on that. But when I've talked ease and comfort and luxury toyou, you know that I've meant more than just those things. It's beenlove, Jane ... love in every syllable."
He rose and walked to stand before her.
"That hurt," she said, with a sharp little laugh. "That ...materialism. But I believe it was only too true. It had to be, you see.It was the only thing I could see to live for. There was the one thingI missed, the thing I had expected to find. It was the thing you talkedabout: Love. I wanted love, tried to find love and at twenty-five gaveit up. That's a horrible thing, Dick. Giving that up at twenty-five!"
"But I have offered you love, continually, for four years."
"Dick ... oh, Dick! You don't know what that means. You showed thatwhen you selected your tactics: trying to give me things that I couldtaste and touch and see.
"If it had been love, the real thing, that you felt, you'd haveoverwhelmed me with it, you would not have allowed anotherconsideration to enter, you'd have swept me off my feet with making meunderstand that it was love. You wouldn't have talked places andmotors, luxury and aimlessness."
Her voice shook. She was hurt, bordering on anger.
"You pass the buck," he retorted evenly. "You've told me, time aftertime, that love didn't matter to you."
"Not the sort you offered. It never could."
"There's another kind, then?"
"Somewhere,"--with an emphatic nod.
"You think you can find the sort you're looking for here?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought of that yet, but I know there issomething else I can find."
"And that?"
"Myself!"--stoutly.
He threw back his head with a hearty laugh.
"You talk like a convert, Jane!"
"I am, Dick. Just that. I've seen the evil of my ways, I have seen thelight; I'm going to try to justify my existence, going to try to standfor something, to be something, not just a girl with looks or with ...money.
"I may miss love entirely, but I have realized, all of a sudden, thatas yet I'm not fit for the love I wanted. Why, I have nothing to giveto a man; I would take all and give nothing. A woman doesn't win a truelove by such a transaction. If I can stand alone, if I can fight my ownbattles, if I can overcome obstacles that are as real as the love Ihave wanted, then I will be justified in seeking that love....
"And there's another consideration: If this thing I have wanted neverdoes come I have the opportunity of gaining all that you say you couldgive me by my own efforts: the comforts, the material things. Iwouldn't be trading myself for them, you see; I'll be winning them withmy hands and what intelligence I may possess."
"Are you sure of that, Jane? Are you sure that a girl who has neverdone a tap of work in her life, who has not even talked business withbusiness men can come out here and beat this game? Oh, I know what I'mtalking about and you don't. I spent all yesterday in town looking upthis place because your letter was convincing in at least one thing. Iknow your enthusiasm, when it's aroused. I know that you'd rush inwhere a business prince wouldn't even chance a peek!
"When men talk about you in town they grin. The bartender grinned whenhe told me about you. The banker grinned. The man who drove me outthought it was a fine joke! These men know; they're not skepticalbecause they know you or your past, but they know the job and thatyou're a stranger. That's enough. You can't beat another man's game."
"I can try, can't I?"
"But what's the use?"--with a gesture of impatience and a set of themouth that was far from pleasant. "You're doomed to fail and even ifyou should hit on the one chance in a thousand of pulling through, whatwould you get? Less than I can give you in the time it takes to sign myname. You won't let me talk love and you don't seem to have much hopethat you ever will find the love you think you want, so let's put loveaside once more. Come with me, Jane. I'll give you all you could everhope to get here and without the cost of the awful effort anything likesuccess would require.
"You've been bored, perhaps, and discouraged. You've taken this thingas a ... a last straw. Won't you listen to reason?"
"The last straw," she repeated. "Yes, I guess that is it. Dick, do youknow how close I came to letting you do the thing you want to do?" Sheput the question sharply. "I'll tell you: Within three hundred dollars!That's how close.
"Oh, you don't know the game I've played. No one knows it. You all havejust seen the exterior, the show. You've never been behind the sceneswith me.
