The Cattle-Baron's Daughter

It was an especially unfortunate moment for the man to approach her in, and, though he did not know why it should be so, he recognized it; but there were reasons that made any further procrastination distinctly unadvisable.

“There is something I have been wanting to tell you for a long time, Hetty,” he said.

“It would be better for you to wait a little longer,” the girl said chillingly. “I don’t feel inclined to listen to anything to-night.”

“The trouble,” said Clavering, who spoke the truth, “is that I can’t. It has hurt me to keep silent as long as I have done already.”

He saw the hardening of Hetty’s lips, and knew that he had blundered; but he was committed now, and could only obey when she said, with a gesture of weariness “Then go on.”

The abrupt command would probably have disconcerted most men and effectually spoiled the appeal they meant to make, and Clavering’s face flushed as he recognized its ludicrous aspect. Still, he could not withdraw then, and he made the best of a difficult position with a certain gracefulness which might, under different circumstances, have secured him a modicum of consideration. As it was, however, Hetty’s anger left her almost white, and there was a light he did not care to see in her eyes when she turned towards him.

“I am glad you have told me this,” she said. “Since nothing else would convince you, it will enable me to talk plainly; I don’t consider it an honour – not in the least. Can’t you see that it is wholly and altogether out of the question that I should ever think in that way of you?”

Clavering gasped, and the darker colour that was in his cheek showed in his forehead too. Hetty reminded him very much of her father, then – and he had witnessed one or two displays of the cattle-baron’s temper.

“I admit that I have a good many shortcomings, but, since you ask, I must confess that I don’t quite understand why my respectful offer should rouse your indignation.”

“No?” said Hetty coldly, with the vindictive sparkle still in her eyes. “Then aren’t you very foolish?”

Clavering smiled, though it was not easy. “Well,” he said, “I was evidently too audacious; but you have not told me yet why the proposal I ventured to make should appear quite preposterous.”

“I think,” said Hetty, “it would be considerably nicer for you if I didn’t. I can, however, tell you this – I would never, under any circumstances, marry you.”

Clavering bent his head, and took himself away with the best grace he could, while Hetty, who, perhaps because she had been under a heavy strain, became suddenly sensible of a most illogical desire to laugh, afterwards admitted that he really accomplished it becomingly. But the laughter that would have been a relief to her did not come, and after toying in a purposeless fashion with her writing-case, she rose and slipped out of the room, unfortunately leaving it open.

A few minutes later Clavering met the maid in the corridor that led to Torrance’s room, and the girl, who saw his face, and may have guessed what had brought the anger into his eyes, stopped a moment. It is also probable that, being a young woman with quick perceptions, she had guessed with some correctness how far his regard for Hetty went.

“You don’t seem pleased to-night,” she said.

“No?” said Clavering, with a little laugh which rang hollow. “Well, I should be. It is quite a while since I had a talk with you.”

“Pshaw!” said the girl, who failed to blush, though she wished to, watching him covertly. “Now, I wonder if what I’m going to tell you will make you more angry still. Suppose you heard Miss Torrance had been sending letters to Larry Grant?”

“I don’t know that I should believe it,” said Clavering, as unconcernedly as he could.

“Well, she has,” the girl said. “What is more, she has been going out to meet him in the Cedar Bluff.”

Clavering’s face betrayed him, and for a moment the girl, who saw his lips set, was almost afraid. He contrived, however, to make a light answer, and was about to ask a question when a door creaked. The next moment Torrance came out into the corridor, and Clavering’s opportunity vanished with the maid. Torrance, who had evidently not seen her, kept him talking for a while.

In the meanwhile, the girl contrived an excuse for entering the room where she was quite aware Hetty and Clavering had met. She did not find her mistress, but, as it happened, noticed the writing-case, and, having a stake in affairs, opened it. Inside she found two sheets of paper, and after considering the probabilities of detection appropriated one of them on which was written, “Larry dear.”

