THE FIGHTING LINE AT LAST
Brand Fair haunted the Selwood ranch. He hung to the side of the
unconscious man almost night and day.
“What do you think, doctor?” he asked anxiously of the medical man
brought in from Bement.
“Frankly, I don’t think,” said that worthy, “these lapses,
superinduced by concussion, are treacherous things. He may recover
suddenly, or he may die without regaining consciousness. It’s a
gamble.”
But anxious as he was to know the secret locked in the unconscious
brain of Price Selwood, Fair had not been idle.
He and Bossick had been very busy.
Many things had been done, a plan arranged, secret conclaves held at
which grim and determined men sat their horses and pledged
themselves to do a certain thing.
Then Fair went to the cabin on Nameless, for the longing in his
heart to see Nance Allison grew with every passing hour.
He held her in his arms and kissed her forehead and her smooth
cheeks, touched the shining coronet of her hair with reverent hands.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, after the age-old fashion of lovers,
“there was never a woman like you! You are my light in dark places,
my rain in the desert. Oh, Nance, what if I had never found you!”
And the girl leaned on his heart in an ecstasy of love that was shot
with sadness, holding fast to her trust with desperate hands.
“It’s bound to come soon now,” he told her, “we are organized and
ready—only waiting for Selwood, poor fellow, to regain his reason
that he may tell us where to strike.”
“There’ll be gun-play and—blood,” said Nance miserably, “and I pray
God that you will not be taken. I—I couldn’t lose you, Brand, and
live. I wouldn’t dare to live—for if they kill you—Oh, that black
hatred which has stirred in me so long, is getting beyond my
strength to hold it! I’ll go mad and turn killer, Brand if they kill
you! I know it—I feel it here——” she laid eloquent hands on her
heart—“and then my soul will go into the pit of damnation.”
“Hush!” said Fair holding her to him fiercely, “for the love of
Heaven, don’t talk so, child! And get that thought out of your head.
Whatever happens, keep your hands clean from that crowd of
ruffians—and always remember that Brand Fair loved you. If we fail
and the Sky Line people stay in the country, I beg you, Nance, to
leave Nameless River. Take your mother and Bud—and—and Sonny—and go
away to a more civilized spot. You can make another start. There’s a
little money in a New York bank for the boy—the papers in the
package will explain—and I know you love him——”
But Nance laid her face on his breast and fell to weeping, so that
Fair anathematized himself for his grave words.
“It seems,” she said, sobbing, “that we have reached the bottom—of
all things—hope—and—and strength—and happiness. And my grasp on God
is failing—He has turned His face from me—I am lost to the light of
His countenance—because of the hatred in me. I have stood firm
through tribulation but now—when I think of you—I feel my strength
desert me.”
“Buck up,” scoffed the man playfully, “we’ll all come through with
colors flying and see this nest of vipers caged. Then think of life
on Nameless, Nance—safe and happy, with our fields and our herds and
peace in all the land. I shouldn’t have suggested anything else.
Come—be my brave girl again, my good fighter.”
Obedient to his words, Nance straightened and tried to smile in the
starlight.
“That’s it,” he said, “you’re resilient as willow wood—ready with a
come-back. You’ll never leave the line, Sweetheart, never in this
world!”
It was late in the night when Fair rode away.
He went south, going back to look again on the quiet face of Sheriff
Selwood, then on to the Deep Heart fringes to meet Bossick and
Jermyn.
As for Nance Allison, she was seized with a great restlessness that
made inaction unbearable.
“I think I’ll ride the lower slopes of Mystery, Mammy,” she said
next morning, “and look for that black shoat that’s missing. I can’t
afford to lose it.”
The mother looked at her with worried eyes.
“You take your Pappy’s gun,” she said at last. “I feel to tell you
so. Th’ time has come.”
But the girl shook her head.
“I don’t care,” she said, “I can’t trust myself of late.” She kissed
Sonny, ran a hand over Bud’s bronze hair, and went out to the stable
where she saddled Buckskin and rode away.
