E-text prepared by Al Haines
THE FORFEIT
by
RIDGWELL CULLUM
Author of
"The Night Riders," "The Way of The Strong," "The Trail of The Axe,"
Etc.
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers ------ New York
Published by arrangement with George W. Jacobs & Company
Copyright, 1917, by
George W. Jacobs & Company
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
I. AT RAINBOW HILL VALLEY
II. CONFLICTING CURRENTS
III. TRAILING THE "BLACK TAIL"
IV. THE WEAKER VESSEL
V. THE HANGING BEE
VI. THE RAIDERS RAIDED
VII. OUTLAND JUSTICE
VIII. JEFF CLOSES THE BOOK
IX. FOUR YEARS LATER
X. THE POLO CLUB RACES
XI. ELVINE VAN BLOOREN
XII. THE TEMPERING
XIII. THE NEWS
XIV. THE KNOCKING ON THE DOOR
XV. THE HOME-COMING
XVI. THE RANCHMAN
XVII. THE CALL TO ORRVILLE
XVIII. DUG MCFARLANE
XIX. THE RETURN HOME
XX. AT BUD'S
XXI. THE BARRIER
XXII. THREATENINGS
XXIII. THE HEARTS OF TWO WOMEN
XXIV. TO SPRUCE CROSSING
XXV. AN EPIC BATTLE
XXVI. UNDER THE VEIL
XXVII. THE ROUND-UP
THE FORFEIT
CHAPTER I
AT RAINBOW HILL VALLEY
A companionable silence prevailed in the room. At intervals it was
broken, but only by the rustle of paper or the striking of a match.
The heavy breathing, almost amounting to a snore, of one of the two
men, and the inarticulate protests of a laboring "rocker" chair--these
things were only a part of it.
The man at the table was deeply immersed in a miniature sea of
calculations. His fair brows were drawn in deep concentration.
Frequently he was at great pains to relight a pipe which contained
nothing but charred remnants of tobacco and a moist, unsmokable mixture
which afforded only a somewhat offensive taste and aroma.
The partner in this companionship overflowed an undersized "rocker,"
which withstood, with supreme heroism, the overwhelming forces of its
invader. But its sufferings, under the rhythmic rise and fall imposed
upon it, found expression at intervals, although they failed to inspire
the least sympathy. The heedless giant's whole attention seemed to be
absorbed in the personality and effort of his friend.
Finally the latter raised a pair of deep blue eyes. Following upon a
sigh, he thrust his papers aside with a brusque movement of relief.
Then he raised a hand to his broad forehead and smoothed his disheveled
fair hair, which seemed to have undergone some upheaval as a result of
the mental disturbance his efforts had inspired in the brain beneath.
The handsome eyes smiled a reassuring smile into the rugged face of his
friend.
"Well?" he enquired, without seeming to desire a reply.
"Wal?" echoed the gruff voice of the man in the rocker.
"It's done."
"So--I guessed."
The patient amusement in the twinkling eyes of the man in the rocker
was good to see. There was confidence, too, in his regard of the
younger man.
"Can we do it--sure?" he enquired, as the other remained silent.
"Without a worry."
"Then dope it out, boy. The easiest thing in the world is handin' out
dollars on a right enterprise. I don't know nothin' better--except it
is takin' 'em in on the same sort o' play."
Jeffrey Masters smiled more broadly into his friend's good-humored face.
"Five years back, handing out twenty thousand dollars would have given
us a nightmare, even on a right proposition," he said. "It isn't that
way now. Guess we'll sleep on this thing like new-born babes with our
tanks filled right. Nat Williams is out to sell quick, and if we're
bright, it's up to us to buy quick. For twenty thousand dollars," he
proceeded, referring to his figures, "we get his house, barns, corrals,
and all his rolling stock. His growing crops and machinery. The bunch
of old cows and calves he's pleased to call his 'herds.' Also three
teams of Shire-bred heavy draft horses, and six hundred and forty acres
of first-class wheat land and grazing that only needs capital and
hustle to set right on top. I don't guess it'll worry us any to hand
it all it needs that way. This buy will join up my 'O----' territory
with your 'T.T.' grazing, and will turn the combination into one of the
finest ranching propositions west of Calthorpe, and one which even
Montana needs to be proud of."
