"What shall we do this afternoon, Jerry?" Peggy Glamorgan asked as she,
her sister and Benson sat at luncheon three hours later. The table was
spread on the broad, shadowy veranda on the north side of the
ranch-house. The sun beat down upon fields and white roads; insects
droned lazily to the accompaniment of the faint roar of the stream
swollen by the heavy rain of the night before. "Ye gods! If here isn't
Abdul the Great," she mocked saucily as Courtlandt appeared at the door.
"Are his humble slaves to be honored with his presence at the noonday
meal? Allah, oh Allah! Jerry, aren't you overwhelmed at this tribute to
our charms?"
"Can't a man lunch beneath his own vine and fig tree without creating a
panic? From now on I shall make it a daily rite that you may get used to
it," Steve laughed. He laid his hand on Benson's shoulder. "Tommy,
you're a hero. Slippy Bend is agog with admiration. What the populace
can't think of to say in praise of you the deputy sheriff supplies in
the most colorful vernacular the locality produces. Don't run; I won't
say any more," as Benson, fiery red, half rose from his chair. Steve
seated himself opposite Jerry.
She observed him resentfully from behind a screen of lashes. He looked
more care-free and debonair than she had ever seen him while her heart
still contracted suffocatingly at any thought of the morning. It was
just like a man, nothing went deep, she thought. Ming Soy fluttered
about in devoted anticipation of his needs; Peggy poured cream into his
tea with a lavish hand. Benson laughed.
"You're a master tactician, old dear. You let your light shine upon us
but seldom and behold the devotion when you do appear. Alas, 'Maidens,
like moths, are ever caught by glare.' I'll say your beatific expression
would put the twinkle-twinkle-little-star effect out of business. Got a
load off your mind, haven't you? Slowman tells me that the Shorthorns
are back to a hoof, that our temperamental late manager is being
securely, if not luxuriously accommodated with quarters in the jail and
that--that Mrs. Denbigh is en route to the effete East via Slippy Bend.
Is my information correct?" He stole a surreptitious glance at Jerry
who, with the aid of a pink-tipped finger, was nonchalantly sailing rose
petal boats on the sea of her crystal finger-bowl.
"It is. The tangle of the last few months is straightening out. From
now on I'll subscribe to that bit of philosophy of Doc Rand's, 'Things
have a marvelous, unbelievable way of coming right.' The late
unpleasantness has resulted in one thing: we have an all-American outfit
on the Double O ranch on whose honor I'd stake my last dollar. They may
come of varied and contending races but when it comes to ideals of
service and loyalty to the nation, they're united. Next week I'm going
to Uncle Nick's camp in the mountains to inspect the silver mine, and
incidentally to fish. There is a lake there where the trout are so thick
they form bread-lines to get a chance at the bait."
"You tell 'em!" jeered Benson.
"It's a fact. I want to shake the memory of the last two months, to get
away so that I can come back and make a fresh start. I'll leave you in
charge of the ranch, Tommy."
"'When Caesar says, "Do this," it is performed.'"
"What's on for this afternoon? Let's do something. I want to get
yesterday out of my mind."
"Miss Glamorgan and I thought--I thought--that if you didn't need me,
we'd ride over to Buzzard's Hollow; that spot seems to be occupying
stage center now. I'll personally conduct you and Mrs. Steve over the
abandoned aeroplane if you'll mosey along with us."
Jerry tried to control a shudder. She wondered if she could ever again
hear the name of the hollow without seeing a close-up of Beechy and
Ranlett and that mutilated calf. She sensed Courtlandt's quick look at
her and answered hurriedly:
"Don't count me in. I shan't ride again until--until I have forgotten
the hours I spent in the saddle yesterday. Buzzard's Hollow as an
objective leaves me cold. If no one else wants the roadster I shall
drive over to the B C to inquire for Mrs. Carey. Mother Eagan may allow
me to see the baby."
