The boy eyed him attentively. The qualities conspicuous in the
pioneer--energy, fortitude, grit, patience--shone finely out of Jeff's
eyes.
"I like you, Jeff," said the boy, almost shyly.
"Shake," said Jeff. "I like you, Bud."
The two shook hands solemnly.
"Although I am a city boy," said Bud.
"But it beats me what yer doing--here?"
"Just camping. Dad's a botanist and an entomologist."
"Is that so?" Jeff's face shone. The presence of these strangers in
the wild foothills was adequately explained. Then he laughed, showing
strong, even teeth. "I'd like to meet your dad first-rate, and, Bud,
I'd like even better to meet your sister."
He punched the boy in the ribs, chuckling to himself. The boy laughed
too, freshly and frankly.
"Something like you, I reckon," said Jeff, "only cleaner and----"
"I'm as clean as they make 'em," Bud declared angrily.
"Keep your hair on, sonny. I'll allow yer as clean as they make boys,
mebbee cleaner, but we're speaking o' girls. Have ye got her picture?"
"Whose picture?"
"Your sister's."
"Well, I declare! How do you know I've got a sister?"
"I know it," said Jeff. "Call it instinct. Didn't I tell ye that in my
business I've got to jest naturally know things? I jump, Bud, where
the ordinary citizen might, so ter speak, crawl."
The boy laughed gaily. Then he ran off, returning in a minute with a
small leather case. Out of this he took a cabinet photograph, which he
handed to Jeff. That gentleman became excited at once.
"I knew it--I knew it!" he exclaimed. "She's a--_peach_! Bud, I'm
mighty glad ye showed me this. Jee--whiz! Yes, and like you, only ten
thousand times better-lookin'. What's her name, Bud?"
"You don't want to know her name."
"I want to--the worst kind. My! Look at that cunning little curl! And
her shape! You know nothing o' that yet, Bud, but I tell ye, sir, yer
sister is put up just right according to my notions. Not too tall.
Them strung-out, trained-to-a-hair, high-falutin girls never did fetch
me. I like 'em round, and soft, and innocent. What's her name, sonny?"
"Sarah."
"Sairy! Bud, I don't believe that. Sairy! I never did cotton to Sairy.
Yer pullin' my leg, ye young scallywag. The nerve! No--ye don't."
Jeff had stretched out a long, lean arm, and seized the boy by the
shoulder in a grasp which tightened cruelly.
"Oh--oh!"
"Tell me her right name, ye little cuss, or I'll squeeze ye into
pulp."
"Lemmee go! Dad calls her Sadie."
Jeff released the shoulder, grinning.
"Sadie--that's a heap better. I--I could love to--to distraction a
girl o' the name o' Sadie."
"If Sadie were here----" Bud had removed himself to a respectful
distance, and was now glaring at Jeff, and rubbing his bruised
shoulder.
"I wish she was, I wish she was. You were saying, Bud----"
"I was saying that if Sadie were here, she'd fix you mighty quick."
"Would she? God bless her!" He stared sentimentally at the photograph.
"Yes, she would. She'd let you know that a girl may be round--an'
soft--an' innocent--and a holy terror, too, when a big, blundering
galoot of a dep'ty-sheriff talks o' loving somebody to whom he's never
been introduced, and never likely to be, neither."
Jeff looked up in amazement.
"Why, Bud; why, sonny--ye're real mad! Why, you silly little whipper-
snapper, ye don't think I'd talk that way if the young lady was
around. Great Scot! Look ye here! Now--now I ain't goin' to hurt ye
any. Come nearer. Ye won't? Well, then, don't! But, strictly between
ourselves, I'll tell ye something, although it's agen myself. If your
sister was here, right now, I--I'm so doggoned bashful--I wouldn't
have a word to say--that's a fact."
"I wish she were here," said Bud, savagely.
"Now, Bud; that's a real nasty one. Ye don't mean that. Did I hurt yer
shoulder, sonny?"
"Hurt it? I'll bet it's black and blue most already."
"I'll bet it ain't. Pull down your shirt, an' let's see. Black and
blue? You air a little liar."
Bud slowly pulled up the sleeve of his faded blue jumper. Hand and
wrist were burnt brown by the sun, but above, the flesh was white and
soft. Just below the elbow flamed the red and purple marks left by
Jeff's fingers.
"The shoulder's a sight worse than that," said Bud sulkily. Jeff
displayed honest concern.
"Pore little Bud," said he, patting the boy's hand which lay in his
own. "It is lucky fer me Miss Sadie ain't round. I reckon she
_would_ fix me for this. And I shouldn't have a word for her, as
I was tellin' ye. She'd think me the biggest kind of a mug."
