dropping her forehead on Lance's broad chest. "Honey, it never used to
be this way. He used to tell me things. But now, he doesn't--much.
Last spring, when he built the schoolhouse and all, I was so _glad!_
It was more like old times, and I thought--but the fight turned him
and the boys again, and now they're just as far off as ever. Lance, I
don't whine. You never heard Belle whine in your life, did you, honey?
But I'll tell you this: The only things that haven't changed, on the
Devil's Tooth, are Riley and the pintos. And even they let you drive
'em to Jumpoff and back last spring without busting things up. They're
getting old, I guess. Maybe we're all getting old. Still, Rosa and
Subrosa are only ten past, and I haven't had a birthday for years--
"It's--Lance, do you mind if Belle lets go and tells you things, just
this once? You've changed, some, but not like the rest. Please, Lance,
I want to lean against you and--and feel how strong you are--"
A great tenderness, a great, overwhelming desire to comfort his
mother, who had never let him call her mother, seized Lance. His arms
closed around her and he backed to an armchair and sat down on it,
holding her close.
"Don't care, Belle--it's all right. It's _going_ to be all right. I'm
just Lance, but I'm a man--and men were made to take care of their
women. Talk to me--tell me what's been eating your heart out, lately.
It's in your eyes. I saw it when I came home last spring, and I see
it now every time I look at you."
"You've seen it, honey?" Belle's whisper was against his ear. She did
not look at his face. "There's nothing to see, but--one feels it.
Tom's good to me--but he isn't _close_ to me, any more. The boys are
good to me--but they're like strangers. They don't talk about things,
the way they used to do. They come and go."
Lance's big, well-kept hand went up to smooth her hair with a
comforting, caressing movement infinitely sweet to Belle. "I know," he
said quietly.
"And it isn't anything, of course. But the old boys have gone, and
these new ones--Lance, what is the matter with the Devil's Tooth
ranch? Tell me, for heaven's sake, if I'm getting to be an old woman
with notions!"
"You'll never be an old woman," said Lance in the tone Mary Hope built
her day-dreams around. "Age has nothing to do with you--you just
_are_. But as to notions--well, you may have. Women do have them, I
believe." He kissed her hair and added, "What do you think is the
matter with the ranch?"
"I don't _know_. When I try to pin it to one thing, there's nothing to
put a pin in. Not a thing. You remember Cheyenne? I was afraid Tom
would kill him, after the trial. You know it was practically proven
that he was a spy, and was working to get something on the outfit. I
was on the warpath myself, over that trial. I would a shot up a few in
that courtroom if Tom had been convicted. You know and I know that Tom
didn't have a thing to do with that darned, spotted yearling of
Scotty's.
"But Cheyenne just--just faded out of existence. Tom's never mentioned
him from the day of the trial to this. And I know he hates the whole
Rim, and won't have anything much to do with anybody--but he acts just
as if nothing had happened, as if nobody had ever tried to make him
out a cow thief. He won't talk about it. He won't talk about anything
much. When we're alone he just sits and _thinks_. And honey, the
Lorrigans have always been men that _did_ things.
"He and the boys woke up, and the ranch acted human about the
schoolhouse, but it's other times, when there's no excitement around,
that I feel as if--I don't know what. It's something underneath.
Something that never comes to the top. Something that's liable to
reach up and grab." She put a hand up and patted Lance's lean, hard
jaw. "I'd shoot any one that said Belle Lorrigan's _afraid_--but
that's about what it amounts to," she finished with a little mirthless
laugh.
"Belle Lorrigan's not afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You've
lived in the Rim too long, Belle, and you've been watching dad and the
boys chasing that million. I've seen other men working at it, and it
always gets hold of them until they don't seem to care for anything
else. Now, I know an ageless lady who's going to bed and forget all
about her nerves and her notions. Or if she doesn't forget, she'll
remember too that she has somebody around who knows--and who cares a
heap for his mother." Lance pulled her close and kissed her
comfortingly.
"That helps," whispered Belle. "You've changed, too--but not like the
rest, thank God. And I thought maybe you had noticed things--"
"I have noticed that the Devil's Tooth is mighty busy chasing dollars
on the hoof," soothed Lance. "It has left our Belle alone too much,
and it has gotten on her nerves. Go to bed, woman--and dream of
pleasant things."