"I never knew my mother. I never knew my father well. I don't know thathe cared much for me after she went; perhaps, though, he was onlyafraid to bring up a girl alone. First, it was boarding school, thenfinishing school, then a woman companion of the smart sort. Then hedied, and we discovered that his fortune was not what it had been, thatit was a miserable thing for a girl to depend on who had been trainedas I had been trained.
"You met me soon after I was alone. I fell in with your crowd and theypicked me up. I didn't like them particularly and certainly I didn'tlike their life, but it was the only one open for me. We lived hard,heartless lives, made up of week-ends and dances and cocktails andgreed!
"Materialism is the right charge! I was steeped in it; all those girlswere. It was the only thing any of us lived for. Girls sold themselvesfor material advantage; they loathed it, most of them, but they lied tothemselves and tried to make the rest of us believe it was happiness.They knew, and we knew what it was and we knew, too, that they werehelpless to do otherwise.
"Then you came and made love to me on the same crass basis. I likedyou, Dick. I didn't love you. I cared no more for you than I did forthree or four men so I kept putting you off, never actuallydiscouraging you to a point where you would give up. I was simplyclosing my eyes to the inevitable.
"Now and then we met women, to us strange creatures, who did things. Inever can make anyone understand how inferior I felt beside them. Why,I remember one little decorator who, because she was y
oung and cheap,came to do my apartment over. I had her stay for dinner and she wasquite overwhelmed with many things.
"When she went away I cried from sheer envy ... and she was going downsomewhere into Greenwich Village to sleep in a stuffy little studio.But she was _doing_ something. I used to feel guilty before mydressmaker and even my maid. I didn't understand why that was, then; itwas not a sensation produced by reason; by intuition, rather.
"And then I had to look at things as they were. I paid up everythingand totaled my bank balance. Every source of income I had ever had wasgone and I had left ... three hundred and two dollars. That was on aFriday, the Friday of our last week-end party at the Hollisters' inWestchester.
"You talked to me again that night after we had been playing billiards.Dick, I had made up my mind to take you up. The words were on my lips;I was within a breath of telling you that it was a bargain, that I'dsell myself to you for the things you could buy me....
"I don't know why I didn't. Maybe it was this part of me I had neverknown until I came here, this part which enthuses so over what liesbefore me now, the part that used to envy the girls who did things. Wewent back to town and there was a letter for me from this littlefrontier law office, telling me I had inherited this ranch. I didn'tsleep a minute. I was sole owner of a big business....
"I never can make you understand the relief I experienced! It meantmoney and money meant that I could go on in the old way, putting offthe inevitable, blinding myself to what I actually was.
"That was my motive in coming here: to turn this property into money.And no sooner had I made the acquaintance of these people than I beganto learn that my point of view had been radically different fromtheirs. I had thought that money would give me the thing I wanted,independence and prestige; but I found that with them, with the best ofthem, anyhow, that sort of standing was not considered.
"The thing that counts out here is being yourself, Dick, in making aplace by your determination, your wits, by impressing people with thebest that is in you. Material things don't count in the mountains; thatis, they don't count primarily. They are nice things to possess but thepossession of them alone does not bring respect ... the respect ofothers or self respect. That, I think, is what I want: respect. That iswhat I am going to win. The only way I can win it is to establish aplace for myself by my own efforts. These men doubt that I can do it.You are right, I believe, when you picture the whole country expectingme to fail. Well, that's an incentive, isn't it, to do my best? That iswhat I am here to do!
"There, there's Book One." Then looking out into the country...."There's the rest of the story."
The man did not reply for an instant but stood frowning at the floor.
"And when you fail? What then?"
She laughed almost merrily.
"Don't say _when_ so positively! But if I should fail, Dick, Imight have to take you up! It might break my faith in myself becauseit's a young, immature faith, but it will give me a chance, a fewmonths of seeing whether I'm of any account. It gives me a hope."
As she spoke of her alternative a glimmer as of hope passed across theman's thin, finely moulded face but he did not let her see. He shookhis head and said:
"After this the first thing I need is a drink."
"On the sideboard," she answered, "is my stock."
He walked down the room and examined the bottles, then poured out twodrinks and returned with them.