So speaking, he picked up the photograph and half slipped it into the
case.
"Twon't do fer me to look at her," he murmured; "but if ever there was
a case----"
"Eh?"
"Never mind."
"What were you going to say?"
"Somethin' very fullish."
"Say it, Jeff. I'll not give ye away to Sadie. Honest, I won't."
"I believe," said Jeff solemnly, "that I've got it where the bottle
got the cork. It's a curious sort o' feeling, not unpleasant, but kind
o' squirmy."
"What in thunder are you at?"
"It's love, Bud--love at first sight. Now, mind--yer not to give me
away. I'm in love end over end with your sister. Don't git mad! She'll
never know it."
"Are you often taken this way?"
"Never before, by Jing! That's what's so queer. Mebbee I pitched on my
head. Mebbee I'm delirious."
"Mebbee you always were--half-baked. Looks like it, I must say. Give
me the case."
"Any more sisters, Bud? I reckon not. The mould must ha' been broke
when Miss Sadie was born. One'll make trouble enough for we men. Is
there another, Bud?"
"No."
"There's another picture in there."
"Yes--Dad's."
Now it chanced that as Jeff drew the portrait of Bud's father from the
case the boy had turned, and so missed the amazing expression of
surprise, dismay, horror, that flitted into Jeff's honest face, and
for the moment distorted it. But when he spoke his voice was the same,
and his features were composed.
"This is your--dad?"
"Yes. I call him a peach." "It's a fine head--sure," murmured Jeff.
Bud bent over him, eager to sing the praises of his sire. But, for the
first time since man and boy had met, Jeff's face assumed a hard,
professional look. Bud eyed him interrogatively.
"Does your leg hurt any?"
"N-n-o."
"I'll fetch some more hot water, if you say so."
"I'm feelin' a heap easier--in my leg."
He put the two photographs into the case, closed it, and handed it to
Bud with a sigh.
"Maybe you will meet Sadie some day," said Bud, taking the case.
"Maybe," Jeff replied, with an indifference which made the boy stare.
Jeff was gazing across the foothills with a queer steely glint in his
blue eyes. Bud ran into the house.
Instantly, Jeff was alert. He pulled a tattered handbill from his
pocket, smoothed it out, and read it with darkening brows. The bill
offered a handsome reward for any information which would lead to the
arrest of one Sillett, a defaulting assistant-cashier of a Santa
Barbara bank. Sillett and his _daughter_ had disappeared in a
springboard, drawn by a buckskin horse, and were supposed to have
travelled south, in the hope of crossing the border into Mexico. At
the head of the bill was a rough woodcut of Sillett. Jeff crumpled up
the sheet of paper, and stuffed it into his pocket.
"It's him--sure 'nough," he growled. Then he gasped suddenly, "Jee-
roosalem! Bud is a rosebud!"
He smiled, frowned, and tugged at his moustache as Bud appeared with
some more hot water. Jeff blushed.
"You're real kind, but I hate to give ye all this trouble."
Bud, after bathing the swollen leg, glanced up sharply.
"You're as red as the king of hearts. You ain't going to have a
fever?"
"I do feel kind o' feverish," Jeff admitted.
Bud lightly touched his forehead.
"Why, it's burning hot, I do declare."
Jeff closed his eyes, murmuring confusedly, "I b'lieve it'd help me
some if you was to stroke my derned head."
Bud obediently smoothed his crisp curls. Jeff's forehead was certainly
hot, and it grew no cooler beneath the touch of Bud's fingers.
"Hello!" exclaimed Bud, a few minutes later.
"Here's Dad coming across the creek."
* * * * *
Sillett advanced leisurely, not seeing the figures under the live-oak.
He carried a tin box and a butterfly-net. He was dressed in the brown
over-alls of Southern California, stained and discoloured by sun and
tar-weed. His face, brown as the over-alls, had, however, a pinched
look, and in his eyes lay a curious tenseness familiar enough to
deputy-sheriffs. For the rest, he had a mild forehead, which he was
wiping as he crossed the creek, a pleasant mouth, and a chin a thought
too delicately modelled for a man. He walked soberly, with the
dragging stride of a tired pedestrian. He was tall, thin, and angular.
Bud ran to meet him.
"We've comp'ny," he cried, indicating Jeff. Sillett quickened his
step.
"Company?"
Sillett met Jeff's glance with a simple bow, and the inevitable
remark, "Hurt yourself?"