He took her by the shoulders and pushed her playfully to the very door
of her bedroom, gave her another kiss and turned the knob for her, and
watched her go in with a smile on her face. His own smile lasted only
until the door was closed. He went to the lamp, blew it out and
entered his own room, removed his shoes and dropped them on the floor
with more noise than was considerate of his father's slumber, lighted
his lamp and moved aimlessly about the room for a time.
He sat down on the edge of the bed while he smoked a cigarette, his
elbows on his knees, his thoughts traveling far trails. Abruptly he
rose, put on a pair of well-worn tennis shoes, opened a door leading
outside and went quietly down to the corrals.
The first corral he crossed and found it empty of any horses save the
pintos and Coaley. The second corral held three horses, one of them
the chunky roan he had ridden that afternoon. The third and largest
corral was empty, the gate swinging open.
"All right--no horses caught up for night-riding--_yet_," he said to
himself, and returned to the house, leaving the straighter path to
pass close to the bunk house. He listened there for a full two
minutes, decided that it would take at least five men to do all of
that snoring, and went to bed thankful for the comfort of a felt
mattress under his tired body.
The next day passed without any incidents save trivial ones that did
not count. Lance rode to the creek with his trout-rod and reel--more
citified innovations which the ranch eyed askance--and spent four
hours loitering along the bank, his fly floating uselessly over
shallow pools where was never a fish. It was not the right time of day
for fishing, but Lance seemed to have forgotten the lore he had
learned along that same creek and others farther away.
Sometimes he could be seen from the ranch buildings, more often he
could not. When he could not be seen was when he was crouched among
the rocks, studying the Devil's Tooth Ridge with his powerful
glasses.
"Hope he's comfortable," he said once, when, satisfied that his guess
was correct, he put the glasses away and settled down seriously to
fishing.
He rode home with four trout, and Riley fried them for supper. During
supper Lance criticized Squaw Creek, and hinted that Mill Creek and
Lava Creek were better fishing waters, and that he meant to try them.
That night at eleven o'clock he made another silent tour of the
corrals and went to bed feeling pretty sure that the ranch would show
its present complement of men in the morning.
On the second day, four of the hired cowboys rode in at sundown, and
with them came Al. Their horses were fagged. They themselves were
dirty, hungry, tired. Their faces were glum--and the glumness remained
even after they had washed and eaten ravenously. Al did not come to
the house at all, but stayed down in the bunk house, whither Tom
presently went. Lance did not follow.
Belle looked worried and asked Lance constrainedly if he knew why Duke
had not come with the others. Lance laughed.
"Duke? Oh--he's on the trail of another dollar. By heck, Belle, I'm
afraid you've raised one son to be a shirk. I don't seem to need all
of that dollar chasing to make me happy."
Tom came in then, glanced swiftly from one to the other, said
something unimportant, rolled a cigarette with elaborate care, and
observed that Duke would find it hot, riding all the way to Shoshone,
and that he'd be darned if he'd go that far for any girl. He sat down
and disposed himself comfortably, got up, muttered something about
forgetting to turn Coaley out, and left the house.
Belle turned and looked at Lance. "Honey, it's that kind of thing--"
"I used to think, Belle, that you had the bluest eyes in the whole
world," Lance drawled quizzically. "They're blue enough, in all
conscience--by heck, Belle! Does a Lorrigan always love blue eyes?"
"I was going to say that--"
"You were going to say that you were not going to say a darned thing,
madam. You need a vacation, a trip somewhere. Why don't you beat it,
and get your nerves smoothed down a little?"
"Lance, you don't believe Duke--"
"Belle, your boys are old enough to think of girls a little bit, now
and then. Even your baby thinks of girls--a little bit. Now and then.
I'm going fishing, Belle. I'm going to fish where there are fish. And
if I'm not back by the clock, for heck's sake don't get yourself
excited and call _me_ a mystery."
She called after him. "Lance, come back here and tell me the truth!
You don't believe--"
"Belle, I'll tell you the truth. Sure, I'll tell you the truth. I tell
you to cut out this worrying over nothing. Why, don't you know the
world is plumb full of real things to worry about?" He came close,
patting her on the shoulder as one pats a child who feels abused for
slight cause. "This notion of yours--it's all damned nonsense. Cut it
out."
He went off whistling, and Belle gazed after him dubiously, yet
reassured in spite of herself. After all, there was nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WHEN A LORRIGAN LOVES
Followed a day of sweltering heat, when the horses in the corral
switched flies and sweated doing nothing; when all of the chickens
crawled under the coolest shelter they could find, and panted with
their wings spread away from their bodies; when the wind was like a
blast from an open furnace, and no man of his own choice remained in
the sun.
