Jerry Courtlandt sent her horse up the slope and came out on a bluff
above the Double O. As the girl sat motionless looking off over the
plain, an artist would have labeled the picture she made, "A Study in
Browns," before he slipped it into his mental portfolio. Her mount,
Patches, was a deep mahogany in color, her riding boots were but a shade
lighter than his satin skin, her breeches and long coat were of khaki,
her blouse was fawn color, her eyes were deeply, darkly bronze.
Rebellious tendrils of lustrous brown hair escaped from under the broad
brim of the campaign hat she wore, one of Steve's army hats with its
gold and black cord. He had insisted upon her using it. The hats she had
brought to the ranch had been urban affairs, not designed to shade her
eyes from the glare of white roads. As she had had no money with which
to buy another she had taken it.
Jerry pulled it off as she took a deep breath of the glorious air
asparkle with bubbles of life. She loved the spot. Every day that she
rode she stopped to look down upon the valley. Far away among the
foot-hills a silver stream cleft rocky bluffs, then coiled and foamed
its way until it broadened and flashed in gleaming waterfalls. In places
where it boiled and frothed rustic bridges had been thrown across.
Toward the east lay the sturdily built stock corrals, storehouses spick
and span with whitewash, towering silos. Toward the west were fenced-off
alfalfa fields and beyond them a mosaic of varicolored pasture-lands,
dotted with grazing herds, stretched out to the foot-hills.
Beyond the foot-hills loomed mountains darkly green with pine and spruce
to the timberline, above which reared sombre, forbidding rock until
against the ragged edge of gold-lined clouds, white peaks flamed crimson
in the slanting sun. Toward the north she could see the gap in the
mountains through which the railroad cut. The gap was known as the
Devil's Hold-up because of the natural facilities it had offered--and
still offered for that matter,--to the class whose pleasing pastime it
had been to maintain their divine right in the other man's property at
the point of a gun.
Almost beneath her, approached by a broad, well-graded road, lay the
ranch-house. Telephone wires from all directions rounded up the
activities of the Double O at the office near by. The house was a
rambling structure of rudely squared timbers set in fieldstone and
cement. Its one story was built around a court on which many doors
opened and which was gayly brocaded with shrubs and plants in blossom
this late June day.
Where was Steve, Jerry wondered, as her eyes lingered on the office
building. She saw him less and less as the days passed, as more and more
he assumed the responsibilities of the Double O. He was off before she
was up in the morning riding the range or in the dairies or barns until
night. She had hardly believed her eyes when on the evening after her
arrival, she had seen Steve and Tommy Benson, his secretary, come into
the living-room in dinner coats. Courtlandt had answered her unspoken
question with the explanation that it had been Nicholas Fairfax's
unvarying rule to shed ranch problems at night, and he had found that
getting into the dress of the city helped. A man just naturally would
curb an impulse to toddle down to the corral if he were in dinner
clothes. The two didn't seem to go together.
Steve had appointed Tommy Benson her squire, he himself had so little
time to give her. A laugh curved Jerry's lips as she thought of Tommy.
He was a slight youth with a face of one of Raphael's cherubs grown up
and a book for his inseparable companion. His almost yellow hair was
short and wavy, his eyes were a brilliant blue, his skin was as nearly
pink and white as human skin can be after it has been ranch-seasoned,
his lips seemed made for laughter. He and Steve had been officers in
the same company and when they returned from overseas the two had gone
to the ranch to recuperate. Tommy had remained there to please his
mother. He was in the throes of a virulent attack of stage fever and
Mrs. Benson had begged him to wait a few years before he decided upon
acting as his career. She had assured him that if after reflection he
still felt that it was the profession for him she would attend his
premiere without a qualm. So he had stayed at the Double O. There was
plenty of money back of him and he had grown to love the ranch life,
apparently.
