“You will take his job, Miss Marsh.”
“I--you mean that I am to take Mr. Jevne’s position?”
“As assistant cashier, Miss Marsh. You are entirely capable, and Mr.
Eddy will teach you what you don’t already know. No, don’t thank me.”
“Well, I do not know what to say,” said Della a trifle nervously. “It is
quite a jump from trimming hats to----”
“I believe in wide jumps,” laughed Big Jim. “You will be able to do the
work, Della. You don’t mind if I call you Della, do you? I’ve known you
by that name for a long time, and Miss Marsh is too much like talking to
a stranger. You may call me Jim, if you care to.”
“No, I--I don’t think I would mind,” she stammered. “But I don’t think I
could ever call you anything except Mr. Mott. You do not seem like a man
who could be called by his given name.”
Big Jim laughed at her and held out his hand:
“You may change your mind, Della. I congratulate you on your new job.
That is all for today.”
He followed her out into the bank, where he turned her over to the
cashier, and went out to his horse. He caressed his sore ear as he
squinted off across the hills toward Rainbow Valley.
“You dirty old Scotch pup!” he muttered half-aloud. “I’ll break you, if
it’s the last thing I ever do.”
He yanked his horse around savagely and rode out of town at a gallop.
And while Big Jim rode toward home, with a heart filled with rage
and bitterness, old Rory and his two cowboys headed back into
Rainbow Valley, where the lowering sun threw the purple shadows of
the high hills across their road. Cattle moved lazily along the
cottonwood-bordered streams, or straggled off the hills, heading
down into the valley, looking curiously at the three riders as they
passed.
And most of them wore the brand of Rory McPherson--the RMP--which caused
many to refer to Rory’s outfit as the Royal Mounted Police. He was not
as rich in stock as was Big Jim, but the RMP had the better range.
There had been little conversation on the return trip. Old Rory rode
silently, his eyes half-shut against the glare of the sun. Dick and
Biddy said nothing, although they exulted inwardly over the outcome
of the fight. It would be worth the telling.
“Big Jim owns the XO-Bar-5, I hear,” said Biddy, as they passed the road
leading to that ranch.
Old Rory nodded slowly, his shoulders drooping a trifle more.
“Aye, he does that, Biddy. He owned it at the time they sent poor Tex to
prison. Did ye hear any more news of Tex in town?”
“Not a word,” said Dick. “If they’d ’a’ caught him, some one would have
heard it.”
“I’d sure like to hear Tex tell what happened,” said Dick. “The papers
said that Tex hit the warden when the warden’s hands were up; but that’s
a ---- lie. Tex wouldn’t do that to save his own life. I dunno why they
always have to lie about a thing like that.”
“I don’t know,” said old Rory sadly. “There’s always more lies than
truth in the wor-r-rld. Ye know how I felt toward Tex. He was like me
own son. They took him away, so they did. I hoped that Tex and Della
would marry--and they would. They would get Rainbow Valley. Della is
all I have in the wor-r-rld of me own flesh and blood--and I haven’t
her now.”
Biddy squinted sidewise at the old man’s face. There was none of the
“Fighting McPherson” about him now. He was an old, old man, with tired
eyes; eyes that might have been moist from staring into the sunlight.
“I reckon it’s fate,” said Biddy softly.
The old man with the tired eyes faded, and in their place came the
tensed expression, the thin line of set lips, the jutting, red-bearded
jaw. He looked at Biddy thoughtfully for a moment, then turned and
looked straight ahead as he spurred his horse savagely.
“Fate, ----!” he snorted.
And while both factions were heading home, Della Marsh, the new
assistant cashier of the Antelope bank, sat down on the porch of the
little milliner’s home and tried to puzzle it all out. In her hands
was a belated letter, from the State Pardon Board, which she had just
finished reading. It said, in part:
Your petition, signed by a sufficient number of names, for the release
of Tex Rowland from our penal institution, is herewith returned. Owing
to his escape a short time ago, no official action was taken by us.
The little milliner came down the path and turned in at the gate. Della
handed her the letter, which she read slowly and gave back.
“And they wouldn’t never pardon him now, if he is caught,” she said
sadly. “You worked so hard to get all those names, Della. Why, even
Big Jim Mott signed it, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s just like a man to escape when he is almost ready to walk
out free.”
“But Tex didn’t know it, Miss Freeland.”
“No, I suppose not, Della; but he might have stayed a while longer. I
never trust a man--not any man. Did you see your uncle?”
“No, he didn’t come over to the bank.”
“He came to see me and I told him where to find you.”
“What did he say, Miss Freeland?”
“I’d not repeat it.”
Della laughed softly, in spite of the fact that laughter was far from
her at that moment.
“I have been promoted to assistant cashier of the bank,” she stated.
“You have? To assistant cashier? Wasn’t Mr. Jevne the----”
“Yes. Mr. Mott gave me Mr. Jevne’s position. They let him go.”
“Well, that’s nice,” said Miss Freeland, but a trifle dubiously.
“You--well, I’d hate to have so much responsibility. You’ll have to
deal with men all the time, and I wouldn’t like that. Let’s get supper,
Della. I bought some canned fish for supper. I didn’t know whether you
liked it or not; but I felt just like a fish.”
A smile chased across Della’s lips, but she did not reply, as she got to
her feet and followed the little milliner into the house.