"ONCE A FOOL--ALWAYS A FOOL"
Though, under the surface, life upon Blue Lake ranch was sufficiently
tense, the remaining days of June frivoled by as bright and bonny as
the little meadow-blues flirting with the field-flowers.
Since from the very first the ranch had been short-handed, the hours
from dawn to dusk were filled with activity. Carson, who, true to
Judith's expectations, had brought back some new ideas from his few
days at the experimental farm--ideas not to be admitted by Carson,
however--bought a hundred young steers from a neighboring overstocked
range. In the lower corrals the new milking-machines were working
smoothly, only a few of the older cows refusing to have anything to do
with them.
Tripp had succeeded in locating and getting back some of the men who
had worked long under Luke Sanford and whom Trevors had discharged. It
was a joy to see the familiar faces of Sunny Harper, Johnny Hodge, Bing
Kelley, Tod Bruce. The alfalfa acreage was extended, a little more
than doubled. Plans were made for an abundance of dry fodder to be fed
with the lush silage during the coming lean months. Bud Lee broke his
string of horses, and with Tommy Burkitt and one other dependable man
began perfecting their education, with an eye turned toward a
profitable sale in January.
Quinnion, perforce, was left undisturbed upon the sheep-ranch whither
Emmet Sawyer had followed him. Against Bud Lee's word that he had had
a hand at the trouble at the old cabin were the combined oaths of two
of the sheepmen that he had been with them at the time.
Hampton's guests, who had planned for a month at the ranch, stayed on.
But they would be leaving at the end of June. That is, Farris and
Rogers positively; the Langworthys, perhaps. The major was content
here, and to stay always and always, would be an unbounded joy--of
course, with little runs to the city for the opera season and for
shopping trips, and a great, jolly house-party now and then.
The only fly in Marcia's ointment was Hampton himself. She confessed
as much to Judith. She liked him, oh, ever so much! But was that
love? She yearned for a man who would thrill her through and through,
and Hampton didn't always do that. Just after his heroic capture of
the terrible Shorty, Marcia was thrilled to her heart's content. But
there were other days when Hampton was just Pollock Hampton. If it
could only be arranged so that she could stay on and on, with no day of
reckoning to come, no matrimonial ventures on the horizon . . .
"That's simple, my dear," Judith smiled at her. "When you get through
being Pollock Hampton's guest, you can be mine for a while."
Hampton was now a great puzzle to Mrs. Langworthy, and even an object
of her secret displeasure. Not that that displeasure ever went to the
limit of changing Mrs. Langworthy's plans. But she longed for the
right to talk to him as a mother should. For, seeking to emulate those
whom he so unstintedly admired, Bud Lee and Carson and the rest of the
hard-handed, quick-eyed men in the service of the ranch, Hampton was no
longer the careless, frankly inefficient youth who had escorted his
guests here. He went for days at a time unshaven, having other matters
to think of; he came to the table bringing with him the aroma of the
stables. He wore a pair of trousers as cylindrical in the leg as a
stove-pipe; over them he wore a pair of cheap blue overalls, with the
proper six-inch turn-up at the bottom to show the stovepipe trousers
underneath. The overalls got soiled, then dirty, then disgracefully
blotched with wagon grease and picturesque stains, and Hampton made no
apologies for them.
Twice he left the ranch, once to be gone overnight, intending that it
should be a mystery where he went. But, since he rode the north trail
which led to the Western Lumber camp, no one doubted that he had gone
to see Bayne Trevors, in whom he still stoutly believed.
Between the 15th and the memorable 30th of June, Bud Lee saw little of
Judith Sanford. She was here, there, everywhere; busy, preoccupied.
Marcia he talked with twice; once when they rode together while
Hampton, racing recklessly down a rocky slope for a shot at a deer got
a fall, a sore shoulder and made his debut in certain new swear-words;
once when all of the guests, with the exception of Farris, who was
painting the portrait of the stallion, Nightshade, and the major, who
had "letters to write," came out to watch the horse-breaking. This
time, introduced to Mrs. Langworthy, Lee got for his bow a remarkably
cold stare. Others might forget, here in the open, the distinction
between people of the better class and their servants--not Mrs.
Langworthy, if you please.
Having created his imaginary woman, Lee was ripe to fall in love with
her when she came. He had thrilled to the touch of Judith's hand that
night in the cabin; his thoughts, many and many a day, centred about
the superbly alive beauty that was Judith's. The fact disturbed him
vaguely. The thought that he was very deeply interested in her in the
good old way between man and maid, never entered his stubborn head.
She was as far removed from his ideal woman as the furthermost star in
the infinite firmament. Perhaps it was this very disquiet within him,
caused by Judith, which now turned his thoughts to Marcia.
"That's the sort of woman," he told himself stoutly. "A man's woman;
his other self, not just a pardner; the necessary other side of him,
not just the same side in a different way."
Marcia had little, feminine ways of helplessness which turned
flatteringly to the strength of the other sex. Judith asked no man to
aid her in mounting her horse; Marcia coquettishly slipped a daintily
slippered foot into a man's palm, rising because of his strength.
Now, when his thoughts went to Judith, Bud Lee turned them dexterously
to Marcia, making his comparisons, shaping them to fit into his pet
theory. When, days passing, he did not see Judith, he told himself
that he was going to miss Marcia when she left. When one day he came
unexpectedly upon Judith and with lips and eyes she flashed her ready
smile at him, he felt that odd stir in his blood. What a pity that a
girl like her, who might have been anything, elected to do a man's
work! When, again unexpectedly, he came another day upon Marcia riding
with Hampton, there was no quick stirring of the pulses, and he
contented himself with the thought: "Now, that is the sort of woman. A
man's woman! His other self . . ." and so on.
