A FAIR FIELD AND NO FAVORS!
It was very pleasant at the C Bar ranch when the bluebirds came again.
Under the magical touch of the revivifying spring the buds were bursting
with the sheer joy of living and the earth was soft with thankfulness.
The cool, balmy air of the lower mesas was rich with the delicate
fragrance of the greening things, and higher up the breath of the
canyons was faintly redolent of the balsamic incense of pine and fir.
The meadows, lush with the largess of the melting snow fields above,
resounded to the liquid gurgling of myriads of red and yellow-shouldered
blackbirds wheeling and swinging over them in clouds of parti-colored
animation; the streams, no longer mere empty stretches of thirsty sand
and dry white bowlders, were roaring the lusty pean of well-filled
bellies and over-flushed veins. Far and near the land was dotted with
slowly-moving cattle, nipping gratefully at the succulent grass tips,
their formerly lank and rough-haired flanks distended with the young
year's generous bounty. In the barnyards was a scurrying of yellow balls
of down as the clucking hens told of some juicy tidbit wriggling for
their delectation. Everywhere was new young life, and all things were
fat with promise.
Scoured by the strenuous hand of winter, the ranch premises were
delightfully clean and sweet; the fences and corrals, repaired and
new-built, looked trim, strong and capable; the ditches were running
bank-full in readiness for duty in the arid days to come. Everything
betokened thrift and good management, and Douglass, looking at it with
critical approvement, knew that so far he had made good.
"She nevah looked bettah," was McVey's satisfied comment as he sat on
his horse on the crest of the little divide overlooking the ranch. "Yuh
suah hev got thu layout well in hand. We'll hev hay to buhn this fall."
"There was too much burned last year," said Douglass grimly; "we'll try
to put it to better use this time. I wonder what's become of him." It
was the first reference he had made to Matlock for many weeks. Red spat
indifferently.
"Pulled hes freight fer good, I reckon. Mont Butler told me he saw him
in Laramie two weeks afteh yuh broke jail." Both men chuckled
reminiscently. "He were full o' talk, as usual, but I reckon thet hes
blowin' won't cause no cyclones in these yeah pahts. I feel real bad to
think thet he didn't stop long enough to say goo'by to me thet night."
As they rode slowly in to lunch, warned by the blowing of a horn in the
hands of the impatient Abbie, Douglass was unusually taciturn. As they
unbridled their horses in the barn he said suddenly:
"Red, I'm going to take my vacation to-morrow; will be gone for a month.
Day after to-morrow Mr. and Miss Carter will be at Tin Cup--got a
letter from him last week. I want you to go and meet them. Better take
the extra wagon for their luggage, as well as the buckboard and Miss
Carter's roan; she wants to ride in. The buckboard is for Carter and a
woman friend they are bringing with them. Of course you will be in
charge while I'm gone. I'm going prospecting and I'll stake you in if I
find a gold mine." He said it as a matter of course; these two had
become inseparable in most things.
Red grunted suspiciously; he was evidently not so well pleased with
prospective riches as he logically should have been.
"Yuh are shore yuh ain't goin' to try an' develop a lead mine in
somebody's haid oveh to Laramie?" His tone was almost peevish.
Douglass gave him a reassuring thump amidships. "Not this trip, old man.
I am going over to the head of the Roaring Fork to trace up some float I
found there two years ago. I'd like mighty well to have you come along,
but we both can't leave at the same time, you know."
"It's very rich float," he said that night as they sat discussing final
arrangements. "If I ever find that lead, Red, our working days are over.
How'd you like to be a bloated bond-holder, eh, old-timer?"
Red grinned skeptically. "I'm from Texas. Yuh've got ter put it in mah
hand."
"But in case we should strike it?" insisted the other with amused
curiosity.
Red hung his belt and scabbard on the peg above his bunk; then he hung
his sombrero over them, taking considerable time to their satisfactory
disposal. But his head was thrown well back and his reply was almost a
challenge in its curt incisiveness:
"Then I reckon I wouldn't have to baig what ribbons I took a fancy to."