He leaned back in his chair with a certain air of satisfaction. But
there was just a shade of anxiety, too, in the glance with which he
favored his friend. However, he need have felt no misgivings. Bud
Tristram had none. He understood the keen business brain underlying
his friend's tumbled fair hair. Moreover, Jeff, who was only half the
older man's age, was regarded with something like parental affection.
They had fought their way up together from obscure beginnings to their
present affluence, as the owners of the "T.T." ranch and the "O----"
ranch respectively. They had been partners in all but name. Now they
contemplated a definite deed of that nature. It was a consummation
which the older man had looked forward to ever since he first lent a
hand to his new and youthful neighbor. It was a consummation which
Jeffrey, with acute foresight and honest purpose, had set himself to
achieve. If the older man regarded him with almost parental affection,
that regard was fully reciprocated. The business conference between
them had for its purpose their mutual advantage, and both men were
perfectly aware of the fact.
But the thought that slightly worried the younger man was the ease, the
unconcern of his future partner's attitude. It disquieted him because
it increased his responsibility. But long ago he had learned the
generous nature of the Great Bud. Long ago he had realized his
trusting simplicity. Now he would have preferred a keen
cross-examination of his statement. But none was forthcoming, and he
was forced to continue in face of the silent acceptance.
"Bud, old friend, I wish I could get you interested in--figures. And I
guess they surely are interesting, when you apply them to our own
concerns."
But Bud remained unmoved. He stretched himself in an ecstasy of ease,
raising his great arms above his grizzled head in profound enjoyment of
his bodily comfort.
He shook his head.
"Guess I know a steer. Guess I know grass when I see it. I wouldn't
say there's a brand in Montana I ain't familiar with. But
figgers--sums--they're hell. An' I don't guess I'm yearning for hell
anyway. Figgers is a sort o' paradise to you. You're built that way.
Say, I don't calc'late to rob you of a thing--not even paradise. We'll
take your figgers as they stand."
Jeffrey Masters shook his head.
"They're right, sure. But it's no sort of way to talk business."
"Business talk always makes me sweat."
It was quite impossible. Jeffrey was growing impatient. A frown
settled upon his broad brow, and the man in the rocker watched it with
amused eyes.
Quite suddenly the younger man's impatience broke forth into verbal
protest.
"Say, you make me mad. Was there ever such a feller looking for sharps
to play him? How do you know I'm not out to beat you? Why, I could
roll you for every dollar you possess without lying awake five minutes
at night. It's not fair, Bud. It's not fair to me--to you--to your
little Nan----"
"What's not fair to Nan?"
Bud's twinkling eyes shot round upon the open French window with an
alertness scarcely to be expected in a man of such apparent mental
indolence. Jeffrey's eyes cleared of their hot impatience as they
sought a similar direction. The gaze of both men encountered the
picture of a brown-eyed, brown-haired girl of exquisite proportions,
standing framed in the open window. She was clad in a riding suit of
light material, with a long-skirted coat which obviously concealed the
divided skirt beneath. Her long, brown top boots were white with dust
of the trail, and her vicious-looking Mexican spurs hung loosely upon
her heels. Her eyes were bright with intelligence and good humor, and
her pretty oval face smiled out from under the wide brim of an ample
prairie hat.
Jeff began to laugh.
"It's your crazy old father, Nan," he cried. "Say, just look at him.
Feast your eyes on him. Can you beat it? Here we are right up to our
necks in an epoch-making business proposition and he don't concern
himself two whoops. Was there ever such a bunch of simple trusting
folly as is rolled up in that six feet three of good-hearted honesty?
_That's_ what's not fair to--Nan."
