A MAN'S WORD
When Lawler finally emerged from the schoolhouse door there was no one
about. Far down the street, in front of a building, he saw a group of
children. Lawler recognized the building as the Wolf Saloon--so named
because of the river that ran through the town. He had no doubt that
Singleton had entered the building--that would explain the presence of
the children in front of it.
But Lawler merely glanced toward town; he turned instantly and gazed
long into the great stretch of plain that ran eastward. He caught sight
of a dot on his right, so far away that it was dim in the haze of
distance, and he knew Ruth had followed his advice.
Lawler watched the dot until it vanished, and when he turned again--to
mount Red King--his color had returned, though something of the mighty
passion that had gripped him was still swimming in his eyes.
He sent Red King into town at a slow lope, not even looking toward the
Wolf as he passed it, but hearing subdued voices that seemed to die away
as he drew close.
He brought Red King to a halt in front of the brick building in which
Gary Warden had his office, dismounted, tied the horse to a hitching
rail and strode to an open doorway from which ran the stairs that led
to the second floor. A gilt sign on the open door advised him of the
location of Warden's office.
With one foot on the stairs, ready to ascend, Lawler heard a woman's
voice, floating downward, coming from the landing above:
"Well, good-bye Gary," said the voice; "I'll see you tonight."
Lawler heard a man's voice answering, the words unintelligible to him;
then the woman laughed, banteringly.
Then came the sound of a door closing, and the light tread of a woman's
foot on the stairs.
Lawler had halted when he heard the woman's voice; he now stepped back
in the narrow hallway, against the open door, to give the woman room to
pass him.
Turning his back to the stairs, unconcernedly waiting, subconsciously
realizing that the woman was descending, he gazed past the station
building to see the empty corrals on the other side of the railroad
track. His eyes narrowed with satisfaction--for there would be room for
the thousand head of cattle that Blackburn and the other men of the
Circle L outfit would bring to Willets in the morning. There would be no
delay, and no camp on the edge of town, awaiting the emptying of the
corral.
When he heard the woman's step on the bottom of the stairs he turned and
faced her. She was looking straight at him, and as their eyes met he saw
hers widen eloquently. She half paused as she started to pass him, and
it seemed to him that she was about to speak. He smiled gravely,
puzzled, hesitant, for her manner indicated that she knew him, or was
mistaking him for another. He paused also, and both stood for a fleeting
instant face to face, silent.
Lawler noted that the woman was beautiful, well dressed, with a manner
unmistakably eastern. He decided that she had mistaken him for someone
of her acquaintance, for he felt assured he never had seen her before.
He bowed, saying lowly:
"I beg your pardon, ma'am; I reckon it's a case of mistaken identity."
"Why," she returned, laughing; "I thought sure I knew you. Are you quite
certain that I don't?"
There was guile in her eyes; so far back that he could not see it, or so
cleverly veiled with something else that he was not aware of it. It
seemed to him that the eyes were merely engaging, and frankly curious.
He did not see the admiration in them, the elation, and the demure
coquetry.
"I reckon you'll have to be the judge of that, ma'am. You certainly have
the advantage of me."
"You are--" Her pause was eloquent.
"I am Kane Lawler, ma'am."
He looked into her eyes for the disappointment he expected to find
there, and saw only eager interrogation.
"Oh, then I don't know you. I beg your pardon."
"I reckon there's no harm done," smiled Lawler.
He bowed again, noting that she looked intently at him, her eyes still
wide and filled with something he could not fathom. And when halfway up
the stairs he looked back, curious, subtly attracted to the woman, he
saw her standing in the doorway, ready to go out, watching him over her
shoulder. He laughed and opened the door of Gary Warden's office.
Warden was sitting at his desk. He turned at the sound of the door
opening, and faced Lawler inquiringly.
Perhaps in Lawler's eyes there still remained a trace of the cold
passion that had seized him in the schoolhouse; it may have been that
what Lawler had heard of Gary Warden was reflected in his gaze--a doubt
of Warden's honorableness. Or perhaps in Lawler's face he observed signs
which told him that before him stood a man of uncommon character.
At any rate, Warden was conscious of a subtle pulse of antagonism; a
quick dislike--and jealousy.
Warden could not have told what had aroused the latter emotion, though
he was subconsciously aware that it had come when he had noted the
rugged, manly strength of Lawler's face; that the man was attractive,
and that he admired him despite his dislike.
That knowledge aroused a dull rage in him. His cheeks flushed, his eyes
glowed with it.
But Warden's smile contradicted his thoughts. He managed that so
cleverly that many men, watching him, might have been deceived.
In Lawler's keen eyes, however, glowed understanding--a knowledge of
Warden's character that vindicated the things he had heard about the
man--the tentative suggestions that Warden was not a worthy successor to
Lefingwell.