Douglass's eyes narrowed to mere slits and he breathed very softly; then
his brows unbent again, and he laughed cynically. "That isn't very
complimentary to--to wearers of the ribbons, Red. Do you really think
money can buy that kind of thing?"
"No, I reckon it wouldn't in her case," said McVey slowly, "but it would
give a man thu right to sit in thu game." Then he raised his head
proudly, sincerity, truth and resolution glowing in every lineament of
his strong, bronzed face: "I love her," he said simply, "an' some day,
when I've got thu right to, I'm goin' ter tell her so. An' now that I've
been fool enough to let yuh fo'ce my hand, I wan't yuh to know that I
only ask a faih field an' no favohs. To hell with yuh mine."
He flung angrily out of the house, his spurs clinking as he went. For
quite a time Douglass sat in statuesque silence; then he, too, went out
into the night, wending his way to the office, where he wrote far into
the wee sma' hours. Finally he dismounted his fountain pen and reread
carefully the longer of the four documents on which he had been engaged.
They were respectively a complete report of the stewardship, a receipt
for one thousand dollars covering his four months' salary (he took that
sum in cash from the little safe), a short letter to Mr. Carter, and his
resignation. He sealed them all in one envelope, which he addressed and
confided to Abbie's care for prompt delivery to Carter on his arrival.
Then he went back to the bunkhouse and in ten minutes was fast asleep.
As he pulled out in the morning Red noted that the horses which he rode
and packed were Douglass's private property. Just before mounting he
said, holding McVey's fist in a cordial grip, his other hand upon the
brawny shoulder:
"Red, I have decided to make my vacation a permanent one. I am not
coming back. You are in full charge now and naturally will be retained
in that capacity. You are a square, straight, _white_ man, and I am
leaving you a free field. I wish you luck." He rode away, McVey watching
him out of sight with wonder and consternation written all over his
honest face.
Over at Tin Cup he tarried long enough to bait and rest his horses and
bid his friends good-by, confiding to them the scant information that he
was tired of ranch work and was going to try his luck at mining. He made
all kinds of exaggerated promises to little Eulalie as she clung to him
sobbingly, and solemnly pledged himself to kill a bear for Bud, who
wanted the hide to make a pair of _chaparejos_.
He remained over night in town, leaving rather late the next day. The
animals were fresh and the going good, nevertheless he did not get so
far away but what the sweet face of Grace Carter glowed almost life-size
in the field of his powerful prism binoculars as she sprang expectantly
out of the stage and looked eagerly around with a keen disappointment
growing in her eyes as McVey and Abbie alone appeared to welcome her.
He saw her shake hands cordially with the former and a sneer disfigured
his mouth; but it involuntarily dissipated as she was buried in the hug
of the old woman who was patting her on the shoulder and crying for joy.
He suddenly changed the focus of the glass as another face came in view;
Robert Carter was assisting a woman to alight and as she reached terra
firma the declining sun rays irradiated her face sharply. The man licked
his lips nastily: "Hell!" he muttered with a fierce regret, "why didn't
I know that this was coming? Guess I've overlooked the best bet of my
life." And that, with Ken Douglass, was a sin.
He watched them get under way for the ranch, and followed them with his
glass until the distance swallowed them up. He had a broadside view for
nearly the whole distance, as their course lay at nearly right angles to
his line of vision. Occasionally he looked at the equestrienne on the
prancing roan, but for the greater part of the time the lenses were
centered on the face and form of the woman in the buckboard.
For the first time in his life Red McVey had dodged a direct issue when
Carter had asked him why Douglass had not met them in person. In
response to that question he had equivocally replied that Douglass had
gone away on his vacation and had delegated the duty to him. He was
devoutly glad that he was not forced into particulars and avoided any
embarrassing questions by devoting himself assiduously to the baggage.
