ANY MEANS TO AN END
Jean LaFrance carefully cleaned his boots and stepped into the cabin.
"_Bon jour, ma belle Rose_. Breakfast is ready, eh? But for why you
make three to eat?"
"Did you not see, on the trail?"
"No." He took up a bucket of water and a tin basin, going to a bench
outside, to wash. In a few moments a horseman loped into view and
disappeared again, hidden by an intervening rise. At sight of the rider
a look of fear flashed across the face of Jean and he smothered a curse,
hastily re-entering the cabin to dry his hands. "Dave!" he exclaimed.
"Yes," assented Rose, impassively.
"You know he come?"
"No," as expressionless as before.
"For why he come some early? But yes! Schatz, he send the money, eh?
Eh?"
Rose shrugged her shoulders doubtfully and answered the consequent look
of anxiety on Jean's face by placing her hands on his shoulders and
gently shaking him. "Wait till he comes, _mon pere_," she encouraged
him.
He nodded his head, unconsciously squaring his shoulders in response to
the subtle appeal to his manhood. At the sound of the horseman's feet
he went outside. Dave's smiling cheerfulness relieved his mind and he
returned the greeting with newborn good humor, leading the horse off to
the stable while Dave went indoors.
The handsome animal glowed with the health of youth; not a trace of his
evil nature showed in the sparkle of his eyes, and the clear red of his
cheek still stood proof against the assaults of a life of reckless
debauchery. "Hello, Rose," he cried, "I could n't stay away no longer.
I come up last night but you 'd turned in." Encircling her waist he
drew her to him to kiss her on the cheek, laughing good-naturedly at the
interposed hand. "All right, have it your own way. But I wants you to
know I never aims to kiss a girl yet, as I don't kiss her, come
kissin'-time."
"It is not kissing-time for me, Dave--no. Not for any man. Why you
stay away so long?" she asked--and could have bitten her tongue for it
the next instant.
"Missed me, did you?" commented Dave, delighted. "Well, you see I--" he
hesitated.
"You do not want to tell for why you kill that unoffensive man and leave
Fritz without a father." The contempt in her voice cut like a whip.
"Unafensive!" he repeated, the color ebbing from his face to leave it
the dangerous white of the fated homicide. "He was that unafensive he
knocked me off my feet an' started to pull a gun on me. It was an even
break. That's more 'n yore dad allows when anybody tries to rush him."
She winced as if struck. "Is it not promise you speak nothing of this?"
"I ain't a-speakin' of it. Nobody knows 't was him. Leastwise nobody
but me. I would n't 'a' dug it up on'y you go accusin' me o' killin'
when I has to protect myself."
Jean was heard approaching and Rose made a weary gesture of submission.
"_Eh, bien_. Me, I know nothing but what I hear. Do not be angry when
father comes."
"Peters, I suppose. D--n him for a liar." His face cleared as Jean
entered. "Well, I got bad news for you, Jean. Schatz says he can't let
you have that money just now, but he 'll remember you."
"Good! Soon, I hope," and Jean rubbed his hands in pleased anticipation
as he drew up to the table.
* * * * *
Dave sat silently watching Rose, after Jean had left them to go to his
work. She went about her daily duties, patiently waiting. Something in
Dave's manner told her he had come for more than the mere pleasure of
seeing her.
"Rose, sit down," he said at last. "I want to talk to you." She seated
herself obediently and faced him.
"_Allons_," she prompted him.
"You see, it's this way: Here 's me, errand boy for Schatz. I draws my
time, same as I 'm a-punchin' for him, but what is it? Not enough to
live on. I can make more with th' cards, a whole lot more, on'y you
says no. An' there ain't nothin' reglar 'bout gamblin', anyhow. Schatz
is honin' for his ranch. He 's bound to get it an' I 'm bound to help
him. 'Cause why? I strike it rich. Schatz will put me on as foreman
or mebby better. Now, how do we get th' ranch? Break that
McAllister-Peters combine, that's how. An' how do we break 'em? You."
"Me?"
"You. It's pie. You get him here--Peters--an' I got a man as 'll clean
him out like a cyclone lickin' up a haystack. You get him here, that's
all. You know how. I ain't a-goin' to be jealous of a girl as breaks
off a kiss in th' middle an' han's me back my end of it. You ain't woke
up yet, Rose, an' when you do, I 'll be there."