Tommy was taking the responsibility of training the lady of the ranch
seriously, that is as seriously as a boy could who was forever
expressing his emotions and convictions in the words of the immortals,
Jerry thought with a smile. She had ridden since she was a little girl
but Tommy was making her proficient in some hair-raising stunts. Steve
didn't know of those but he had ordained that she was to learn to saddle
Patches, that she must be able to fasten and unfasten gates securely
while mounted, that she was to rope and shoot from her horse's back.
Her days were full but filled with her own pleasures. She did nothing
for others, she thought ruefully as she gazed down upon the smoke rising
from the cook-house chimney. Her only link with the outside world was
Sandy, the carrier, whose appearance sent her imagination winging into
the past whenever she saw him. The queer little postman wore a tall gray
hat which, Tommy Benson insisted, was a left-over from the wardrobe of
Gentleman Rick whose zeal as a promoter of pleasure in Slippy Bend in
the nineties had lured men through miles of wilderness. Jerry often sat
on the wall beside the mail-box to await his coming. He always had news
and a quaint bit of philosophy if he hadn't letters. Letters! There
weren't many for her. She had had hosts of friends in school and college
but she heard from them seldom now. Her conscience administered a
vicious pinch. Yes, it was quite all her fault, she answered it. The
girls apparently had adored her, but she had been unable to accept their
devotion with single-minded pleasure. Always in the back of her mind had
skulked the ghost of that first home near the coal-fields. Would they
have cared for her could they have seen that? After her marriage events
had moved too rapidly for her to pick up the scattered lines of her
correspondence. However, she no longer had that excuse, her days now
were long and uneventful. She would write to every friend she had. It
would be like sending out a fleet of ships. How eagerly she would await
the return cargoes.
She broke into her own good resolutions with a laugh. To send out
letters one must have stamps. She had used the last one she possessed
yesterday and to get more she must have money. "Money!" Jerry laughed
again as she repeated the word aloud. Conditions were reversed now as to
money, she thought as she stared unseeingly off at the mountain tops
which pricked the crimsoning sky. Steve had the income from his uncle's
large property as long as he remained on the ranch. It would not be his
unreservedly until a year from the day they had arrived at the Double O.
She had persistently refused to accept money from him. If she wrote to
the girls she would need a regiment of postage stamps. If she could
earn----
Her eyes flashed earthward from the mountains as she heard the click of
a hoof against rock and the creak of saddle leather. A horse and rider
topped the slope. It was Courtlandt on his favorite mount, Blue Devil, a
horse all spirit, shining blue-black satin. He was a regal creature from
his flowing mane to his silken fetlock. He nosed Patches who showed an
undignified haste to snuggle up to him in return.
"Did you think you had lost me, Steve?" Jerry asked gayly as she noted
the seriousness of his blue eyes and the crease in his forehead which
his broad-brimmed Stetson was not drawn low enough to hide. How
unnecessarily good looking he was in his riding clothes, she thought. He
wore a black tie with his khaki shirt, his heavy riding breeches were
tucked into the tops of high boots which laced up the front and had
curious sloping heels. He had removed one of his riding gloves and the
dark stone of his ring, which bore the seal of the Courtlandts, made the
browned hand seem white in contrast. He gave the impression of being
absolute master of his horse and of any situation which might arise.
Jerry's heart unaccountably skipped a beat as he answered her question.
"No, I saw you from the road. You looked like one of Dallin's bronzes.
Where is Tommy?" with quick displeasure.
"Don't glower. I sent him back. I don't want him always at my heels. I
love to come up here alone and, figuratively speaking, look down upon my
blessings."
"Was that what you were doing when I came up? Your expression belied
you. Instead of looking beatific, you looked worried."
She laughed up at him with warm friendliness as she bent forward and
confided in a theatrical whisper:
"You are right. I was figuring finances. I have just----" The color
flew to her face as she thought of what he might infer. She stumbled on
quite conscious that she was making matters worse. "I'm about at the end
of my stamp book and--and--I've developed a sudden fervor for letter
writing and--and----" she broke off her breathless explanation as he
laid his finely-shaped hand on her saddle-bow. Even back in the Manor
days his hands had fascinated her.