When he opened the envelope which Abbie handed to him after supper,
Carter's irritation passed all bounds. With a forced politeness he
excused himself to his guest and went into the office, where he was
shortly joined by his sister, who intuitively surmised that something
was wrong. He almost thrust the letter into her hand, asking angrily:
"What the devil is the meaning of all this?"
She scanned the page hurriedly, her face paling as she read. It was very
short, but concise:
"DEAR MR. CARTER:--
"In leaving your service I desire to thank you for the many
courtesies enjoyed at your hands, and for the flattering confidence
you have ever reposed in me. Enclosed please find a full statement
of assets and liabilities which I ask you will confirm at your
earliest convenience. I have done my best and I trust that my
services have been satisfactory.
"Mr. McVey is perfectly competent to assume full management of the
outfit and I sincerely hope that you will consider him favorably in
that connection; he is absolutely honest and dependable, and is,
besides, by far the best cowman of my acquaintance. I am
recommending him without either his knowledge or consent.
"I have paid myself out of the funds in hand; please find voucher
inclosed.
"Wishing the C-- unbounded prosperity, and yourself the happiness
and good fortune you deserve,
Yours very respectfully,
"KENNETH M. DOUGLASS."
Never a word as to his underlying reasons; not an intimation of his
future plans and purposes, not even a conventional word of farewell to
her. She laid the letter quietly on the table.
"Really, Robert, your question is astonishing," she said in cold
asperity to his reiterated demand. "How could I possibly know of the
reasons actuating Mr. Douglass? He has never taken me into his
confidence and so I am more in the dark than you, his professed best
friend, should logically be. Of course I share your regret at losing so
valuable an employe; but assuredly I am not responsible for it in any
way."
Then she swept out haughtily to the entertainment of her guest, leaving
him standing there furious and altogether unconvinced. He went over to
the bunkhouse to interrogate McVey, but could get no enlightenment from
that taciturn individual, who really knew nothing of Douglass's motives.
So the next morning he made a virtue of necessity and offered the
position to Red, who accepted it without comment, merely observing:
"I'll try to please yuh."
On leaving her brother, Grace went straight to Mrs. Brevoort with no
little embarrassment in her manner. She realized now that both she and
Robert had talked a great deal about their recalcitrant manager and she
was at a loss how to explain the anomalous situation. But she went the
best possible way about it, straight to the point.
"I am afraid that your proposed conquest of all the cowboys on the ranch
will have to be deferred in at least one particular instance, Connie,"
she said with a fine attempt at humorous condolence; "the most eligible
one, our manager, Mr. Douglass, having severed his connection with the C
Bar, so Bobbie informs me. I am genuinely sorry, for he was 'the noblest
Roman of them all'!"
It was cleverly done; so cleverly, in fact, that Constance Brevoort was
completely nonplused, astute as she was. Long ago she had arrived at a
conclusion not borne out by the seeming indifference of her hostess, who
was placidly smiling at the regal beauty in the cozy armchair before the
cheerful pinon fire. Under the cover of a pretended pout she watched
Grace sharply.
"I have not learned the particulars yet," continued Grace airily, "but I
rather suspect that he got forewarned somehow and has beaten a masterly
retreat while yet in possession of all his faculties. Seriously, dear, I
am sorry that you did not meet him; he is a very attractive man and a
forceful one. I am dubious of the outcome of a passage between you and
him, despite your proficiency in the gentle game of hearts." She was
laughing quite naturally now, if a little bitterly; there is much said
in jest that is meant in earnest.
Constance somehow detected the false note but gave no sign. She looked
up languidly. "Really, I am getting interested. Maybe it is only a
pleasure deferred. Is he handsome, this Sir Galahad of yours?" There was
a covert malice in the question that failed of its intent, for Grace
said steadily:
"Not handsome in the common acceptance of the term, perhaps, but the
manliest man I have ever seen."
"And you have seen so many," murmured the other comprehensively. "He
interests me more than ever. Is he irrevocably lost to me?"