That knowledge, though, would not have bothered him, had he not seen in
Warden's eyes something that seemed to offer him a personal affront. As
quickly as Warden had veiled his eyes from Lawler, the latter had seen
the dislike in them, the antagonism, and the rage that had stained his
cheeks.
He had come to Warden's office with an open mind; now he looked at the
man with a saturnine smile in which there was amused contempt. Assuredly
the new buyer did not "measure up" to Jim Lefingwell's "size," as
Blackburn had suggested.
Therefore, aware that he could not meet this man on the basis of
friendliness that had distinguished all his relations with Jim
Lefingwell, Lawler's voice was crisp and businesslike:
"You're Gary Warden?"
At the latter's short, affirmative nod, Lawler continued:
"I'm Kane Lawler, of the Circle L. I've come to make arrangements with
you about buying my cattle. I've got eight thousand head--good clean
stock. They're above the average, but I'm keeping my word with Jim
Lefingwell, and turning them in at the market price."
"That's twenty-five dollars, delivered at the railroad company's corral,
in town here."
He looked straight at Lawler, his face expressionless except for the
slight smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth--which might have
been indicative of vindictiveness or triumph.
"Thirty," smiled Lawler. "That was the price Lefingwell agreed to pay."
Warden appeared to be blandly amused.
"Lefingwell agreed to pay thirty, you say? Well, Lefingwell always was a
little reckless. That's why my company asked for his resignation. But if
you have a written contract with Lefingwell--in which it appears that
Lefingwell acted for the company, why, of course we'll have to take your
stock at the contract price. Let me see it, if you please."
"There was no written contract; I had Jim Lefingwell's word--which was
all I ever needed."
"Lefingwell's word," smiled Warden. "Unfortunately, a man's word is not
conclusive proof."
"Meaning that Jim Lefingwell was lying when he told you he'd agreed to
pay thirty dollars for my stock this fall?"
"Oh, no. I don't insinuate against Lefingwell's veracity. But the
company requires a written agreement in a case like this--where the
former representative----"
"We won't argue that," interrupted Lawler. "Jim Lefingwell told me he'd
had a talk with you about my agreement with him, and Jim said you'd
carry it out."
"Mr. Lefingwell did not mention the matter to me."
"I'd hate to think Jim Lefingwell lied to me," said Lawler, slowly.
Warden's face grew crimson. "Meaning that I'm a liar, I suppose," he
said, his voice quavering with sudden passion.
Lawler's level gaze made him stiffen in his chair. Lawler's smile, cold
and mirthless, brought a pulse of apprehension through him, and Lawler's
voice, slow, clear, and distinct, forced the blood from his face,
leaving it pale:
"I don't let any man twist my words so that they mean something I don't
intend them to mean, Mister Man. If I intended to call you a liar, I'd
have said it to you mighty plain, so there'd be no doubt in your mind
about it. So far as I know, you are not a liar. I'm telling you this,
though: A man's word in this country has got to be backed by his
performances--and he's got to have memory enough to know when he gives
his word.
"I reckon that where you come from men give their word without knowing
it. Maybe that's what happened to you when Jim Lefingwell spoke to you
about his agreement with me. Anyway, I feel that charitable enough
toward you to advance that explanation. You can take that for what it
seems worth to you. And I won't be bothered any, no matter which way you
take it."
Lawler turned toward the door. On the threshold he paused, for Warden's
voice reached him.
"You'd better sell at twenty-five, Mr. Lawler."
Warden's voice was low and smooth; he seemed to have decided to accept
the "charity" offered him by Lawler. But there was mockery in his voice,
and his eyes were alight with cunning. In the atmosphere about him was
complacency which suggested that Warden knew exactly what he was doing;
that he had knowledge unsuspected by Lawler, and that he had no doubt
that, ultimately, Lawler would accept his offer.
"Not a steer at twenty-five," returned Lawler.
"That price means immediate shipment," pursued Warden. "The railroads
are having some trouble with their rolling stock--it is hard to get
cars. Some shippers are not getting them at all. And the shortage will
grow."
"Perhaps it will. I don't blame you for buying as low as you can. That's
business, Warden. I heard through Lew Brainard, of the Two Diamond, that
owners in the South Basin, over at Shotwell, were offered forty just
before the round-up. I was kicking myself for making that agreement with
Lefingwell at thirty. But I intended to keep my word with him. But I
feel mighty free, now, to sell where I can get the market price."
"Twenty-five is the market price," said Warden. "Just before the
round-up there was some nervousness, it is true; and some buyers were
offering forty--and they contracted for some at that price. But that was
before we made--" He hesitated, reddened, and then went on quickly,
plainly embarrassed, endeavoring to conceal his embarrassment by
lighting a cigar.
"It was before the market broke," he went on. "The market is glutted.
The West raised more cattle this season than ever before. There is no
demand and the price had to tumble. A good many cattle owners will be
glad to take twenty, and even fifteen, before long."
"But if there are no cars?" smiled Lawler.
Again he saw Warden's face redden.