"I'm glad that you've brought up the subject of finances, Jerry. The
money question between you and me has got to be cleared up, and cleared
up now. You've had your way long enough. Don't be foolish any longer,
little girl, I----"
"I shall not take your money, Steve. Would you take mine?" then as his
eyes darkened stormily, "Oh, truly, I didn't mean to rouse sleeping
dogs--but--but I won't take it. I do nothing for you--if I even had
anything to do about the house but Ming and Hopi Soy run the household
motor noiselessly, perfectly, with every cylinder hitting. If there was
anything I could do----"
"There is something you can do."
Jerry's heart flew to her throat. What did he mean? He looked grim and
determined.
"W-what is it?" she asked faintly. She put on her hat, tightened her
reins unconsciously.
Courtlandt laughed. The sternness left his face. There was an
expression in his eyes which she couldn't translate as he teased:
"Don't run, Jerry. You don't trust me over much, do you? To return to
finances, if you want to help you can do so tremendously by taking over
the accounts and my correspondence. Tommy's had that job but I need him
outside. Ranlett's leaving. You'll soon get the hang of the accounting
and it won't take much of your time."
"But if it took all I'd love to do it, Steve. Shall I have a desk in the
office?" she asked eagerly.
"If you agree to accept a salary."
"But I don't want to be paid for helping."
He turned his horse's head toward the slope.
"That settles it. I shall send to the agency to-morrow for a private
secretary." As she did not answer he looked at her with a smile which
lighted eyes and lips. "Now will you be good?"
She regarded him with oblique scrutiny. With an adorable imitation of
Pete Gerrish she drawled:
"You're sure puttin' it straight, Chief. You win. Now shall we mosey
'long home?" With a touch of spurs she wheeled Patches and headed him
down the slope.
"Why is Ranlett leaving?" she asked as their horses trotted side by side
along the hard white ranch road. Courtlandt's face reddened darkly.
"Because I thought it time to determine the status of the alien on
Double O ranch. Ranlett had a couple of men in the outfit who have not
taken out first naturalization papers, even, who had been pointing out
to my boys deficiencies of the government. They're flares set here to
ignite any chaff of discontent which may be blowing about."
"But you're not against freedom of speech, Steve?"
"You bet I am against the inflammatory brand on the tongue of an alien.
What is he in this country but a guest? If a man came to stay in my home
and began a systematic undermining of the ideas and ideals on which that
home was built, what do you think I'd do to him?"
"I'll say you'd sure put him out, Chief," with Gerrish's drawl and a
little rush of laughter.
"I'll say I would. So quick he'd wonder what struck him. Why should the
government put up with their vicious patter? It's bad enough when an
honest-to-God citizen breaks loose and turns red, but for a man who is
here by courtesy--well, as I remarked before, there is no place for him
on the Double O ranch. Aliens will keep their jobs here only so long as
they conform to my ideas of fitness."
"You're right, Steve. I have never thought of agitators in that light
but they are a sort of human slow-match timed to fire a mine of
discontent, aren't they? And half the time the mine doesn't know what
it is blowing-up about. How do the men feel about Ranlett's defection?"
"I haven't asked them. What's the infernal row?" he demanded as they
drew rein at the gate of the court. Jerry looked at him in surprise. His
tone was that of a man whose nerves were taut to snapping point. She
slid from her horse and dropped the reins. Patches loped quietly but
determinedly in the direction of the corral and supper. Blue Devil, with
a reproachful glance at the deserter, followed daintily in the steps of
his master as Courtlandt and the girl entered the garden. The court was
a riot of plants and shrubs. The air was sweet with the fragrance of
roses just coming into bloom and rent by agitated yelps and a hoarse,
croaking voice.
When Jerry and Steve reached storm centre they saw a combination of
scarlet, blue and green, swaying precariously on the top of a shutter.
