That same day Nan rode with Len Ayres. Sailor had a touch of rheumatism,
which made riding a painful pastime, so he stayed at the ranch.
By this time Nan had become accustomed to the saddle, and was really
enjoying the riding. Len had never had much to say to her about himself
or his past, and most of his conversation consisted in explaining the
duties connected with running a successful cattle ranch.
This particular day he was more quiet and thoughtful than ever. They
rode westward from the Box S, crossed the railroad tracks and forded the
river between Lobo Wells and the OK ranch. They followed the river for a
short distance, but swung west again along a small stream, until they
reached a tumbledown sort of a small cattle ranch.
They drew rein on a slope above the cluster of small houses, which were
deserted, and Len studied them for a long time. Finally he turned to
Nan, a whimsical smile in his greenish-gray eyes.
“There’s a monument to busted hopes,” he said slowly.
“I don’t understand, Len,” she said.
“No, that’s right; you wouldn’t,” he said gravely. “I don’t reckon many
folks around here realise it. To them it’s just an old deserted ranch.
The range country is full of ’em, Nan. But this one happened to have
been mine--once. It was when I took a step upward from bein’ just a
cowboy.”
“Oh, was this your ranch, Len?”
He nodded and began the manufacture of a cigarette.
“It’s a line camp for the JP now. They own it.”
“Why did you sell out?”
He sighed as he scratched a match on the leg of his batwing chaps and
lighted his cigarette.
“I didn’t have much to say about it, Nan. The court gave my wife a
divorce and all the property. She sold it.”
“Oh, that was too bad.”
“They call it justice, Nan. I had a nice start in cattle and horses.”
“I have heard some of it. Whispering told me part of it. She married a
banker, didn’t she?”
“A bank cashier,” he nodded. “Quite a jump from the wife of a wild
cowboy. But she was ambitious, I reckon.”
“Whispering said that she was very pretty.”
“I suppose she was. She knew it. That ruined her, Nan.”
“Knowing that she was pretty?”
“Shore,” Len smiled wistfully. “It spoiled her. When a woman finds out
she’s pretty, she’s like a young man who finds out he’s a good shot.
They’re both goin’ to hurt somebody before they get through.”
“I’m glad I’m not pretty, Len.”
He turned in his saddle and looked at her closely.
“No, you’re not pretty, Nan; but yo’re good-lookin’. You’ve got good
eyes, pretty teeth and red hair. Some day, some feller is goin’ to think
yo’re beautiful, and he’ll tell yuh. But you’ve got plenty sense, and
yuh won’t break his heart, because yuh know yuh ain’t beautiful.”
Nan flushed hotly under his diagnosis. No woman cares to be told that
she is not beautiful, even if she knows that it is the painful truth.
“Don’t get mad at me, Nan,” he said quickly.
“I’m not mad, Len.”
“That’s fine. I reckon I got kinda rough with yuh, but when I look down
at that place I kinda lose faith in women and men. That’s where my boy
was born, Nan. I remember that night so well. I rode for the doctor to
Lobo Wells and got him out of bed. He wanted to hitch up his buggy
horse, but I made him pile on to my bronc, ’cause we needed him bad.
“I said I’d hitch up his horse and foller behind. I was so excited that
I plumb forgot that I was ridin’ a bad bronc, and about halfway between
here and the town I picked up the doctor. He was scratchin’ matches in
the middle of the road, tryin’ to find his medicine case. The bronc
throwed him flat. But we got there in time.
“Oh, he was a fine little boy. I was the nurse. The cattle business went
flat with me. We didn’t have no cook; so I done the cookin’ and the
nursin’. This is the first time I’ve seen the old place in over five
years, Nan--and it hurts. Memories hurt, even if they’re happy memories.
Mine are both kinds.”
“Was she happy with this other man, Len?”
“_Quién sabe?_ I hope she was, Nan. Everybody is entitled to happiness.
Accordin’ to my viewpoint, she didn’t play square. She wasn’t happy nor
satisfied for a long time. Nan, a woman has got to love a man to live
with him in the range country. Not only that, but she’s got to sacrifice
a lot. Girls who are born to it get along the best. They don’t know
anythin’ else.”
“It is a lonesome life,” said Nan slowly. “But I think I could learn to
love it, Len. The city seems so narrow beside this country. I could
understand hate in a city, but not out here.”
“There will always be hate, as long as men live, Nan.”
“Did you love your wife, Len?”
He looked queerly at her, turned away and rubbed the palm of his right
hand on his saddle-horn.
“I admired her, Nan. Mebbe I loved her. I loved my baby. She said I
loved the baby more than I did her. Women get queer notions. Do you get
queer notions, Nan?”
“About what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That was a foolish question. Didja ever have a
sweetheart, Nan?”
“I suppose I have,” laughed Nan.
“Didja love him?”
“I don’t think I did, Len.”
“Uh-huh. My wife used to tell about the sweethearts she had. I reckon
she kept quite a tally. But she said she never loved one, until she met
me. If that was the case, God was mighty good to them other boys.”
“Did she sell everything you owned, Len?”
“Shore. I had a house in town, too. Wasn’t worth much, but she sold it.
She took what money I had in the bank. Whisperin’ says she wasn’t
satisfied with what she got. There was another bank roll, and she
thought it was where she could get it, but it wasn’t in sight. Baggs,
yore lawyer, wrote me a letter, askin’ where it was. I reckon she hired
him to write the letter.”