The girl came and laid a protecting hand upon the flannel-clad
shoulders of her father. Just for a moment her laughing eyes gazed
affectionately down upon the recumbent form of the only parent she
possessed, and whom she idolized. He was stretched out luxuriously,
his great be-chapped legs reaching to the table leg as a support to
hold the rocker at a comfortable poise. His shirt sleeves were rolled
up displaying a pair of arms like legs of mutton. The beadwork
wristlets were held fixed in their position by the distended muscles
beneath them. She was proud of him, this father who went through the
world trusting human nature, and handling cattle as only an artist in
his profession can handle them.
Then her dancing eyes sought the face of Jeffrey Masters. Her smile
remained, but a subtle something crept into their depths as she
surveyed it. It was the handsome, clean-cut face of a purposeful man.
There was a straight-forward directness in the gaze of his blue eyes.
It was the face of a man who has no fear, physical or moral. It was
almost too uncompromising in its fearlessness.
Nan knew its every line by heart. She had thought of it, dreamed of
it, since the time when she had first realized that a woman's life is
wholly incomplete without the care of a man upon her hands. Sometimes
she had felt that Jeffrey Masters possessed depths which could never be
fathomed. Depths of strength, of resource, and all those qualities
which make for success. Sometimes she even went further, when her
analytical faculties--which she possessed in an unusual degree--were
most active. She felt that the possession of all these firm qualities
had rather smothered, to an extent, the gentler emotions of the human
nature in him. He was strong, passionate, with a conscience of an
almost puritanical order, and somehow she felt that a little softening,
a little leavening of human weakness would have been all to the good.
But this understanding made no difference to her woman's regard, unless
it were to strengthen it to a sort of gentle worship such as woman is
always ready to yield to strength. It required no effort upon her part
to picture this man in the heroic mould of a Spartan warrior.
"'_That_,'" she replied, with a whimsical smile, "is a man, who most
generally seems to fancy his own way of doing things." Then she shook
her head as her arm slipped protectingly around the big man's bronzed
neck. "I don't guess a woman's argument ever made a man see things
different yet. What's he done, Jeff?"
Jeff laughed without humor.
"Done?" he exclaimed. Then, with a shake of the head: "It's not what
he's done. Guess it's what he hasn't done, and what he don't seem to
figure to do. I'd kind of raised a hope when I saw you in the window.
But--well, it was only her father's daughter that came in, I guess."
Then he drew his papers toward him again, and glanced seriously at the
figures.
"It's Nat's farm," he explained. "And it's the thing we've been
waiting on years. We're getting it fixed right, and your Bud's just
about as much help as a deaf mute at a talking bee. I hand him
figgers, and--and he smiles, just smiles. I hand him facts, and--he
keeps on smiling. It's the kind of smile you most generally see on a
dog-tired feller's face when you hand him a funny story. He don't care
a cuss anyway. He's figuring to hand Nat ten thousand dollars with no
more kick than a government spending public money. He don't kick
reasonably or unreasonably, and I'd gamble you a new hat he hasn't a
notion what he's getting for it. It makes me feel like a 'hold-up,'
and I say it's not fair to me--nor to himself--nor to--you."
Jeff was serious enough. In such affairs it would have been difficult
to find him otherwise. Nan understood. These two men had long been
her profound study. Her smiling regard remained unchanging while the
man was talking. When he ceased she bent over her father in a
caressing fashion.
"He'd lose his bet. He surely would, daddy dear, wouldn't he? But we
really need to answer, don't we? He'd think we were both fools, else.
He wouldn't like it either. Say, daddy, shall--shall I talk?"
Bud chuckled comfortably.
"I'd hate to stop you, Nan."
Nan smiled contentedly, and raised a pair of challenging eyes in the
direction of the table.
"My daddy thinks I talk too much," she said. "But I s'pose that's my
way--most girls talk when they get the chance--just the same as it's
his way talking too little. But neither ways suggest a fool, Jeff.