"You will be there."
"You bet--with aces--four of 'em." He nodded with confident assurance.
"You get Peters a-comin' here an' then some night Comin' Thirty drops in
casual to see yore daddy. That 'll be all. Comin' knows his business."
"Who is Comin'?"
"Who is he?" Dave grinned. "Well, he's th' on'y man can deal a deck
between th' Mississip' an' th' Rockies. When Peters gets through with
him he won't think so much o' that feller he met in Cheyenne--H--l!" He
sprang to his feet, consternation on his face. Rose gazed at him in
mute wonder. "It can't be!" he muttered, "he went out long ago." He
was silent in troubled speculation for a while. "Rose," he continued
abruptly, "you ask Peters, first time you see him--when 'll you go?
To-day?"
"Go where?"
"Over to th' ranch," he explained, impatiently. "You 've got to set her
rollin'. Go over to see Pickles, can't you?"
"Yes, if you say go."
"All right. Go to-day. An' ask Peters when he 's seen Tex Ewalt.
Don't forget th' name: Tex Ewalt."
"Tex Ewalt. I go now. It may be difficult. Men do not come here like
before--"
"Before I showed 'em th' way. You 'll get Peters, if you try right."
"And you? Is it to Big Moose you ride?"
"No, I got to go to Wayback. Will I throw th' leather onto Swaller?"
"No, Swallow come when I call."
"All right. Then I'll hit th' trail. What, you won't? Wait till you
wake up." He went off laughing and in a minute more swung past the
house with a rattle of harness and shout of farewell. Rose stood in the
doorway, motionless, looking after him.
"If I try right. You beast!" The words came through her lips laden with
unutterable loathing. She put her hands before her eyes to shut out the
sight of him and turned back into the room, throwing out her arms in
despair. "What can I do?" she asked passionately; and again: "What can
I do?"
* * * * *
To Tex, grimly watchful in the bar-room of the Why-Not, her coming
brought a shock. He remembered her as she appeared when publicly
denouncing him for a crime he had not committed, a memory that ill
prepared him for the all-pervading charm of her beauty. Approaching
rapidly, a glorious figure, sitting the powerful black with unaffected
grace, her grave loveliness smote him with a sort of wonder. Plunging
through the ford in a series of magnificent leaps, the rifted spray
flashed about her in the sunlight like bursting clouds of jewels. The
solid ground once more under his feet, the black settled into his stride
and they were away, the blue sky above the distant hills set wide for
them, a gateway of the gods. "When she had passed it seemed like the
ceasing of exquisite music," murmured Tex.
Dutch Fred laughed genially at his companion's interest. They two were
alone in the room. "Der French Rose, a fine voman, yes," he remarked,
with open and honest admiration. "You like her?"
Tex stared steadily out of the window as he answered:
"'Had she been true
If Heaven had made me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite
I 'd not have sold her for it.'"
"Sold her! Sold her for a--vot? Vot you talk, anyvay?"
"That, my friend, is what the nigger said when the shoe pinched. There
's a h--l of a lot of tight shoes in th' world, Fred."
Fred walked to the door and gazed solemnly after Tex as he rode away;
then he walked back to the bar and solemnly mixed himself a fancy drink,
which he compounded with the judgment of long experience. He set down
the glass and admonished it with a pudgy forefinger: "How _he_ know she
vear tight shoes, vat?"
But the glass had already given up all it contained.
Swallow, meanwhile, was putting the trail behind him with praiseworthy
speed, and brought Rose within hailing distance of the ranch house just
as Jake, with his carefully concealed stones, re-entered the kitchen.
As she dropped from her horse Buck appeared at the door and sprang
forward to greet her, his stern face aglow with pleasure. "Why, ma'am,
I 'm right glad to see you," he declared, appreciative of the firm clasp
of the hand she gave him. "Honest as a man's," was his thought. "Jake!
O-o, Jake!" he called.
Jake tip-toed to the door and peered cautiously forth, heaving a huge
sigh of relief at the new development. "Better run him in the stable,
Jake," advised Buck. "An' take some o' th' sweat off 'n him. Take yore
time. We 'll wait. You see," he went on to Rose, "none of th' boys is
up; but Ned ought to be here right soon. An' Pickles, Pickles 'll be
that pleased he won't eat nothin'. Pickles says yo 're a brick an' he
likes you 'most as well as Whit."
