The Son of his Father

So he rode on towards the coalpits.

His narrow eyes were alert, watching the horizon on every side. He was looking for that fawn-colored figure on its brown mare. His thoughts were full of it now. The rest was all thrust into the background, leaving full play to his desires, which were fast overwhelming all caution. It would have been impossible to overwhelm his sense of decency.

Suddenly it occurred to him that it was ridiculous that he should go on to the coalpits. His eagerness was swaying him. His mad longing for the girl swept everything before it. Why should he not cut across to the westward and intercept her on the way from the ranch? She must come that way, and – he could not possibly miss her.

He looked at his watch. It wanted half an hour to their appointment. Why, he would be at the pits in ten minutes, which would leave him a full twenty minutes of waiting.

In his mood of the moment it was a thought quite impossible. So he swung his horse westwards, with his eyes even more watchful for the approach of the figure he was seeking.

Perhaps Hazel was late. Perhaps Slosson was traveling faster than he knew. Anyway, he was already in the shadow of the bigger hills when he discovered the speeding brown mare with its dainty burden. Hazel discovered him almost at the same instant, and reined in her horse to let him come up. In a moment or two his roughly familiar greeting jarred her ears.

"Hello!" he cried. "There never was a woman who could keep time worth a cent. I guessed you'd strayed some, so I got along quick."

He had reined up facing her on the cattle track, and his sensual eyes covertly surveyed her from head to foot.

"Why, you haven't been near the pits," protested Hazel, avoiding his gaze. "You've come across country. Anyway, it's not time yet." She pulled off a gauntlet and held up her wrist for him to look at the watch upon it.

He reached out, caught her hand, and drew it towards him on the pretense of looking at the watch. His eyes were shining dangerously as he did so. Just for an instant Hazel was taken unawares. Then her pretty eyes suddenly lost their smile, and she drew her hand sharply away.

Slosson looked up.

"Your watch is wrong," he declared, with a grin intended to be facetious, but which scarcely disguised the feelings lying behind it.

Hazel was smiling again. She shook her head.

"It isn't," she denied. "But come on, or we'll miss the fun. I've got a youngster there in the corrals, never been saddled or man-handled. I'm going to ride him for your edification when the boys are through with the others. It's a mark of my favor which you must duly appreciate."

She led the way back towards the hills at a steady canter.

"Say, you've got nerve," cried Slosson, in genuine admiration. "Never been saddled?"

"Or man-handled," returned Hazel, determined he should lose nothing of her contemplated adventure. "He was rounded up this morning at my orders out of a bunch of three-year-old prairie-bred colts. You'll surely see some real bucking – not cat-jumping," she added mischievously.

"Say, you can't forget that play," cried the man, with some pride. "I'd have got on that hoss if he'd bucked to kingdom-come. I don't take any bluff from a girl."

"I s'pose girls aren't of much account with you? They're just silly things with no sense or – or anything. Some men are like that."

A warm glow swept through the man's veins.

"I allow it just depends on the girl."

"Maybe you don't reckon I've got sense?"

Slosson gazed at her with a meaning smile.

"I've seen signs," he observed playfully.

"Thanks. You've surely got keen eyes. Black eyes are mostly keen. Say, I wonder how much sense they reckon they've seen in me?"

"Well, I should say they've seen that you reckon David Slosson makes a tolerable companion to ride around with. Which is some sense."

Hazel turned, and her pretty eyes looked straight into his. A man of less vanity might have questioned the first glance of them. But Slosson only saw the following smile.

"Just tolerable," she cried, in a fashion which could not give offense. Then she abruptly changed the subject. "Get through your business at – the office?" she inquired casually.

Slosson's eyes hardened. In a moment the memory of Gordon swept through his brain in a tide of swift, hot anger.

"There's nothing doing," he said harshly.

Hazel turned. A quick alarm was shining in her eyes, and the man interpreted it exactly. Caution was abruptly cast to the winds.

"Say, Hazel," he cried hotly, "I'm going to tell you something. Your father's a – a fool. Oh, I don't mean it just that way. I mean he's a fool to set that boy running things for him. He's plumb killed your golden goose. We've broken off negotiations. That's all. The railroad don't need Buffalo Point."

