"War loan!" says he. "It's a loan for his own self that he's looking
for. He's lost four million dollars on that irrigation scheme of his
when he bought our ranch. Now I'm going to foreclose and he knows it.
He's got his funds tied up in cargoes of meat and grain that ain't
cashed in. He's short, and damn short! And I know it; and these are
times when banks ain't loosening much. War--yes; I'll show him war!
There can't nobody get title to a foot of that land till Old Man Wisner
gets his title from me--and he ain't never going to get it. If it's my
last act I'll ruin him. I trusted you, and you turned me down. I trusted
her, and she threw me down. I won't trust nobody no more, except myself.
"What's it come to?" says he to hisself after a while, looking around at
the big rooms. "What did it all come to, what I done for her? And I give
up the ranch for her and give up the life I loved!"
"The sun was on the hills when I was out there, Colonel," says I to him,
sudden, happening to think of something, "and the sky was blue as it
ever was; and the wind was just carrying the smell of the sage, like it
used to; and the river was running white on the riffles, same as it did
before. And the cows----"
"Don't, Curly!" says he. "Don't!"
"I won't no more, Colonel," says I. "I won't be on your pay roll much
longer; but them old days----"
"Don't!" says he. "I can't think about the old days no more. I'm closing
the books now, Curly."
"So'm I," says I.
"What do you mean?" says he. "I ain't right clear about some things."
"No; you ain't," says I. "So long as it's fair war I'm in with you; but
when it comes to making war on women and children--I ain't in."
"Children! Curly, what do you mean?"
"Children," says I, "is all there is to things. Buck the game the way
you want to, Colonel," says I; "but when you buck the child game you're
bucking God Almighty His own self. He's got it framed up so He can't
lose. Them two couldn't help theirselfs. I've got to finish some day,
same as you. All right; I'll finish with them."
Then I shooked hands with him and he done so with me. He looks me keen
in the eyes and I looks him keen back. We didn't neither of us weaken.
This was a heap the hardest thing we'd ever faced together, but we
didn't neither of us flicker. We'd both decided what we thought was
right.
"Son," says he after a while, "you're some man after all." And he puts
his hand on my shoulder; like he used to.
"She ain't got no ma," says I to him the last thing. "I'm half her pa,
the only half she's got left; and I'll stick if her father don't. But
she ain't got no ma. That's what makes me so sorry for the kid," says I.
He looks at me, with his eyes wide open, but he don't talk none.
"I seen her setting right there, Colonel," says I, "in this room, on our
old hide lounge--her wringing her hands like she'd tear 'em apart. She
was bucking a hard game then, and doing her best to play it fair--her
just a kid, with no special chance to be so very wise, and not having no
ma. She didn't have a soul to go to, and all that was worrying her was
which side of the game she really was on. For she knowed, even if we
didn't, like I told you just now--she must of knowed it somehow--there's
one particular game that God Almighty plays so He can't lose."
He groaned like I hated to hear. But he didn't weaken. I knowed he
couldn't quit.