Bent came one step nearer, waving a trembling hand at Cortland, who had
returned and was trying to restrain him. But the General shook him off.
"We dropped those civil suits because we thought it was wise to do so,
and because we knew that in time we would be in a position to win in
other ways. There are other processes of law besides the civil ones, and
those are the ones we choose to take. Before you can leave Denver you'll
be arrested on charges of abduction and conspiracy. I suppose you know
what that means?"
Jeff grew a shade paler, his eyes blazing their resentment at the old
man who stood tottering before him.
"You'd do that--you?" cried Jeff, hoarsely, struggling hard to keep
himself under control. "You'd hire men to send me to the penitentiary
because I've balked your plans--because I've beaten you in a fair fight
against odds;--_you?--you?_" Wray clenched his fist and took a step
forward, but Larry Berkely seized him by the arm, and Cortland Bent
stepped between.
General Bent pushed his son aside.
"Go, Cort--call McCabe. We'll see----"
At this moment there was an interruption.
"Wait a moment, Cort, please," said a voice.
The door into Mr. Janney's parlor had opened suddenly, and Mrs. Cheyne
had entered the room. And while the General eyed her angrily, too amazed
to speak, she strode quickly forward into the group and continued
quietly,
"There has been a mistake--a terrible mistake. If you'll let me
explain----"
General Bent was the first to recover his senses. "Rita! Leave the room
at once!" he commanded.
"No," she said firmly, "not until you hear what I have to say----"
"I can't listen now--another time," he fumed.
"No, now. I'm going to save you from doing something that you'll regret
the rest of your life."
While the General questioned, Jeff had turned and seized her by the arm,
his eyes pleading.
"Rita!" he muttered, "You know? .... For God's sake, don't! ... Not
now!"
[Illustration: "'Rita!' he muttered, 'You know?'"]
"Yes," she said firmly. "No one else will. I must."
Cornelius Bent and Cortland had watched Wray in amazement. His face had
suddenly grown white and drawn.
"You have no right to tell him, Rita," he persisted. "It's my
secret!--not yours! You can't! I tell you."
But she eluded him and faced the General.
"You must listen to me, Cousin Cornelius."
Curtis Janney, who had been watching Wray closely, now interposed.
"Let her speak, General. It seems to be something of more than usual
importance."
"Very well," he growled, "but be brief."
"I can't tell it here," she insisted. "I must speak to you alone."
"Alone? Why?"
"It's a private matter. Will you come into the next room, there's no
one there----"
She turned and was moving toward the door when Jeff's large figure
blocked the way.
"You don't know what you're doing, Rita," he whispered. "You can't. I
forbid it." But Berkely, who had been watching the General, took Jeff
by the arm and held him by main force.
"Stand aside, sir," said General Bent, roughly brushing by. "If there's
something you want concealed, it's something I want to hear." And he
followed, banging the door behind him.
Jeff made a movement as though he would follow--then turned toward
Cortland Bent and Janney, who had watched this extraordinary change in
the demeanor of their enemy with wonder and some curiosity. Jeff stared
at them wildly and took up his hat, saying in a strange voice,
"Come, Larry, I must get away from here--at once," and, opening the
door, he fled madly down the corridor.
Berkely paused a moment. "We have no intention of dodging any issues,"
he said quietly. "If any of you gentlemen want to see Mr. Wray or me,
you can find us both at the Wetherall Ranch to-morrow."
*CHAPTER XXVI*
*THE CALL OF THE HEART*
Larry caught up with Jeff outside the elevator shaft, where he found him
striding up and down like a caged beast. Jeff entered the car in a daze
and followed Larry blindly across the huge lobby downstairs and out of
doors to a motor which was waiting for them at the curb. Larry was still
bewildered at the surprising conclusion of their visit and eyed his
companion sharply, but Jeff sat with folded arms, looking neither to the
right nor left as they whirled through the city streets and out into the
highroad. The hunted look in Jeff's eyes warned Larry not to speak, so
he sat beside his partner patiently and waited.
Suddenly, without moving, Jeff's great hand shot out and clinched
Larry's knee like a vise.
"He--he's my father, Larry," said Jeff hoarsely, "my father--do you
understand? I didn't want him to know."
Larry put his hand over Jeff's and gripped it hard. He knew what other
people in Mesa City knew of Jeff's birth, but no words occurred to him.
The information had taken his breath away.