And anyway the only sort of fool you need to worry with is the fool who
don't see and act in a way of his own. My daddy's acting in his own
way, and I guess it isn't his way, working overtime with the band
playing. If you're dead fixed on having a gamble, it's a new hat to a
new and less smelly pipe than you're smoking now, that he knows the
inside of this deal to the last cent's worth. But what's more, Jeff,
he knows you, and knows you couldn't 'hold-up' a Sunday-school kiddie
without going and telling its teacher first. And now the mail."
She left her father's side and moved to the table, a very picture of
gentle decision and practice.
"Three for you, my daddy," she cried, dropping three letters on his
chest, where his shirt gaped just below his neck. Then she turned
about. "Only one for you, honest Jeff. Just one, and I've guessed at
the writing till I'm sick."
Jeff was smiling up with frank amusement.
"Say, that's great. It's got you beat. Well," he added, as he picked
up the letter, "I'll just keep you right on guessing. Where's yours?"
The girl laughed merrily.
"Had mine. I don't guess any right-acting girl would sit easy in the
saddle twelve miles without reading her mail. Say----" she paused.
The smile had died out of her eyes. Jeff's expression had abruptly
changed. He was regarding the address on his envelope with startled
seriousness. Then she went on quickly: "Guess I'll wait till you're
both through. I'll get right out an' off-saddle. Then for supper."
In the parlor the silence remained unbroken. It became unduly
prolonged. Bud finished his mail. Jeff was still reading his. It was
not a long letter. He had already read it twice through. Now he again
turned back to its beginning.
Bud observed him closely. He saw the knitted brows. The curious set
of the man's lips. His absorbed interest. Nor did he interrupt. He
contented himself with that patient waiting which betrayed much of the
solid strength of his character.
Presently Jeff looked up. But his eyes did not seek his friend. They
were turned upon the open window, his gaze wandering out toward the
distant hills, which marked the confines of Rainbow Hill Valley.
Still the other refrained from speech. Finally it was Jeff, himself,
who broke the silence.
"Bud," he began, without withdrawing his gaze from the scene beyond the
window, "it's a letter from Ronald. It's the second word I've had of
him in--five years."
Bud nodded.
"The twin."
Jeff's gaze came slowly, thoughtfully back to Bud's face.
"Sure. We're twins."
An unusual softness crept into the eyes of the man at the table.
"I'm kind of wondering, Bud," he went on presently, "wondering if you
get all that means--means to me. I don't know." He passed a hand
slowly across his brow, as though to brush aside growing perplexities.
"I don't seem to get all it means myself. No, I don't. The whole
thing's so queer," he went on, with a nervous, restless movement in his
chair. "It sort of seems crazy, too." He laughed meaninglessly. Then
he suddenly leaned forward with flushed cheeks and hot eyes. "Bud,
don't think me crazy, but--well, say, I'm only part of me without Ronny
near. Oh, I don't guess that explains. But it's what I feel--and I
can't just talk it right. You don't get it? No, of course you don't.
I can see it in your eyes. You think I'm right for the foolish-house.
Listen. Is it possible--is it ordinary reason that when twins are
born, the nature of one normal child can be divided between the two,
one having what the other feller lacks? There, that's how I feel about
it. It's the way it is with Ronny and me. All that he is not, I am.
I haven't one of his better features. Say, Bud, I'm a pretty cold sort
of man. I'd have made a fair sort of Puritan if I'd been on earth a
century or so ago. I've little enough humor. I don't care for play.
I don't care for half the fun most folks see in life. I'd sooner work
than eat. And Ronny--well, Ronny isn't just any of those things. He's
just a boy, full of every sort of human notion that's opposite to mine.
And I'm crazy for him. Say, Bud, I love him better than anything in
life. If anything happened to that boy, why, I guess all that's worth
while in me would die plumb out."