"That," said Grace truthfully, "I cannot say. It's a small world, you
know, and strange things come to pass." She gave a little retrospective
pat to the head of Buffo, lying in her lap. "And some beautiful things
pass for ever." The antelope licked her cheek sympathetically as the
last sentence was breathed softly in his ear. Constance Brevoort,
unhearing that last piteous cry, smiled confidently.
"It will come to pass, without question. And then--who knows."
Carter entering at this juncture, the conversation was diverted to other
topics. Later that night as Mrs. Brevoort divested herself of the
surface paraphernalia of the sex, she smiled approvingly at the
revelations of the long cheval mirror in her dressing-room.
She was a handsome young matron of thirty, a perfect specimen of the
southern type of brunette, with black eyes and hair, and creamy skin.
Married at eighteen to Anselm Brevoort, a millionaire thirty years her
senior, she had lived the life of luxury and dissipation inseparable
from her social station, and was therefore naturally blase and a bit
enervated. Yet, as she stood there in the soft candle light, uncoiling
her luxuriant masses of hair, it was evident that excesses had left no
traces on her splendid physique.
Her marriage had been one of convenience purely; she had from the very
beginning frankly disavowed any love for the man who made her the
mistress of his establishment and the custodian of his honor, and the
waning years had not brought any accession of the tender passion.
Brevoort was a very unemotional man at the best and was wholly engrossed
in his business affairs, living for the better part of his time at the
clubs or abroad. She was therefore thrown a great deal on her own
resources for amusement, and it must be admitted that she made the most
of the many opportunities accorded to every beautiful woman in her
sphere. Her natural pride and discriminativeness had served her among
temptations that would have been disastrous to a weaker nature.
So it was that at the end of her "dolorous dozen" as she whimsically
called her years of marital anomaly, she had run the gamut of every
danger incident to such a career and had escaped without a scar. And her
self-confidence was commensurably great. It was her laughing boast that
no man had ever given her a sensation other than those of charity and
weariness, and she was irritatingly frank in her expressions to that
effect, even to her victims. Her visit to the Carter ranch was merely a
caprice, occasioned by Grace's enthusiastic laudations of her pet
western plainsmen and her mischievous intimation that beyond the Rockies
was a world impregnable to even the prowess of this female Alexander.
Grace was not a little alarmed at the prompt acceptance of her
inadvertent challenge by the finished coquette, who really had no design
whatever on her proteges but only utilized it as an excuse to get away
for a time from an environment productive of ennui. She had heartily
tired of the silly game and really welcomed the distraction of a new and
unique experience.
Nevertheless, she had gaily laid a wager with Grace that she would, in
less than the allotted two-months of her stay, bedeck her belt with the
scalp of every cowpuncher within a radius of ten miles from the C Bar.
And when, as the day of their departure for the West approached, Miss
Carter realized that Mrs. Brevoort was in earnest, she wished that she
had been less urgent in her conventional invitation: it is ever a
dubious venture, this turning of one's pet preserve over to the
questionable mercies of a skillful and calloused hunter.
Well, there was no danger now, she was thinking with a sad sinking of
heart, as she looked wistfully at a cluster of long-dried heart's-ease
in her escritoire. It was over and done with, and that chapter of her
life was closed forever. For Abbie had, in a fit of self-reproach, told
her of her taunt on that eventful night and she had instantly divined
his thoughts and deductions. Her first impulse had been to write him and
indignantly deny--what? He had not given voice to any such belief in her
duplicity, and how was she to assume that he entertained such a thought
without giving color and grounds for his suspicion? And then, again, he
had not left any address and it would be impossible to reach him by
mail. She knew him well enough to know that he would never again look
upon her willingly in his foolish and unjustified resentment, and the
probabilities of a consistent explanation were all against her. He had
never written her one word during her eastern sojourn; his letters had
been all of a purely business nature, curt and brief, always addressed
to her brother and only containing the conventionally-required
remembrances to herself. And now the over-wide gulf was forever
unbridgable. In her desolation and heartache she cried herself to
sleep.