In the shade of the biggest haystack, Tom and Al squatted on their
boot heels with their faces toward the corral and the houses beyond,
and talked for two hours in low monotones while they broke spears of
fragrant hay into tiny bits and snapped the bits from them with thumb
and finger. From the house porch Lance saw them there and wondered
what they were talking about so long. He even meditated committing the
crime of eavesdropping, but he decided against it. Even if there had
been any point from which he could approach the two unseen, his soul
rebelled against such tactics employed in cold blood.
Devil's Tooth Ranch dragged somehow through its third day of inaction,
and that night prepared itself to sleep if possible, though the hot
wind still blew half a gale and the sky was too murky to show any
stars.
Daylight found Lance awake and brooding as he had done ever since his
return. He heard no sound in the house, and after a while he dressed
and went down to the bunk house. It was empty. No extra horses had
been corralled the night before, of that he was sure. Yet the boys
were gone again, and with them had gone Tom and Al. He looked and saw
Coaley in the box stall.
On this morning Lance asked no questions of Sam Pretty Cow or Shorty,
who presently appeared and went listlessly about their tasks. He
returned to the house, heard Riley grinding coffee, and dressed for
riding while he waited for breakfast. He was drinking his first cup of
coffee when Belle appeared in a thin blue kimono and a lacey breakfast
cap which Lance knew had been ordered from the big, dog-eared
catalogue on the living room table. He roused himself from scowling
meditation and gave her a smile.
"Sleep any?"
"Not much," sighed Belle. "Tom--" she stopped and looked at Lance
hesitatingly. "Tom had to push the cattle back from Lava Bed way--he
says this weather's drying up Lava Creek and the stock'll suffer if
they're left drifting up and down the mud-holes where they've watered
all summer. He took the boys and started about two in the morning--to
get out of the heat. I--I didn't think you'd want to go, honey--"
"You thought right. I didn't want to go; it's too hot," Lance assured
her, and refrained from looking at her face and the pathetic
cheerfulness she was trying so hard to make real.
"It's sultry. I thought yesterday I couldn't stand another hour of
that wind--but now I wish it would blow. It's going to storm--"
"Yes. It's going to storm." Lance set down his empty cup. "I may go
fishing, Belle. Don't look for me back--I may ride over and see how
the AJ is making out. The little Boyle girl is not married yet, I
hope?"
"Oh--no. No, she isn't. Lance, honey--"
Lance waited beside her chair, but Belle seemed to forget that she had
anything to say. She sat leaning her head on one hand, the other
stirring her coffee absent-mindedly. "Don't get caught out," she said
apathetically.
"I won't." Lance lifted the lace frill of the cap and kissed her
temple lightly. "Go back to bed. It's too early for you to be up."
At the stable Sam Pretty Cow looked a question, grunted and went on
with his stall cleaning. Lance saddled Coaley, tied on an emergency
ration of grub.
"Fishin's good t'day. Storm's coming. Uh-huh--you bet," Sam Pretty
Cow observed as Lance mounted.
"Maybe," Lance assented non-committally and rode away.
There were no horse tracks in the trail, yet Lance followed it
doggedly, the new-risen sun burning his back through two thin shirts.
He seemed in no doubt this morning as to the course he should take. He
scarcely gave a glance at the trail. His eyes were staring straight
before him at a sullen row of blue-black "thunder heads" that showed
above the gray skyline. Yet he did not see them, did not give a
thought to their meaning.
He was thinking poignantly of Mary Hope, fighting the vivid impression
which a dream last night had left with him. In his dream Mary Hope had
stood at her door, with her hands held out to him beseechingly, and
called and called: "Lance! Oh, Lance! I dinna hate you because you're
a Lorrigan--Oh, _Lance!_"
It had been a curious dream from start to finish. Curious because, in
various forms, this was the third time he had seen her stand with
hands outstretched, calling to him. He did not believe in dreams. He
had neither patience for presentiments nor faith in anything that
bordered on the occult.
It had been against much inner protest that he had ridden to the
schoolhouse in obedience to the persistent idea that she needed him.
That he had not found her there seemed to him conclusive proof that
there was nothing in telepathy. The dreams, he felt sure, were merely
a continuation of that persistent idea--and the persistent idea, he
was beginning to believe, was but a perverse twist given to his own
longing for her.