When Judith planned a little party to mark the departure of Marcia on
the 30th of June--it wasn't definitely decided that the Langworthys
were leaving then, but at least Farris and Rogers were--the reasons
actuating her were rather more complex than Judith herself fully
realized or would have admitted. She liked Marcia; she wanted to do at
least this much for her. Living-room, dining-room, music-room,
library--they would all be cleared of the larger pieces of furniture,
the double-doors thrown open. The string band from Rocky Bend would
come. Judith would send out invitations to the nicer people there and
to the ranches hereabout. She would have a barbecue, there would be
races and the usual holiday games, then the dance. Marcia would know
nothing of it until the last day, when her eager enthusiasm would send
her a-flutter to her dressing-room.
Unanalyzed, it was simplicity itself, this giving a farewell party to
Marcia. Under analysis, it was a different matter. The boys at the
ranch would be invited, and of course most of them would come. Bud Lee
would come. Judith would see to that, even if he should hesitate.
Bud Lee had always been so self-possessed, had so coolly found her
lacking, that, piqued a little, Judith longed for the opportunity to
place him in an atmosphere where a little of his calm self-possession
might be snatched from him. If she could embarrass him, if she could
see the red rise under his tanned skin, she would be giving Mr. Lee a
lesson good for his soul.
"I've got powerful little use for an affair like that," said Lee
coolly, when she told him. "Thank you, Miss Sanford, but I don't think
I'll come."
Judith shrugged her shoulders as though it did not in the least matter
to her.
"I'm giving it for Marcia," she said. "Do you think it would be quite
nice to her to stay away? I am afraid that she will be hurt."
Not Judith's words, but the look in her eyes changed Lee's intentions.
"If it's for Miss Langworthy," he said quietly, "I'll come."
The day came and Bud Lee began to regret that he had given his promise
to go to Marcia's dance. All day he was taciturn, aloof, avoiding not
only the visitors from Rocky Bend and the other ranches, but his own
fellows as well. He took no part in the races, was missing when the
blazing trenches and smell of broiling meat told that the barbecue was
in progress. He worked with his horses as he had worked yesterday, as
he would work to-morrow. With the dusk he went, not to the men's
quarters, but to the old cabin at the Upper End.
Again and again that day he had thought of that look in Judith's eyes
when she had asked him to come for Marcia's sake. What the devil did
she mean by it? He didn't know exactly, but he did know that in its
own vague way it irritated him. Her eyes had laughed at him, they had
teased, they had told him that Judith herself wasn't wasting a single
thought upon Mr. Bud Lee, but that she had noticed his obvious interest
in Miss Langworthy.
"Damn it," muttered Lee. "I won't go."
But he had said that he would go, and in little things as in big ones
he was scrupulous. He would go, just to dance with Marcia and show
Miss Judith a thing or two. He felt unreasonably like taking Miss
Judith across his knee and spanking her. And he did have a curiosity
to see just what Judith would look like in a real party-dress.
"Poor little wild Indian," he grumbled. "She's got the making of a
wonder in her, and she doesn't even know it. What's worse, doesn't
care."
He sat with a dead cigarette between his fingers, staring at the
wind-blown flame of his coal-oil lamp. Judith was doing this as she
did everything that she set her two hands on, thoroughly and with her
whole heart and soul. In that lay the key to her character. There was
no half-way with her. When she gave, it was open-handedly, with no
reservation; where she loved or hated, it was unreservedly; if she gave
a dance it would be a dance for the countryside to remember.
Yesterday Hampton had wondered, grinning, what he'd look like in a
dress-suit again. Hadn't had a thing on here of late but his war togs.
Whereby he called attention to his turned-up overalls, soft shirt,
battered hat, and flapping vest with the tobacco-tag hanging out.
Bud Lee turned down the wick of his lamp, which had been smoking, and
sat staring at it another five minutes.
"By thunder," he said softly to himself. "I'll do it."
He shoved the bunk away from its place in the corner, opened a
trap-door in the floor and, lamp in hand, went down into the cabin's
cellar. Here was a long pine box, hooped with tin bands for shipping,
its lid securely nailed on. He set down his lamp and with shirt-sleeve
wiped off some of the accumulation of dust and spider-web. A card with
the words, "David Burrill Lee, Rocky Bend," tacked to it made its
appearance. Lee shook his head and attacked the lid.
"It's like digging out a dead man," he muttered. "Well, we'll bury him
again to-morrow."
It was a box of odds and ends. Clothing, a few books, a pack of
photographs, an ornate bridle, a pair of gold-chased spurs, a couple of
hats, gloves, no end of the varied articles which might have gone
hastily into such a receptacle as this from the hurried packing in a
bachelor's apartments.
Bud Lee, with a dress-suit and the articles it demands, even to tie and
dancing-shoes, went back into the room above.
"Like Hampton," he mused, looking at the things in his hands, "I wonder
what it'll feel like to get back into these! I'm a fool." He laughed
shortly and set to work to improvise a flat-iron to take the worst
wrinkles out of the cloth. "Once a fool, always a fool. You can't get
away from it."
It was settled. He was going to Marcia's party. He insisted upon
calling it in his mind, "Marcia's party." And he was wondering, as he
shaved, how Judith was going to look.