She had, however, no intention of showing it to Clavering just then, but, deciding that such a paper might be worth a good many dollars to the person who knew how to make use of it, she slipped it into her pocket, and went out into the hall, where she saw him talking to Torrance. As she watched they shook hands, and Clavering swung himself on to the back of a horse somebody led up to the door. It was two or three weeks before he came back again, and was led straight to the room where Torrance and some of his neighbours were sitting. Clavering took his place among the rest, and watched the faces that showed amidst the blue cigar-smoke. Some were intent and eager, a few very grim, but the stamp of care was on all of them save that of Torrance, who sat immobile and expressionless at the head of the table. Allonby was speaking somewhat dejectedly.

“It seems to me that we have only gone round,” he said. “It has cost us more dollars than any of us care to reckon, and I for one am tolerably near the end of my tether.”

“So are the homestead-boys. We can last them out, and we have got to,” said somebody.

Allonby raised his hand with a little hopeless gesture. “I’m not quite sure; but what I want to show you is that we have come back to the place we started from. When we first met here we decided that it was advisable to put down Larry Grant, and though we have not accomplished it yet, it seems to me more necessary than ever just now.”

“I don’t understand you,” said one of the younger men. “Larry’s boys have broken loose from him, and he can’t worry anybody much alone.”

Torrance glanced at Allonby with a sardonic twinkle in his eyes. “That sounds very like sense,” he said.

“Well,” said Allonby drily, “it isn’t, and I think you know it at least as well as I do. It is because the boys have broken out we want to get our thumb on Larry.”

There was a little murmur of bewilderment, for men were present that night who had not attended many meetings of the district committee.

“You will have to make it plainer,” somebody said.

Allonby glanced at Torrance, who nodded, and then went on. “Now, I know that what I am going to tell you does not sound nice, and a year ago I would have had unpleasant thoughts of the man who suggested any course of that kind to me; but we have got to go under or pull down the enemy. The legislature are beginning to look at things with the homesteaders’ eyes, and what we want is popular sympathy. We lost a good chance of getting it over the stock-train. Larry was too clever for us again, and that brings me to the point which should be quite plain. The homestead-boys have lost their heads and will cut their own throats if they are let alone. They are ripe for ranch-burning and firing on the cavalry, and once they start the State will have to step in and whip them out for us.”

“But where does Larry come in?” asked somebody.

“That,” said Clavering, “is quite easy. So long as Larry is loose he will have a following, and somehow he will hear of and stop their wildest moves. As most of you know, I don’t like him; but Larry is not a fool.”

“To be quite plain, we are to cut out the restraining influence, and give the rabble a free hand to let loose anarchy,” said one man. “Then, you can strike me off the roll. That is a kind of meanness that wouldn’t suit me!”

There were murmurs of approval from one or two of the company, but Torrance checked them. “Gentlemen,” he said, “we must win or be beaten and get no mercy. You can’t draw back, and the first step is to put Larry down. If the State had backed us we would have made an end of the trouble, and it is most square and fitting they should have the whipping of the rabble forced upon them now. Are we cavalry troopers or a Sheriff’s posse, to do their work for them, and be kicked by way of thanks? They would not nip the trouble when they could, and we’ll sit tight and watch them try to crush it when it’s ’most too big for them.”

Again there was a murmur, of grim approval this time; but one of the objectors rose with an ironical smile.

“You have made a very poor show at catching Larry so far,” he said. “Are you quite sure the thing is within your ability?”

“I guess it is,” said Torrance sharply. “He is living at his homestead, and we need not be afraid of a hundred men with rifles coming to take him from us now.”

“He has a few neighbours who believe in him,” one of the men said. “They are not rabble, but level-headed Americans, with the hardest kind of grit in them. It wouldn’t suit us to be whipped again.”

Clavering stood up, with his eyes fixed on Torrance. “I agree with our leader – it can be done. In fact, I quite believe we can lay our hands on Larry alone,” he said. “Can I have a word with you, Mr. Torrance?”

Torrance nodded, and, leaving Allonby speaking, led Clavering into an adjoining room. “Sit down, and get through as quick as you can,” he said.

For five minutes Clavering spoke rapidly, in a slightly strained voice, and a dark flush spread across the old man’s face and grew deeper on his forehead, from which the veins swelled. It had faded before he finished, and there were paler patches in the cattle-baron’s cheeks when he struck the table with his fist.

“Clavering,” he said hoarsely, “if you are deceiving me you are not going to find a hole in this country that would hide you.”