"But what's Gordon done?" the girl cried, for the moment off her guard. "Father gave him instructions. You had an offer to make, and it was to be considered – duly."

"What's Gordon done?" The man's eyes were hot with fury. "So that's it – 'Gordon.' He's 'Gordon,' eh?" All in a moment venom surged to the surface. The man's unwholesome features went ghastly in his rage. "He turned me – me out of the office. He told me to go to hell. Say, that pup has flung your father's whole darned concern right on to the rocks. So it's 'Gordon,' eh? To everybody else he's 'Van Henslaer,' but to you he's 'Gordon.' That's why he's on to me, I guessed as much. Well, say, you've about mussed up things between you. My back's right up, and I'm cursed if the railroad 'll move for the benefit of those interested in Buffalo Point."

Hazel had heard enough. More than enough. Her temper had risen too.

"Look here, Mr. Slosson. I don't pretend to mistake your inference. Gordon is just a good friend of mine," she declared hotly. "But I've no doubt that whatever he did was justified. If we're going on any farther together you're going to apologize right here and now for what you've said about Gordon."

She reined up her mare so sharply that the startled creature was flung upon her haunches, and the man's livery horse went on some yards farther before it was pulled up. But Slosson came back at once and ranged alongside. They were already in the bigger hills, and one shaggy crag, overshadowing them, shut out the dazzling gleam of the westering sun.

"There's going to be the need of a heap of apology around," cried Slosson, but something of his anger was melting before the girl's flashing eyes. Then, too, the moment was the opportunity he had been seeking. "See here, Hazel – "

"Don't you dare to call me 'Hazel,'" the girl flung out at him hotly. "You will apologize here and now."

There was no mistaking her determination, and the man watched her with furtive eyes. He pretended to consider deeply before he replied. At a gesture of impatience from the girl he finally flung out one arm.

"See here," he cried, "maybe I oughtn't to have said that, and I guess I apologize. But – you see, I was sort of mad when you talked that way about this – 'Gordon.'" His teeth clipped over the word. "You see, Hazel," he insinuated again, "we've had a real good time together, and you made it so plain I'm not – indifferent to you that it just stung me bad to hear you speak of – 'Gordon.' I'm crazy about you, I am sure. I'm so crazy I can't sleep at nights. I'm so crazy that I'd let the railroad folk go hang just for you – if you just asked me. I'd even forget all that feller said, and would pool in on Buffalo Point the way your father needs – if you asked me."

He waited. He had thrown every effort of persuasion he was capable of into his words and manner, and Hazel was deceived. She did not observe the furtive eyes watching her. She was only aware of the almost genuine manner of his pleading.

"If I asked you?" she said thoughtfully. Then she looked up quickly, her eyes half smiling. "Of course I ask you."

In a moment the man pressed nearer.

"And you'll play the game?" he asked almost breathlessly.

All in a moment a subtle fear of him swept through the girl. Instinctively her hand tightened its grip on the heavy quirt swinging from her wrist.

"What do you mean?" she demanded in a low tone.

The man's eyes were shining with the meaning lying behind his words. There should have been no necessity to ask that question.

Quite suddenly he reached farther out and seized her about the waist with one hand, while with the other he caught her reins to check her mare. The next moment he had crushed her to him and his flushed face was close to hers.

"There's only one game," he cried hoarsely. "And – "

But he got no further. Like a flash of lightning Hazel's quirt slashed furiously at him. The blow was wild and missed its object. It fell on his horse's head and neck. Again it was raised, and again it fell on the horse and on her mare. The horse plunged aside and her own mare started forward. The next moment both riders were on the ground, struggling violently.

Sunset plowed along over the prairie. True enough, he was the rocking-horse Hazel had declared him to be. But she might have added that he was the speediest horse ever foaled on her father's range.

Gordon was in no mood to spare him. But, press him as he might, he seemed incapable of sounding the full depths of his resources.

Had Gordon only taken the course of the impatient Slosson he would have arrived in time to have prevented the catastrophe. But as it was he made the coalpits, and, finding no trace of either Hazel or the agent, with prompt decision he headed at once for the southern corrals. It was some time before he discovered the tracks he sought, and was beginning to think that in some extraordinary fashion he had missed them altogether. The thought stirred his jealousy, and – but he put all doubt from his mind, and further bustled the long-suffering Sunset. Then came the moment when he first saw the hoof-prints in the sand of the cattle track. In a moment his thoughts cleared and his old fears urged him on.

