NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL
Jessamy Selden stood before the cheap soft-wood dresser in her bedroom,
in a wing of the old log house, and completed the braiding of the two
long, thick strands of cold-black hair. Then in the cozy little sitting
room, which adjoined the bedroom and was hers alone, she slipped on her
morocco-top riding boots and buckled spur straps over her insteps.
The sun had not yet climbed the wooded ridges beyond Poison Oak Ranch.
The night before the girl had prepared a cold breakfast for herself; and
with this wrapped in paper she left the sitting room by its outside door
and ran to the corral. The family was at breakfast in the vast room.
Hurlock's and Winthrop's families were likewise engaged in their
respective houses. So no one was about to disturb or even see Jessamy as
she hastily threw the saddle on White Ann, leaped into it, and rode
away.
When she had left the clearing, and the noise of rapid hoofbeats would
not be heard, she lifted the mare into a gallop. At this reckless speed
they swung into the trail and plunged hazardously down the mountainside
along the serpentine trail. They forded the river, took the trail on the
other side, and raced madly up it until compassion for her labouring
mount forced the rider to rein in. Now she ate her breakfast of cold
baked apple and cold fried mush in the saddle as the mare clambered
upward.
At sunrise they topped the ridge and took up the lope again toward the
headwaters of Clinker Creek. Long before she reached it Jessamy saw a
bay horse and its rider at rest, with the early sunlight playing on the
flashing silver of the famous saddle and bridle of Oliver Drew.
"Let's go!" she cried merrily as White Ann, convinced that some
devilment was afoot, cavorted and humped her back and shied from side to
side while she bore down swiftly on the waiting pair.
For answer Oliver Drew pressed his calves against Poche's ribs, and the
bay leaped to White Ann's side with a snort that showed he had caught
the spirit of the coming adventure, whatever it might prove to be. At a
gallop they swung into the county road, Poche producing a challenging
metallic rattle by rolling the wheel of his halfbreed bit with his
tongue, straining at the reins, and bidding the equally defiant white to
do that of which "angels could do no more."
"Good morning!" cried Oliver. "What's the rush?"
"Old Man Selden is riding to Aunt Nancy's today," she shouted back.
"Good morning!"
"Oh! In that case, if that white crowbait you're riding hadn't already
come three miles, we'd find out whether she can run. She's telling the
world she can."
Jessamy made a face at him and, leaning forward, caressed the mare's
smooth neck. White Ann evidently considered this a sign of abetment, for
she plunged and reared and cast fiery looks of scorn at her pseudo
rival.
"There, there, honey!" soothed the girl. "We could leave that old
flea-bitten relic so far behind it would be cruelty to animals to do it.
Just wait till we're coming back, after we've rested and have an even
chance; for I really believe the man wants to be fair."
Oliver's eyes were filled with her as her strong, sinewy figure followed
every unexpected movement of the plunging mare as if a magnet held her
in the saddle. The dew of the morning was on her lips; the flush of it
on her cheeks. Her long black braids whipped about in the wind like
streamers from the gown of a classic dancer. The picture she made was
the most engrossing one he had ever looked on.
They slowed to a walk after a mile of it.
"Well," said Jessamy, "I delivered your letter."
"Yes? Go on. That's a good start."
"It created quite a scene. Old Adam simply won't--can't--believe that
you own the Old Ivison Place. So that's why he's fogging it up to Aunt
Nancy's today. I think we'll be an hour ahead of him, though, and can be
at the reservation by the time he reaches the house."
"Is he angry?"
"Ever try to convince a wasp that you have more right on earth than he
has?" Her white teeth gleamed against the background of red lips and
sunburned skin.
"Well?"
"He says that, whether you own the place or not, you'll have to leave."
"M'm-m! That's serious talk. In some places I've visited it would be
called fighting talk."
"Number this place among them, Mr. Drew," she said soberly, turning her
dark, serious eyes upon him.
"But I didn't come up here to fight!"
"Neither did the President of the United States take his seat in
Washington to fight," she pointed out, keeping that level glance fixed
on his face.
"Oh, as to that," mused Oliver after a thoughtful pause, "I guess I
_can_ fight. They didn't send me back from France as entirely useless.