He paused. Bud's shrewd eyes remained studying the emotion-lit
features of this usually unemotional man. He felt he was being
admitted to a peep at a soul that was rarely, if ever, bared, and he
wondered at the reason. Was it a calculated display, or was it the
outlet for an emotion altogether too strong for the man's restraint?
He inclined to the former belief.
"Nothin' _has_ happened?" he enquired presently, in his direct fashion.
Jeff laughed without any visible sign of lightness.
"No," he said. Then with a deep sigh. "Thank God nothing has
happened. But----"
"Then the trouble----?"
"The trouble? Say, Bud, try to get it all as I see it. It's
difficult. The boy's away up trapping and shooting--for a
living--somewhere in the Cathills. He's away there living on hard pan,
while I'm here steadily traipsing on with you to a big pile. Remember
he's my other--half. Do you know how I feel? No, you can't. Say,
he's as merry as I am--dour. He's as fond of life, and play, and the
good things of the world as I'm indifferent to 'em. He's
reckless--he's _weak_." Suddenly Jeff's eyes lit. A great passion
seemed to surge through his whole body. "Bud, I want him here. I want
to be always around to help him when he gets bumping into potholes.
It's that weakness that sets me crazy when I think. He ain't made for
the dreary grind of the life we live. That's why he cut it out when I
came here. Well there's no grind for him now, and I want to have him
come along and share in with me. That's why I'm talking now. From
this moment on we're a great proposition in the ranching world, and I
want Ronny to share in with me."
Bud nodded.
"I get it," he said. Then he added: "You're a great feller."
"Great! Cut it out, Bud," Jeff cried sharply. "It's my love for that
other half of me that's talking. That merry bit of a--twin."
"An' you're sendin' for him?"
Jeff shrugged, and depression seemed suddenly to descend upon him.
"If I could fix it that way I don't guess I'd have opened my face to
hand you all this. But I can't. He's in the Cathills, away a hundred
and more miles northwest of us. That's all he says. He don't give a
mail address. No, Bud, I'm going to hunt him out. I'm going to find
him, and bring him back. I'll find him sure. We're just one mind an'
one body, an'," he added thoughtfully, "I don't guess I'll need a
detective bureau to locate him. If he was chasin' around the other end
of the world I'd find him--sure. You see, he's the other half of me."
Bud nodded in sympathy, but made no verbal reply.
"See, Bud," Jeff went on, a moment later. "The spring round-up's
through. We're going to fix this deed right away. When the attorneys
have robbed us all they need, and Nat's handed over, there'll be a good
month to haying. That month I'm going to spend in the Cathills. I'll
be back for the hay."
The other eased himself in his rocker. Then for some moments no sound
broke the silence of the room.
"It's been a heavy spring," Bud said at last.
Jeff nodded. His thoughts were away in the Cathills.
"Seems to me," Bud went on. "Work kind o' worries me some these
times." He smiled. "Guess the wheels need the dope of leisure. Mebbe
I ain't as young as you."
"No."
Jeff's attention was still wandering.
"Guess the Cathills is an a'mighty big piece o' country gropin' around
in," Bud went on.
"Sure. A hell of a piece. But--it don't signify."
"No-o," Bud meditated. Then he added: "I was kind o' thinkin'."
"How?"
"Why, mebbe two folks chasin' up a pin in a bunch o' grass is li'ble to
halve most o' the chances agin either of 'em jabbin' their hands on the
business end of it."
"Two? You mean you're goin' to come along an' help find--Ronny?"
Jeff's eyes were expressing the thanks his lips withheld.
Bud excused himself.
"Them Cathills is plumb full of fur an' things. Say, I ain't handled a
gun in weeks."
"Bud, you're----"
The door of the room was abruptly flung open and Jeff's words remained
unspoken.
"Supper, folks!"
Nan's smiling eyes glanced from one to the other. She stood in the
doorway compelling them. Besides, the memory of Jeff's letter was
still with her, and she was anxious to observe its later effect. That
which she now beheld was obviously satisfactory, and her smile deepened
contentedly.