Jeff explained. While describing his misadventure he decided that Bud
could not be a party to the father's crime. Sillett asked for
permission to examine the wounded leg Presently he asked Jeff to stand
up.
"Oh, Dad!" protested Bud.
Jeff obeyed, glad to discover that he could stand upon the injured
foot.
"Same thing happened to me once," Sillett remarked. "The tight boot
caused more than half the trouble. Sit down, Mr.----?"
"Wells. Jefferson Wells."
"Thank you. My name is--of no service to you. And this is my daughter
--Sarah. Run away, Sadie."
Jeff, watching the daughter, thought her confusion the prettiest thing
he had ever seen.
"You are a cowboy, I presume?" said Sillett, as Bud disappeared. Not
waiting for Jeff's answer, he went on fluently: "I'm sure I can trust
you; you have an honest face, sir. I'm collecting certain plants and
butterflies, but--I have other reasons for camping out. My daughter
has played the boy, because a boy is safe in these wild hills; an
unprotected girl might be molested. We will do what we can for you.
You, I am sure, will respect this confidence."
Sillett played his trumps boldly, not knowing that he was speaking to
a deputy-sheriff. Jeff said nothing. Sillett, after asking if the
horse had been fed and watered, followed his daughter into the hut.
Jeff groaned to himself. "Mighty soon I'll be wishing I'd never been
born!"
However, assured that he was alone, he carefully examined his six-
shooter, and began to reckon what chances there were for and against
arresting Sillett single-handed. Ordinarily, he was quick enough at
such calculations, but Bud introduced confusion into every sum. "I'm
in an awful hole," reflected the unhappy Jeff.
The hole became a bottomless pit when Bud appeared in a pretty linen
frock, and asked him demurely how he fared.
"You're looking worse," she said.
Changing her dress, she had cast off with the rough overalls such
rugosities of manner, speech, and intonation as belonged to the
ragamuffin of the foothills. Poor Jeff assumed his "society" manner
and accent.
"If I'd only known," he began lamely.
"You never suspected?"
A note of anxiety escaped Jeff's ears.
"N-n-no. Of course not. Why, think how I handled you."
Sadie blushed.
"I'll forget everything," she whispered, showing a couple of dimples,
"and we'll begin all over again, Mr.--Wells."
His confusion, which she attributed to bashfulness, encouraged the
shameless coquette to add: "Maybe you liked me better as Bud?" Jeff
was scarlet as he replied: "I liked Bud first-rate, but Bud'll
remember what I said about his sister." Then he quite spoiled the
effect of this happy phrase by adding hurriedly: "Say, I'd just as
lief you didn't tell your father that I am a deputy-sheriff."
Sadie raised her dark brows.
"I thought you were so proud of that."
"I tooted my own horn, like a tenderfoot."
"But I liked what you said, Mr. Wells. That's the part I shan't
forget. About doing your duty, you know. Dad would like that too. He's
done his duty, has Dad--always."
"I'll allow he's done his duty by you."
She laughed gaily; then, seeing with a woman's quick eyes that the man
was in pain, she said for the second time, "I know you're feeling
worse, Mr. Wells."
A wiser than Jeff would have assented to this. Jeff rose hastily and
walked a few paces.
"I'm most well," he declared irritably.
"Then what ails you?"
Jeff sat down again, smiling nervously.
"Well, Miss Sadie, I was thinking of the cruellest thing in this cruel
world."
"My! What's that?"
"Why do the innocent suffer for the sins o' the guilty?"
"You do fly the track." She paused, gazing first at Jeff's troubled
face, and then at the scene about them. The enchantress, Spring, had
touched all things with her magical fingers The time had come when
"Half of the world a bridegroom is,
And half of the world a bride."
Very soon--within a month at most--the creek which ran so joyfully to
the great ocean yonder would have run altogether out of sight, leaving
a parched and desolate watercourse in its place. The grass, now a
vivid green, bespangled with brilliant poppies, would fade into
premature age and ugliness. The trees would have assumed the dust-
covered livery of summer. The birds would be mute.
Sadie shrugged, protestingly, her slender shoulders.
"Suppose we talk of something else this lovely day?"
But Jeff paid no attention. In a crude, boyish fashion he had come to
a decision.
"Shall I tell you a story?"
"Oh, please!"
"It happened to a friend of mine, a man I knew real well."
"A love story, Mr. Wells?"
"There's love in it, Miss Sadie."
"I'm glad of that."
"This man, my friend, he was a brother deputy o' mine, came to be
twenty-six without ever falling in love."
"My! He must have been hard-hearted--your friend."
"Mebbee. Well, one fine day he met his mate----"
"What was she like?"