He was right now, he knew. The hills about him were growing in height and ruggedness. The corrals were only a few miles on, and Sunset was racing down the track as if he were aware of the threatening danger to the girl whom he had so often carried on his back. But even if he were he was utterly unprepared for the furious thrashing of his present rider's heels which came as they were approaching one great shaggy hill to the south of them, in answer to a thin, high-pitched shrill for "Help!"

Gordon heard and understood. He had been right, after all, and a terrible panic and fury assailed him. Sunset was racing now, with his barrel low to the ground. Then as they came into the shadow of the hill the faithful creature felt the bit in his mouth jar suddenly and painfully, and he nearly sank on to his haunches.

Gordon was out of the saddle and rushing headlong like some rage-maddened bull.

Something had happened, and Hazel, in a partial daze, scarcely understood quite what it was. All she knew was that she was no longer struggling desperately in the arms of a man, with his hideous face thrust towards hers with obvious intention. She had fought as she had never dreamed of having to fight in all her life, and in her extremity she had shrilled again and again for "Help!" which, had she thought, she would have known was miles from the lonely spot where she was struggling. Then had happened that something she could not understand. She only knew that she was no longer struggling, and that hideous, coarse, passion-lit face had vanished from before her terrified eyes.

She had heard a voice, a familiar voice, hoarse with passion. The words it had uttered were the foulest blasphemy, such words as only a man uses when in the heat of battle and his desire is to kill. Then had passed that nightmare face from before her eyes.

After some moments her mental faculties became less uncertain, and with their clearing she became aware of a confusion of sounds. She heard the sound of blows and the incessant shuffling of feet through the tall prairie grass. She looked about her.

All in a minute she was on her feet, her eyes wide and staring with an expression half of terror, half of the wildest excitement. A fight was going on – a fight in which six feet three of science was arrayed against lesser stature but equal strength and a blend of animal fury which yearned to kill.

David Slosson came at his hated adversary in lunging rushes and with all his weight and muscle, hoping to clinch and reduce the battle to the less scientific condition of a "rough-and-tumble" as it is known only in America. Once he could achieve a definite clinch he knew that the advantage would lie with him. He knew the game of "chew and gouge" as few men knew it. He had learned it in his earlier days of lumber camps.

But Gordon had steadied himself from his first mad rush. It was the sight of Hazel in this man's clutches that had roused the desire for murder in his hot blood. Now it was different. Now it was a fight, a fight such as he could enjoy; and such were his feelings that he was determined it should be a fight to a finish, even if that finish should mean a killing.

He had no difficulty in punishing. His opponent's arms came at him wildly, while his own leads and counters struck home with smashes of a staggering nature. Twice he got in an upper-cut which set his man reeling, and in each case he smashed home his left immediately with all the force of his great shoulders. But David Slosson was tough. He seemed to thrive on punishment, and he came again and again.

Gordon was in his element. His physical condition had never been more perfect, and, provided that clinch was prevented, nothing on earth could save his man. The blood was already streaming from Slosson's cheek, and an ugly split disfigured his lower lip.

Now he came in with his head down – a favorite bull rush of the "rough-and-tumble." Gordon saw it coming and waited. He side-stepped, and smashed a terrific blow behind the left ear. The man stumbled, but saved himself. With an inarticulate attempt at an oath he was at the boxer again. Another rush, but it checked half-way, and a violent kick was aimed at Gordon's middle. It missed its mark, but caught him on the side of the knee. The pain of the blow for a moment robbed the younger man of his caution. He responded with a smashing left and right. They both landed, but in the rush his loose coat was caught and held as the agent fell.

Slosson clung to the coat as a terrier will cling to a stick. In spite of the rain of blows battering his head he held on. It was the first hold he needed. The second came a moment later. His other arm crooked about Gordon's right knee. The next moment they were on the ground in the throes of a wild, demoniacal "rough-and-tumble."

