The Coming of the Law

He found the door of Judge Graney’s court room slightly ajar and without knocking he pushed it open and entered. On the threshold he halted and drew a deep breath. Judge Graney was seated at the big table, and directly opposite him, leaning heavily on his elbows, his face inflamed with anger, sat Dunlavey. Near a window at the side of the room stood a grave faced man of medium height, slender and muscular, who was watching the Judge and Dunlavey soberly.

At Hollis’s sudden appearance the Judge looked up and smiled, while Dunlavey faced around, a derisive, mocking grin on his face. Hollis bore no marks of the recent attack beyond the left wrist, still in splints.

“Come in,” invited Judge Graney, his smile growing, his eyes glinting oddly. “I think, since you are responsible for the startling innovation which we have been discussing, that you are entitled to a word.”

He gravely waved Hollis to a chair and stood silent while the latter sank into it. Then he smiled, glancing furtively at Dunlavey and addressing Hollis.

“Perhaps you will remember that some time ago you printed an article in the Kicker urging upon the Government the necessity of bringing the law into Union County?”

Hollis nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly; “I remember.”

“Well,” resumed the Judge, “the article has borne fruit. But perhaps not in the manner you expected.” He laughed around at the three, deliberately closing an eye at Hollis. “You know,” he resumed, addressing them all, his eyes twinkling as his gaze met Dunlavey’s, “that the law is an expensive institution. It is a fundamental principle–at least of some governments,” he smiled–“that a community that desires the law must pay, and pay dearly–for it. In short, if it wants the law it must pay taxes. I do not say that that is a principle which our government is applying, but I do say that it is an eminently fair proposition.

“At all events I have received word from the Interior Department that if we want the law to come out here we must pay for it. That is not said in so many words, but that is the inference, if we are to consider the instructions of the Secretary of the Interior–which are: ‘I am informed that several large ranch owners in Union County are inclined to evade taxation. Especially is this true–I am told–of a man named Dunlavey, who, if the report is correct, paid, during the last half year, taxes on five hundred head of cattle, whereas it is claimed that his holdings will amount to about five thousand, yearly average. In view of this ridiculously low return it seems incumbent upon me to appoint an inquisitor, whose duty – ”

Dunlavey laughed harshly, interrupting the Judge. Then he turned suddenly to Hollis, his face inflamed with passion.

“I reckon this is some of your work?” he snarled.

Hollis met his gaze steadily. “I imagine it is,” he said quietly. He could not keep a flash of triumph from his eyes. “Nothing could please me better than to discover that I had a hand in bringing the law to this country. It needs plenty of law.”

Judge Graney cleared his throat. “This does not apply to you alone, Dunlavey,” he said, facing the latter. “Letters have been sent to every cattleman in Union County, demanding their appearance before me. The government is determined to re-adjust conditions out here–to enforce this new law to the letter. Beginning on the first of next month,–September–which will be the day after to-morrow, every cattle owner in the county will be required to register his brand and return a list of his cattle, for taxation. Any owner refusing to make a fair return on his stock will make a grave mistake. Upon his failure to make such return the government will seize his stock and dispose of it to the highest bidder, deducting such an amount as will cover taxes, court costs, and fines, and returning the remainder, if any, to the owner.” Judge Graney faced Hollis. “I suppose you have received your notification to that effect?” he inquired.

“I haven’t paid much attention to my mail since–since I met Mr. Dunlavey and several of his friends one night–some weeks ago.” He smiled grimly at Dunlavey, who met his gaze with a derisive grin. “I haven’t been very much interested in anything except getting well,” continued Hollis. “But whether I have been notified or not I shall take pleasure in complying with the law. I shall have my list ready on time–likewise I shall register my brand.”

Dunlavey sneered. “That won’t be such an almighty big job–counting your steers,” he said.

Hollis laughed shortly. “Perhaps not as big a job as it would have been had conditions been different,” he observed dryly.

“Meaning?” snapped Dunlavey, stiffening in his chair.

“You may draw your own inference,” drawled Hollis.

For an instant it seemed that Dunlavey contemplated attacking Hollis; he placed both hands on the table before him, preparatory to rising, evidently thought better of the idea and sank into the chair again, his eyes flashing venomously as they met Hollis’s.

