At Kelshope ranch fodder was scarce and so long as the underbrush was
green Jardine let his cattle roam about. The plan had some drawbacks,
and Jardine, needing his plow oxen one afternoon, was forced to search
the tangled woods. Sometimes he heard cow-bells, but when he reached the
spot the animals were gone. A plow ox is cunning and in thick timber
moves much faster than a man.
Jardine, however, was obstinate and for an hour or two he pushed across
soft muskegs and through tangled brushwood. When at length he stopped he
saw he had torn his new overalls and broken an old long boot. Besides,
he hated to be baffled and since he could not catch the oxen he could
not move some logs.
When he got near the ranch he stopped. Somebody was quietly moving about
the house, as if he wanted to find out who was at home, and Jardine,
advancing noiselessly, saw it was Bob. He admitted he had expected
something like that, for Bob's habits were not altogether a white man's.
Jardine imagined he did not know Margaret had gone to the railroad.
Had he found his team, he might have given Bob supper and sent him off
before Margaret arrived, but he had not found the team and Bob's
creeping about the house annoyed him. In the Old Country Jardine was a
poacher, but he sprang from good Scottish stock and he hated to think
Bob bothered Margaret. Moving out of the shadow, he went up the path.
He did not make a noise, but Bob turned, and Jardine thought had the
fellow been altogether a white man he would have started. Bob did not
start. His look was calm, like an Indian's, and his pose was quiet.
"Hello!" he said. "I reckoned you'd gone after your plow team."
"Ye didna reckon I'd come back just yet!"
Bob smiled, but his eyes got narrower and his mouth went straight. He
was a big man and carried himself like an athlete.
"Well," he said, "I allowed Miss Margaret was around and I'd wait a
while."
Jardine wondered whether Bob meant to annoy him. As a rule the fellow
was not frank and now his frankness was insolent.
"If ye come another time, ye'll come when I'm aboot. What have ye in yon
pack?"
"Berries," said Bob, opening a cotton flour bag. "I reckoned Miss
Margaret wanted some. Then I brought a pelt; looked the sort of thing to
go round her winter cap."
In the woods, the Indians dry the large yellow raspberries and Bob had
brought a quantity to the ranch before. Now he pulled out a small dark
skin that Jardine imagined was worth fifty dollars. The value of the
present was significant.
"Ye can tak' them back. We have a' the berries we want."
"Anyhow, I guess Miss Margaret would like the skin."
"She would not. Margaret has nae use for ony pelts ye bring."
For a few moments Bob was quiet. Then he said, "Sometimes I blew in for
supper and you let me stay and smoke. When you put up the barn, you sent
for me to help you raise the logs. The English tenderfoot hadn't located
in the valley then."
The blood came to Jardine's skin. To some extent Bob's rejoinder was
justified; but Jardine had not until recently imagined Margaret
accounted for the fellow's coming to the ranch.
"When we put up the barn ye got stan'ard pay. I allow ye're a useful man
to handle logs, but I'm no' hiring help the noo."
"You reckoned me your hired man?" said Bob in an ominously quiet voice.
"That was all the use you had for me?"
"Just that!" Jardine agreed. "Margaret has nae use for ye ava'."
"Then, if you reckon you're going to get my highbrow English boss for
her, you're surely not very bright. His sort don't marry--"
"Tak' your pack and quit," said Jardine sternly. "Get off the ranch, ye
blasted half-breed!"
Bob was very quiet, but his pose was alert and somehow like a hunting
animal's. Perhaps instinctively, he felt for his knife. Jardine's ax
leaned against a neighboring post. If he jumped, he could reach the
tool, but he did not move. For a moment or two they waited, and then Bob
picked up the flour bag and went down the path. Jardine went to the
kitchen and lighted his pipe. Bob was gone, and Jardine hardly thought
he would come back, but he was not altogether satisfied he had taken the
proper line. Indian blood ran in Bob's veins; an Indian waits long and
does not forget. For all that, Jardine did not see himself warning
Leyland and enlightening Margaret.
A week afterwards, Stannard one evening occupied a chair at his table on
the terrace. He had returned from the mountains with two good big-horn
heads and nothing indicated that the game-warden knew the party had
poached on the reserve. Stannard, however, was not thinking about the
hunting excursion. The English mail had arrived and sometimes he studied
a letter and sometimes looked moodily about.
Laura, Dillon, and two or three young men were on the steps that went
down to the woods. Laura wore her black dinner dress and Stannard
thought she had not another that so harmonized with her beauty. Dillon
obviously felt her charm. He was next to Laura, and since it looked as
if the others were ready to dispute his claim to the spot, Stannard
imagined Frank would not have occupied it unless Laura meant him to
remain.
After a time Stannard pushed the letter into his pocket and gave
himself to gloomy thought, until Deering came along the terrace and
asked him for a match.
"You look as if you were bothered," Deering remarked.
"Sometimes one is bothered when one's mail arrives."
"That is so," said Deering, with a sympathetic nod. "Opening your mail
is like dipping in a lucky bag; your luck's not always good. I got some
bills in my lot."