The science of the boxer could serve Gordon no longer. He knew it. He knew also that the fight was more than leveled up. The struggle had degenerated into an inhuman aim for those vital parts which would leave the victim blind or maimed for life.

By the luck of Providence he fell uppermost. His hands being free and his strength at its greatest, also possessing nothing of the degraded mind of the rough-and-tumble fighter, he went for his opponent's throat, and got his grip just as he felt the other's teeth clip, in a savage snap, at his right ear. It was a happy miss, or he knew he would have spent the rest of his life with only one ear, and possibly part of the other.

But there were other things to avoid. He crushed the man's head upon the ground, while his great hands tightened their grip upon his throat. But Slosson's hands were not idle. They struggled up, and Gordon felt that they were groping for his throat. His own pressure increased.

"Squeal, you swine!" he roared. "Squeal, or I'll choke the life out of you!"

The man was unable to squeal under the terrible throat-hold. His breath was coming in gasps. All of a sudden those groping hands made a lunge at Gordon's eyes. One finger even struck his left eye with intent to gouge it out. Gordon threw back his head, but dared not release his hold. His only other defense was an instinctive one. He opened his mouth and made a wolfish snap at the hand that had sought to blind him. He bit three of its fingers to the bone. There was a cry from the man under his hands, and the straining body beneath him ceased to struggle.

Gordon released his hold and stood up. He aimed one violent kick of disgust at the man's ribs and turned away.

CHAPTER XIV

THE REWARD OF VICTORY

Gordon breathed hard. He wiped the dust from his perspiring face, as a man almost unconsciously will do after a great exertion. His eyes, however, remained on his defeated adversary. Presently he moved away a little uncertainly. A moment later, equally uncertainly, he picked up his soft felt hat. Then, his gaze still steadily fixed on the object of his concern, he all unconsciously smoothed his ruffled hair and replaced his hat upon his head.

Hazel, too, was tensely regarding the deathly silent figure of David Slosson. A subtle fear was clutching at her heart. So still. He was so very still.

Gordon's breathing became normal, but his eyes remained absurdly grave. He approached the prostrate man. But before he reached his side he paused abruptly and breathed a deep sigh of relief – and began to laugh.

"Right!" he cried. Nor was he addressing any one in particular.

Hazel heard his exclamation, and the clutching fear at her heart relaxed its grip. She understood that Gordon, too, had shared her dread.

Now she shifted her regard to the victor. Her eyes were full of a deep, unspeakable feeling. Gordon was looking in another direction, so, for the moment, she had nothing to conceal.

The man's attention was upon the horses. A strange diffidence made him reluctant to follow his impulse and approach Hazel. He had no pride in his victory. Only regret for the exhibition he had made before her. Sunset and Slosson's horse were grazing amicably together within twenty yards of the trail. The fight had disturbed them not one whit. The Lady Jane had moved off farther, and, in proud isolation, ignored everybody and everything concerned with the indecent exhibition.

Gordon secured the livery horse to a bush, and rode off on Sunset to collect the Lady Jane. When he returned the defeated man was stirring.

One glance told Gordon all he cared to know, and he passed over to where Hazel was still standing, and in silence and quite unsmilingly he held the Lady Jane for her to mount.

Hazel avoided his eyes, but not from any coldness. She feared lest he should witness that which now, with all her might, she desired to conceal. Her feelings were stirred almost beyond her control. This man had come to her rescue – he had rescued her – by that great chivalrous manhood that was his. And somehow she felt that she might have known that he would do so.

Gordon was looking at David Slosson, who was already sitting up. Once Hazel was in the saddle he moved nearer to the disfigured agent.

"If you're looking for any more," he said coldly, "you can find it. But don't you ever come near Buffalo Point again or Mallinsbee's ranch. If you do – I'll kill you!"

David Slosson made no reply. But his eyes followed the two figures as they rode off, full of a bitter hatred that boded ill for their futures should chance come his way.

For some time the speeding horses galloped on, their riders remaining silent. A strange awkwardness had arisen between them. There was so much to say, so much to explain. Neither of them knew how to begin, or where. So they were nearing home when finally it was Gordon whose sense of humor first came to the rescue. They had drawn their horses down to a walk to give them a breath.

Gordon turned in his saddle. His blue eyes were absurdly smiling.