Dirk, sitting gravely on the door-stone, begged to go with her, but
she forbade him.
So she passed the bleak ruin of her cornfield, crossed the river,
low in its summer ebb, and struck up among the buck-brush and
manzanita that clothes the lower slopes.
It was a sweet blue day with the summer haze on slant and level,
cool with the little winds that were ever drawing up between the
hills, silent with the eternal hush of the far places.
All the wilderness smiled, the heavens, blue and flecked with
sailing clouds, were soft as infants’ eyes.
Nature opened appealing arms to this child of her bosom and Nance,
sad and apprehensive as she had never been in her life before, went
into them and was comforted.
She raised her eyes to the distant rimrock, shining above Rainbow
Cliff which was dark and sombre at this early hour, and felt its
austere beauty. She watched the cloud-shadows drifting on the
tapestried shoulders of the mountains and knew the sight for what it
was of privilege and blessing.
So, as the little horse beneath her scrambled eagerly up the slants,
the peace of the waiting hills fell upon her with healing and the
sadness eased away.
In every likely place she looked and listened for the black shoat,
but it seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth, like
the six fat steers. She followed a small ravine for longer than she
had intended, sat for a while in a sunny opening high along the
breast of Mystery, and sidled back toward the west again.
And here it was that two men far above looked down and saw her with
ejaculations of delight.
“Well, if this ain’t luck!” said Provine grinning, “then I’m a liar!
I thought this morning when Arnold handed us that last bunch of
instructions that he was due for once to come out th’ little end of
th’ horn. I didn’t see how any human was goin’ to be able to carry
them out. I didn’t think we’d ever get near enough to get her and do
it on th’ q. t. But she’s brought herself to us!”
“If she’s armed,” said Caldwell shortly, “it’s not time yet to crow.
I think she’d fight.”
“Fight, hell!” said the other, “she don’t believe in fightin’. She’s
religious. We’ll pick her up too easy an’ present her to th’ Boss
with our compliments.”
An hour later Nance, riding along a dim trail made by the traveling
hoofs of deer, came out above a spring in a pretty glade.
She was warm and thirsty, so she dismounted and pushing back her hat
from her sweated forehead, knelt on the spring’s lip and putting her
face to the limpid water, drank long and eagerly a foot from
Buckskin’s muzzle.
As she straightened up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand,
she caught a sound where had been deep silence before—the sound of
something moving, the rattle of accoutrements, and turning quickly,
still upon her knees, she looked up into the grinning face of Sud
Provine, the frowning one of the Sky Line foremen.
“By Jing!” said Provine wonderingly, “never havin’ seen you outside
that there ol’ bonnet of yours I didn’t know how purty you was! Them
eyes now—they’re right blue, ain’t they? An’ that wide mouth—all wet
where you stopped wipin’ it——”
“You damn fool!” said Caldwell disgustedly, “shut up and mind the
business entrusted to you. Miss Allison,” he said to Nance, “you’re
just the person we wanted to see. We were sent this morning to fetch
you to Sky Line, so you may as well go along sensibly, for we’ll
take you any way.”
Nance rose to her feet.
A pink flush came slowly up along her throat to dye her cheeks and
chin. The slow heave inside her which she knew for the dangerous
“stirrings” seemed to slow the beating of her heart to a ponderous
stroke.
“Then you’ll have to take me,” she said curtly, “for I’ll not ride a
step with any one from Sky Line.”
She swung into her saddle and struck her heels to Buckskin’s sides
in a forlorn hope of escape—little Buckskin, stocky, slow and
faithful.
Provine laughed again and dashed forward with a leap of his grey
Silvertip that put him alongside in a second.
“Ain’t no use, purty,” he said and caught her rein.
He turned the little horse up the slope, Caldwell fell in close
behind and in a matter of two minutes Nance Allison was a prisoner
headed for Sky Line Ranch.
The pink flush was gone entirely from her face, leaving it pale as
wax. Her lips were faintly ashen.
“You needn’t be so scared,” said the irrepressible Provine, “we
won’t hurt you.”