"--And I can't go to her--not yet. Not while the Lorrigan name--" What
came before, what came after those incomplete phrases he would not
permit his mind to formulate in words. But he could not shake off the
effect of the dream, could not stifle altogether the impulse that
plucked at his resolve.
For more than an hour he rode and tried to fix his mind upon the thing
he had set out to do. He knew perfectly well where he was going--and
it was _not_ to see Mary Hope. Neither was his destination Lava Creek
nor the drying range on either side. His first two days of hard riding
had been not altogether fruitless, and he had enough to think of
without thinking of Mary Hope. Certain cold facts stared at him, and
gibbered their sinister meaning, and dared him to ride on and discover
other facts, blood-brothers of these that haunted him o' nights.
Coaley, feeling his rider's mood, sensing also the portent of the
heavy, heat-saturated atmosphere and the rolling thunder heads, slowed
his springy trot to a walk and tossed his head uneasily from side to
side. Then, quite without warning, Lance wheeled the horse short
around and touched the reeking flanks with his heels.
"I'm seventeen kinds of a damn fool--but I can't stand any more of
this!" he muttered savagely, and rode at a sharp trot with his back to
the slow-gathering storm.
He found Mary Hope half a mile from the Douglas house, at the edge of
the meadow round which Hugh was driving a mower, the steady, metallic
clicking of the shuttle-like sickle sounding distinct from the farther
side of the motionless green expanse. Mary Hope was standing leaning
against one lone little poplar tree, her hat in her hand, and her eyes
staring dully into the world of sorrowful thoughts. Relief and a
great, hungry tenderness flooded the soul of Lance when he saw her. He
pulled up and swung off beside her.
"Girl--thank the good God you're all right," he said, and took her in
his arms, the veins on his temples beating full with his hot blood. "I
had to come. I had to see you. You've haunted me. Your voice has
called me--I was afraid--I had to come--and now I'm not going to let
you go. Oh, girl, you're mine! By all the powers of heaven and earth,
you're mine! The Lorrigan name--what does it matter? You're mine--I
love you. You'll love me. I'll _make_ you love me. You'll love me till
you won't care who I am or who you are, or whether there are any other
people in the world--you'll love me so! And I'll love you always,
always,--to death and beyond, and beyond what lies after that. Girl,
girl--you do need me! You need my love. You need it because it's the
biggest thing in the world--and your love is going to match it. We'll
get married--we'll make a world of our own, just you and I. We won't
care where we make it--it will be our world, the world of our love.
Are you game? Are you game to love Lance the way Lance loves you? Oh,
girl, tell me!"
A chill breath swept them like the memory of her father's hate. A
deep, basso rumble drowned whatever reply she stammered. He sheltered
her in his arms, kissed her lips, her eyes, her hair, went back to her
lips again.
"Oh, girl--when a Lorrigan loves--!" He cried softly, exultantly. "I
tried not to--but I had to love you. It's Fate. Are you afraid to love
me back? Are you afraid?"
"No Lorrigan can cry coward to a Douglas," Mary Hope panted. "But--but
my mother will be that--"
"My mother will be that--all of that, and more," Lance stopped her,
still exulting in her love. "All the Lorrigans--what does it matter?
Life's for you and me to live, you girl with the bluest eyes in the
world. When will you marry me? To-day? Tell me to-day!"
"Oh!" gasped Mary Hope, breathless still from the suddenness of it
all. "Oh, not to-day--oh, but the headlong way you have! I--I canna
think. I--"
"I don't want you to think. I didn't ask you to think. Just love
me--that's all. And marry me soon, Girl-with-the-blue-eyes. Soon. It
must be soon--sooner than to-morrow--"
Splittingly the thunder crashed close behind them, a vivid white line
cleaving sharply the snarling clouds. Like a sleeper Lance opened the
eyes he had closed against her hair and lifted his head. "I must take
you home," he said more calmly. "It's going to storm--hard. But let me
tell you, sweetheart,--it can't storm as hard as I can love. I'll take
you home, and then you'll marry me."
Mary Hope's face was pale and radiant. She did not say that she would
marry him--nor did she say that she would not. Her eyes were misty
with tears until she winked hard, when they shone softly. Lance had
never seen them so blue. She stood still, her hands clasped together
tightly while he gathered up the reins and mounted. He pulled his foot
from the left stirrup, reached down to her and smiled. Never had she
seen him smile like that. Never had she seen that look in his eyes.
She breathed deep, reached up and caught the saddle horn, put her foot
in the stirrup and let him lift her beside him.
