THE QUARREL
Duncan's first impulse, begotten by the sudden anger that blazed
within him, was to resent most bitterly the threat thus made against
him. But, behind his anger, he was conscious of a certain feeling of
respect and admiration for this frank-faced, keen-eyed young Montana
ranchman. He saw plainly that Morton was in deadly earnest in what he
had said; but he realized, also, that Morton's resentment, as well as
the threat he had made, was due, not to any personal feeling harbored
against the man he now faced, but was entirely the result of the sense
of chivalry which the Western cowboy inevitably feels for every woman.
Duncan understood, thoroughly, that Morton's sole desire was to
announce himself as prepared to protect, to the last ditch, the young
woman with whom he had fallen so desperately in love; and for this
Duncan respected and esteemed the man.
In this instance, Duncan was a good reader of character, and, before
venturing to reply to the last remark of Morton's, he compelled
himself to silence; he tried to put himself in this young man's place,
wondering the while if under like circumstances he would have had the
courage to do as Morton had done.
"Sit down again, Mr. Morton," he said, presently, waving his hand
toward the chair the ranchman had previously occupied.
"No, sir; not until you have answered me."
Duncan smiled, now. He had entirely regained his composure, and was
thoroughly master of his own ugly temper, and of the situation, also,
as he believed.
"Mr. Morton," he said, "when you entered this room, I did you the
honor to listen to your unprecedented statement, without interruption.
I now ask you to treat me as fairly as I treated you. Be seated, Mr.
Morton, and hear what I have to say."
The ranchman flushed hotly, at once realizing that this young
patrician of the East, had, for the moment got the better of him. He
resumed his seat upon the chair, and absent-mindedly withdrew from one
of his pockets a book of cigarette-papers and a tobacco-pouch.
"Morton," said Duncan, "I am going to speak to you as man to man; just
as I think you would like to have me do. I am going to meet you on
your own ground, that of perfect frankness; for I do you the honor to
believe that you are entirely sincere in your attitude, in your
conduct, and in what you have said to me."
"You're sure right about that, Mr. Duncan. Whatever may be said about
Dick Morton, there is nobody--at least nobody that's now alive--who
has ever cast any doubts upon my sincerity, or my willingness to back
up whatever I may have to say."
"You came here out of the West, Morton, and, as you express it, met up
with Patricia Langdon. In your impulsive way, you fell deeply in love
with her, almost at first sight."
"That's no idle dream."
"You conceived the idea that she wore nobody's brand, which is another
expression of your own, which I take to mean that you thought her
affections were disengaged."
"That was the way I sized it up, Mr. Duncan."
"Therefore, I will tell you that Patricia and I have been intimate
companions, since our earliest childhood. I can't remember when I have
not thought her superior to any other woman, and I have always
believed, as I now believe, that deep down in her inmost heart she
loves me quite as well as I love her. There was an unfortunate
circumstance, connected with our present engagement, which,
unfortunately, I cannot explain to you, since it is another's secret,
and not mine. But I shall explain, so far as to say that the
circumstance deeply offended her; that when she made the remark to
you, in the automobile, which aroused your resentment, she did it in
anger; that, far from coercing her in this matter, I have not done so,
and have not thought of doing so; and, lastly, I shall tell you, quite
frankly, that the engagement between Patricia and myself and the date
of the wedding which is to follow are both matters which she has had
full power to arrange to her own satisfaction."
Duncan hesitated a moment, and then, as Morton made no response, he
suddenly extended Patricia's letter, which he still held in his hand.
"Read that," he said. "I don't know why I show it to you, save that I
feel the impulse to do so. It is entirely a confidential
communication, and I call upon you to treat it as such. But read the
letter from Patricia Langdon, which I have just received, Mr. Morton;
it will probably make you wiser on many points that now confound you."
Morton accepted the letter, but the lines of his face were hard and
unrelenting; his jaws and lips were shut tightly together; his
aggressive chin was thrust forward just a little bit, and his hazel
eyes were cold and uncompromising in their expression.
He read the letter through to the end, without a change of expression;
then, he read it a second time, and a third. At last, he slowly left
his seat, and, stepping forward, placed the document, which he had
refolded, upon the table. He reached for his hat, and smoothed it
tentatively with the palm of one of his big hands. But all the while
he kept his eyes fixed sternly upon the face of the young Croesus he
had gone there to interview.
"Mister Roderick Duncan," he drawled, in a low, even tone, "I don't
savvy this business, a little bit. Just for the moment, I don't know
what to make of you, or of Miss Langdon, but I am going to work it out
to some sort of a conclusion; and, when I have found the answer to the
questions that puzzle me now, I'll let you know."
He moved quickly toward the door, but with the lightness of a panther
Duncan sprang between it and him.
"One moment, Morton," he said, coldly.
"Well, sir?"
"I have been very patient with you, and extremely considerate, I
think, of your importunities and your insolence; but you try my
patience almost too far. Take my advice, and don't meddle any farther
in matters that do not, and cannot, concern you."
For a moment, the two men faced each other in silence, and both were
angry. Duncan was not less tall than Morton, but was slighter of
build, and very different--with the difference that will never cease
to exist between the well-groomed thoroughbred of many experiences
and the blooded young colt. Morton's wrath flamed to the surface, and,
forgetting for the moment that he was not upon his native heath, that
he was not dressed and accoutred as was his habit when riding the
range, he reached down for the place where his holster and
cartridge-belt would have been located had he been dressed in the
cowboy costume of his native Montana.
It was a gesture as natural to the young ranchman as it was to
breathe, and he was ashamed of it the instant it was made. He would
have apologized had he been given time to do so. Indeed, he did flush
hotly, in his confusion. But Duncan, quite naturally, misinterpreted
the act. He thought, and with good reason, that Morton was reaching
for his gun; the flush of shame on Morton's cheeks served only to
strengthen the conviction. And so, with a cat-like swiftness, he took
one step forward and seized the wrist of Morton's right arm, twisting
it sharply and bending it backward with the same motion, whereby the
ranchman was thrown away from him, and was brought up sharply against
the table, in the middle of the room.
Duncan was smiling again now; but it was the smile of intense anger,
and not pleasant to see. Without waiting for Morton to recover
himself, Duncan calmly turned his back upon the ranchman, and threw
open the door; then, stepping away from it, he said, with quiet
dignity:
"This is your way out, sir."