THE RESCUE
Winifred's suspicions soon were proved correct, for Hastings, who drove
over to the Range a day or two after her visit, returned home rather
disturbed in temper after what he described as a very unsatisfactory
interview with Hawtrey.
"I couldn't make the man hear reason," he informed Mrs. Hastings. "In
fact, he practically told me that the matter was no concern of mine. I
assured him that it concerned me directly as one of the executors of
Harry's will, and I'm afraid I afterwards indulged in a few personalities.
I expect that blamed mortgage-broker has got a very strong hold on him."
Mrs. Hastings looked thoughtful. "You have never told me anything about
the will."
"If I haven't, it wasn't for want of prompting," returned Hastings
dryly. "The will was sealed, and handed to me by Harry on the express
understanding that it was not to be opened until we had proof that he
was dead or until the six months mentioned had expired. If he turned up
it would, of course, be handed back to him. He made me promise solemnly
that I would not offer the least hint as to its provisions to anybody."
Mrs. Hastings indulged in a shrug indicating resignation. "In that case
I suppose I must be content, but he might have made an exception of--me.
Anyway, I think I see how we can put what appears to be a little
necessary pressure upon Gregory." She turned again to her husband rather
abruptly. "After all, is it worth while for me to trouble about the
thing?"
Hastings was taken off his guard. "Yes," he said decidedly, "if you can
put any pressure on Gregory I guess it would be very desirable to do it
as soon as possible."
"Then you think that Harry may turn up, after all?"
"I do," said Hastings gravely, "I don't know why. In any case it's
highly desirable that Gregory shouldn't fling his property away."
Mrs. Hastings smiled. "Well," she said, "I'll think over it. I'll
probably get Agatha to see what she can do in the first place."
She saw a trace of uncertainty in her husband's face.
"As you like," he said. "Something must be done, but on the whole I'd
rather you didn't trouble Agatha about the matter. It would be wiser."
Mrs. Hastings asked no more questions. She believed that she understood
the situation, and she had Agatha's interests at heart, for she had
grown very fond of the girl. There was certainly one slight difficulty
in the way of what she meant to do, but she determined to disregard it,
though she admitted that it might, cause Agatha some embarrassment
afterward. When she found the girl alone, she sat down beside her.
"My dear," she said, "I wonder if I may ask whether you are quite
convinced that Harry is dead?"
She felt that the question was necessary, though it seemed rather a
cruel one.
"No," replied Agatha calmly, "I can't quite bring myself to believe it."
"Then, since you heard what Sproatly said, you would be willing to do
anything that appeared possible to prevent Gregory throwing Harry's
money away?"
"Yes," said Agatha, "I have been thinking about it." A sparkle of
disdainful anger showed in her eyes. "Gregory seems to have been acting
shamefully."
"Then as he won't listen to Allen, we must get Sally to impress that
fact on him."
"Sally?" questioned Agatha in evident astonishment.
Mrs. Hastings smiled. "I don't think you understand Sally as well as I
do. Of course, like the rest of us, she falls a long way short of
perfection, and--though it's a difficult subject--there's no doubt that
her conduct in leading Gregory on while he was still engaged to you was
hardly quite correct. After all, however, you owe her something for
that."
"It isn't very hard to forgive her for it," confessed Agatha.
"Well, I want you to understand Sally. Right or wrong, she's fond of
Gregory. Of course, I've told you this already, but I must try to make
it clear how that fact bears upon the business in hand. Sally certainly
fought for him, and there's no doubt that one could find fault with
several things she did; but the point is that she's evidently determined
on making the most of him now she has got him. In some respects, at
least, she's absolutely straight--one hundred cents to the dollar is
what Allen says of her--and although you might perhaps not have expected
this, I believe it would hurt her horribly to feel that Gregory was
squandering money that didn't strictly belong to him."
"Then you mean to make her understand what he is doing?"
"No," replied Mrs. Hastings; "I want you to do it. I've reasons for
believing that your influence would go further with her than mine. For
one thing, I fancy she is feeling rather ashamed of herself."
Agatha looked thoughtful. She had certainly not credited Sally with
possessing any fine sense of honor, but she was willing to accept Mrs.
Hastings' assurance.
