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THE LAST STRAW
BY
HAROLD TITUS
Author of "Bruce of the Circle A," "I--Conquered," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
GEORGE W. GAGE
BOSTON
SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1920,
BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_Second Printing, June, 1920._
PRESS OF GEO. H. ELLIS CO., BOSTON, MASS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE NEW BOSS
II MY ADVICE, MA'AM
III THE NESTER--AND ANOTHER
IV THE CHAMPION
V THE COURTING
VI OUTCASTS
VII THE CATAMOUNT
VIII AND NOW, THE CLERGY
IX THE DESTROYER
X A MATTER OF DIRECTION
XI HEPBURN'S PLAY
XII A NEIGHBORLY CALL
XIII THE FRAME-UP
XIV THE BIG CHANCE
XV WAR!
XVI THE WARNING
XVII HIS FAITHFUL LITTLE PONY
XVIII AN INTERRUPTED PROPOSAL
XIX CONCERNING SAM MCKEE
XX "WORK AMONG THE HEATHEN"
XXI RENUNCIATION
XXII THE REVEREND'S STRATEGY
XXIII BECK'S DEPARTURE
XXIV IN THE SHADOW
XXV A MOUNTAIN PORTIA
XXVI BATTLE!
XXVII THE LAST STRAW
THE LAST STRAW
CHAPTER I
THE NEW BOSS
The last patches of snow, even in the most secluded gulches, had been
licked up by the mounting sun; the waters of Coyote Creek had returned
to the confines of the stream bed; in places a suggestion of green was
making its appearance about the bases of grass clumps, and cottonwood
buds were swelling. Four men sat on the bench before the bunkhouse of
the H.C. ranch; one was braiding a belt, another whittling and two
more, hats over their eyes to shield them from the brilliant light,
joined in the desultory conversation from time to time.
In the pauses, such as the one now prevailing, was something besides
the spirit of idling. Dad Hepburn, gray of hair, eye and mustache, but
with the body of a young man, who sat nearest the doorway, glanced
frequently towards the road as though expecting to see another come
that way to bring fresh interest; Two-Bits Beal was uneasy and did not
remain long in one pose, as men do who sit in the first real warmth of
spring for its own sake; Jimmy Oliver, the whittler, stopped now and
then and held his head at an angle, as if listening; and although he
worked industriously at the belt it was evident that Tom Beck had
thought for other affairs.
"So she was his nephew an' only heir," commented Two-Bits, gravely.
Hepburn stirred and snorted softly. Jimmy Oliver looked at the homely,
freckle-blotched face of the gaunt speaker and grinned. After a moment
Tom Beck said:
"Two-Bits, for a smart man you know less than anybody I ever
encountered! When I first set eyes on you, I said to myself, 'That man
ain't real. He's no work of God A'mighty. Some of these _hombres_
that draw cartoons for newspapers got him up.' But I thought you must
have brains, seein' you're so powerful low on looks. You're a good
cowhand and a first rate horse handler, but won't you ever get anything
in your head but those things? Or did this cartoonist make a mistake
an' put your kidneys in your skull?
"Niece; _niece!_ Not nephew!"
"Have it your way," Two-Bits said in his high voice, swallowing so his
immense Adam's apple shot up half the extraordinary length of his lean
throat toward his pointed chin, and slipped back again with a jerk. "I
was half right, wasn't I? She's his only heir, ain't she? You can't ask
a man to be more'n half right, can you?"
"If his heir'd been a nephew instead of a niece, we wouldn't all be
settin' here so anxious about this arrival," opined Jimmy. "An' we
wouldn't all be wonderin' if we was goin' to work for a squaw outfit.
It'll be a relief when this lady lands in our midst. Mebby there'll be
less speculatin' and more work done."
"You're right," assented Dad, and pulled at his mustache. "There's a
lot to do."
Tom Beck began to whistle softly and the older man glanced sideways at
him uneasily; then fixed his eyes on the road.
"I'll bet two bit," volunteered Two-Bits, "that she's as homely as Tom
claims I am an' about as pleasant as a hod full of bumble bees."