“This country’s going plum to hell!” he sneered; “when tenderfeet and half-baked lawyers get to running things it will be time for the cattlemen to pull up stakes and hit the breeze! But I’m telling you one thing!” He banged his fist heavily down upon the table in front of him and scowled at the Judge, his voice vibrating with passion: “You let your damned tenderfoot owners bring in their lists. Mebbe they don’t know any better. But I ain’t bringin’ in no list. It’s one thing to pass a law and another thing to enforce it!” He sat silent for an instant, glaring at the Judge, who smiled quietly at him, then he turned to Hollis.

“You’ve been carrying on like you was intending to own this here country some day,” he sneered; “with your damned newspaper and your lawyer friend here. What we handed you the other night was just a sample of what you’ll get if you don’t hit the breeze out of this country!” He got to his feet and stood beside the table, glaring around at the three men.

For a moment neither of the three spoke. There was a saturnine, almost mocking, smile on the face of the man who stood at the window. In his expression one could discover much appreciation of the character of the man at whom he was looking–it revealed the fact that he had met such men before–and admired them little. There was no fear in the expression, yet had one of the other men taken the trouble to look at him they would have seen that his right hand was now lingering very close to the butt of the revolver at his hip.

Judge Graney cleared his throat. The smile was still on his face, but a sudden brightness of the eyes and a flush in each cheek showed that Dunlavey’s defiance had affected him. Both he and the man at the window watched closely as Hollis got to his feet and approached Dunlavey.

Hollis’s face was slightly pale, but there was a steady, unwavering gleam in his eyes as he walked to within five feet of Dunlavey and stood quietly beside the table looking at him.

“Dunlavey,” he began slowly, in a soft, even voice, in which there was not a hint of excitement, “I haven’t anything to do with enforcing the law that seems to have come to Union County. You can defy the law if you please. But I have something to say in reply to what you have said to me. It is this: I haven’t any ambition to own the entire country–such talk from a grown man is childish. But I do intend to own the little I’ve got in spite of you or anyone else. I am not in the least afraid of you. I owe you something on account of the other night and some day I am going to thrash you within an inch of your life!”

Dunlavey’s hand fell suggestively to his side. “There’s no time like the present,” he sneered.

“Of course I know that you carry a gun,” said Hollis still evenly, without excitement; “most of you folks out here don’t seem to be able to get along without one–it seems to be the fashion. Also, I might add, every man that carries one seems to yearn to use it. But it has always seemed to me that a man who will use a gun without great provocation is a coward!” He smiled grimly into Dunlavey’s face.

For an instant Dunlavey did not move. His eyes glittered malevolently as they bored into Hollis’s. Then his expression changed until it was a mingling of contempt, incredulity, and mockery.

“So you’re thinking of thrashing me?” he sniffed, backing away a little and eyeing Hollis critically. “You slugged me once and you’re thinking to do it again. And you think that any man who uses a gun on another is a coward?” He laughed sardonically. “Well, all I’ve got to say to you is that you ain’t got your eye-teeth cut yet.” He deliberately turned his back on Hollis and the others and walked to the door. On the threshold he halted, looking back at them all with a sneering smile.

“You know where I live,” he said to Judge Graney. “I ain’t bringing in no list nor I ain’t registering my brand. I don’t allow no man to come monkeying around on my range and if you come out there, thinking to run off any of my stock, you’re doing it at your own risk!” His gaze went from the Judge to Hollis and his smile grew malignant.

“I’m saying this to you,” he said, “no man ain’t ever thrashed Bill Dunlavey yet and I ain’t allowing that any man is ever going to. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!”

He slammed the door and was gone. Hollis turned from the door to see a dry smile on the face of the man at the window.

“Fire eater, ain’t he?” observed the latter, as he caught Hollis’s glance.

CHAPTER XVI

THE BEARER OF GOOD NEWS

Hollis smiled. The Judge got to his feet and approached the two men.

“Hollis,” he said, “shake hands with Mr. Allen, of Lazette.”

Allen’s hand came out quickly and was grasped by Hollis’s, both grips being hearty and warm.

“My name’s Ben Allen,” explained the stranger with a smile. “Tacking on a handle like ‘Mister’ would sure make me feel like a stranger to myself.”

