THE CALL TO ORRVILLE
The windows were wide open. Voices from within the parlor reached Nan.
She was waiting on the veranda. Waiting for the long council of
men-folk to reach its conclusion. She had elected to remain outside.
She knew that the future well-being of the Obar Ranch was being
considered by men whose sole regard that well-being was. And somehow
the woman in her demanded that in all the vital affairs of life it was
the will of the men-folk which should rule.
But her self-denial was strained to breaking as the interminable
minutes grew, and, at last, she abandoned her principles to her woman's
curiosity, and slipped into the room. She knew well enough that none
of those present would resent her intrusion. And, anyway, it was hard
to stand by when her whole interest was absorbed in the decisions to be
arrived at.
She passed round the room and took up a position on the arm of her
father's chair. No one spoke to her. Scarcely an eye turned in her
direction. And something of the impressiveness of it all caught the
girl's imagination.
There was the dear familiar room with its simple furnishing, and its
poignant associations. It was part of her life. It was certainly part
of her father's and Jeff's. Then there was the warm sunlight pouring
in through the open windows. It lit the tanned, strong faces of the
men, and searched the weak spots in their toil-worn equipment. There
was not a weak face among them. And Nan felt comfort in the thought
that theirs was the decision.
The face of Jay Pendick, their own headman, with its small, alert dark
eyes reflected the intentness of his mind. His capacity had been tried
over and over again in his long years of service. Then Lal Hobhouse,
the best-hated man on the countryside for his ruthless genius in
obtaining work from those under him, and the driving force of Jeff's
side of the partnership. Her father, wise and silent, except for his
heavy breathing. And lastly Jeff, full of a hard determination to beat
the game in which he was engaged.
So keen was the interest of the gathering that Bud alone was smoking.
But then Bud regarded tobacco as a necessary adjunct to soundness of
judgment.
He slipped an arm about Nan's waist as she took up her position at his
side.
Jeff was seated at the centre table, a position strongly reminiscent to
the girl of a smaller gathering some four years back, when he had
occupied the position of leadership in the enterprise which had had
such successful results for them all. Jay was poised upon the edge of
a small chair which suggested immediate peril under his forceful and
scarcely elegant methods when discussing the doings of rustlers, and
imparting his opinion upon all and sundry of their class. Lal
disdained all parlor attitude. He was squatting against the edge of
the table without the least consideration for its somewhat trifling
powers of endurance. But Jeff was talking, and Nan's whole attention
was swiftly caught and held by the man whose words and actions were at
all times irresistible to her.
He was talking slowly and clearly with that shadow of a drawl which was
his way when his decision was arrived at.
"Say, it's as clear as don't matter we're up against an experienced and
organized proposition," he said. "I don't guess this is any kind of
scallawag outfit of toughs which just get around and duff a bunch, and
hit the trail for safety till the froth they've raised dies down again.
It's Orrville repeating itself." He paused thoughtfully. His eyes
were regarding the table before him. When he raised them again they
were full of a peculiar light which shone in Bud's direction. "Ther's
features in the game carry a parallel to that play, and I guess they
point the fact that the fellers of that gang who got away at their
round-up have got around this region now, and figure to carry on the
same play right here. You'll get that, Bud--sure." Bud nodded.
"Well, it's up to us," Jeff went on, as though the other's agreement
had left his course of action clear. "Maybe ther's States Marshalls
around, and a pretty bunch of deputies lying behind Sheriff Hank
Killick, but there never was an official gang these folk couldn't beat
a mile. Guess they're not duffing the private property of Hank
Killick, or any of his boys. We best get busy our own way, which is
the way Dug McFarlane took nearly five years to dream out."
His blue eyes had grown colder and harder while he talked. There was a
bite, too, in the manner in which he referred to the doings in Orrville
of four years ago. There was a curious curl to his firm lips, which,
to Nan's mind, suggested a painful smile. And she disliked it. She
disliked his whole manner, which, just now, was none of the Jeff she
had always known. Bud read deeper. And that which he read carried him
back to an unforgettable scene in the Cathills, when a twin stood
gazing upon its other half, hanging by the neck dead under the shade of
a wide-spreading tree.
"It's up to us to set up a reward, Bud," Jeff went on, in the same
passionless fashion. "A big reward. We've got to make it so some
amateur Judas is ready to sell his friends. It'll cost us a piece, but
it's the way to fix things. And anyway it's going to be worth it,
sure. I allow we'll need to hand out the story of reward good. It's
got to reach this gang itself. An' if I guess right, and there's
toughs from Orrville way running this lay-out, why, they aren't li'ble
to have forgotten what happened that time. We'll break the gang,
or--we'll get 'em."
