"Well," said Grant slowly, "he had done a good deal for me, but that would
not have counted for very much with any one when we made our decision."
"No?" And Hetty glanced at him with a little astonishment.
Grant shook his head. "No," he said. "We had to do the square thing--that
and nothing more; but if we had let that man go, he would, when the chance
was given him, have done what he did again. Well, it was--horrible; but
there was no law that would do the work for us in this country then."
Hetty shivered, but had there been light enough Grant would have seen the
relief in her face, and as it was his pulse responded to the little quiver
in her voice. Why it was she did not know, but the belief in him which she
had once cherished suddenly returned to her. In the old days the man she
had never thought of as a lover could, at least, do no wrong.
"I understand." Her voice was very gentle. "There must be a good deal of
meanness in me, or I should have known you only did it because you are a
white man, and felt you had to. Oh, of course, I know--only it's so much
easier to go round another way so you can't see what you don't want to.
Larry, I'm sorry."
Grant's voice quivered. "The only thing you ever do wrong, Hetty, is to
forget to think now and then; and by and by you will find somebody who is
good enough to think for you."
The girl smiled. "He would have to be very patient, and the trouble is
that if he was clever enough to do the thinking he wouldn't have the least
belief in me. You are the only man, Larry, who could see people's
meannesses and still have faith in them."
"I am a blunderer who has taken up a contract that's too big for him,"
Grant said gravely. "I have never told anyone else, Hetty, but there are
times now and then when, knowing the kind of man I am, I get 'most sick
with fear. All the poor men in this district are looking to me, and,
though I lie awake at night, I can't see how I'm going to help them when
one trace of passion would let loose anarchy. It's only right they're
wanting, that is, most of the Dutchmen and the Americans--but there's the
mad red rabble behind them, and the bitter rage of hard men who have been
trampled on, to hold in. It's a crushing weight we who hold the reins have
got to carry. Still, we were made only plain farmer men, and I guess we're
not going to be saddled with more than we can bear."
He had spoken solemnly from the depths of his nature, and all that was
good in the girl responded.
"Larry," she said softly, "while you feel just that I think you can't go
wrong. It is what is right we are both wanting, and--though I don't know
how--I feel we will get it by and by, and then it will be the best thing
for homestead-boys and cattle-barons. When that time comes we will be glad
there were white men who took up their load and worried through, and when
this trouble's worked out and over there will be nothing to stop us being
good friends again."
"Is that quite out of the question now?"
"Yes," said Hetty simply. "I am sorry, but, Larry, can't you understand?
You are leading the homestead-boys, and my father the cattle-barons. First
of all I've got to be a dutiful daughter."
"Of course," he agreed. "Well, it can't last for ever, and we can only do
the best we can. Other folks had the same trouble when the boys in Sumter
fired the starting gun--North and South at each other's throats, and both
Americans!"
Hetty decided that she had gone sufficiently far, and turned in her
saddle. "What is the Englishman telling you, Flo?" she asked.
Miss Schuyler laughed. "He was almost admitting that the girls in this
country are as pretty as those they raise in the one he came from."
"Well," said Breckenridge, "if it was daylight I'd be sure."
Grant fancied that it was not without a purpose his companion checked her
horse to let the others come up, and, though it cost him an effort,
acquiesced. His laugh was almost as ready as that of the rest as they rode
on four abreast, until at last the lights of Cedar Range blinked beside
the bluff. Then, they grew suddenly silent again as Muller, who it seemed
remembered that he had been taught by the franc tireurs, rode past them
with his rifle across his saddle. They pulled up when his figure cut
blackly against the sky on the crest of a rise, and Hetty's laugh was
scarcely light-hearted.
"You have been very good, and I am sorry I can't ask you to come in," she
said. "Still, I don't know that it's all our fault; we are under martial
law just now."
Grant took off his hat and wheeled his horse, and when the girls rode
forward sat rigid and motionless, watching them until he saw the ray from
the open door of Cedar Range. Then, Muller trotted up, and with a little
sigh he turned homewards across the prairie.
About the same time Richard Clavering lay smoking, in a big chair in the
room where he kept his business books and papers. He wore, among other
somewhat unusual things, a velvet jacket, very fine linen, and on one of
his long, slim fingers a ring of curious Eastern workmanship. Clavering
was a man of somewhat expensive tastes, and his occasional visits to the
cities had cost him a good deal, which was partly why an accountant,
famous for his knowledge of ranching property, now sat busy at a table. He
was a shrewd, direct American, and had already spent several days
endeavouring to ascertain the state of Clavering's finances.
"Nearly through?" the rancher asked, with a languidness which the
accountant fancied was assumed.
"I can give you a notion of how you stand, right now," he answered. "You
want me to be quite candid?"
"Oh, yes," said Clavering, with a smile of indifference. "I'm in a tight
place, Hopkins?"
"I guess you are--any way, if you go on as you're doing. You see what I
consider it prudent to write off the value of your property?"
Clavering examined the paper handed him with visible astonishment. "Why
have you whittled so much off the face value?"
"Just because you're going to have that much taken away from you by and
by."