“We’ll not quarrel about that,” remarked the Judge with a smile; “we’ll call you Ben.” He looked soberly at Hollis, continuing:

“Allen has been sent over here from Lazette to assist us in establishing the law. He was formerly sheriff of Colfax County, having been defeated by the Cattlemen’s Association because he refused to become a party to its schemes. On several occasions since severing his official connection with Colfax County he has acted in a special capacity for the government. He is an old acquaintance of the new Secretary of the Interior and much trusted by him. He is to be the inquisitor mentioned in the letter which I read in the presence of Dunlavey.”

Hollis looked at Allen with a new interest. After noting again the steady, serene eyes, narrowed always with a slight squint; the firm straight lips, the well set jaws, Hollis mentally decided that the Secretary of the Interior could not have made a better choice. Certainly, if he had served as sheriff of Colfax County, he had had some excellent experiences, for from reading the Lazette Eagle, Hollis had acquired considerable knowledge of the character of the inhabitants of Colfax. The editor of the Eagle had many times felicitated himself upon the fact that his town (Lazette) had not been built ten miles farther east–in which case he would have been a resident of Union–and ashamed of it.

“I think we need you,” said Hollis simply. “But I imagine you will have to concentrate your efforts upon one ranch only–the Circle Cross. If you make Dunlavey bow to the law you may consider your work finished.”

“I think Dunlavey will change his views of things shortly,” remarked Allen, quietly, but significantly. He smiled at Hollis. “I have read your paper regularly,” he said. “You’ve got the editor of our paper hopping mad–with your claims about Dry Bottom being superior to Lazette. Also, you’ve stirred up the Secretary of the Interior some. I was called to Washington three weeks ago and invited to tell what I knew of conditions out here. I didn’t exaggerate when I told the Secretary that hell was a more peaceful place for a law loving man to live in. Though,” he added with a smile, “I wasn’t ever in hell and couldn’t be positive. I was just accepting what I’ve heard preachers say about it. The Secretary asked me if I knowed you and I told him that though I didn’t I would be right glad to if you was doing anything in my line. He laughed and said he’d miss his guess if you wasn’t making things interesting. Told me to get you to one side and tell you to go to it.” He smiled dryly. “According to what I’ve read in the Kicker you don’t need to be told that and so I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

He dropped his humor and spoke seriously, questioning Hollis about the location of his ranch, listening quietly and attentively to the latter’s answers. Half an hour later after having arranged with Judge Graney for the registering of his brand and the listing of his cattle, Hollis left the court house and went to his office. In running through his mail he came upon Judge Graney’s notification and also another letter, postmarked “Chicago,” which drew a pleased smile to his face. A few minutes later Norton came in, and though Hollis had done very little on the paper he rose and smilingly announced his intention of returning to the Circle Bar.

“We’ll take the Coyote trail,” he informed Norton, after they had mounted and were riding away from the Kicker office; “I’m stopping for a moment at the Hazelton cabin. Of course,” he added, seeing a knowing grin on Norton’s face, “I expected you would be suspicious–married folks have a habit of adopting a supercilious and all-wise attitude toward those of us who have been unfortunate enough to remain in a state of single blessedness.”

“Meanin’ that you’re some sore because you ain’t got hooked up yet?” grinned Norton.

“Perhaps,” laughed Hollis. “But I have been thinking seriously of trying to reach your altitude.”

“Girl willin’?” queried Norton, as they rode down through a little gully, then up to a stretch of plain that brought them to the Coyote trail.

“That’s where I am all at sea,” returned Hollis. He laughed. “I suppose you’ve read Ace’s poem in the Kicker?” He caught Norton’s nod and continued. “Well, Ace succeeded in crowding a whole lot of truth into that effort. Of course you remember the first couplet:

“‘Woman–she don’t need no tooter, he quoted.Be she skule ma’am or biscut shooter.”’

“A woman seems to have an intuitive knowledge of man’s mental processes. At least she gauges him pretty well without letting him into the mystery of how she does it. A man can never tell where he will land.” Ace came very near striking the nail on the head when he wrote in the second couplet that:

‘She has most curyus ways about her,Which leads a man to kinda dout her.’