There was something unrelenting, and even vicious, in the manner in
which he gripped the pencil in his hand and dug the pointed lead and
crushed it against the surface of the table. Nan drew a deep sigh of
relief as he finished speaking, and turned gladly as her father removed
his pipe and cleared his throat.
"An' the reward. How much?" he questioned.
The answer flashed back at him like the slash of a knife.
"Ten thousand dollars!"
In that answer Jeff's voice was unrecognizable to Nan. His whole
expression, too, seemed to have undergone some subtle change. She sat
groping for the meaning of it all, and somehow regretted she had not
remained out on the veranda.
Bud inclined his head and replaced his pipe in corner of his mouth.
"It goes," he declared. Then he lumbered out of his chair. "That
all?" he inquired. And by his manner and tone Nan knew that he, too,
had been affected by the things which had troubled her.
"Not quite."
Jeff turned on his own foreman. He had lost none his intensity.
"That reward goes," he said sharply. "Get the exact amount. Ten
thousand dollars. Not a cent more or less. Hand it out everywhere.
Meanwhile I'll see to it the notices are printed, and we'll have 'em
set up wherever the eyes of these scum are likely to get peeking
around." Then he emitted a sound like a laugh, but there was no mirth
in his eyes. Nor in his manner. "We'll locate the best trees for a
hanging, and we'll set 'em up there."
Nan moved over to an open window as the two headmen took their
departure. Bud had taken up a position against the cold iron stove.
Jeff alone retained his seat, during the few silent moments which
followed.
With the departure of the men, however, he looked up from a letter he
had withdrawn from his pocket.
"Say, Bud," he said without emotion, "guess the Presidency of the
Western Union's going to claim me right away. I'll need to make
Orrville right off."
"Orrville?" Bud's eyes were sharply scrutinizing.
"Sure." Jeff's indifference was obviously assumed. Nan's questioning
eyes passed uncertainly from Jeff to her father. There was something
between these two she did not understand. Orrville? It was when he
had been speaking of Orrville all that intensity of bitterness had been
so apparent in Jeff. She received no enlightenment, however.
"What's the play at--Orrville?"
Bud's question had a suggestion of anxiety in it.
Jeff rose from his chair. He passed one hand wearily across his brow
and smoothed back his lank fair hair.
"Oh, it's just arbitration," he said. "The parties agree to take my
decision in some grazing rights instead of handing good dollars over to
the law. It's Dug. Dug McFarlane, and a feller called Peters. Peters
figgers he's got rights on Dug's land, and--well, Dug just guesses he
hasn't."
"When are you starting?" Nan inquired, from her place at the window.
"I'll need to get off early to-morrow." Jeff's eyes were on the girl.
The change in them had become pronounced. Warmth had replaced
frigidity, and the smile in them was real now. "It's tough on top of
my home-coming, eh, Nan? Maybe Evie'll feel lonesome too--when I tell
her. Still, these things are part of the game, and I can't weaken on
'em. It's these toughs around I'm worrying 'll scare her. I was kind
of wondering if you'd----"
"You don't need to worry a thing." Nan's smile was full of a staunch
reassurance. And her readiness came with a spontaneity which had
nothing to do with Jeff's wife. It was the result of her delight and
pride in this man himself who was called upon, and looked to, for
leadership, in this little world of theirs.
"You'll----"
"I'll handle things here for you, Jeff." Nan gave him no chance to
make his appeal. "Elvine shall be as safe as we can make her. She can
come right over here till you get back, or I'll sleep at your place.
It shall be just as she feels. She shan't be lonesome, and I guess my
Daddy an' me we're equal to any crowd of rustlers."
The genuineness, even enthusiasm of the girl was quite transparent.
Nor was the man insensible to it. For all his preoccupation he
realized something of his debt to these people, to Nan. It was a debt
he had never attempted to pay, and now its rapid mounting made even
ultimate payment seem doubtful.
"You're pretty good to me, Nan," was all he trusted himself to say.
Nan shook her head in smiling denial.
"Women need to help each other in--these parts."
But Jeff did not accept her excuse.
"Maybe that's so," he said thoughtfully. "But it don't alter things a
little bit. I'd just like to feel I deserved it. But I don't and
can't feel that way. Some day----" He laughed and made a helpless
gesture. "But why talk? It's too easy, and it's mighty cheap anyway.
I----"
But Nan was pointing out of the window. She welcomed a sudden
diversion.
"It's Elvine coming right along over." Then, as Jeff craned forward:
"Say, she's a dandy horsewoman. Get a look at her. Gracious, she
might have been born in the saddle."