"Well?" he observed interrogatively.

The childlike blandness of his expression was all Hazel needed to help her throw off the painful restraint that was fast overwhelming her. Again he had saved her, but this time it was from tears.

"Well?" she smiled back at him through the watery signs of unshed tears.

"I guess Sunset 'll hate this trail worse than anything around Buffalo Point," Gordon said, with a great effort at ease. "He got a flogging I'll swear he never merited."

"Dear old Sunset," said the girl softly. "And – and he can go."

"Go? Why, he's an express train. Say, the Twentieth Century, Limited, isn't a circumstance to him."

Gordon's laugh sounded good in Hazel's ears, and the last sign of tears was banished. It had been touch and go. She had wanted to laugh and to scream during the fight. Afterwards she had wanted only to weep. Now she just felt glad she was riding beside a man whom she regarded as something in the nature of a hero.

"I sort of feel I owe him an apology," Gordon went on doubtfully. "Same as I owe you one. I – I'm afraid I made a – a disgusting exhibition of myself. I – I wish I hadn't nearly bitten off that cur's fingers. It's – awful. It – was that or lose my eyesight."

Hazel had nothing to say. A shiver passed over her, but it was caused by the thought that the man beside her might have been left blinded.

"You see, that was 'rough and tough,'" Gordon went on, feeling that he must explain. "It's not human. It's worse than the beasts of the fields. I – I'm ashamed. But I had to save my eyes. I thought I'd killed him."

"I'm glad you didn't," Hazel said in a low voice. Then she added quickly, "But not for his sake."

Gordon nodded.

"He deserved anything."

Suddenly Hazel turned a pair of shining eyes upon him.

"Oh, I wish I were a man!" she cried. "Deserved? Oh, he deserved everything; but so did I. I'll never do it again. Never, never, never! You warned me. You knew. And it was only you who saved me from the result of my folly. I – I thought I was smart enough to deal with him. I – I thought I was clever." She laughed bitterly. "I thought, because I run our ranch and can do things that few girls can that way, I could beat a man like that. Say, Mr. Van Henslaer, I'm – just what he took me for – a silly country girl. Oh, I feel so mad with myself, and if it hadn't been for you I don't know what would have happened. Oh, if I could only have fought like you. It – it was wonderful. And – I brought it all on you by my folly."

There was a strange mixture of emotion in the girl's swift flow of words. There was a bitter feeling of self-contempt, a vain and helpless regret; but in all she said, in her shining eyes and warmth of manner, there was a scarcely concealed delight in her rescuer's great manhood, courage and devotion. If Gordon beheld it, it is doubtful if he read it aright. For himself, a great joy that he had been of service in her protection pervaded him. Just now, for him, all life centered round Hazel Mallinsbee and her well-being.

"You brought nothing on," he said, his eyes smiling tenderly round at her. "He's a disease that would overtake any girl." Then he began to laugh, with the intention of dispelling all her regrets. "Say, he's just one of life's experiences, and experience is generally unpleasant. See how much he's taught us both. You've learned that a feller who can wear a suit that sets all sense of good taste squirming most generally has a mind to match it. I've learned that no honesty of methods, whether in scrapping or anything else, is a match for the unscrupulous methods of a low-down mind. Guess we'll both pigeon-hole those facts and try not to forget 'em. But say – there's worse worrying," he added, with an absurdly happy laugh.

"Worse?"

"Only worse because it hasn't happened yet – like the other things have. You see, the worst always lies in those things we don't know."

"You're thinking of the Buffalo Point scheme?"

"Partly."

"Partly?"

"Did he tell you anything?"

Hazel nodded.

"He said you'd – turned him out of the office."

"That all?" Gordon was chuckling.

"He said you'd told him to go to – " Hazel's eyes were smiling.

"Just so. I did," returned Gordon. "That's the trouble now. I've got to face your father. I've hit on a plan to beat this feller. I've got the help of Peter McSwain and some of the boys at Snake's. I'd a notion we'd pull the thing off, so I just took it into my own hands – and your father don't know of it. I'm worrying how he'll feel. You see, if I fail, why, I've busted the whole contract. And now this thing. Say, what's going to happen next?" As he put his final question his smiling face looked ludicrously serene.