“And then, knowing man so well, she absolutely refuses to let him know anything of her thoughts. Which again, Ace has noted in this manner:

‘Though lookin’ at her is sure a pleasure;There ain’t no way to get her measure. I reckon she had man on the runA long while before the world begun.’

“That seems to be the exact truth,” he laughed.

Norton grinned at him. “You single guys have certa’nly got a whole lot to learn,” he said, “for a fact. Of course if she’s any kind of a woman at all she’s got him runnin’. But which way?”

“Why, toward her, of course!” laughed Hollis.

Norton’s smile widened. “You’ve tumbled to that, then,” he observed dryly. “Then you’re ready for the next lesson.”

“And that?” questioned Hollis.

Norton smiled with ineffable pity. “Lordy!” he laughed; “you single guys don’t know a thing not a durned thing!”

After that they rode on in silence. When they came in sight of the Hazelton cabin Norton reined in his pony and sat motionless in the saddle, grinning at Hollis.

“You run along now,” he advised. “I’ll be hittin’ her off toward the Dry Bottom trail for the rest of the way–I sorta like that trail better anyway.”

He urged his pony off at a tangent and Hollis continued on his way. He found Nellie alone, her brother having gone out on the range. She came out on the porch, hearing his pony’s hoofs on the hard sand and rocks of the trail, and there was a sincere welcome in her eyes. It was the first time that he had visited the cabin since he had returned to the Circle Bar.

“Oh!” she said delightedly. And then, aware of the sudden light that had come into Hollis’s eyes at this evidence of interest, she blushed and looked down at the hem of her skirt, nervously pushing it out with the toe of her shoe.

During the days of Hollis’s convalescence at the Hazelton cabin he had seen the young woman in many moods. In none of them, however, had she seemed so attractive as now. Confusion became her, he decided, and he regarded her with a new interest as he sat on his pony, awaiting her invitation to dismount. It came presently.

“It is frightfully hot,” she said, moving over to where stood two chairs–one in which he had passed many hours during the days of his convalescence, the other in which she had sat quite often–near him. Not until now did he realize how full and satisfying those days had been. As he dismounted and tied his pony to one of the slender porch columns he smiled–thinking of Norton’s question during their discussion of Ace’s poem. “Of course”–the range boss had said–“if she’s any kind of a woman at all she’s got him runnin’. But which way?” Of course–literally–she did not have him running, but he knew that some uncommon passion had gripped him and that he was unaccountably pleased.

His smile grew when he remembered her sudden indignation over his thoughtless statement that women had never interested him. Of course he would not tell her that he felt a serious interest in one woman. When he dropped into his favorite chair, removing his hat and mopping the perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief, he caught her looking swiftly at the scar under his right eye–which would always be a reminder of his experience on the night of the storm. She saw his brows contract in a frown.

“You have quite recovered,” she said; “except for that slight scar under the eye you are the same as before the meeting with Dunlavey’s men.”

He looked beyond her at the tawny mountains that rose in the distance,–miles on the other side of the big basin–swimming in the shimmering blur of white sky–somber guardians of a mysterious world. What secret did they guard? What did they know of this world of eternal sunlight, of infinite distance? Did they know as much of the world upon which they frowned as he knew of the heart of the slender, motherly girl whose eyes betrayed her each time he looked into them?

A smile that lurked deep within him did not show in his face–it was unborn and it gripped him strangely, creating a sensation in his breast that he could not analyze, but which pleaded to be expressed. He could not express it–now. He feared to trust himself and so he fought it down, assuring himself that it was not yet time. But he knew that he was not the same as before his experience with Dunlavey on the night of the storm. Something had stolen into his heart and was enthroned there; something deeper than a mere scar–a girl who had mothered him in his extremity; who had hovered over him, attending to his bruises, binding his wounds, tenderly smoothing his brow during the days and nights of the fever; attending his wants during convalescence; erecting a citadel in his heart which would stand as a monument to his gratitude. No, not gratitude merely. The smile was born. He turned and looked at her, meeting her eyes fairly, and hers dropped in confusion.

“Do you think that I am the same as before?” he asked suddenly.

She stood up, radiant, pointing a finger toward the Coyote trail. “Ed is coming!” she declared.

Before he could say another word she was down off the porch and running toward her brother, holding his horse while he dismounted, kissing him, patting him lovingly as they came toward the porch.