Her bubbling laughter set Buck to laughing in sympathy and they stood,
one at either side the table, looking at each other like two happy
children, moved to mirth by they knew not what.
"It is a disappointment I have not come before, M'sieu Peters," said
Rose, "you make me so very welcome. But Whit--who is Whit?"
"Whit? Oh, he's th' Britisher we took on when--when we went short a
hand. He 's willin' an' strong an' learns quick, though he shore has
some amazin' ideas about cows."
The momentary clouding of her face as she recalled how he had "gone
short a hand," he allowed to pass without comment and went gayly on.
"Pickles, he likes to hear him tell stories; fairy stories, you might
call them, but they ain't like no fairy stories I ever heard. An' he
tells 'em like he believes 'em. I ain't right certain he don't.
Pickles does. You would n't think a kid like that would take to fairy
stories, would you, ma'am?"
"No-o. Always he is for the grand minute--to be a man, to ride, to
throw the rope,--like that. And to shoot--he must not shoot, M'sieu
Peters."
"Well, you see, ma'am, he--you--I--" he was clearly embarrassed, but
Truth and Buck were Siamese twins and always moved in pairs. Hot and
uncomfortable as it made him, he had to confess. "Why, he 's just
naturally boun' to shoot. Yesterday I give him a rifle an' a big bunch
o' cartridges. He won't hurt nothin', ma'am."
"_Mais non_--I hope not. Make him to be--to be good. A strong man can
be good, M'sieu Peters?"
Buck frowned in thought. "Yes," he declared. "But there 's more ways
than one o' bein' good. Our way 'd never do for some places, an' their
way 'd never do for us. Th' quickest man with a short gun I ever knowed
an' one as has killed considerable few, first an' last, he 's a good
man, ma'am. He would n't lie, nor steal, nor do a mean act. An' he
never killed a man 'less he was driven to it. I say it an' I know it.
I 'd trust him with my life an' my honor. An' there 's more like him,
ma'am, a-plenty." He stood tensely upright, an admirable figure, deep
in earnest thought. And she stood watching him, silent, studying his
face, absorbing his words with a thirsty soul: the firm conviction of a
man who, intuition told her, was sound to the core. "This is a rough
country," he continued, "with rough ways. There 's good men an' bad
men. Th' bad men are th' devil's own an' it seems like th' good men are
scattered soldiers with a soldier's work to do. If a bad man takes
offence an' you know he means to get you if he can, it's plumb foolish
to wait till yo 're shot before you begin shootin'. He did n't begin
with you an' he shore won't stop with you, an' it's your plain duty to
drop him at th' first threatenin' move. Mebby you won't have to kill
him, but if you must, you must. I don't say it's right but it's
necessary. That's all, ma'am."
He turned to her with a whimsical smile. Her face was alight with a
heartfelt gratitude, for Buck, all unknowingly, had exonerated her
father, in showing her a new aspect of his doubtful matter from the
view-point of a man among men. She passed her hand across her eyes in a
swift gesture, then laid it for an instant firmly upon his shoulder.
"_Merci, mon ami_," she said quietly. That shoulder, whenever he
thought of it, tingled for days after, in a way that to Buck was
unaccountable.
A moment later Jake appeared. "Ready in two shakes," he promised,
referring to the meal.
"Can't you rustle up somethin' extra, Jake?" asked Buck. "You know we
got company."
Jake assumed an air of nonchalant capability. "Well, now, I reckon," he
answered; in spite of himself a hint of boasting was in his voice.
"What do you say to aigs?"
"Aigs?" repeated Buck, his eyes widening.
"Aigs!" reiterated Jake, complacently.
Rose looked on in much amusement while Buck's astonished stare wandered
down half the length of Jake's lofty height and stopped. "Are you
carryin' 'em in yore pockets?" asked Buck.
"In my pockets!" exclaimed Jake. He glanced down. What in blazes did
he have in his pockets? A hasty investigation brought forth two large
stones.
"What in--what are you carryin' _them_ for?" asked Buck, with lively
curiosity.
Jake turned to Rose with his explanation: "You see, ma'am, it's th'
cyclone. I got a' almanac as says a cyclone is a-comin' an' due to-day,
an' I did n't want to be blown onto th' top o' one o' these yer
mountains an' mebby freeze to death." Rose's responsive peal of
laughter repaid him, and, withering Buck with a look, he retired to the
kitchen to cook his magically acquired eggs.