No one demonstrated interest in his offer and, as though he had not
even heard it, Beck said:
"Seems to me there's been a lot goin' on lately, Dad. Or did you mean
there was a lot _more_ to do?"
"I don't remember such awful activity," the other replied. "'Course,
there's been--"
"Nobody ever located those four mares an' their colts, did they? And
the last we heard about that bunch of white faces they was headed
towards Utah with a shod horse trailing 'em."
Hepburn changed what started as an impatient expostulation into a sharp
sigh and relieved himself by stabbing a spur into the hard ground.
"Yes, there has been stealin'," he admitted. "There's been a lot of it.
But who could do anything? The old man had been slack for years and in
the last months before the end he just let go entire. He wouldn't even
give anybody else authority enough to have any say; didn't even have a
foreman. That's why horses an' cattle have been stole from him.
"'Course, there's been more devil to pay since he died than went on
before, but when a man leaves things in a lawyer's hands and the lawyer
won't even look in on the job, what you goin' to do?"
His manner was as benevolent as it was deliberate and he turned a
paternal smile on Beck.
"Let the thievin' go merrily on, I expect," the other said, giving the
leather strips a series of sturdy jerks to tighten the mesh.
"I expect you'd like to be foreman, wouldn't you, Dad?" Two-Bits asked
innocently, whereupon Hepburn certified the accuracy of that surmisal
by moving uneasily. "You'd make a fair foreman ... _fair_. Now
Tommy here," he continued, oblivious of the older man's discomfiture
and the delighted smiles of the others, "would make a fine foreman if
he'd only give a damn. But he don't ... he don't. It's too bad, Tommy,
you don't settle down and amount to somethin'. You're the best hand in
this country!"
Beck lifted his face and sniffed loudly.
"The smell of your bouquet is about as delicate as your diplomacy,
Two-Bits!" he said.
Another pause. Beck resumed his whistling and Hepburn devoted his
attention to the road. Once he looked at the other from the tail of his
eye and a flicker of ill temper showed in his broad, grizzled face.
"Her name's Jane, ain't it?" Two-Bits was an ardent conversationalist.
"Jane Hunter! I knowed a school marm named Hunter onct. She was worse'n
thunder for sourin' milk."
"I'll bet--"
"Listen!"
Oliver held up his knife in gesture and Two-Bits stopped talking. The
sounds of an approaching wagon were clearly audible.
"I'll bet it's the mail instead of--"
"You lose," muttered Hepburn, getting to his feet as a buckboard swung
around the bend.
"An' she sure's come to stay!" from Jimmy as he closed his knife with
an air of finality.
The body of the wagon was piled high with trunks and bags and beside
the driver sat a very small woman. That she was not of the west, not
the sort of woman these men had been accustomed to deal with, was
evident from the clothes she wore, but at least one of them remarked
that she was not wholly without the qualities essential to the frontier
for, when the driver dropped down to open the gate, he gave her the
reins to the lathered, excited horses which had brought her from the
railroad. As soon as the gate swung open they sprang forward, but she
put her weight on the reins and spoke with confident authority and
wrenched them back.
"Not exactly helpless, anyhow," Tom Beck said to himself.
He was the only one of the group who did not walk across toward the
cottonwoods which sheltered the long, red ranch house beside the creek.
He sat there, braiding his belt, an indefinable half smile on his face.
The girl--for girlishness was her outstanding quality--jumped out
unassisted. She looked about slowly, at the house first of all, then at
the low stable and the corrals and, lastly, down the creek, on either
side of which the hills rose sharply, giving a false appearance of
narrowness to the bottoms, and her eyes rested for a long moment on the
ridges far below, blue and sharp in the crystal distance.
She was unaware that the driver was waiting for her to give further
directions and that the three others had come close and stopped,
waiting for her to notice them, for she said aloud, as though to
herself:
"For a beginning, this is quite remarkable!" Then she laughed sharply,
with a hard mirthless quality, and turned about. She was genuinely
surprised to confront the men; evidence of this was in her eyes, which
were large and remarkably blue. She smiled brightly and said:
"Oh, I didn't know I was overlooking any one! I suppose you men belong
here, on the ranch, and it's likely you've been waiting for the new
owner to come. Well, here I am! I'm Jane Hunter and I want to know who
you are. Now what is your name?"