"I didn't want him to know," Jeff went on. "I wanted to wait--to tell
him myself when things had broken right for us. I wanted to win--to
show him I was his master--not to come crawling and licking his boots
for mercy. I'll not do it now, either, by G--d. He can break me to
bits, but he'll never own me--I never was his--I never will be----"
"He hasn't broken us yet, Jeff. He can't keep us out of Pueblo. We're
going to win, I tell you."
"We've got to win, Larry," groaned Jeff. "We've got to win. That
conspiracy charge----"
"Mere piffle," said Larry. "Don't worry. They've bought Fritz Weyl.
He's not a competent witness. I can prove it."
Jeff sank back again, his gaze on the mountains. "He'd send me to Canon
City--to the penitentiary--if he could--and he's--my father."
Larry bit his lip, but didn't reply, for his mind was working rapidly.
He had a perspective on the situation which had been denied to Jeff, and
the vista did not seem unpleasant. He was prepared to fight for Jeff's
interests and his own to the bitter end, but he was too keen a lawyer
and too sound a philosopher not to know the value of compromise, and, in
spite of himself, it was his legal mind which grasped the essentials of
Jeff's relation to their common enemy. What would be the effect of this
astonishing revelation on the mind of General Bent? He did not dare
speak of this to Jeff, who in his present mood could only misinterpret
him; but he was still thinking of it when the car drew up at the steps
at Wetherall's big bungalow palace. Gretchen and their hostess met the
arrivals at the door, and Jeff followed them in slowly. He wanted to be
alone again to think--and here was sanctuary. Gretchen paused at the
entrance to the morning room, and, taking Jeff by the arm, opened the
door, pushed him in quickly, and closed it behind him. And while Jeff
was wondering what it all meant he heard a step beside him, felt the
timid touch of a hand on his sleeve, and found his eyes looking down
into Camilla's.
"Jeff," she was whispering, "they told me you needed me, and so I came
to you. Do you want me?"
He looked at her mistily, for the misfortunes which hung about him had
dulled his perceptions. It seemed strange that she should be there, but
he experienced no surprise at seeing her.
"Yes, I want you," he said absently. "Of course I want you." He
fingered the hand on his sleeve and patted it gently, as he would have
done a child's, but she saw with pain that the tragedy of his birth now
overshadowed all other issues. If he was thinking of her at all, it was
of the other Camilla--the Camilla he had known longest--the gingerbread
woman that she had been. It hurt her, but she knew that it was her own
fault that he could not think otherwise. She took his hand in her own
warm fingers, and held it closely against her breast.
"Jeff, dear, look at me. I'm not the woman that I used to be. I'm the
real Camilla, now--the Camilla you always hoped I'd be. I'm changed.
Something has happened to me. I want you to understand--I'm not a
graven image now, Jeff, I'm just--your wife."
He looked at her, bewildered, but in her eyes he saw that what she said
was true. They were different eyes from the ones he had
known--softened, darker--and looked up into his own pleadingly, wet with
compassion, the tender, compelling eyes of a woman whose soul is
awakened. She released his hand and threw her arms around his neck,
lifting her face to his. "Don't you understand, Jeff? I want you. I
want you. I've never wanted anybody else."
His arms tightened about her, and their lips met. She was tangible
now--no mere image to be worshipped from afar, but a warm idol of flesh
and blood, to be taken into one's heart and enshrined there.
"Camilla, girl. Is it true?"
"Yes," she whispered, "it has always been true--only I didn't know it.
I love you, Jeff. I love you--oh, how I love you! Better than
myself--better than all the world. Do you realize it now?"
He took her head between his hands and held it away so that he might
look deep into her eyes and be sure. Their lashes dropped once or twice
and hid them, but that made them only the more lovely when they opened
again. For in them he read the whole measure of his happiness and hers.
"Yes, it's true. I know it now. You've never looked at me like
that--never before." He bent her head forward and would have kissed
her--as he sometimes used to do--on the forehead--but she would not let
him.
"No, not that kiss--the cold kiss of homage, Jeff. I don't want to be
venerated. You're not to kiss me like that again--ever. My
lips--they're yours, Jeff--my lips ... No one else--no, never ...
they're yours."
So he took them, and in their sweetness for a while found forgetfulness
of his bitterness. At last she led him to a big chair by the window,
made him sit, and sank on the floor at his feet.
"You're not going back to Kansas?" he asked anxiously.