"Like? Why, she was the sweetest thing on earth. I'd as lief try to
describe a day such as this----"
"Oh! I know what's coming. You fell in love with your friend's
sweetheart. Poor Mr. Wells!"
Jeff ignored this interruption.
"I was saying that my friend met _his_ mate, nobody's else's, and
though he'd never met her before, by Jing! he knew right off she was
his mate."
"Love at first sight."
"That's right. Love at first sight."
Sadie's face and figure perceptibly relaxed. Her eyes softened
delightfully. With parted lips she seemed to hang upon Jeff's next
words.
"Unfortunately, she was the daughter of a thief."
"A thief!"
"That ain't the right word. Embezzler, I reckon, would fit better.
Leastwise, he'd made away with other folks' money, meanin' to put it
back, no doubt, if he happened to strike the right lead. Luck was dead
against him. Mind ye, he was a good citizen enough, as Westerners go.
I don't deny that he'd average up as well as most. I remember the case
well, because I read about it in the papers. The dry years had bust
him, and the most of his friends too. Some o' these friends he'd
helped. He was on their notes of hand, ye understand?"
He glanced at her sharply. Would she understand? Would she guess? No.
In the pure, clear eyes upturned to his he read pity, sympathy
interest--nothing more. She nodded.
"When times mended in Southern California he thought he saw his chance
to get back all he'd lost: just one o' those dead sure shots which
will miss fire. He'd not a cent of his own, so he borrowed, without
askin' leave, a few hundreds, that was all, jest a few hundreds from
somebody else."
"He was a--thief," said Sadie calmly.
"It's too hard a word that. Now then, I'm getting to the point. My
friend, deputy-sheriff like me, found himself in this hell of--I mean
in this terrible tight place. He was sent to arrest the father of the
girl he loved."
"Oh-h-h!"
This prolonged exclamation sadly puzzled Jeff, whose claim to
consideration at the hands of many friends was a guileless
transparency of purpose, a candour and simplicity unhappily too rare.
Now, his climax, so artfully introduced, provoked nothing more
satisfactory than this "Oh-h-h!"
"Well," continued Jeff, gazing almost fiercely into Sadie's eyes, "my
friend found the father, and he knew that he could arrest him, or he
could earn the everlastin' gratitude of the girl by letting him
escape--and _helping_ him to escape."
"And what did your friend do?" Sadie asked quietly.
"What do you think he did, Miss Sadie?"
"Did the girl know that her father was a thief?"
"She was as innocent as Mary's little lamb."
"I don't know what your friend did," said Sadie, in a clear, emphatic
voice, "but I do know what he ought to have done. His first duty was
to his State."
Jeff stared, and then laughed.
"To his State. That's so. Yes, yes; and that's how my friend acted. He
did arrest the father, and the daughter--why, o' course, she never
spoke to him again."
"It's a sad story," said Sadie, after a pause. "I'm sorry you told it
to me to-day, because----" her voice faltered.
"Yes," said Jeff, "because----"
"Because it has been so pleasant to-day-for me, I mean."
She looked down, blushing. Jeff seized her hand. Sadie tried, not very
hard, to pull it away. Jeff felt the muscles relaxing, the slight form
swayed towards him. Suddenly he released her.
"O, my God!" he exclaimed. "You are right, I feel in all my bones
you're dead right. I ought to do my duty. I'm feeling and behaving
like a madman."
Sadie stared at him in troubled silence. She believed that in losing
his heart the poor fellow had lost his wits also. Yet she was sensible
that love for her lay at the root of his distress. And his pain, for
his suffering was pitiful to behold, puckered her brows, twisted her
lips. With a soft cry she touched timidly his shoulder.
"If you think," she smiled faintly, "that because we've only known
each other a few hours, I----"
Jeff laughed. The laugh hurt the girl, so that she shrank from him. So
engrossed were the pair that neither marked Sillett as he opened the
door of the hut. He advanced a couple of steps, smoking a pipe, and
then paused, astonished, as Jeff's next words reached him.
"Look at here," he burst out. "That story----It's my own story. I left
San Lorenzo yesterday afternoon to arrest your father. The sheriff an'
me knew he was somewhere in these foothills."
"You have come to arrest--Dad?"
"That's it."
She stared at him confusedly, trying to recall his story. Jeff waited.
"You called him a thief. Dad--a thief! How dare you? How dare you? It's
a lie, or--or," she faltered, "or a mistake."
"No mistake," said Jeff wretchedly.
He had risen. Man and maid stared fiercely into each other's faces.
Behind them, Sillett stood quietly observant, but his right hand stole
down to his pocket.