Jerry could have cheerfully bitten out her too confiding tongue when an
hour later she found Steve waiting beside the roadster at the front
door. He had changed from his usual riding togs to sport clothes. He
reddened under her surprised eyes.
"Have you gone saddle shy too?" she asked flippantly to conceal her
frightened suspicion that he was going with her.
"No, but I must see Beechy and as you were going to Bear Creek I thought
we'd go along together."
"But--I--would rather----"
"Get in, please. It will take time to get to the B C by the road in this
car, which is far from being the last word in speed-limit violators."
With teeth set in her lips to steady them Jerry stepped into the
roadster. What motive was back of Steve's decision to accompany her, she
wondered, as the car shot smoothly ahead under his skilful driving. She
regarded him covertly from under the brim of her rose-colored hat. He
was gazing straight ahead, his brows knit in a slight frown. The silence
between them seemed heavy with portent. She must say something. From far
off came a faint whistle.
"Is that the east-bound train?" she asked and then wished fervently that
she hadn't.
"Yes. Just pulling out of Slippy Bend. Felice is on it. Jerry, I want
you to understand that the situation you stumbled on this morning was
merely some of her theatrical clap-trap. When I told her about Phil she
flung herself into my arms and pretended to be overcome."
"Don't apologize," the girl mocked, then as she caught a dangerous gleam
in his eyes she abandoned thin ice. "Has Mr. Denbigh----"
"I got Phil's mother on long distance soon after midnight. Gerrish took
him--went East in the early morning."
"Was he a dear friend of yours?"
"No. He was in my class at college but he was always aloof, unfriendly.
While the rest of us were in athletics he was devoting himself to his
violin. We thought him indifferent but I understand now that his
position had corroded his sensitive heart."
"Position? Wasn't he of the elect?"
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Jerry. Phil's father and mother were among
the great army of incompatibles. His heritage of misery as the child of
divorced parents, tossed back and forth between their habitations,
ruined his life but--but he made royally good at the last, poor chap."
Jerry blinked furiously to rid her eyes of the tears which had flooded
them at his tone. They rode on in silence. The road ran through the
fragrant, chill quiet of dense pines, which creaked and swayed a
mournful note in the slight breeze. When they emerged into the
willow-fringed, sun dappled road again Courtlandt spoke.
"I want you to tell me everything that happened yesterday, Jerry. I--I
know now that that elopement stuff was all a bluff but--but it was an
infernally dangerous one. It was lucky for Greyson that an interest
bigger than any individual was concerned in last night's work
or--forgive me for my lack of faith and tell me what happened, won't
you, girl?"
Jerry snatched at her stampeding composure and dragged it back. Her
answer was tantalizingly slow.
"That 'won't you' was a master stroke of diplomacy. Machiavellian, I
call it. Had you demanded an explanation I wouldn't have given it. Where
shall I commence?" She saw him stiffen at her levity but he had his
voice well in hand as he answered:
"At the beginning."
"Only on condition that there are no interruptions."
"Then be merciful and tell your story quickly."
Jerry began the recital of her adventures with her determination to
amuse Peggy. She forgot herself, she was quite unconscious of the
unevenness of Courtlandt's driving as the story unrolled of its own
momentum. He did not interrupt with words but at times the car shot
forward as though propelled by a furious impulse. They passed Jim Carey
herding some lank-bodied, big-kneed calves before him. He waved and
shouted a greeting. As they entered the cottonwoods by the Bear Creek
corral Jerry described the culmination of the wild ride on the track,
her stunned amazement when she had heard Steve's furious exclamation
behind her. Her voice was traitorously unsteady as she added:
"'O ye of little faith!' Even when I saw you there, knew that you had
heard my explanation, I--I thought that--that somehow you would
understand."
"Why would I? You had told me that you had been engaged to Greyson. You
never can tell what a man will do when he is mad about a woman, when he
loves her crown of shining hair, her eyes, her smile, the--the tip of
her bare pink foot." Memory sent a surge of red to his face. He brought
the car to a stop in front of the shack. Beechy, his face white, his
hair redder and more rampant than ever, called eagerly from the open
window at which he sat bolstered up in a chair.
