She turned to Ross. "Don't let him scare you--his beller is a whole lot
worse than his bite."
This provoked another laugh, and Gregg was furious--all the more so that
his son joined in. "I'll have your head, Mr. Supervisor; I'll carry my
fight to the Secretary."
"Very well," returned Redfield, "carry it to the President if you wish. I
simply repeat that your sheep must correspond to your permit, and if you
don't send up and remove the extra number I will do it myself. I don't
make the rules of the department. My job is to carry them out."
By this time every person in the room was tense with interest. They all
knew Gregg and his imperious methods. He was famous for saying once (when
in his cup): "I always thought sheepmen were blankety blank sons of guns,
and now I'm one of 'em I _know_ they are." Some of the cattle-men in the
room had suffered from his greed, and while they were not partisans of the
Supervisor they were glad to see him face his opponent fearlessly.
Lize delivered a parting blow. "Bullfrog, you and me are old-timers. We're
on the losing side. We belong to the 'good old days' when the Fork was 'a
man's town,' and to be 'shot up' once a week kept us in news. But them
times are past. You can't run the range that way any more. Why, man,
you'll have to buy and fence your own pasture in a few years more, or else
pay rent same as I do. You stockmen kick like steers over paying a few old
cents a head for five months' range; you'll be mighty glad to pay a dollar
one o' these days. Take your medicine--that's my advice." And she went
back to her cash-drawer.
Redfield's voice was cuttingly contemptuous as he said quite calmly:
"You're all kinds of asses, you sheepmen. You ought to pay the fee for
your cattle with secret joy. So long as you can get your stock pastured
(and in effect guarded) by the Government from June to November for twenty
cents, or even fifty cents, per head you're in luck. Mrs. Wetherford is
right: we've all been educated in a bad school. Uncle Sam has been too
bloomin' lazy to keep any supervision over his public lands. He's
permitted us grass pirates to fight and lynch and burn one another on the
high range (to which neither of us had any right), holding back the real
user of the land--the farmer. We've played the part of selfish and greedy
gluttons so long that we fancy our privileges have turned into rights.
Having grown rich on free range, you're now fighting the Forest Service
because it is disposed to make you pay for what has been a gratuity. I'm a
hog, Gregg, but I'm not a fool. I see the course of empire, and I'm
getting into line."
Gregg was silenced, but not convinced. "It's a long lane that has no
turn," he growled.
Redfield resumed, in impersonal heat. "The cow-man was conceived in
anarchy and educated in murder. Whatever romantic notions I may have had
of the plains twenty-five years ago, they are lost to me now. The
free-range stock-owner has no country and no God; nothing but a range that
isn't his, and damned bad manners--begging pardon, Miss Wetherford. The
sooner he dies the better for the State. He's a dirty, wasteful sloven,
content to eat canned beans and drink canned milk in his rotten bad
coffee; and nobody but an old crank like myself has the grace to stand up
and tell the truth about him."
Cavanagh smiled. "And you wouldn't, if you weren't a man of independent
means, and known to be one of the most experienced cow-punchers in the
county. I've no fight with men like Gregg; all is they've got to conform
to the rules of the service."
Gregg burst out: "You think you're the whole United States army! Who gives
you all the authority?"
"Congress and the President."
"There's nothing in that bill to warrant these petty tyrannies of yours."
"What you call tyrannies I call defending the public domain," replied
Redfield. "If I had my way, I'd give my rangers the power of the Canadian
mounted police. Is there any other State in this nation where the roping
of sheep-herders and the wholesale butchery of sheep would be permitted?
From the very first the public lands of this State have been a refuge for
the criminal--a lawless no-man's land; but now, thanks to Roosevelt and
the Chief Forester, we at least have a force of men on the spot to see
that some semblance of law and order is maintained. You fellows may
protest and run to Washington, and you may send your paid representatives
there, but you're sure to lose. As free-range monopolists you are
cumberers of the earth, and all you represent must pass, before this State
can be anything but the byword it now is. I didn't feel this so keenly ten
years ago, but with a bunch of children growing up my vision has grown
clearer. The picturesque West must give way to the civilized West, and the
war of sheepmen and cattle-men must stop."
The whole dining-room was still as he finished, and Lee Virginia, with a
girl's vague comprehension of the man's world, apprehended in Redfield's
speech a large and daring purpose.
Gregg sneered. "Perhaps you intend to run for Congress on that line of
talk."
Redfield's voice was placid. "At any rate, I intend to represent the
policy that will change this State from the sparsely settled battle-ground
of a lot of mounted hobos to a State with an honorable place among the
other commonwealths. If this be treason, make the most of it."
Cavanagh was disturbed; for while he felt the truth of his chief's words,
he was in doubt as to the policy of uttering them.
It was evident to Virginia that the cow-men, as well as Gregg, were nearly
all against the prophet of the future, and she was filled with a sense of
having arrived on the scene just as the curtain to a stern and purposeful
drama was being raised. With her recollections of the savage days of old,
it seemed as if Redfield, by his bold words, had placed his life in
danger.
Cavanagh rose. "I must be going," he said, with a smile.
Again the pang of loss touched her heart. "When will you come again?" she
asked, in a low voice.
"It is hard to say. A ranger's place is in the forest. I am very seldom in
town. Just now the danger of fires is great, and I am very uneasy. I may
not be down again for a month."
The table was empty now, and they were standing in comparative isolation
looking into each other's eyes in silence. At last she murmured: "You've
helped me. I'm going to stay--a little while, anyway, and do what I
can--"
"I'm sorry I can't be of actual service, but I am a soldier with a work to
do. Even if I were here, I could not help you as regards the
townspeople--they all hate me quite cordially; but Redfield, and
especially Mrs. Redfield, can be of greater aid and comfort. He's quite
often here, and when you are lonely and discouraged let him take you up to
Elk Lodge."
"I've been working all the morning to make this room decent. It was rather
fun. Don't you think it helped?"
"I saw the mark of your hand the moment I entered the door," he earnestly
replied. "I'm not one that laughs at the small field of woman's work. If
you make this little hotel clean and homelike, you'll be doing a very
considerable work in bringing about the New West which the Supervisor is
spouting about." He extended his hand, and as she took it he thrilled to
the soft strength of it. "Till next time," he said, "good luck!"
She watched him go with a feeling of pain--as if in his going she were
losing her best friend and most valiant protector.