"Anyhow, we'll drink to your future, whatever and wherever it may be,"he said, cynical again.
"That's kind of you, but I'm afraid you'll have to drink alone."
She put the glass he had handed her on the table.
"It's the first time I've ever seen you refuse a drink."
"A record broken! That, like the rest of the old life, all belongs inBook One."
"You ... you never thought you used enough to hurt?"
"No. I'm sure I never used enough to hurt my body. I never thought Iused enough to hurt anything about me ... until last night."
"What made you change your mind?"
She was half impelled to pass the question off, then said resolutely:
"A man came here to talk to me, one of my cowpunchers. I made acocktail. He threw it away."
"Well, that was a devil of a thing to do. Did you fire him, as hedeserved?"
"No,"--deliberately, tracing a line on a rug with her toe and watchingit critically--"I took his advice. You see, the men out here expectthings from women that no one has ever expected from me before."
He sneered: "Turned Puritan, Jane? A sweet thing to face, trying to beother than yourself, confining yourself to the morals of the crowd."
"Not just that, Dick. There's a sweetness about it, yes. As for morals:we didn't discuss them at all....
"This man said that he supposed some people thought it was smart todrink. That hit me rather on the head. We were, the smartest people inNew York, weren't we?"
"Rot!"
"Perhaps. It interested me, though, when I'd gotten over the firstshock. He said another thing that interested me; he said that I was thefirst _good_ white woman he'd ever seen smoke."
He laughed harshly.
"At least he did you the honor to think you good."
"Yes,"--still deliberately,--"and it was a novel sensation. It was thefirst time any man had ever appealed to the commonplace thing in methat we call womanhood. He wasn't preaching. It was a practical matterwith him....
"I don't think you'd understand this man, Dick. He takes little thingsquite seriously and yet he appears to be laughing at the whole schemeall the time."
He put his glass down slowly.
"Do you mean that one of these roughnecks has been making love to you?"
"Oh, by no means. I don't think he even likes me and I want him to!Why, this morning he was going away, was not even going to work for me,and I had to beg him to stay.
"Dick, you don't understand! This man is so different from you, fromme, from all of us. Rough, yes, but I don't think he'd try to buy awoman. And if he should I'm sure he'd be most frank about it; hewouldn't hide behind words."
She looked hard at him and though she smiled her words stung him, butbefore he could break in she went on:
"When I sat here having him talk to me last night I had that dreadfulinferior feeling again, felt as though I weren't up to the standard ofgood women that these roughnecks hold. I can't explain it to youbecause you wouldn't let yourself understand. I was furious for a time,but he was right, according to his way of thinking.
"That way is going to be my way,"--with growing firmness. "I'm playinga new game and I must play it according to the rules. I did more thanmake up my mind to leave the drinks and cigarettes alone. I resolvedthat I'd try to be worthy in every way of the respect I want these mento have for me!"
"Because this Westerner doesn't approve of the way you have lived?"
"Yes. He knows the rules of the new game."
"Jane, I'm going to stop this foolishness!" He advanced to her andcaught her hands in his. "I love you, I love you! I'm not going to seeyou losing your head this way!"
She struggled to withdraw her hands.
"No, I'm going to hold you, going to keep you. I'm--" He drew her tohim roughly, but she slipped from the clasp of his arm and backedacross the room, her hands still imprisoned in his.
"Dick!"
It was not her cry which caused him to halt. It was a step outside thedoor and, standing there, her hands in his, he met the level, amusedgaze of Tom Beck.
Jane turned from him and he let her go without attempt to restrain herfurther.
"Ma'am, the horses are here. Your foreman said to tell you."
His face lost a measure of its lightness as he stood hat in hand,looking from the man whose face was lined with passion to the girl,flushed and a bit breathless.
"Very well.... And thank you. I'll be out soon."
He stood a moment irresolute, as though he thought his presence mightbe needed there. Then turned and walked away.<
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"Your help seems rather unceremonious," Hilton remarked.
"Thanks for that! What if he had seen more? Dick, are you besideyourself? You call this love?"