Clavering contrived to meet his gaze, though it was difficult. “I was very unwilling to mention it,” he said. “Still, if you will call Miss Torrance’s maid, and the man who grooms her horses, you can convince yourself. It would be better if I was not present when you talk to them.”

Torrance said nothing, but pointed to the door, and when the maid and man he sent for had gone, sat for five long minutes rigidly still with a set white face and his hands clenched on the table.

“My daughter – playing the traitress – and worse! It is too hard to bear,” he said.

Then he stood up, shaking the passion from him, when Clavering came in, and, holding himself very stiff and square, turned to him.

“I don’t know why you have told me – now – and do not want to hear,” he said. “Still, by the Lord who made us both, if you try to make use of this knowledge for any purpose, or let a whisper get about, I’ll crush you utterly.”

“Have I deserved these threats, sir?”

Torrance looked at him steadily. “Did you expect thanks? The man who grooms her horses would tell me nothing – he lied like a gentleman. But they are not threats. You found buying up mortgages – with our dollars – an easy game.”

“But – ” said Clavering.

Torrance stopped him with a little scornful gesture. “I knew when I took this thing up I would have to let my scruples go, and now – while I wonder whether my hands will ever feel clean again – I’m going through. You are useful to the committee, and I’ll have to tolerate you.”

Clavering turned away, with pulses throbbing furiously and rage in his heart, though he had known what the cost would be when he staked everything he hoped for on Larry’s destruction; while his neighbours noticed a change in Torrance when he once more sat down at the head of the table. He seemed several years older, and his face was very grim.

“I believe I can promise you that Larry will make us no more trouble,” he said. “Mr. Clavering has a workable scheme, and it will only need the Sheriff and a few men whom I will choose when I am ready.”

Nobody seemed to consider it advisable to ask questions, and the men dispersed; but as they went down the stairway, Allonby turned to Torrance.

“This thing is getting too big for you and me,” he said. “You have not complained, but to-night one could fancy that it’s breaking you. Now, I’m not made like you, and when I think of what it has cost me I have got to talk.”

Torrance turned, and Allonby shivered as he met his eyes.

“It has cost me what every dollar I ever made could not buy me back,” he said, and the damp showed on his forehead as he checked a groan.

XXVIII

LARRY RIDES TO CEDAR

A soft wind swept the prairie, which was now bare of snow. Larry rode down the trail that led through the Cedar Bluff. He was freely sprinkled with mire, for spring had come suddenly, and the frost-bleached sod was soft with the thaw; and when he pulled up on the wooden bridge to wait until Breckenridge, who appeared among the trees, should join him, the river swirled and frothed beneath. It had lately burst its icy chains, and came roaring down, seamed by lines of foam and strewn with great fragments of half-melted snow-cake that burst against the quivering piles.

“Running strong!” said Breckenridge. “Still, the water has not risen much yet, and as I crossed the big rise I saw two of Torrance’s cow-boys apparently screwing up their courage to try the ford.”

“It might be done,” said Larry. “We have one horse at Fremont that would take me across. The snow on the ranges is not melting yet, and the ice will be tolerably firm on the deep reaches; but it’s scarcely likely that we will want to swim the Cedar now.”

“No,” said Breckenridge, with a laugh, “the bridge is good enough for me. By the way, I have a note for you.”

“A note!” said Larry, with a slight hardening of his face, for of late each communication that reached him had brought him fresh anxieties.

“Well,” said Breckenridge drily, “I scarcely think this one should worry you. From the fashion in which it reached me I have a notion it’s from a lady.”

There was a little gleam in Larry’s eyes when he took the note, and Breckenridge noticed that he was very silent as they rode on. When they reached Fremont he remained a while in the stable, and when at last he entered the house Breckenridge glanced at him questioningly.

“You have something on your mind,” he said. “What have you been doing, Larry?”

Grant smiled curiously. “Giving the big bay a rub down. I’m riding to Cedar Range to-night.”

“Have you lost your head?” Breckenridge stared at him. “Muller saw the Sheriff riding in this morning, and it’s more than likely he is at the Range. You are wanted rather more badly than ever just now, Larry.”

Grant’s face was quietly resolute as he took out the note and passed it to his companion. “I have tried to do my duty by the boys; but I am going to Cedar to-night.”