“You didn’t tell him, did you, Len?”
Len smiled bitterly.
“No, I didn’t, Nan. I told him where he could go, but he didn’t take my
advice. Queer jigger, that Baggs person.”
“Has he a good reputation, Len?”
He looked at her queerly.
“Why do you ask that question, Nan?”
“Just curiosity, I suppose.”
“I suppose I’m prejudiced, Nan. Yuh see, he sent me to the penitentiary.
The evidence wasn’t so awful. They found my hat in the bank, after a
robbery. Kinda foolish for a man to leave his hat, after robbin’ a bank,
wasn’t it?” He smiled wryly at her, as he eased himself in his saddle.
“But Baggs is a bitter devil,” he continued. “He said a lot of dirty
things about me durin’ that trial, and he made the jury believe ’em. I
didn’t have any friends on that jury, Nan; Baggs saw to that, and
Charley Prentice was the star witness. He swore he recognised me, and
the judge sent me up for five years.”
“Why did you come back here, Len?”
“Why?”
“With all the bitter memories and the things against you.”
He looked at her, his greenish-gray eyes half-closed thoughtfully.
“Mebbe I came back to dig up the money they say I hid.”
“I’m sorry I asked that question, Len.”
“Oh, it don’t matter, Nan. Everybody wonders, I reckon. Well,” he picked
up his reins, “I suppose I’ll dig it up some day. Hope to. Right now, it
don’t look promisin’, but yuh never can tell.”
“Don’t you want to go down and look at the old place, Len?”
He shook his head quickly.
“I don’t think so. Whisperin’ told me that they tore up all the floors
and dug all around, lookin’ for my cache. I s’pose every cowpuncher in
this country has hunted for my buried treasure in the last five years.
They can dig for five more, and never find it, Nan. Well, we might as
well start back home.”
“All right, Len. Do you know, I was just wondering why Baggs asked me to
make you foreman of the Box S, when he was so bitter toward you before.”
“Mebbe he felt sorry for me,” smiled Len.
“Perhaps,” doubtfully. “I wouldn’t trust him too far.”
“You wouldn’t? Well, I guess that’s right. Yuh see, I don’t trust
anybody, Nan.”
“You’d trust me, wouldn’t you?”
He turned and looked squarely at her for a moment.
“Mebbe I’ll tell yuh about it sometime,” he replied enigmatically, and
they rode slowly back toward the river.
Len’s reply worried Nan. Did he know she was an impostor, she wondered?
She knew that Len had been very close to old Harmony Singer. Whispering
had told her about the friendship between these two men for years, and
that Harmony had looked upon Len almost as a son. She wondered what it
was behind those greenish-gray eyes that caused Len to look so queerly
at her at times.
If there had been any other claimants to the Box S Nan would have
slipped quietly out of the country, but Whispering had told her that she
was the only living relative of Harmony Singer, as far as he knew. Some
one had to own the ranch.
She was afraid of Amos Baggs, but she did not know what his game was.
And why did he ask her to keep Len Ayres, she wondered? Was Len in on
the deal in some way? She had no one to talk with; no one to confide in.
It was just a case of going ahead day by day, waiting to see what might
develop, at least until the will had been probated.
Nothing more had been said about the cheque which Baggs had asked her to
sign, but as they rode in at the Box S Len turned to her and said:
“Baggs is probably sore about yuh not signin’ that cheque for him, Nan;
but you stick to it. After the will is probated, it’ll be all right.
Stick as close to the law as yuh can--it’s the safest thing to do.”
“He can’t make me sign it,” smiled Nan, and Len looked sharply at her
for a moment.
“No, I don’t reckon he can. Anyway, his price is pretty steep for just
notifyin’ yuh. I suppose he got paid as he went along, and never ran any
bills. But don’tcha worry about Baggs.”
“Oh, I’m not worrying about him, Len. I’d rather take your advice than
his.”
“Well,” drawled Len, “I wouldn’t go so far as that, if I was you, Nan.
He knows a lot about the workings of the law, while about all I know is
the effects of it.”
Nan slipped to the ground and handed her reins to Len. “You shouldn’t
remind yourself of that all the time, Len,” she said.
“I’ve got to,” he told her seriously. “Why, if I didn’t remind myself
all the time of them five years, I’d go out and--and prob’ly get sent
back again. Nan, don’t never do anythin’ that might send yuh to jail.”
He turned abruptly and started toward the stable with the two horses,
leaving Nan rather breathless, looking after him. Came the soft drumming
of the old triangle beside the kitchen door, and she turned to see
Whispering grinning at her.
“Supper time, boss,” he said, his red face beaming like a full moon.
“Amos Baggs came out to see yuh to-day, and me and Sailor shore sent him
back home talkin’ to himself. First time I ever seen Amos Baggs with a
skinful of liquor. Oh, he wasn’t drunk, but he had plenty. He was jist a
mongrel when he showed up here, but me and Sailor shore sent him home
with a pedigree.”
“Did he say what he wanted?” asked Nan.
“Never had no chance, ma’am. We didn’t listen--we talked. You hop into
yore other clothes quick, ’cause them biscuits are due to rise out of
the oven right now. Sailor felt so good over his talk with Baggs that he
cut me plenty good wood for once in his rheumatic existence.”
“Was Mr. Baggs angry?” asked Nan.
“I dunno,” grinned Whispering. “But ’f he wasn’t, he’s shore deaf as
hell or got a wonderful disposition.”