Against Coaley's nervous pull at the bit Lance held a steadying hand
and laughed. "It's Fate, girl. Let the storm come. We'll beat it--it
can't hurt us. Nothing can hurt us now." He had to shout above the
crashing thunder. "Do you love me, sweetheart?" His eyes, close to her
own, flamed softly, making Mary Hope think dizzily of altar fires.
"I do--I do!" She gasped. "Oh, I cannot think how I love you--it
scares me to think!" Her arm was around his neck, her face was turned
to his.
He saw her lips form the words, guessed what it was she was saying.
The crash on crash of thunder beat the sound of her voice to
nothingness. The white glare of the lightning flashes blinded them.
Coaley, quivering, his nostrils belling until they showed all red
within, his big eyes staring, forged ahead, fighting the bit.
"He's rinning away wi' us!" shouted Lance, his lips close to her ear,
and laughed boyishly.
"Mother--" he heard her say, and pulled her higher in his arms, so
that he could be sure that she heard him.
"I'll just pick your little old mother up in my arms and make her love
me, too!" he cried. "Nothing can spoil our love--_nothing!_"
As though the gods themselves chided his temerity, the very heavens
split and shattered all sound with rending uproar. Coaley squatted,
stopped and stood shaking, his heart pounding so that Lance felt its
tremulous tattoo against his thigh. The rumbling after-note of the
thunder seemed like silence.
"It struck close. That shed--look!" Lance's voice was no longer the
voice of the young male whose love would override Fate itself. It was
the voice of the man who will meet emergencies quietly, unflinchingly,
and soothe the woman's fear. "Don't be afraid--it's all right,
sweetheart."
He forced Coaley to go on. He smiled at Mary Hope's pallor, he
reassured her as they neared her home. A shed, sufficiently detached
to keep its fire to itself, was blazing. The wind puffed suddenly from
nowhere and waved the high, yellow flames like torn ribbons. Great
globules of water splashed upon them from the pent torrent above.
Coaley galloped through the gate, passed the house, shied at something
lying on the ground, stopped abruptly when Lance pulled sharply on the
bit.
"Girl--sweetheart--_be game!_" Lance said sternly when Mary Hope
screamed.
He let her to the ground, swung off and passed her, running to the
pitifully still little figure of Mother Douglas lying in the pathway,
her checked apron flapping, its starchy stiffness showing limp dark
spots where the raindrops splashed.
"She's only shocked. She's all right--_stop that screaming!_ Good God,
girl, where's your nerve?"
His severity steadied her. Mary Hope stopped screaming, both hands
held tightly over her mouth. Lance was already on his way to the
house, carrying Mother Douglas like a sleeping child in his arms. And
the rain came, a white curtain of water that drenched them to the skin
in the first ten seconds.
On the bed where Aleck Douglas had stared at the ceiling, and raved,
and died, Lance laid her carefully as though he feared to waken her.
He tore open the faded calico dress at the throat, laid his ear upon
her heart.
"She's alive, sweetheart," he said hearteningly. "It's only a shock.
Bring a basin of water. We'll have her all right in no time."
He worked over the old woman, using all the means he could remember or
invent, while the house shook with the fury of the wind, and the
lightning dazzled them and the rain drummed incessantly on the roof.
Mary Hope watched him, her eyes wide, her lips refusing to form any
words. For her own sake he sent her on many little errands, kept her
busy at useless little tasks. After what seemed an interminable time
he stood looking down at the gently heaving breast.
"How game is my girl?" he asked, taking Mary Hope in his arms. "Is she
game enough to stay here while Lance goes for a doctor? It won't be
long--" He paused while he made a rapid mental calculation of the
distance, and of what a horse may endure. "Three hours. Will my girl
be brave enough to stay here three hours? I'll call the man who was
mowing--if I can find him. But that will take minutes. Three
hours--and you won't weaken, will you, dear?"
Mary Hope leaned against him, clutched him, shivered at the crashing
thunder. "It's awful," she moaned. "I'm afraid you might be hit--"
"Afraid? A Douglas not as game as a Lorrigan?" He shook her, lifted
his eyebrows at her, pursed his lips at her, shook her again and
kissed her. "I can't love a girl who's afraid of thunder. Your
mother's all right, you know. We saw where that bolt struck--fifty
yards, almost, from where she was. She got a shock, that's all. But
we'll have a doctor here and make him take the responsibility. And
I'll be back in three hours, and you're going to be game--just as game
as you've always been."