Breckenridge opened the note, which had been written the previous day, and read, “In haste. Come to the bluff beneath the Range – alone – nine to-morrow night.”

Then, he stared at the paper in silence until Grant, who watched him almost jealously, took it from him. “Yes,” he said, though his face was thoughtful, “of course, you must go. You are quite sure of the writing?”

Grant smiled, as it were, compassionately. “I would recognize it anywhere!”

“Well,” said Breckenridge significantly, “that is perhaps not very astonishing, though I fancy some folks would find it difficult. The ‘In haste’ no doubt explains the thing, but it seems to me the last of it does not quite match the heading.”

“It is smeared – thrust into the envelope wet,” Larry said.

Breckenridge rose, and walked, with no apparent purpose, across the room. “Larry,” he said, “Tom and I will come with you. No – you wait a minute. Of course, I know there are occasions on which one’s friends’ company is superfluous – distinctly so; but we could pull up and wait behind the bluff – quite a long way off, you know.”

“I was told to come alone.” Larry turned upon him sharply.

Breckenridge made a gesture of resignation. “Then I’m not going to stay here most of the night by myself. It’s doleful. I’ll ride over to Muller’s now.”

“Will it be any livelier there?”

Breckenridge wondered whether Larry had noticed anything unusual in his voice, and managed to laugh. “A little,” he said. “The fräulein is pretty enough in the lamplight to warrant one listening to a good deal about Menotti and the franc tireurs. She makes really excellent coffee, too,” and he slipped out before Grant could ask any more questions.

Darkness was just closing down when the latter rode away. There was very little of the prairie broncho in the big horse beneath him, whose sire had brought the best blood that could be imported into that country, and he had examined every buckle of girth and headstall as he fastened them. He also rode, for lightness, in a thin deerskin jacket which fitted him closely, with a rifle across his saddle, gazing with keen eyes across the shadowy waste when now and then a half-moon came out. Once he also drew bridle and sat still a minute listening, for he fancied he heard the distant beat of hoofs, and then went on with a little laugh at his credulity. The Cedar was roaring in its hollow and the birches moaning in a bluff, but as the damp wind that brought the blood to his cheeks sank, there was stillness save for the sound of the river, and Grant decided that his ears had deceived him.

It behooved him to be cautious, for he knew the bitterness of the cattle-men against him, and the Sheriff’s writ still held good; but Hetty had sent for him, and if his enemies had lain in wait in every bluff and hollow he would have gone.

While he rode, troubled by vague apprehensions, which now and then gave place to exultation that set his heart throbbing, Hetty sat with Miss Schuyler in her room at Cedar Range. An occasional murmur of voices reached them faintly from the big hall below where Torrance and some of his neighbours sat with the Sheriff over their cigars and wine, and the girls knew that a few of the most daring horsemen among the cow-boys had their horses saddled ready. Hetty lay in a low chair with a book she was not reading on her knee, and Miss Schuyler, glancing at her now and then over the embroidery she paid almost as little attention to, noticed the weariness in her face and the anxiety in her eyes. She laid down her needle when Torrance’s voice came up from below.

“What can they be plotting, Hetty?” she said. “Horses ready, that most unpleasant Sheriff smiling cunningly as he did when I passed him talking to Clavering, and the sense of expectancy. It’s there. One could hear it in their voices, even if one had not seen their faces, and when I met your father at the head of the stairs he almost frightened me. Of course, he was not theatrical – he never is – but I know that set of his lips and look in his eyes, and have more than a fancy it means trouble for somebody. I suppose he has not told you anything – in fact, he seems to have kept curiously aloof from both of us lately.”

Hetty turned towards her with a little spot of colour in her cheek and apprehension in her eyes.

“So you have noticed it, too!” she said very slowly. “Of course, he has been busy and often away, while I know how anxious he must be; but when he is at home he scarcely speaks to me – and then, there is something in his voice that hurts me. I’m ’most afraid he has found out that I have been talking to Larry.”

Miss Schuyler smiled. “Well,” she said, “that – alone – would not be such a very serious offence.”