Her frankness, that unhesitating, assured manner of a distinct type of
city-bred woman, was new but it over-rode somewhat the embarrassment
they all felt.
"My name is Hepburn, ma'am," Dad said and shook hands heavily. "I hope
you like this place."
"I know I shall, Mr. Hepburn. And your name?"
"That's Jimmy Oliver, Miss Hunter," Hepburn said.
Two-Bits had watched this with growing confusion and when she turned on
him her searching, straightforward glance his freckles became lost in a
pink suffusion. He swayed his body from the hips and looked high over
her head as he offered a limp hand.
"I'm Mister Beal," he said weakly.
"Don't you believe that!" laughed Hepburn. "That's Two-Bits. He ain't
entitled to any frills."
"Two-Bits it is!" the girl cried, scanning his face in amazement at its
color and contour. "I couldn't call you mister, Two-Bits. We're going
to be too good friends for that!"
"Oh my gosh!" giggled the flustered cowboy and turned away, seeking
refuge in the bunkhouse.
"You talk about me bein' got up by a feller that draws pictures, Tom,"
he said to Beck. "Holy Tin Can, you ought to see her! Why, this feller
that paints them girls for these here, now, magazines painted her! She
looks like she walked right out of a picture, with blue eyes an' yeller
hair an' all pink an' white. An' friendly.... Oh my, I'll bet she makes
this outfit take notice!"
Old Carlotta, the half-breed Mexican woman who had been housekeeper at
the HC for years had come from the house to greet her new mistress.
The trunks were carried in, the buckboard departed for its twenty-five
mile trip back to town and the riders who had been at work further down
the creek straggled in to hear the first tales of their new boss.
Conjecture was high as to her plan of procedure.
"It won't take long for things to happen. You can bank on that," Jimmy
Oliver declared. "She ain't our kind of a woman an' the good Lord alone
knows what notions she'll have, but she'll get busy! She's that kind."
He was not wrong for just as the sun was drawing down into the hills
Carlotta appeared at the bunkhouse.
"Miss Hunter, she want to spik to Senor Dad an' Beck an' Jimmy an'
Curtis," she said. "Right away, quick-_pronto_."
"This must be a mass meetin' with th' rest of us left out," Two-Bits
said. "I'd give a dollar to look at her again ... clost up. I'll bet I
wouldn't be _afraid_ to look next time."
The four men summoned went immediately to the big house. Beck lagged a
trifle and it was certain from his manner that his curiosity was not
greatly excited. He appeared to be amused, for his black eyes twinkled
gaily, but as they passed through the gate they set their gaze on the
back of Hepburn's broad neck and a curious speculation showed in them.
Jane Hunter was waiting on the veranda which ran the length of the
ranch house and without formalities began her explanation.
"You all know the situation, I believe. My uncle left me this ranch and
I have come from New York to take possession. How long I remain depends
on a number of things, but I find that for the present at least, I must
conduct my own business. For the last four weeks, since the property
came to me, it has been in the hands of Mr. Alward, the attorney in
town. I arrived yesterday expecting to have his help, but his doctor
has sent him into a lower altitude because of some heart difficulty and
I'm alone on the job with nothing to guide me but a lengthy letter he
wrote.
"I know little about business of any sort, I know nothing at all about
ranching, so I have a great deal to learn. I do know that the first
thing I need is an actual head for this place and that is why I called
you here: to select a ... a foreman, you call him?
"Mr. Alward left word that any one of you four men would be competent
and I'm going to choose one of you by chance: Understand, this is no
guarantee to keep whoever is chosen on the job for any length of time,
but I don't care to take the responsibility of handling the men myself,
as my uncle and as Mr. Alward have done. Some one must do this and
until I learn enough to know what I want I will be dependent upon
whomever is selected."
She had spoken rapidly, at no loss for words, without a trace of
hesitation or embarrassment, looking intently from face to face,
studying the men as she explained her plan, but as she paused her eyes
were on Beck's eyes and their gaze was arrested there a moment as
though it had encountered something not usual.