"Hold up your hands!" he said sharply.
Jeff and the girl sprang apart. Sillett had levelled a pistol at the
deputy-sheriff, repeating his words with one addition: "_Quick!_"
Jeff raised his hands.
"He carries a 'gun,'" said Sillett to his daughter. "Take it from
him."
She obeyed. Her face was white as milk, but not with fear. The man who
held the pistol had ceased for the moment to bear any resemblance to
her father, but assuredly he was the defaulter whom Jeff Wells and the
sheriff sought. The expression upon his face revealed that, if nothing
else. Sadie removed the pistol and brought it to Sillett.
"In the hut, on a nail behind the door, is a piece of cord. Fetch it!"
She fetched it.
"Tie his hands behind his back. Tie 'em good and firm. Take your time.
Make a job of it. That's it. Now, then, hitch the loose ends round
that scrub-oak. That's right. Now go into the house, and slip into
your overalls. We'll be shifting camp in less than half-an-hour."
"Dad!"
"Well?"
"It's true, then?"
He smiled grimly.
"Yes--it's true. Get a move on you. Mr. Wells and I are going to have
a little talk."
She walked slowly towards the hut; then suddenly she turned, flying
back on nimble feet.
"Dad," she said quickly. "Mr. Wells will help us, if you ask him, if--
if _I_ ask him." She approached Jeff. "I told you that your duty
was to the State," she continued, "but I take that back. Do you hear?
Save Dad! I don't care what he has done to others, he's always been so
good to me. And if you will help us, I--I----"
"Sadie!"
Sillett's voice was very harsh.
"Yes, Dad."
"Leave us. Not a word, child. Go!"
She moved away, the tears trickling from her eyes. Nothing was said
till the door had closed behind her; then Jeff broke the silence, in a
voice with a strange rasp to it.
"I _will_ help you, Mr. Sillett."
Sillett thrust his weapon into his pocket, and came close to the
speaker, eyeing him attentively. An impartial observer might have
pronounced the younger man to be the defaulter.
"You'll help me--eh? How?"
"I can get you safe into Mexico."
"Can you?"
"At a word from me the sheriff'll be huntin' somewheres else. See?"
"I see."
"Don't think you'll squeeze through without me. I reckon you've a
springboard and a buckskin in the barn over there?"
"Maybe."
"The officers are looking for that buckskin in every little burg
between Santa Cruz and San Diego. You can't pack your grub and
blankets a-foot. I can supply everything. Nobody'll suspect me."
"Why not?"
"Because--because o' my record."
"Oh. It's a clean one, is it?"
"It is that."
"Sadie cottoned to you right away. Because she sized you up as
straight, I surmise."
The speaker smoked silently for a moment; Jeff held his tongue, but
his cheeks were red and hot.
"Sadie may sour on me now," said the father heavily.
"Sour on you, Mr. Sillett! Not she."
Sillett frowned. Then he opened a knife and slashed the cord which
bound Jeff. The fingers which held his pipe were trembling.
"You'll let me fix things?" said Jeff, in a low voice.
"And then--suppose--suppose Sadie soured on you?"
"I'll risk that," Jeff answered slowly. "She's more'n likely to."
"Um."
"You're going to give me a free hand?"
"No."
The monosyllable burst from his lips with a violence that indicated
the rending asunder of strong barriers.
"No," he repeated. "One of us, Jefferson Wells, must be an honest man.
I ain't going to whine about the luck, but I stole--I stole--for her.
I wanted to give her what she'd always had from me: a pretty home,
nice clothes, a good time. And what's the result?" He laughed
hoarsely. "This,--this hut, those overalls, beans and bacon to eat,
and now--now--the knowledge that her dad is a thief. Well, she's
cottoned to you. I read it in her face. Quick work, they'd say back
East, but in this new country folks have to think quick and act quick.
I can think quick and act quick. You want her?"
"Worse than I ever wanted anything in my life."
"You can take care of her?"
"I am well fixed. A nest-egg in the bank, a good salary, and a pair of
arms that can carry a heavier load than she'll ever be."
Sillett nodded; then he spoke very deliberately: "I'm going back to
Santa Barbara to face the music. I shall give myself up. Hold on--let
me finish! I know something of women, and Sadie is the daughter of a
good mother. It's lucky she's dead, poor soul! Don't you ever dare to
tell Sadie _that you weakened_. When she lies awake nights--and
she will--it may comfort her some to think that her husband is an
honest man. I'm going to hit the trail now. When Sadie comes out o'
there, tell her with my love, that I've left her in your charge."