"The situation," she pointed out, "is rather a delicate one. You wish to
expose Gregory's conduct to the girl he is going to marry, though, as
you admit, the explanation will probably be painful to her. Can't you
understand that the course suggested is a particularly difficult and
repugnant one--to me?"
"I've no doubt of it," admitted Mrs. Hastings. "Still, I believe it must
be adopted--for several reasons. In the first place, I think that if we
can pull Gregory up now we shall save him from involving himself
irretrievably. After all, perhaps, you owe him the effort. Then I think
that we all owe something to Harry, and we can, at least, endeavor to
carry out his wishes. He told what was to be done with his possessions
in a will, and he never could have anticipated that Gregory would
dissipate them as he is doing."
The least reason, as she had foreseen, proved convincing to Agatha, and
she made a sign of concurrence.
"If you will drive me over I will do what I can," she promised.
Now that she had succeeded, Mrs. Hastings lost no time, and they set out
for the Creighton homestead next day. Soon after they reached the house
she contrived that Sally should be left alone with Agatha. The two girls
stood outside the house together when Agatha turned to her companion.
"Sally," she said, "there is something that I must tell you."
Sally glanced at her face, and then walked forward until the log barn
hid them from the house. She sat down upon a pile of straw and motioned
to Agatha to take a place beside her.
"Now," she observed sharply, "you can go on; it's about Gregory, I
suppose."
Agatha, who found it very difficult to begin, though she had been well
primed by Hastings on the previous evening, sat down in the straw, and
looked about her for a moment or two. It was a hot afternoon, dazzlingly
bright, and almost breathlessly still. In front of her the dark green
wheat rolled waist-high, and beyond it the vast sweep of grass stretched
back to the sky-line. Far away a team and a wagon slowly moved across
the prairie, but that was the only sign of life, and no sound from the
house reached them to break the heavy stillness.
She finally nerved herself to the effort, and spoke earnestly for
several minutes before she glanced at Sally. It was evident that Sally
had understood all that had been said, for she sat very still with a
hard, set face.
"Oh!" Sally exclaimed, "if I'd thought you'd come to tell me this
because you were vexed with me, I'd know what to do."
This was what Agatha had dreaded. It certainly looked as if she had come
to triumph over her rival's humiliation, but Sally made it clear that
she acquitted her of that intention.
"Still," said Sally, "I know that wasn't the reason, and I'm not mad
with--you. It hurts"--she made an abrupt movement--"but I know it's
true."
She turned to Agatha suddenly. "Why did you do it?"
"I thought you might save Gregory, if I told you."
"That was all?" Sally looked at her with incredulous eyes.
"No," answered Agatha simply, "that was only part. It did not seem right
that Gregory should go against Wyllard's wishes, and gamble the Range
away on the wheat market."
She admitted it without hesitation, for she realized now exactly what
had animated her to seek this painful interview. She was fighting
Wyllard's battle, and that fact sustained her.
Sally winced. "Yes" she agreed, "I guess you had to tell me. He was fond
of you. One could be proud of that. Harry Wyllard never did anything low
down and mean."
Agatha did not resent her candor. Although this was a thing she would
scarcely have credited a little while ago, she saw that the girl felt
the contrast between Gregory's character and that of the man whose place
he had taken, and regretted it. Agatha's eyes became dim with unshed
tears.
"Wyllard, they think, is dead," she said, in a low voice. "You have
Gregory still."
Sally looked at her with unveiled compassion, and Agatha did not shrink
from it.
"Yes," she declared, with a simplicity that became her, "and Gregory
must have someone to--take care of him. I must do it if I can."
There was no doubt that Agatha was stirred. This half-taught girl's
quiet acceptance of the burden that many women must carry made her
almost ashamed.
"We will leave it to you," she said.
It became evident that there was another side to Sally's character, for
her manner changed, and the hardness crept back into her face.
"Well," she admitted, "I'd 'most been expecting something of this kind
when I heard that man Edmonds was going to the Range. He has got a pull
on Gregory, but he's surely not going to feel quite happy when I get
hold of him."
She rose in another moment, and saying nothing further, walked back
toward the house, in front of which they came upon Mrs. Hastings. Sally
looked at Mrs. Hastings significantly.
"I'm going over to the Range after supper," she said.