"It proves that it's love," he replied tensely. "You set me wild withyour vagaries, Jane! You--" He checked himself and, with an obviouseffort, smiled. Then went on with voice and manner under control: "Yousee, I am much in love with you and losing you for only a little whileputs me a bit off my head.
"I have wanted you for four years and I'm jealous of the months, eventhe weeks. I'm sure, but that doesn't help much."
"Sure? Of what?"
"Of you."
"And why?"
"Because I know you. You confessed your weaknesses just a moment ago.You know as well as I that you're without foundation, withoutbackground in this experience. Why, Jane, if you'd been capable offighting your own battles, you'd have forced the issue long before itwas necessary, but you are not. You need help, you need the faith ofother people.
"Why, women like you weren't made to stand alone!"
"Flattering!"
"Yes, it is. You were made to be loved, to be protected, to have themen take the knocks for you, you and all your kind. You were born tolean and to make the lives of men worth while by leaning on them, neverto attempt to go your own way. You have always done just this and youhave admitted it, here, this afternoon.
"Your wild wants, your absurd desires.... Everyone has them. That is arule of life: wanting to do the thing you are not fitted to do. You canno more be a business woman than I can fly; you can no more cutyourself away from your old environment and slip into this than one ofyour cowpunchers could fit into my life.
"Don't you see that you're risking disaster? In your old life you had abelief in yourself; in this you think you have, but you have not, youreyes will be opened and when you see that you have failed ... then youwill be a failure, and nothing is so hopeless as that realization.
"You are weak, and I thank God for that weakness. You know that it iseither this, or me. You are trying this, trying to refuse me, but youwill come back to me just as surely as we stand together in this room.You may come back without a shred of faith in yourself, but I havefaith in you, in the old Jane, the one I know and love, and I can bringthat back. The future won't be bad; it will be wholly good."
His words were very gentle, his manner most kindly, but beneath it wasa scarcely detectable hardness, a deliberate, cold determination, andperhaps it was this which struck a fear into the girl's heart.
Weak? Surely, she was weak! Always had been weak, never had provedstrength by act or decision until now. And she did not know ... she didnot know....
"You are sure that I will come back?" she managed to say naturallyenough. "What if I should fail? Might I not try somewhere else?"
"You might, if you were another sort. But you won't. And you will fail,in spite of all you can do, Jane."
She sensed clearly the harsh strength beneath his smooth manner; hispronouncement had not been as an opinion; as a verdict, rather, andominous in its assurance.
He picked up his hat and gloves.
"I know; I know. It is of no use to argue with you. You must learn thislesson by experience. It is going to be bitter, but I will do all I canto make what waits beyond take away that taste, Jane.
"I am not going away. I'm going to stay in this little town. After fouryears of waiting and following I can well do that. Your world is there,Jane, yours for the asking. There are the things you wanted; there isthe love you want if you only will see it."
He left her then and when he had gone she felt a quick panic come. Itall seemed so absurd, her struggling in the things which held her back;and his manner left her with a sense that he thought more than he hadspoken, that his assurance was founded well, that he would not be thetacit waiter he had suggested. She knew his passion for her, she knewhis will and it came to her then that beneath his sleekness he wasruthless.
She stared down Coyote creek, not following him with her eyes.
"The things I have wanted.... Yes," she thought. "But love: is thatanywhere?"
The sound of the car departing roused her and she watched it go. Then acommotion in the corral attracted her. She saw horses milling, saw TomBeck standing ready, rope in his hand; then, with a dexterous flip ofthe loop, a slight, overhand motion, he snared a pinto and braced hisfeet against the antics of the animal and held firmly until it hadquieted.
She watched him go down the rope slowly, hand over hand, with cautionand assurance until he rested his fingers on the nose of the frightenedanimal. A forefoot shot out in a lightning stroke at him but he did notflinch. She saw that he was talking to the horse, gently, quietly, withthe born confidence of the master.
"Anywhere?" she asked herself again, this time aloud, still watchingBeck. "Why,"--eyes lighting in surprise that was almostastonishment--"it might be ... _might_ be!"