It was Jose's parrot, Benito, flinging to the breeze the most
vituperative epithets a rich and racy vocabulary could suggest. Below
him Goober sat on his haunches. Between barks his tongue dripped, his
mouth hung open as though in riotous laughter. His tawny eyes flashed
ruby light. Tommy Benson, his finger between the pages of a book, his
hair rampant, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth, egged on the two as
he quoted from his favorite "Ancient Mariner":
"'The wedding guest sat on a stone,
He could not choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed mariner.'"
His eloquence incited the bird to renewed effort to express his
sentiments. Jerry clapped her hands over her ears and dashed into the
house. Steve whistled. The dog bounded in his direction, his quarry
forgotten in the joy of seeing his master. Courtlandt seized him by the
collar.
"What do you mean, you sinner?" he demanded sternly. Goober looked as
though he were about to offer an explanation when the gaudy parrot, who
had been rocking back and forth on the shutter, croaked:
"Lick him, Bo! Lick him!"
Tommy dropped to the ground and rolled with laughter. Jose came hurrying
out of the house. He swept off his hat with a wide bow. His face had the
look of a much-shriveled mummy, his solitary tooth waggled precariously
as he talked.
"_Que hay! Senor!_ One teeng I tell you. It ees that wild devil of a dog
that makes my leetle Benito to curse. _Madre de Dios_, but he ees
one--one----"
"You've said it, Jose," encouraged Benson as he sat up and wiped his
eyes. He took his knees in an affectionate embrace. "He sure is one
little curser, that Benito of yours. Want me to help get him down?"
"No--no, Senor Tommee. He come to me." He reached up and after a few
protesting squawks the parti-colored bird settled on the Mexican's
shoulder. As Jose left the court with him, the parrot shivered, flapped
his wings, winked at Tommy and croaked hoarsely:
"What's all the shootin'?"
Tommy gave vent to a whoop of appreciation before he turned to
Courtlandt, who was regarding the ranch-house door unseeingly. He gave
him a resounding whack on the shoulder as he ranted:
"'How is't with you
That you do bend your eye on vacancy?'"
"Quit your histrionics, Tommy. Has Pete Gerrish been here for me?"
"Nope. Nothing doing." Benson stroked Blue Devil's satiny nose and
rested his face against it as he asked in a low tone, "Any news of those
stray calves?"
Courtlandt's brows met in a quick frown.
"No, but of course we'll find them. It's absurd to think a man can get
away with rustling in this enlightened twentieth century, that we've
got to revert to shooting and----"
"That's what the majority of the world claimed in 1914," interrupted
Benson dryly.
"Don't be a blamed pessimist, Tommy. I'm going to take you off the books
and use you outside."
"Oh boy!" he voiced the twentieth century equivalent to the nineteenth
century "Great Scott!" in delighted approval. "If you do that and
Ranlett has been crooked, he hasn't a prayer. I'm the original Sherlock
Holmes. Watch me get him! Pete's boys have all they can do now without
turning detectives. You'd think that Gerrish had just been put in charge
of a new outfit. He's on location every minute, reestimating the number
of head each pasture should carry, weighing up the stock, sifting out
the undesirables. Take it from me, old dear, he knows every calf by
name, what it's worth now and what it will bring one year from now. He
claims that Ranlett has been underselling. I'll ride the fences
to-morrow. If you say the word I'll take Jerry along and we'll have a
corking time."
"You and Jerry usually have a corking time together, don't you?" Benson
showed his teeth in a flashing smile.
"I'll say we do. I don't like to talk about myself, but----"
Courtlandt laughed.
"You don't care for yourself one little bit, do you, Tommy? By all means
take Jerry if she cares to go. Beat it down to the corral with Blue
Devil, will you? That is if you dare ride him," Steve amended with a
laugh.
Tommy mounted with the agility of a monkey, wheeled his horse and
declaimed theatrically:
"I dare do all that may become a man
Who dares do more is none!"