The crimson showed plainer in Hetty’s cheek and there was a faint ring in her voice. “Flo,” she said, “don’t make me angry – I can’t bear it to-night. Something is going to happen – I can feel it is – and you don’t know my father even yet. He is so horribly quiet, and I’m afraid of as well as sorry for him. It is a long while ago, but he looked just as he does now – only not quite so grim – during my mother’s last illness. Oh, I know there is something worrying him, and he will not tell me – though he was always kind before, even when he was angry. Flo, this horrible trouble can’t go on for ever!”

Hetty had commenced bravely, but she faltered as she proceeded, and Miss Schuyler, who saw her distress, had risen and was standing with one hand on her shoulder when the maid came in. She cast a hasty glance at her mistress, and appeared, Flora Schuyler fancied, embarrassed, and desirous of concealing it.

“Mr. Torrance will excuse you coming down again,” she said. “He may have some of the Sheriff’s men and one or two of the cow-boys in, and would sooner you kept your room. Are you likely to want me in the next half-hour?”

“No,” said Hetty. “No doubt you are anxious to find out what is going on.”

The maid went out, and Miss Schuyler fixed anxious eyes on her companion. “What is the matter with the girl, Hetty?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Did you notice anything?”

“Yes. I think she had something on her mind. Any way, she was unexplainably anxious to get away from you.”

Hetty smiled somewhat bitterly. “Then she is only like the rest. Everybody at Cedar is anxious about something now.”

Flora Schuyler rose, and, flinging the curtains behind her, looked out at the night. The moon was just showing through a rift in the driving cloud, and she could see the bluff roll blackly down to the white frothing of the river. She also saw a shadowy object slipping through the gloom of the trees, and fancied it was a woman; but when another figure appeared for a moment in the moonlight the first one came flitting back again.

“I believe the girl has gone out to meet somebody in the bluff,” she said.

Hetty made a little impatient gesture. “It doesn’t concern us, any way.”

Miss Schuyler sat down again and made no answer, though she had misgivings, and five or ten minutes passed silently, until there was a tapping at the door, and the maid came in, very white in the face. She clutched at the nearest chair-back, and stood still, apparently incapable of speech, until, with a visible effort, she said: “Somebody must go and send him away. He is waiting in the bluff.”

Hetty rose with a little scream, but Flora Schuyler was before her, and laid her hand upon the maid’s arm.

“Now, try to be sensible,” she said sternly. “Who is in the bluff?”

The girl shivered. “It is not my fault – I didn’t know what they wanted until the Sheriff came. I tried to tell him, but Joe saw me. Go right now, and send him away.”

Hetty was very white and trembling, but Flora Schuyler nipped the maid’s arm.

“Keep quiet, and answer just what we ask you!” she said. “Who is in the bluff?”

“Mr. Grant,” said the girl, with a gasp. “But don’t ask me anything. Send him away. They’ll kill him. Oh, you are hurting me!”

Flora Schuyler shook her. “How did he come there?”

“I took Miss Torrance’s letter, and wrote the rest of it. I didn’t know they meant to do him any harm, but they made me write. I had to – he said he would marry me.”

The maid writhed in an agony of fear, but she stood still shivering when Hetty turned towards her with a blanched face that emphasized the ominous glow in her dark eyes.

“You wicked woman!” she said. “How dare you tell me that?”

“I mean Mr. Clavering. Oh – !”

The maid stopped abruptly, for Flora Schuyler drove her towards the door. “Go and undo your work,” she said. “Slip down at the back of the bluff.”

“I daren’t – I tried,” and the girl quivered in Miss Schuyler’s grasp. “If I could have warned him I would not have told you; but Joe saw me, and I was afraid. I told him to come at nine.”

It was evident that she was capable of doing very little just then, and Flora Schuyler drew her out into the corridor.

“Go straight to your room and stay there,” she said, and closing the door, glanced at Hetty. “It is quite simple. This woman has taken your note-paper and written Larry. He is in the bluff now, and I think she is right. Your friends mean to make him prisoner or shoot him.”

“Stop, and go away,” said Hetty hoarsely. “I am going to him.”

Flora Schuyler placed her back to the door, and raised her hand. “No,” she said, very quietly. “It would be better if I went in place of you. Sit down, and don’t lose your head, Hetty!”

Hetty seized her arm. “You can’t – how could I let you? Larry belongs to me. Let me go. Every minute is worth ever so much.”