But it strikes me as a very stupid proceeding. Look here, Miss
Selden--how many acres of grass does your step--er--Old Man Selden run
cows on for the summer grazing?--how many acres in the Clinker Creek
Country, in short?"
Jessamy pursed her lips. "Perhaps four thousand," she decided after
thought.
"Uh-huh. And on my forty there's about fifteen acres, all told, that
represents grass land. The rest is timber and chaparral. Now, fifteen
acres added to four thousand makes four thousand fifteen acres. The
addition would take care of perhaps five additional animals for the
three months or more that his stock remains in that locality. Do you
mean to tell me that Adam Selden would attempt to run a man out of the
country for that?"
She closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly up and down in a
childlike fashion that always amused him. It meant "Just that!"
He gave a short laugh of unbelief.
"Listen," she cautioned: "Don't make the fatal mistake of taking this
matter too lightly, Mr. Drew."
"But heavens!" he cried. "A man who would attempt to dispossess another
for such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the pennies
in his cup! I've had a short interview with Old Man Selden. Corrupt he
may be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be corrupt on a big
scale. I couldn't think of the masterful old reprobate I talked with as
a piker."
Jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "You've got him about
right," she informed her companion. "One simply is obliged to think of
him as big in many ways."
Oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched down
comfortably. "Say," he said, "I don't get you at all."
"Don't get me?" She was not looking at him now.
"No, I don't. One moment you said he would put the skids under me for
the slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. Next moment you
maintain that he is not a piker."
"Yes."
Oliver rolled a cigarette. Not until it was alight did he say:
"Well, you haven't explained yet."
She was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off Sierras.
For the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a loss
for words. And had her direct gaze faltered? Were her eyes evading his?
And was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it the
glow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder in
the sky?
She turned to him then--suddenly. There was in her eyes a look partly of
amusement, partly of chagrin, partly of shame.
"I can't answer you," she stated simply. "I blundered, that's all.
Opened my mouth and put my foot in it."
"But can't you tell me how you did that even?"
"I talk too much," was her explanation. "Like poor old Henry Dodd, I
went too far on dangerous ground."
Oliver tilted his Stetson over one eye and scratched the nape of his
neck. "I pass," he said.
"That reminds me," was her quick return, "I sat in at a dandy game of
draw last night. There was--"
"Wh-_what_!"
"And now I have both feet in my mouth," she cried. "And you'll have to
admit that comes under the heading, 'Some Stunt.' I thought I saw a
chance to brilliantly change the subject, but I see that I'm worse off
than before. For now you're not only mystified but terribly shocked."
He gave this thirty seconds of study.
"I'll have to admit that you jolted me," he laughed, his face a little
redder. "I'm not accustomed to hearing young ladies say, 'I sat in at a
dandy little game of draw'--just like that. But I'm sure I went too far
when I showed surprise."
"And what's your final opinion on the matter?" She was amused--Not
worried, not defiant.
"Well, I--I don't just know. I've never given such a matter a great deal
of thought."
"Do so now, please."
Obediently he tried as they rode along.
"One thing certain," he said at last, "it's your own business."
"Oh, you haven't thought at all! Keep on."
A minute later he asked: "Do you like to play poker?"
"Yes."
"For--er--money?"
"'For--er--money.' What d'ye suppose--crochet needles?"
Then he took up his studies once more.
Finally he roused himself, removed his leg from the horn, and
straightened in the saddle.
"Settled at last!" she cried. "And the answer is...?"
"The answer is, I don't give a whoop if you do."
"You approve, then?"
"Of everything you do."
"Well, I don't approve of that," she told him. "I don't, and I do. But
listen here: One of the few quotations that I think I spout accurately
is 'When in Rome do as the Romans do.' I'm 'way off there in the hills.
I'm a pretty lonely person, as I once before informed you. Yet I'm a
gregarious creature. We have no piano, few books--not even a phonograph.
Bolar Selden squeezes a North-Sea piano--in other words an accordion. Of
late years accordion playing has been elevated to a place among the
arts; but if you could hear Bolar you'd be convinced that he hasn't kept
pace with progress. He plays 'The Cowboy's Lament' and something about
'Says the wee-do to the law-yer, O spare my only che-ild!' Ugh! He gives
me the jim-jams.
"So the one and only indoor pastime of Seldenvilla is draw poker. Now,
if you were in my place, would you be a piker and a spoilsport and a
pink little prude, or would you be human and take out a stack?"