But Jeff had not waited. He was out on the veranda to greet his wife
as she came. And just for one instant Nan caught a glimpse of the
light in his eyes which the sight of Elvine had conjured. All the
coldness she had witnessed that morning, all the merciless purpose,
even the simple friendliness he had displayed toward her. These were
gone. Their place had been taken by a light of passionate regard for
the woman who had yielded herself to him. For a moment it seemed as if
her own emotions must stifle her. But the next she was within the room
again, her eyes merrily dancing, talking to the parent she adored.
"Say, you Daddy of mine," she said, almost boisterously, "haven't you
work to be done, the same as I have? Shame on you for dallying. Shame
on us both. Come right along, sir. Come right along at once." Then,
as he moved toward the window, "No, no, you dear blundering Daddy, not
that way! That's reserved. The back door for us, sure. Come along."
And the great Bud permitted himself to be hustled from the room through
the kitchen way.
Nan's effort was only partially successful. In a few moments the
fugitives were urgently recalled to hear the news of the disaster at
Spruce Crossing, which Elvine had brought with her. And during the
discussion which followed Nan was forced to stand by while the handsome
woman who had supplanted her occupied the centre of attention.
Somehow the news which held the others, drawing forth hot condemnation
from Bud, and the bitter comment of Jeff, for once left Nan cold.
Somehow it seemed so small a thing compared with that other disaster
which was always with her. Her whole attention was held by Jeff and
his wife. Not a detail of expression or emotion, as the swift words
flowed between them, was lost upon her. And the exquisite pain of it
all was excruciating.
The great love of the man was so apparent. There was a moment, even,
just as Jeff and Elvine were about to take their departure, when Nan
could have almost cried out. It had followed upon an expression of
Elvine's dislike and fear of the man who conveyed the news to her.
Jeff took up her complaint in no half-hearted fashion, and, somehow,
the injustice of his attitude and his obvious thought for his wife
alone brought the girl's hot resentment very near the surface.
"Yes," he said. "He's a tough, sure. I've kept him on because he's
one of the brightest cow-hands east of the mountains. But you're
right, Evie. And I can't stand for you being scared by the 'hands' on
my ranch. I'll have to get rid of him." Then, as he sat in the saddle
with Elvine on her pony at his side, he had taken in Nan and her father
in a smiling, comprehensive glance. "I guess Evie's some sport acting
the way she's done," he declared with a lover's pride. "I allow we owe
her a heap of thanks, eh, Bud?"
Bud nodded.
"We're mighty grateful, ma'am," he declared, heartily in his formal
way. "Guess we all thank you, sure." Then he turned to Jeff more
directly. "I'll get busy right away. That'll leave you free to get
right on doping out that reward notice this afternoon, an' generally
fixing things before you make the trail to-morrow morning."
Then they had taken their departure. And with their going Nan hastily
returned to the parlor.
Bud followed her almost on the instant. He had moved with incredible
swiftness, which is often the way of heavy men under stress of feeling.
Already the tears were gathering in the girl's eyes when his words fell
upon her ears.
"Say, little gal," he said, with a deep note of sympathy in his
rumbling tones, "we're bein' hit up pretty bad since Jeff bro't her
back home. Maybe we're feelin' 'bout as foolish as we're lookin'. But
we're goin' to beat the game--sure, eh? We're goin' to beat it because
we're built that way, an'--we got the grit to do it."
* * * * * *
The horses were walking leisurely over the summer grass. The house was
less than two miles distant. There was no immediate hurry. Besides,
Elvine was reading the letter which Jeff had handed her in reply to her
inquiry as to the contemplated journey which Bud had mentioned.
Jeff was observing her closely as she read. There were no doubts in
his mind. He was not even seeking the effect of the letter. He was
dwelling with a lover's delight upon the picture she made.
Nor was his approval extravagant. Any one must have admitted the
justice of it. Nan had admitted it when she beheld her in a prairie
saddle, on a prairie pony, with only the wide wealth of grass-land for
her setting. Elvine in the saddle suggested a single identity between
horse and rider. Her riding suit was expensively simple, and cut as
only such suits can be cut. The figure beneath it was displayed to its
fullest advantage. There was no studied pose. Just the perfection of
horsemanship which demands an intimate freedom at all times. Then her
dark head under her carefully adjusted prairie hat. The shining masses
of hair, obvious in their wealth even under careful dressing. The
softly healthy cheeks, and the perfect profile as she pored over the
letter in her hand.
Presently Elvine looked up. She did not turn at once to the husband at
her side. Her gaze was directed ahead. It ignored the scene of
undulating plain, and the distant ramparts of wooded hills. It saw
nothing but the images in her own brain, and the conjured thoughts of a
troubled heart and conscience.