The girl turned her eyes upon him and they were black with the
dilation of the pupils which always accompanied extreme emotion in
her.
“Scared?” she said thickly, “I was never less scared in my life.”
With the words she was conscious of a passionate longing for the
feel of her Pappy’s old gun in her hands.
“Help me, Lord!” she whispered inaudibly, “Oh, my God, be not far
from me!”
They followed no trail, but cut through thicket and glade in a
lifting angle well calculated to bring them out at the cluster of
buildings at the foot of Rainbow Cliff.
This was new country to Nance.
She had never been so high on Mystery Ridge.
She noticed how the buck-brush and manzanita had given place to yew
and pine and fir tree, how the slants steepened sharply as they
neared the summit.
She had told the truth when she said she was not frightened.
There was no fear in her, only a deep and surging anger that seemed
to make her lungs labor for sufficient air. Her usually smiling lips
were set together in a thin line.
To a student of physiognomy she would have presented an appearance
of volcanic repression, her very calmness would have been a danger
signal.
But the two men who formed her guard were not of sufficient mental
keenness to read the silent signs.
So, in silence, save for Provine’s occasional jesting observations,
they climbed the breast of the great ridge and presently struck into
the well-worn trail which led direct to Sky Line.
The sun was well over toward the west and the towering rock-face was
resplendent in its magic tints when they rode out of the clump of
pines and saw the ranch house sitting low and spreading above its
high veranda, in the open.
At the broad steps to the right Nance was ordered to dismount.
Provine took Buckskin and Caldwell motioned her to ascend the steps.
With her head up and her mouth tight shut Nance Allison strode
forward into the stronghold of her enemies.
The door was open, and she saw first only a pale darkness within as
she stopped on the threshold.
Then, pushed forward by the foreman with a none too gentle hand, her
eyes slowly became accustomed to the shadowy interior and in spite
of herself they widened with amazement at the splendor she beheld.
Sky Line was famed for its luxury, but most of this fame was
hearsay. Nance knew instantly that it was pitifully inadequate.
The broad windows were shaded with tasseled satin drapes.
On the walls hung great paintings, deep and glowing with priceless
art. Huge chairs, their rounded arms and rolling backs covered with
velvet in pale shades of violet and orchid, sank their feet into the
pile of moss green carpet, while here and there gleamed the cool
whiteness of marble. This was the Inner Room. Beyond it opened that
plainer one wherein Kate Cathrew did her every-day routine of work
at the dark wood desk.
A man was sitting on a broad couch, a cigarette in his fingers. He
was a stranger to Nance, a stranger to the country, but she
catalogued him swiftly as the man from New York of whom all Nameless
had heard. He was slim and fair skinned, and the grey eyes, set
rather close together across the arch of the high-bridged nose, were
the sharpest she had ever seen in a human. A fox she had once seen
caught in a trap had had just such eyes.
They were cold and appraising, without a spark of kindness.
In one of the gorgeous chairs Kate Cathrew, dressed like a princess,
sat bolt upright.
At sight of Nance in her faded garments, straight and defiant in her
controlled anger, her handsome face flushed beneath its artistry.
“Ah!” she said, like a vixen, “get—out—of—that—door. Step over to
the right a bit, you obscure the light.”
The big girl did not move.
She stood with her hat pulled down above her narrowed eyes, one hand
on her hip.
“If you’ve got anything to say to me,” she said coldly, “say it.”
Kate Cathrew leaped to her feet, but the man put out a hand and
touched her.
As if a spring had been released she sank down, obeying that calm
touch like an automaton.
“Miss—ah—Allison,” said Arnold, “there is no need for dramatics.
Neither will they avail you. We wanted to see you—to talk business
with you. So we sent for you.”
“So I see,” said Nance, “or rather you kidnapped me.”
“Not so decided, please. We don’t like such words. They
are—ah—crude, I might say.”
“Not half so crude as you will find the methods of Nameless when
this gets out, I guess,” said Nance. “Heaven knows I don’t amount to
much, but I am likely to be a torch for a fire that’s smouldering.”