The meal was nearly finished when Pickles appeared, late as usual. Ned
had been given up by Buck, who explained his absence as probably due to
the development of some unexpected duty. Rose, awaiting a more
favorable opportunity to introduce the real object of her visit, had
deliberately prolonged the enjoyment of listening to his conversation.
His friends would not have known the usually taciturn Buck. Quite equal
to the production of a flow of language when language was desirable, his
calling and environment seldom found it necessary. Indeed, if brevity
were the sole ingredient of wit, few men had been wittier. But to-day
he surpassed himself in eloquence; and it was in the midst of an
unconsciously picturesque narrative that he was interrupted.
There came a scramble of hoofs, the slam of a door, a rapid padding of
moccasined feet, followed by a yell from Jake and the taunting treble of
a boyish voice, and Pickles sped into view, clutching the door frame as
he ran, and swinging himself out of range. His back toward them and his
head craned in the direction of Jake to insure the full effect of a
truly hideous grimace, he jeered that worthy for his bad marksmanship:
"Yah! you missed me ag'in! W'y don't you use a gun like a man?" and by
way of emphasis he shook the light rifle he was carrying. As Jake
directed a missile with unerring skill at anything short of a bird on
the wing, it is to be presumed that, with Pickles as a mark, he did not
try very hard. It is certain that he was chuckling gleefully as he went
to pick up the dishcloth, a large remnant of what looked suspiciously
like the passing of a blue flannel shirt.
Satisfied there was no immediate danger from the rear, Pickles wheeled
about. "Buck, I near got--" he stopped short. "Rose!" he exclaimed and
looked sharply from her to Buck and back again. "You ain't a-goin' to
take me back?" he asked, doubtfully.
Rose shook her head as she looked at him. It was a new Pickles she saw.
The roguish mischief had gone from the eyes which, when he faced them,
had been alive with eager intensity; the air of precocious anxiety,
tribute to a happy-go-lucky father (oftener "happy" than lucky) had
vanished completely; motionless as he stood in his hopeful expectancy,
he was aquiver with life. "No, Fritz," she assured him, "M'sieu Peters,
he need you--more than me--yes."
Pickles was at the table in a moment. "Betcher life he does," he
agreed. "You don't want a boy, anyhow. I 'd have a girl if I was you.
Say, Buck," he informed between bites, "I seen Ned an' he says that d--n
bull's broke out again. He 's gone after him. An' Cock Murray says: Can
you lend him a hat. That wall-eyed pinto o' his made b-- out o' his 'n."
"You young scallywag! You must n't swear afore a lady--not never. An'
you must talk polite, besides. Don't you never forget it."
Pickles looked straight into Buck's stern eyes, without fear. "I
won't," he promised, earnestly. "Gosh! I 'm hungry," and he proceeded
to prove it. And Rose knew then that Pickles would grow up a "strong
man"--and a good man, after the ideas of M'sieu Peters, which, she had
become convinced, were very good ideas, indeed.
Pickles had long since departed with a hat for the far-distant Murray;
the boys had straggled in and gone again from the bunk-house, where Jake
ministered to their amazing appetites; and the afternoon sun was casting
shadows of warning before Rose remembered the long ride home which was
to come. A silence, longer than usual, had fallen upon them, which
neither seemed to find embarrassing. Buck's inscrutable face, as he
looked upon her, told nothing of his thoughts; but on hers was a soft
wistfulness that surely sprang from pleasant imaginings. She pushed
back her chair at last with a murmur of regret. Jake was glad to hear
it. He had begun to have anxious misgivings regarding his job. Buck
glanced through the window and really saw the outside world for the
first time in two hours. He sprang to his feet and exclaimed in
bewilderment. "First time in my life I ever did it," he declared. Rose
looked an inquiry. "First time th' sun ever stole a march on me that
way," he explained. "Reckon I must a' been some interested in your
talk, ma'am," and his humorous smile was deliciously boyish. The
sparkle in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks told that Rose discerned
a compliment higher than the spoken one. She began to draw on her thick
man's gloves with an air almost demure.
"It is very selfish that I have make you waste so much time, M'sieu
Peters," she apologized, her eyes intent upon the gloves.