"You see it's important," Jeff said, with a feeling that the news in
the letter had caused disappointment.
"I s'pose it is."
There was a curious lack of interest in the woman manner. Her tone was
listless.
"I'm afraid I'll have to go." The man felt he was apologizing, and it
seemed absurd that apology should be required. Then he reminded her.
"You see, these things come with my work as President. It's pretty
good if you think. Guess I'll only be from home one night."
"You _must_ go--I s'pose?"
The man's eyes widened.
"Sure."
"But it seems unfair you should be put to all this for nothing."
Jeff shook his head.
"Why, I don't guess it's any worry. Besides, it's an honor. You see,
Evie, I'm out all I know to set up a big position for you. And it's
these calls as President of the Western Union are going to fix things
the way I'd have them."
His eyes had somehow become serious. There was even a lack of his
recent warmth in them. He had not expected any protest from his wife.
A shade of disappointment at his going perhaps. But that was all.
"You're at the call of anybody around to settle disputes?"
"Only where the interests of cattle-raising are affected."
Elvine handed him back the letter. She did not turn to him. A curious
set to her lips warned Jeff that in some way his contemplated journey
was adversely affecting her. Nor was it merely the disappointment he
had been prepared for. He felt there was need to say more, though the
need of it was obscure. It had never been his way to appeal, but he
resigned himself to the reflection that his life had been entirely
changed by his marriage. He was no longer responsible only to himself.
With an effort he flung aside an inclination to resentment.
"Say, Evie," he cried, "it's a bit tough on you having to leave you
even for a day just as we've got back to home. It's that way with me,
too. I just don't fancy going a small bit. But I daren't refuse Dug
McFarlane. He's one of the biggest men around, and I'll need all the
friends I can round up. There's another thing. I've got it back of my
mind later on to form a Trust amongst the growers, and Dug's a most
important concern in such a scheme. I'd be crazy to refuse. Why, I
just couldn't refuse anyway. You're going to help me, dear, aren't
you? I've talked to Bud and Nan, and fixed things so you won't be
lonesome. Nan's promised to sleep in the house with you, so you shan't
feel that way. Or you could go over to her. It's just one night,
that's all."
It may have been his obvious sincerity, it may have been that the
woman's objections were really the result of disappointment only. At
any rate a distinct change came over her, and she turned to him with a
smile.
"I'm just too selfish, Jeff," she cried. "But--but it did seem
hard--at first. Go? Of course you must go. And you're not to worry
about me. Nor is Nan. I wouldn't have her come over for me for
anything, and I'm not going to sleep out of my home, either. You
needn't be scared I'll be lonesome. I've got all this beautiful world
around me, and all your interests. And rustlers? Why, I'm not scared
of the worst rustlers living."
A delighted sense of gratitude replaced Jeff's every other feeling.
"Say," he cried, with a sudden vehemence, "you've good grit, Evie.
You're a bully soul. You're the sort would set a man crazy to corral
the world, and set it at your feet. I'll get right back quick. I
won't wait an hour more than I need."
Elvine's decision had been forced upon her, but once having taken it
she threw something more into her words than the mere encouragement
that seemed necessary.
"No," she declared, her eyes shining. "You're not even to hurry back.
Get right through with your work, or any schemes you have to arrange
while you're there, before you think of me." Then her voice softened
to a great tenderness. "I want you to win through in everything you
undertake, Jeff. I don't care now for a thing else in the world. You
do believe that, don't you? Oh, Jeff, I want you always to believe
that. Whatever may come in our life together, I want you always to
know I love you better--better than the whole world, and your--your
happiness is just my happiness. Without your happiness I can never be
happy. It was selfishness made me demur at first. You believe that,
don't you? I have always been very, very selfish. It was nothing
else. You don't think there was anything else, do you? I sort of feel
I'd always have you in my sight, near me. I'm happy then, because I
feel nothing can ever come between us. When you're away, I don't know,
but it sort of seems as if shadows grow up threatening me. I felt that
way this morning. I felt that way when I read your letter. But these
things just shan't be. I love you with all that's in me, and--you love
me. Nothing shall ever come between us. Say that's so, Jeff.
Nothing. Nothing."
The man responded with all a lover's impetuosity. He gave her to the
full that reassurance of which she stood in need. But for all his
sincerity it was as useless as if it had been left unspoken.
The letter from Dug McFarlane at Orrville, the recognition of her by
the man Sikkem Bruce, had warned Elvine that the sands of her time of
happiness were running out. She felt she knew that a gape of despair
was already yawning at her feet.