“We have extinguishers,” smiled Arnold. “Sky Line is a pretty fire
department, if I do say it. The thing for you to do just now
is—think, I’ll give you ten minutes.”
“I don’t need them,” said Nance. “I’ve thought for several
years—about my father’s death—my brother’s crippled body—my missing
cattle—my burned stacks—and many other things. I’m thinking now
about Sheriff Selwood—and Bossick’s latest loss.”
The man’s face hardened, yet a reluctant admiration drew a slight
smile across it.
“You take liberties, Miss Allison. Are you not—speaking in jest—a
little—ah—afraid to speak so broadly?”
Nance laughed bitterly, shifting on her feet in their worn boots.
“Afraid? No—not of you—nor of your hired rustlers—nor of Cattle
Kate, there, with her paint and her tempers. I’m not afraid of
anything but the wrath of God.”
At that Arnold laughed outright.
“You have something yet to learn, I see. Very well, since you do not
care to think I will outline briefly your situation. You know, of
course, that you are at present in the power of Sky Line Ranch.
Reasoning backward you will come to the conclusion that there is a
primal cause for this. Reasoning forward you will know that there is
something which you can do for Sky Line, which it wants of you.”
“Of course,” said Nance, “the whole country knows that—my flats on
the river.”
Arnold frowned.
He did not like that answer.
“And how, may I ask, does the country know this?”
“It knows what has happened to me for several years now—and it
judges the faces of your riders and their boss.”
“If you please, we’ll leave Miss Cathrew out of this,” said Arnold
crisply.
“Yes?” asked Nance. “She’s been the backbone of my troubles—under
you, no doubt—and it isn’t likely I’ll leave her out. If you have
anything to say to me I’d advise you to say it and get it over
before Nameless comes hunting me.”
“All Nameless may come hunting you, Miss Allison,” returned the man,
“but it will not find you. Now put your wits in order. Sky Line
wants those flats on the river—and means to have them. We don’t do
things by halves. What we undertake we finish. The time has come for
decisive action. You have had many—ah—hints to vacate and have
foolishly disregarded them. That is like a woman. A man would have
gone long ago.”
“Not any man,” interrupted Nance, “my Pappy didn’t.”
“No?” said Arnold cruelly. “Is he here?”
Quick tears misted the girl’s eyes, but the slowly throbbing anger
burned them out.
“Yes,” she said promptly, “and always will be—at the foot of our
mountain—and in Bud and me. He has not yet been conquered.”
Arnold dropped his dead cigarette into a tall brass receptacle, rose
and stepped into the other room. He picked something from the desk
there and came back.
“We come to cases,” he said sharply. “I have here a properly made
out deed, conveying to Miss Cathrew for the consideration of one
dollar, the quarter-section of land herein described, lying along
Nameless River, owned by the widow of John Allison, deceased, who
took up said land under the homestead act. This paper needs only the
name of John Allison’s widow and two witnesses to make it a legal
transfer of property. I am a notary. We can supply the witnesses—the
highly important and necessary signature of John Allison’s widow you
will obligingly furnish—at a price.”
Nance’s eyes were studying his face all the while he was speaking.
They were black and narrow, without a visible trace of their serene
blue. Now the lower lid came up across the excited iris like the
blade of a guillotine.
“Let me understand you clearly,” she said, “you are asking me to
forge my Mammy’s name to a deed to give away her home land—the land
her husband patented and left her as her all? Is this what you are
asking me?”
“Exactly,” said Arnold, “but don’t forget the condition—at a price,
I said, you know—at—a price.”
Nance swept off her hat and struck it down against her knee. A laugh
broke stiffly on her tallow-white face.
“If I could swear,” she said, “I’d tell you where to go, and what I
thought you were. You may consider yourself told as it is.”
Arnold became coldly grave.
“You refuse?”
“What do you think I do? Put your wits in order!”
The man turned and struck a bell which stood on a rosewood pedestal.