"I got a demand for a sum I cannot pay. I expect you haven't two
thousand dollars you don't particularly need?"
Deering laughed. "Search me! All I've got above five hundred dollars you
can have for keeps. Looks as if you must put the fellow off."
"He's obstinate and unless I can satisfy him it might be awkward for
me."
"Then, you had better try Dillon. The kid's rich and sometimes
generous," Deering remarked. "In a sense, he's mine, but since you're up
against it, I'll lend him to you."
He went off and Stannard frowned. For him to be fastidious was
ridiculous, but Deering's frankness jarred. Still he needed a large sum,
and although he could borrow for Jimmy, he could not borrow for himself;
the fellow who supplied him was a keen business man. Stannard lived
extravagantly, but the money he used was not his, and unless he
justified the speculation supplies would stop. So far, the speculation
had paid and he owned he ought not to be embarrassed. The trouble was,
he squandered all he got.
He weighed Deering's plan. Dillon's father was rich and indulged the
lad. Stannard had stopped at his ambitious house on Puget Sound, and
imagined the old lumber man approved Laura. In fact, the drawback to
Deering's plan was there. Stannard had not bothered much about Laura and
was willing for his wife's relations to undertake his duty, but he did
not mean to put an obstacle in her way. She must make a good marriage;
after all, her aunts were poor.
By and by the group on the steps broke up and Laura came to Stannard's
table. He noted that her eyes sparkled and her color was rather high. It
looked as if she had triumphed over another girl; Stannard admitted the
others were attractive, but none had Laura's charm.
"You have soon forgotten Jimmy," he remarked.
"No," said Laura, "I have not forgotten Jimmy. Although I did not want
him for a lover, he's my friend. But he really was not my lover. That
accounts for much."
"Yet I imagine, if he had been persuaded to go back to the cotton
mill--"
Laura blushed, but she gave Stannard a steady look. "I liked Jimmy,
Father, and I was not altogether selfish. I felt he ought to go back."
"To lead a young man where he ought to go is rather an attractive part,"
Stannard remarked. "Jimmy wanted to marry you. What about Frank
Dillon?"
"Ah," said Laura. "Frank is not as rash as Jimmy! Jimmy doesn't ponder.
He plunges ahead."
"You imply that Frank uses caution."
"Oh, well," said Laura, smiling, "perhaps I use some reserve."
Stannard thought her voice was gentle, and turning his head, he studied
Dillon. The young fellow stood at the top of the steps as if he wanted
to follow Laura, but waited for her to indicate that he might. Stannard
reflected with dry amusement that Laura kept her lovers in firm control.
Frank was rather a handsome fellow and Stannard knew him sincere and
generous. Perhaps it was strange, but a number of the young men he
admitted to his circle were a pretty good type. Although Stannard was
not bothered by scruples, he was fastidious.
"But I want to know-- It's important," he said. "Suppose Frank is as
rash as Jimmy? Will you refuse him?"
Laura blushed, but after a moment or two she looked up and fronted her
father.
"Why is it important for you to know?"
Stannard hesitated. He had not used his daughter for an innocent
accomplice, and had she married Jimmy he would have tried to free the
lad from his entanglements. Now, if she loved Frank, he must not
embarrass her.
"Well," he said, "I rather think I must give you my confidence. I need
money and it's possible Frank would help."
"Oh, Father, you mustn't use Frank's money!" Laura exclaimed and, since
her disturbance was obvious, Stannard's curiosity was satisfied. "He's
your friend and trusts you," she resumed. "I think you ought to force
Deering to leave him alone."
For a few moments Stannard was quiet. Laura loved Frank; at all events
she was willing to marry him, and it looked as if she knew more about
her father than he had thought. Well, Laura was not a fool.
"Sometimes your tact is rather marked," he said. "I wonder whether you
really think Deering a worse friend for Frank than me? However, we'll
let it go. If you marry the young fellow, he, of course, ought not to be
my creditor."
Laura gave him a grateful look and when she replied her voice was
apologetic. "Perhaps I wasn't justified, but I felt I was forced-- I
mean, I didn't want you to bother Frank, and one cannot trust Deering."
"I imagine I see," Stannard rejoined. "Well, perhaps Deering's a better
sort than you think. He stated, rather generously, that he would lend me
Frank, but if it's some comfort, I'll engage not to bother the young
fellow."
"You're a dear!" said Laura with a touch of emotion.
Stannard shrugged. "I have not carried out my duty and you do not owe me
much, but after all it was for your sake I sent you to your aunts.
Since your father was a bad model, I hoped your mother's sisters would
help you to grow up like her. Well, since I long neglected you, I must
not now put an obstacle in your way."
"You are kind," said Laura. "Perhaps I'm cold and calculating. I know my
shabbiness, but I did not love Jimmy and I think I do love Frank."
She touched Stannard's arm gently and went into the hotel. A few moments
afterwards, Dillon crossed the terrace and went up the steps. Stannard
smiled, but by and by threw away his cigar and knitted his brows. He
thought he need not bother about Laura, but he saw no plan for meeting
his importunate creditor's demands.