The latter greeted Hollis warmly. “A fellow couldn’t help but feel good with a sister like that–now could he?” he inquired as he came upon the porch and took the chair which Nellie had vacated. She had disappeared into the cabin, not even looking at Hollis, but she could not have heard Hollis’s reply had she remained. For it was wordless. There are times when men understand perfectly without speech.

Hollis stayed for dinner. Nellie was radiantly silent during the meal, attending to the wants of the two men, listening while they discussed recent happenings in the county. Ed was much pleased to hear of the coming of Ben Allen.

“That guy is business–through and through,” he assured Hollis. “He was the best sheriff Colfax County ever had–and it’s had some good ones. Allen’s quiet, but there ain’t anyone going to herdride him. Some have tried it, but they found it didn’t pay and so they don’t try it any more.”

After dinner they went out on the porch for a smoke, leaving Nellie inside. They could hear her singing as she washed the dishes. Hazelton smiled as a particularly happy note reached his ears. “I don’t know what’s got into Sis,” he said, flashing a swift glance at Hollis. “I don’t know as I ever heard her sing that well before.”

Hollis made no reply and the conversation turned to the drought–as all conversations did during that period. Word had come to Hazelton of Dunlavey’s warning to the cattle owners. He had heard also of Hollis’s announced intention of taking sides with the small owners.

“Dunlavey’s ten days is up the day after tomorrow,” said Hazelton. “If Dunlavey starts anything what are you going to do?”

“That will depend on what Dunlavey starts,” smiled Hollis.

“H’m!” inexpressively grunted Hazelton. He flashed a glance at the face of the young man beside him, noting the firm mouth, the steady eyes, and the faint, grim smile. “H’m!” he said again. “I suppose you know who you’re going to give your water to?” he questioned.

Hollis nodded. “To men who refused to help my father when he needed help,” he returned.

Hazelton smiled oddly. “I’ve heard about that,” he said. He laughed. “It strikes me that I wouldn’t give such men any water,” he added.

Hollis turned and looked at him, meeting his gaze fairly, and holding it.

“Yes, you would, Hazelton,” he said, a broad smile on his face.

“How do you know that?” queried the latter, slightly defiant.

Hollis motioned toward the kitchen door. “I know,” he said; “you’re her brother.”

“Well,” began Hazelton hesitatingly,–“I – ”

The screen door opened–slammed, and Nellie Hazelton came out upon the porch. She had found time to change her morning dress for a soft, fluffy creation of some sort, and she stood before them, flushing slightly as both looked at her, a picture that smote Hollis’s heart with a sudden longing. Only one glance did she give him and then she was over near Ed’s chair, leaning over him, stroking his hair.

For a long time Hollis sat, watching them with sympathetic, appreciative eyes. Then he thought of the letter in his pocket, the one postmarked “Chicago,” which he had discovered at the Kicker office on returning from the court house. He drew it from his pocket and read the legend in the upper left hand corner:

“Dr. J. J. Hammond, – Hospital, Chicago, Ill.”

He studied the legend for some little time, his thoughts busy with the contents of the envelope. Fortunately, his letter to the great physician had fallen into the hands of the son, Tom Hammond, and the latter, not forgetting his old schoolmate, had appealed to his father. This was what the surgeon had written in the letter–he would not have agreed to accept the case had it not been for the fact that Hollis had been, and was Tom’s friend. He would be pleased if the patient would make the journey to Chicago within a month, that he might be able to take up his case before entering upon some scientific investigations which had been deferred a long time, etc.

Hollis had been reading the letter again. He finished it and looked up, to see Ed and Nellie watching him. He flushed and smiled, holding out the letter to Nellie.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I found this interesting. Perhaps you will also find it so.”

He leaned back with a smile and watched them. But he did not, watch long. He saw Nellie start, saw the color slowly recede from her face, saw her hands clench tightly–as she began to read the letter. He turned away, not caring to watch them during that sacred moment in which they would read the line of hope that the great surgeon had written. He looked–it seemed–for a long time down the Coyote trail, and when he finally turned his head toward them he saw Ed Hazelton sitting erect in his chair, apparently stunned by the news. But before him, close to him, so close that he felt her breath in his face–her eyes wide with delight, thankfulness–and perhaps something more–Nellie was kneeling.