Minnie Pine responded with suspicious promptness.
“Send me Provine and Big Basford,” said Arnold briefly, and the girl
departed.
The man did not speak again, nor did Nance.
Kate Cathrew sat still in her luxurious chair, her baleful black
eyes traveling over the girl from head to foot with bitter interest.
There came a shuffle and rattle of spur and the two Sky Line riders
stood in the doorway of the room beyond, having come through the
kitchen.
“Miss Allison,” said Arnold, “I own the men of Sky Line, how or why
is unimportant. What I tell them to do, they do. Am I not right,
men?”
Provine nodded easily.
Big Basford spoke sullenly.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“All right. Now, my girl, consider. There is on Sky Line a secret
place——”
“I’ve always thought so,” said Nance decidedly.
“Be quiet. A place which the whole of Nameless is not likely to
find, so mysteriously is its entrance hidden. One could live there
for a lifetime undiscovered—or be taken out as if on wings——”
“Like Bossick’s disappearing steers!”
Arnold was exasperated, but held his temper.
“Exactly,” he said, “if you will. Now consider again. You are a
pretty fine specimen of a woman—quite likely to appeal to
men—especially to men long denied feminine companionship—like
Basford there.”
Nance flung a glance at Basford. His sullen, lowering face set in
its thicket of beard with the red-rimmed eyes above was enough to
chill the heart of any woman. The great ape-like body added its own
threat. Her own intrepid spirit felt a shock of horror, but that
deep anger in her left little room for fear.
She seemed to hear again Brand Fair’s exultant words: “You’ll never
leave the line, Nance, never in this world!”
With a dogged courage heaving through the anger she looked back at
Arnold.
“Well?” she said.
“Big Basford hasn’t had a woman of his own for many moons, I know.
Now—will you sign this deed—or will you go with Basford to Rainbow’s
Pot—his blushing bride?”
Nance’s breast was heaving. Great breaths dilated her lungs and
whistled out again. Her hands were shut tight, the fingers on her
hat brim crimping the weathered felt.
She thought of her Mammy—of Bud—of their long labor and the
hardships they had borne. She thought of the cabin on Nameless—of
its white scrubbed floors—its homely comforts—and all it meant to
them and to her. It was her Pappy’s dream of empire—it had been
hers. She thought of Brand Fair and of Sonny. Of Brand and Bud who
would sure start the fire to burning in all the lonely reaches at
news of her disappearance—and—
“I’m as good as most men,” she said, “to take care of myself. I
wouldn’t sign that paper to save you and all your rustler nest from
eternal damnation! And that’s my last word.”
Arnold snapped his fingers.
“Enough,” he said, “we’ll see what a night in Rainbow’s Pot will do
for you. Basford—my compliments. I give you the beautiful lady.
Properly disciplined she’ll make you a fine wife.”
But Big Basford shook his unkempt head.
“She’s a yellow woman,” he said contemptuously, “I don’t want her,”
and his hungry eyes went helplessly toward the dark splendor of Kate
Cathrew in her velvet chair.
Provine surged forward, a sudden excitement in his snaky orbs.
“_I_ do,” he cried, “try me!”
Arnold laughed.
“Good! I like an eager lover. _You_ may guard Miss Allison inside,
and Basford shall take the place I had intended for you outside the
Flange. We’ll talk business some more tomorrow. We bid you adieu,
Miss Allison. I hope by morning you will be more amenable to
reason.”
Without a backward glance Nance turned and strode away between her
guards. Resistance was useless, she well knew.
“‘In my distress I cried unto the Lord and He heard me,’” she
thought courageously. “‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from
whence cometh my help.’”
“One moment,” called Arnold, still laughing, “remember that the
Secret Way tells no tales—and that Provine has long wanted to go
back to Texas.”
The girl turned and glanced back.
“The hand of God,” she said calmly, “is ever before my face. Neither
you nor yours can do me harm for the Lord shall preserve me from all
evil, He shall preserve my soul. And He did not make me strong for
nothing,” she added “I shall leave it all to Him.”