Mrs. Hastings drove away with Agatha. She said little to the girl during
the journey, but an hour after they had reached the homestead she
slipped quietly into Agatha's room. She found her reclining in a big
chair sobbing bitterly. She sat down close beside her, and laid a hand
upon her shoulder.
"I don't think Sally could have said anything to trouble you like this,"
she said.
It was a moment or two before Agatha turned a wet, white face toward
her, and saw gentle sympathy in her eyes. There was, she felt, no cause
for reticence.
"No," she said, "it was the contrast between us. She has Gregory."
Mrs. Hastings showed sympathy and comprehension. "And you have lost
Harry--but I think you have not lost him altogether. We do not know that
he is dead--but even if it be so, it was all that was finest in him that
he offered you. It is yours still."
She sat silent a moment or two before she went on again.
"My dear, it is, perhaps, cold comfort, and I am not sure that I can
make what I feel quite clear. Still, Harry was only human, and it is
almost inevitable that, had it all turned out differently, he would have
said and done things that would have offended you. Now he has left you a
purged and stainless memory--one, I think, which must come very near to
the reality. The man who went up there--for an idea, a fantastic point
of honor--sloughed off every taint of the baseness that hampers most of
us in doing it. It was a man changed and uplifted above all petty things
by a high chivalrous purpose, who made that last grim journey."
Agatha realized the truth of this. Already Wyllard's memory had become
etherealized, and she treasured it as a very fine and precious thing.
Still, though he now wore immortal laurels, that would not content her
when all her human nature cried out for his bodily presence. She wanted
him, as she had grown to love him, in the warm, erring flesh, and the
vague, splendid vision was cold and remote. There was a barrier greater
than that of crashing ice and bitter water between them.
"Oh!" she cried, "I have felt that. I try to feel it always--but just
now it's not enough."
She turned her face away with a bitter sob, and Mrs. Hastings, who
stooped and kissed her, went out of the room. The older woman knew that
the girl had broken down at last, after months of strain.
* * * * *
It happened that Edmonds, the mortgage-broker, drove over to the Range,
and found Hawtrey waiting for him in Wyllard's room. It was early in the
evening, and he could see the hired men busy outside tossing prairie hay
from the wagons into the great barn. The men were half-naked and grimed
with dust, but Hawtrey, who was dressed in store clothes, evidently had
taken no share in their labors. When Edmonds came in he turned to the
money-lender with anxiety in his face.
"Well?" he questioned brusquely.
"Market's a little stiffer," said Edmonds.
Edmonds sat down and stretched out his hand toward the cigar-box on the
table, while Hawtrey waited with very evident impatience.
"Still moving up?" he asked.
Edmonds nodded. "It's the other folks' last stand," he declared. "With
the wheat ripening as it's doing, the flood that will pour in before the
next two months are out will sweep them off the market. I was half
afraid from your note that this little rally had some weight with you,
and that as one result of it you meant to cover now."
"That," admitted Hawtrey, "was in my mind."
"Then," remarked his companion, "it's a pity."
Hawtrey leaned upon the table with hesitation in his face and attitude.
He had neither the courage nor the steadfastness to make a gambler, and
every fluctuation of the market swayed him to and fro. He had a good
deal of wheat to deliver by and by, and he could still secure a very
desirable margin if he bought in against his sales now. Unfortunately,
however, he had once or twice lost heavily in an unexpected rally, and
he greatly desired to recoup himself. Then, he had decided, nothing
could tempt him to take part in another deal.
"If I hold on and the market stiffens further I'll be awkwardly fixed,"
he declared. "Wyllard made a will, and in a few months I'll have to hand
everything over to his executors. There would naturally be unpleasantness
over a serious shortage."
Edmonds smiled. He had handled his man cleverly, and had now a
reasonably secure hold upon him and the Range, but he was far from
satisfied. If Hawtrey made a further loss he would in all probability
become irretrievably involved.
"Then," he pointed out, "there's every reason why you should try to get
straight."
Hawtrey admitted it. "Of course," he said. "You feel sure I could do it
by holding on?"
Edmonds seldom answered such a question. It was apt to lead to
unpleasantness afterwards.
"Well," he said, "Beeman, and Oliphant, and Barstow are operating for a
fall. One would fancy that you were safe in doing what they do. When men
of their weight sell forward figures go down."