"Wait for me at the house. I shan't be long."
Jerry nodded dumbly, and drove on. Courtlandt's words had set her heart
beating a furious call to arms. What had he meant? Who was mad about a
woman? He or Greyson? Whose bare pink foot? Involuntarily she tucked one
suede shoe under her, her cheeks flushed warmly. He--he couldn't have
meant her.
In the living-room of the cabin Jerry held the cocoon of soft flannel,
which in turn held the Carey baby, in her arms. She laid her soft cheek
against his.
"Isn't--isn't he the dearest!" she crooned as she felt the sweet warm
thrill of his satin-soft skin against her face. Doc Rand, before the
fireplace, flapping his long black coat-tails in time to his
heel-and-toe teeter, blinked at her through lenses which had become
unaccountably misty. His russet-apple face showed a new set of lines.
"I--I am so glad that he arrived safely," Jerry observed innocently,
punctuating the words with cooing sounds directed at the crease in the
baby's neck. Indignation at the possible slur on his professional skill
served as a safety valve for Rand's emotion which had been so
unaccountably stirred by the sight of the lovely girl with the child in
her arms. He had seen the same thing unmoved hundreds of times before, a
woman with her face snuggled against a baby's.
"Arrived safely! Why shouldn't he arrive safely in a home like this?
Take it from me, the Almighty's going to pick his mothers carefully from
now on. He's just had a demonstration of what ought not to happen in
poor Denbigh's case. He'll find a way to make women realize what a great
and glorious privilege it is to be the mother of an American citizen."
"Of either sex?" probed the girl mischievously.
"You've said it. The female of the species has got to take her share in
the responsibility of the government. If we have another war, God grant
we don't, the young women will be drafted to work, just as the men will
to fight. There'll be no feminine slackers infesting the neighborhoods
of the camps next time."
"Hear! Hear!" applauded a low voice from the door. Doc Rand beamed at
the newcomer paternally.
"Steve, you scoffer, come in! Take a look at what your wife has in that
bundle."
Jerry wished passionately that she were a thousand miles away when Steve
loomed over her but she didn't intend to let him suspect it. She pulled
away the soft blanket that he could see better and challenged
breathlessly:
"Isn't he a sweetie peach?"
"Isn't he--it--very red?" Courtlandt stammered in honest embarrassment
that he could not conscientiously voice a paean of praise of the beauty
of the Carey heir. Doc Rand indulged in a denatured guffaw.
"Lord-ee, Steve, your mental propeller showered sparks of originality
that time, didn't it? The baby isn't appreciated here; you'd better take
him back to his mother, Mrs. Eagan," as the nurse, beaming with
full-moon effulgence, entered the room. Jerry smiled up at the portly
woman as she laid the little bundle in her arms.
"Give my love to Mrs. Carey and tell her that he is the loveliest baby I
ever saw," she whispered eagerly.
"What do you think about Beechy, Doc?" Courtlandt asked as Mrs. Eagan
left the room.
"He'll pull through now that he has eased his conscience by confession.
I had to let him talk and unburden his mind before I could heal his
body."
"I've just come from the shack. Carl told me that if--it hadn't been for
Denbigh he would have been in on that deal last night."
"Yes, Steve, but Beechy was out of the hold-up for good when he found
that it was government money they were after. He was prepared to take
what was coming to him for quitting; he knew mighty well that a man
couldn't double-cross Ranlett and--and live, that is, not if the Skunk
knew it. He knows now that Denbigh saved him. Beechy isn't bad at
heart. He and a lot of others like him are suffering from an acute
attack of disillusionment, that's all. They'd been fed up on
'Hail-to-the-conquering-hero' stuff and when the shouting was over and
they spent weary months in hospital forgotten by the world at large, and
in particular by that female portion of it that had fed them, written to
them, married them during the war, do you wonder that they were ready
for any deviltry that was afoot? I don't. But you see, in spite of his
loud talk, when Beechy came slam up against the proposition of
defrauding his government, ungrateful government that he thought it,
there was nothing doing. He couldn't get away with it. He'll never be
able to do much hard work, but there must be a place for him."