"I understand," he told her. "I think I'd take out a stack."
"And besides," she added mischievously, "I won nine dollars and thirty
cents last night."
"That makes it right and proper," he chuckled. "But we've wandered far
afield. Why did you say that Selden would try to run me off my toy ranch
in one breath, and that he is wicked only in a big way in the next?"
"I'd prefer to quarrel over poker playing," she said. "Please, I
blundered--and I can't answer that question. But maybe you'll learn the
answer to it today. We'll see. Be patient."
"But I'll not learn from you direct."
"I'm afraid not."
"I think I understand--partly," he said after another intermission. "It
must be that there's another--a bigger--reason why he wants me out of
Clinker Creek Canyon."
"You've guessed it. I may as well own up to that much. But I can't tell
you more--now. Don't ask me to."
After this there was nothing for the man to do but to keep silent on the
subject. So they talked of other things till their horses jogged into
Calamity Gap.
Here was a town as picturesque as Halfmoon Flat, and wrapped in the same
traditions. Jessamy's Aunt Nancy Fleet lived in a little shake-covered
cottage on the hillside, overlooking the drowsy hamlet and the railroad
tracks.
It appeared that all of the Ivison girls had been unfortunate in
marrying short-lived men. Nancy Fleet was a widow, and two other sisters
besides Jessamy's mother had likewise lost husbands.
Nancy Fleet was a still comely woman of sixty, with snow-white hair and
Jessamy's black eyes. She greeted her niece joyously, and soon the three
were seated in her stuffy little parlour.
Oliver opened up the topic that had brought him there. Mrs. Fleet, after
stating that she did so because he was Oliver Drew, readily made answer
to his questions.
Yes, she had sold the Old Ivison Place to a Mr. Peter Drew something
like fifteen years before. She had never met him till he called on her,
and no one else at Calamity Gap had known anything about him.
He told that he had made inquiry concerning her, and that this had
resulted in his becoming satisfied that she was a woman who would keep
her word and might be trusted implicitly. This being so, he told her
that he would relieve her of the Old Ivison Place, if she would agree to
keep silent regarding the transfer until he or his son had assured her
that secrecy was no longer necessary. For her consideration of his
wishes in this connection he told her that he was willing to pay a good
price for the land.
As there seemed to be no rascality coupled with the request, she gave
consent. For years she had been trying to dispose of the property for
five hundred dollars. Now Peter Drew fairly took her breath away by
offering twenty-five hundred. He could well afford to pay this amount,
he claimed, and was willing to do so to gain her co-operation in the
matter of secrecy. She had accepted. The transfer of the property was
made under the seal of a notary public at the county seat, and the money
was promptly paid.
Then Peter Drew had gone away with his deed, and for fifteen years she
had made the inhabitants of the country think that she still owned the
Old Ivison Place simply by saying nothing to the contrary. She had been
told to accept any rentals that she might be able to derive from it--to
use it as her own. For several years Peter Drew had regularly forwarded
her a bank draft to cover the taxes. Then Adam Selden had offered to pay
the taxes for the use of the land, and she had written Peter Drew to
that effect and told him to send no more tax money until further notice.
Since that date she had heard no more from the mysterious purchaser of
the land.
She was surprised to learn that the transfer had at last been recorded,
but could throw no light whatever on the proceedings.
She took a motherly interest in Oliver because of his father, whose
generosity had greatly benefited her. In fact, she said, she couldn't
for the life of her tell how she'd got along without that money.
"And whatever shall I say, dearie, when Adam Selden comes to me today?"
she asked her niece. "I'm afraid of the man--just afraid of him."
"Pooh!" Jessamy deprecated. "He's only a man. Oliver Drew's coming, and
the fact that the transfer has at last been placed on record leaves you
free to tell all you know. So just tell Old Adam what you've told Mr.
Drew, and say you know nothing more about it. But whatever else you say,
don't cheep that we've been here, Auntie."
"Well, I hope and trust he'll believe me," she sighed as she showed her
callers out.
"Now," said Jessamy, as they remounted, "we'll ride away and be at the
reservation by the time Old Adam arrives here. What do you think of your
mystery by now, Mr. Drew?"
"It grows deeper and deeper," Oliver mused.