This was correct, as far as it went, but Edmonds was quite aware that
the gentlemen referred to usually played a very deep and obscure game.
He had also reasons for believing that they were doing it now. It was,
however, evident that Hawtrey's hesitation was vanishing.
"It's a big hazard, but I feel greatly tempted to hang on," he said.
Edmonds, who disregarded his remark, sat smoking quietly. Since he was
tolerably certain as to what the result would be, he felt that it was now
desirable to let Hawtrey decide for himself, in which case it would be
impossible to reproach him afterwards. Wheat, it seemed very probable,
would fall still further when the harvest began, but he had reasons for
believing that the market would rally first. In that case Hawtrey, who
had sold forward largely, would fall altogether into his hands, and he
looked forward with very pleasurable anticipation to enforcing his claim
upon the Range. In the meanwhile he was unobtrusively watching Hawtrey's
face, and it had become evident that in another moment or two his victim
would adopt the course suggested, when there was a rattle of wheels
outside. Edmonds, who saw a broncho team and a a wagon appear from behind
the barn, realized that he must decide the matter without delay.
"As I want to reach Lander's before it's dark I'll have to get on," he
said carelessly. "If you'll give me a letter to the broker, I'll send it
to him."
Next moment a clear voice rose somewhere outside.
"I guess you needn't worry," it said, "I'll go right in."
Then Sally walked into the room.
Edmonds was disconcerted, but bowed, and then sat down again, quietly
determined to wait, for he discovered that there was hostility in the
swift glance she flashed at him.
"That's quite a smart team you were driving, Miss Creighton," he
remarked.
Sally, who disregarded this, turned to Hawtrey.
"What's he doing here?" she asked.
"He came over on a little matter of business," answered Hawtrey.
"You have been selling wheat again?"
Hawtrey looked embarrassed, for her manner was not conciliatory. "Well,"
he admitted, "I have sold some."
"Wheat you haven't got?"
Hawtrey did not answer, and Sally sat down. Her manner suggested that
she meant thoroughly to investigate the matter, and Edmonds, who would
have greatly preferred to get rid of her, decided that as it appeared
impossible he would appeal to her cupidity. The Creightons were grasping
folk, and he had heard of her engagement to Hawtrey.
"If you will permit me I'll try to explain," he said. "We'll say that
you have reason for believing that wheat will go down and you tell a
broker to sell it forward at a price a little below the actual one. If
other people do the same it drops faster, and before you have to deliver
you can buy it in at less than you sold it at. A great deal of money can
be picked up that way."
"It looks easy," Sally agreed, with something in her manner which led
him to fancy he might win her over. "Of course, prices have been
falling. Gregory has been selling down?"
"He has. In fact, there's already a big margin to his credit," declared
Edmonds unsuspectingly.
"That is, if he bought in now he'd have cleared--several thousand
dollars?"
Edmonds told her exactly how much, and then started in sudden
consternation with rage in his heart, for she turned to Hawtrey
imperiously.
"Then you'll write your broker to buy in right away," she said.
There was an awkward silence, during which the two men looked at each
other until Edmonds spoke.
"Are you wise in suggesting this, Miss Creighton?" he asked.
Sally laughed harshly. "Oh, yes," she replied, "it's a sure thing. And I
don't suggest. I tell him to get it done."
She turned again to Hawtrey, who sat very still looking at her with a
flush in his face. "Take your pen and give him that letter to the broker
now."
There was this in her favor that Hawtrey was to some extent relieved by
her persistence. He had not the courage to make a successful speculator,
and he had already felt uneasy about the hazard that he would incur by
waiting. Besides, although prices had slightly advanced, he could still
secure a reasonable margin if he covered his sales. In any case, he did
as she bade him, and in another minute or two he handed Edmonds an
envelope.
The broker took it from him without protest, for he was one who could
face defeat.
"Well," he said, with a gesture of resignation, "I'll send the thing on.
If Miss Creighton will excuse me, I'll tell your man to get out my
wagon."
He went out, and Sally turned to Hawtrey with the color in her cheeks
and a flash in her eyes.
"It's Harry Wyllard's money!" she commented, as she met his glance with
flashing eyes.