"I am going to need all your help and all the suggestions that you can
give me,"--with a slight gesture to include the four, though she still
looked straight at the tall Westerner,--"but I feel that at first there
must be system of some sort, a man at the head of the organization. I'm
going to let you draw straws for the place."
The men stirred and looked at one another.
"That's fair enough," said Dad, with just a trace of indecision in his
voice.
"For us," commented Curtis, a lean, leathery man.
Jane stooped and picked up an oat straw. She broke off four pieces and
placed them tightly between her thumb and palm.
"Now, draw!" she directed, with a smile, holding them toward Curtis.
"The lucky straw will be the shortest."
Curtis silently selected one of the bits. Then Jimmy Oliver drew and
the two stood eyeing the lots they had picked. Hepburn had cleared his
throat twice rather sharply when the drawing commenced and as he
stepped forward at her gesture he manifested an eagerness which did not
quite harmonize with his usual deliberation. He drew, eyed his straw
and glanced sharply at those held by the other two.
Beck had not moved forward with the others, but stood back, thumbs
hooked in his belt, his eyes, which were mildly smiling, still on the
girl's face. She looked at him again and saw there something other than
the interest that approached eagerness which had been evident in the
others; she read another thing which caught her attention; the man was
laughing at her, she felt, laughing at her and at the entire
performance. It seemed to him to be an absurdity and as she searched
his expression again and perceived that this was no bucolic whim but
the attitude of a man whose assurance was as stable as her own the
smile which had been on her face faded a degree.
"Now it is your turn ... the last straw," she said to him.
"Thank you, ma'am," he replied in an even, matter-of-fact voice, though
that annoying smile was still in his eyes, "but I guess you can count
me out."
She lowered the hand which held the straw.
"You don't care to draw?"
"That's what I meant, ma'am."
"And why not?"
She was piqued, without good reason, at this refusal.
"In the first place, ma'am, I've never taken a chance in my life, if I
knew it. I've tried to arrange so I wouldn't have to. I'm a poor
gambler."
A suggestion of a flush crept into the girl's cheeks, for, though his
manner was all frankness, he gave the impression that this was not his
reason, or, at least, not his best reason; he seemed, in a subtle
manner, to be poking fun at her. "Besides," he went on, "pickin' at
pieces of straw don't seem like a good way to pick men."
"You understand why it is being done that way?" Though her manner did
not betray it, she felt as though she were on the defensive.
"Yes, ma'am. I wasn't reflecting on you especially. I was thinkin'
about your lawyer. But you won't be so very mad, if I ain't crazy to
take a chance, will you? If anybody wants to know whether I can hold a
job or not, I'd sooner have 'em ask about me or try me; when it comes
to drawing lots I'll have to be counted out."
His eyes had been squarely on hers throughout and when he ceased
speaking they still clung. Beyond a doubt, she reasoned, that flicker
in them was amusement and yet she felt no resentment towards him; was
not even annoyed as she had been at his first refusal. It was
interesting; it impressed her with a difference between him and the
three who had drawn. For a moment she was impelled to argue; she wanted
that man to help her more than she wanted to retain her poise ... just
an instant.
Abruptly she turned to the others.
"Very well, we will see who did win."
The four drew close together and measured.
"Mr. Hepburn's is the shortest!" she cried; then looked at the fourth
straw she still held. It was shorter by half an inch.
"You would have drawn well," she said to Beck, holding it up.
"So it seems, ma'am," he answered, but she noticed that he did not look
at her. His eyes were on the new foreman's face, which was flushed with
the depressions beneath the eyes puffed a bit. He was nervously
breaking to shreds the straw which had won the place but about him was
a bearing of unmistakable elation and something in his eyes, which were
small, and about his chin suggested greed....
The four started away and Jane stood watching them. Four! And one of
them was to be her deputy in life's first--and perhaps life's
saving--adventure. But she did not watch him, in fact, had no thought
for him. Her eyes followed Tom Beck until he was out of sight and as
she turned to enter the house she said:
"But he looks as though he might take a ... long chance...."