"A place for him! If he ever escapes my clutches again he's more
slippery than I think him."
"Go to it, Steve! Even you and I salaam when he speaks in that tone,
don't we, Mrs. Jerry?"
The sun had dropped behind the mountains; fields and foot-hills lay
luminous and still as Courtlandt drove the roadster past the corral at
the Double O. A bunch of horses was being turned into the pastures for
the night feed. They nipped, they kicked, they rolled. The riders who
were driving them out tolerated their antics patiently, with an
occasional admonitory "Hi-yew!" Jerry turned to look after them.
"I wish Peg could have seen that. In this light, in their broad-brimmed
hats, their colored neckerchiefs, their gloves, their costumes are
picturesque. They would have satisfied even her craving for local
color."
Courtlandt drove on to the ranch-house without answering. It had been a
silent ride home. Jerry had been tensely apprehensive of what might be
coming when they started, but as the man beside her drove steadily with
only an occasional inquiry as to her comfort, she had relaxed and
allowed her thoughts to drift.
Steve followed her into the living-room. As she opened the door of her
boudoir he spoke from where he stood under his mother's portrait.
"Come here, Jerry! Please----" he added with a smile as she hesitated.
"I must dress for dinner. I----"
"There is plenty of time. I want to talk to you. Come here!" As a safe
and sane compromise she took refuge behind the back of the wing-chair.
"Well?" she queried defensively.
With startling suddenness he caught her hands and drew her to the hearth
beside him.
"That's better! I can't talk to you when you are so far away." His grip
on her hands tightened. "Jerry, do you remember that day at the Manor
when Uncle Nick's will was read? You----"
"The--the day we decided to make the detour? It--it has proved an
adventure, hasn't it?" she interrupted in a breathless attempt to gain
time. Courtlandt ignored the question.
"You asked me if I wanted his fortune. Do you also remember my answer?"
Then as with downcast cast eyes she nodded assent, he repeated, "'More I
ever wanted anything, except one, in my life.' You thought that that one
thing was Felice and I--I let you think so. I meant you, Jerry. No, you
can't go, you've got to listen now. We've been playing at cross purposes
long enough. I wanted Uncle Nick's money because I wanted to be rid of
the humiliating load of obligation we Courtlandts had shouldered. I
wanted to meet you on equal terms. I loved you the first time I saw you
in your shimmering orchid gown with the great fan which you wielded with
the air of an empress. Who was I to tell you so? You wouldn't have
believed me, you would have despised me as a hypocrite. I had no money,
nothing but debts to offer you. But if I hadn't loved you nothing could
have forced me, nothing could have tempted me to ask you to marry me. On
the way in to meet you that first night, I promised Sir Peter that if in
any way you were repellent to me, I would let your father take
possession of our property. I--I--well, I had to bluff some to my father
going home to cover my bowled-over condition. I don't ask for anything
now, I only want a promise that you won't close your heart against
me--that you will--oh, what's the use--you must love me!"
The girl looked down upon the head pressed against her hands then up at
the tender eyes of the woman above the mantel. Were they misted or were
there tears in her own eyes? She choked back a sound that was half
laugh, half sob as she observed with tantalizing charm:
"Of course when you say 'must,' O Abdul the Great----" Before she could
finish the sentence Steve had her crushed in his arms.
"It's your own fault, Mr. Tommy Benson. I told you that I shouldn't----"
It was Peggy's voice at the door. In breathless haste Jerry freed
herself from Courtlandt's arms. He caught her hands and drew her back.
His voice was tenderly exultant, his eyes disconcertingly possessive as
he reminded huskily:
"About that honeymoon I promised to show you, Mrs. Courtlandt----Can I
interest you in a silver mine?"