"A shortage of cars would mean a shortage of cattle in the East, I
reckon," went on Lawler. "And a shortage of cattle would mean higher
prices for those that got through. But I'm not arguing--nor am I
accepting twenty-five for my cattle. I reckon I'll have to ship my stock
East."
"Well, I wish you luck," said Warden.
He turned his back to Lawler, bending over his desk.
Something in his voice--a hint of mockery tempered with rage--brought
Lawler to a pause as he crossed the threshold of the doorway. He turned
and looked back at Warden, puzzled, for it seemed to him that Warden was
defying him; and he seemed to feel the atmosphere of complacence that
surrounded the man. His manner hinted of secret knowledge--strongly; it
gave Lawler an impression of something stealthy, clandestine. Warden's
business methods were not like Lefingwell's. Lefingwell had been bluff,
frank, and sincere; there was something in Warden's manner that seemed
to exude craft and guile. The contrast between the two men was sharp,
acute, startling; and Lawler descended the stairs feeling that he had
just been in contact with something that crept instead of walking
upright like a man.
A recollection of the woman he had met at the foot of the stairs came to
Lawler as he descended, and thought of her did much to erase the
impression he had gained of Warden. He grinned, thinking of how he had
caught her watching him as he had mounted the stairs. And then he
reddened as he realized that he would not have known she was watching
him had he not turned to look back at her.
He found himself wondering about her--why she had been in Warden's
office, and who she could be. And then he remembered his conversation
with Blackburn, about "chapper-owns," and he decided she must be that
woman to whom Blackburn had referred as "a woman at Lefingwell's old
place, keepin' Warden company." He frowned, and crossed the street,
going toward the railroad station building, in which he would find the
freight agent.
And as he walked he was considering another contrast--that afforded by
his glimpse of the strange woman and Ruth Hamlin. And presently he found
himself smiling with pleasure, with a mental picture of Ruth's face
before him--her clear, direct-looking, honest eyes, with no guile in
them like that which had glowed in the eyes that had gazed into his at
the foot of the stairs.
Over in Corwin's store, where "Aunt Hannah," had gone to make some small
purchases, the woman who had encountered Lawler in the hall was talking
with the proprietor. Aunt Hannah was watching a clerk.
"Della," she called; "do you want anything?"
"Nothing, Aunty," returned the woman. Then she lowered her voice,
speaking to Corwin:
"So he owns the Circle L? Is that a large ranch?"
"One of the biggest in the Wolf River section," declared Corwin.
"Then Lawler must be wealthy."
"I reckon he's got wads of dust, ma'am."
The woman's eyes glowed with satisfaction.
"Well," she said; "I was just curious about him. He is a remarkably
striking-looking man, isn't he?"
"You've hit it, ma'am," grinned Corwin. "I've been years tryin' to think
up a word that would fit him. You've hit it. He's different. Looks like
one of them statesmen with cowpuncher duds on--like a governor or
somethin', which is out of place here."
The woman smiled affirmation. "So he does," she said, reflectively. "He
is big, and imposing, and strikingly handsome. And he is educated, too,
isn't he?"
"I reckon he is," said Corwin. "Privately, that is. His maw was a
scholar of some kind back East, before she married Luke Lawler an' come
out here to live with him. Luke's dead, now--died five years ago. Luke
was a wolf, ma'am, with a gun. He could shoot the buttons off your coat
with his eyes shut. An' he was so allfired fast with his gun that he'd
make a streak of lightnin' look like it was loafin'. Luke had a heap of
man in him, ma'am, an' Kane is just as much of a man as his dad was, I
reckon. Luke was----"
"About Kane Lawler," interrupted the woman. "You say he is well
educated?"
"That's about the only thing I've got ag'in' him, ma'am. I hold that no
cattleman has got a right to know so durned much. It's mighty
dangerous--to his folks--if he ever gets any. Now take Kane Lawler. If
he was to marry a girl that wasn't educated like him, an' he'd begin to
get fool notions about hisself--why, it'd make it pretty hard for the
girl to get along with him." He grinned. "But accordin' to what I hear,
Kane ain't goin' to marry no ignoramus exactly, for he's took a shine to
Ruth Hamlin, Willets' school teacher. She's got a heap of brains, that
girl, an' I reckon she'd lope alongside of Kane, wherever he went."
The woman frowned. "Is Mr. Lawler going to marry Ruth Hamlin?"
Corwin looked sharply at her. "What do you suppose he's fannin' up to
her for?" he demanded. "Neither of them is a heap flighty, I reckon. An'
Kane will marry her if she'll have him--accordin' to the way things
generally go."
The woman smiled as she left Corwin and joined the older woman at the
front of the store. She smiled as she talked with the other woman, and
she smiled as they both walked out of the store and climbed into a
buckboard. The smile was one that would have puzzled Corwin, for it was
inscrutable, baffling. Only one thing Corwin might have seen in
it--determination. And that might have puzzled him, also.