Buck stared. There was a certain grimness in his humor as he answered:
"Hm! Well, I 'm a-goin' to waste some more. That is, I will if you
don't run away from Allday. He 's good, but that black o' yourn has got
th' laigs of him, I reckon."
She watched him as he strode away for the horses, deciding how best to
approach the object of her visit. True to her nature it was less an
approach than a direct appeal. As they set off together she spoke
abruptly: "What time did you see Tex Ewalt last? I think--I am sure--it
is better if you have not see him for a long time--so."
"Well, I ain't seen him in a long time." He was plainly surprised. "Do
you know Tex?" he asked, wonderingly.
She shook her head. "No. Some one ask me--but you have not seen him.
That is good. Once I tell you I am glad if you come to see me about
Fritz."
"Shore I 'll come," he promised heartily.
"You must not," she warned him. "In the morning, a little while, yes;
at night or to stay long--no."
A light broke in upon Buck, who recalled the mysteriously delivered
letter of that morning. The wholesome admiration for a lovely woman,
the natural pleasure in an experience infrequent in his man-surrounded
life, began to concentrate and take definite shape in his mind at the
promised vindication of his judgment. He tested her shrewdly: "You
don't want to see me," was his brusque comment.
She looked reproachfully at his set profile. "_Mais, quelle folie_! I
am glad to see you always," she assured him, "but it must be like that.
It is better." She hesitated a moment and continued: "It is better
_aussi_, if you will not play cards. I--I like it, much, if you will
not play cards." Her heightened color and diffident manner showed what
it cost her to make it a personal request.
"By G--d! I knew it," cried Buck. He whanged Allday over one eye with
his hat, and that sedate animal executed a side jump that would have
done credit to a real bad pony. There are limits to all things and
Allday was feeling pretty good just then, anyway.
Rose was startled. "What is it you know?" she asked, doubtfully.
Buck's face was alight with smiling gratification. Oblivious of the fact
that at last he had stung Allday into remonstrance, he answered by the
card, "I knowed that gamblin' habit 'd grow on me so my friends could
see it. An' I hereby swears off. I never touches a deck till you says
so, ma'am. That goes as it lays."
Still doubtful as to his meaning--such exuberance of feeling could
scarcely be induced by swearing off anything--she questioned him in some
embarrassment. "Is it I ask too much, that you will not play?"
"Too much! There ain't nothin' you can't ask me, nothin'--" he paused.
"It's time I was hittin' th' back trail 'fore I say mor'n I ought. Just
one thing, ma'am: I can't never know you better than I do right now.
An' I want to say I 'm right proud to know you." He drew Allday down to
a walk and halted as she stopped and faced him, sweeping her a salute as
eloquent in gesture as were his words in speech.
The color came and went in her cheeks as she regarded him. "I am glad,"
she said at last, "Oh, I am very glad," and turning, she left him at a
speed that vied with her racing thoughts.
Buck watched her go, the definite shape in his mind assuming a
seductiveness that fascinated while it scared him. "If I was only ten
years younger," he muttered. He jerked Allday's head around. "Get away,
boy," he cried, and the horse struck his gait at a bound.
Buck was riding wide of the ranch house when a suspicion pricked him and
he headed for home. At the door he shouted for Jake.
Jake lounged out. "What's th' noise?" he asked, languidly.
"Say, Jake, where 'd you get them aigs?"
Jake looked pained. "I got 'em off Cheyenne Charley," he asserted.
"Cheyenne Charley? Where 'n blazes did he get 'em," wondered Buck.
"Well, now, I can't rightly say," drawled Jake, "but I'm certain shore
o' one thing: he never laid 'em."
"No," agreed Buck, reflectively. "Did he give 'em to you?" he added.
Jake yawned elaborately to hide the weakness of his position. "Not
exactly," he admitted. "I got him drunk."
"Oh," commented Buck. He turned to ride off when another question
obtruded itself, but Jake had disappeared. Buck slid to the ground and
entered quietly by another door, going to where he kept his private
stock. A rapid inspection showed where Jake had obtained his supply.
He had appropriated Buck's whiskey to pay for eggs which it was very
evident he had meant to eat himself. Only his vanity had led to their
disclosure. "Th' d--n scoundrel!" said Buck, and he hurriedly secured
the demijohn in the one place in the house that locked.