A soft wind swept the prairie, which was now bare of snow. Larry rode down
the trail that led through the Cedar Bluff. He was freely sprinkled with
mire, for spring had come suddenly, and the frost-bleached sod was soft
with the thaw; and when he pulled up on the wooden bridge to wait until
Breckenridge, who appeared among the trees, should join him, the river
swirled and frothed beneath. It had lately burst its icy chains, and came
roaring down, seamed by lines of foam and strewn with great fragments of
half-melted snow-cake that burst against the quivering piles.
"Running strong!" said Breckenridge. "Still, the water has not risen much
yet, and as I crossed the big rise I saw two of Torrance's cow-boys
apparently screwing up their courage to try the ford."
"It might be done," said Larry. "We have one horse at Fremont that would
take me across. The snow on the ranges is not melting yet, and the ice
will be tolerably firm on the deep reaches; but it's scarcely likely that
we will want to swim the Cedar now."
"No," said Breckenridge, with a laugh, "the bridge is good enough for me.
By the way, I have a note for you."
"A note!" said Larry, with a slight hardening of his face, for of late
each communication that reached him had brought him fresh anxieties.
"Well," said Breckenridge drily, "I scarcely think this one should worry
you. From the fashion in which it reached me I have a notion it's from a
lady."
There was a little gleam in Larry's eyes when he took the note, and
Breckenridge noticed that he was very silent as they rode on. When they
reached Fremont he remained a while in the stable, and when at last he
entered the house Breckenridge glanced at him questioningly.
"You have something on your mind," he said. "What have you been doing,
Larry?"
Grant smiled curiously. "Giving the big bay a rub down. I'm riding to
Cedar Range to-night."
"Have you lost your head?" Breckenridge stared at him. "Muller saw the
Sheriff riding in this morning, and it's more than likely he is at the
Range. You are wanted rather more badly than ever just now, Larry."
Grant's face was quietly resolute as he took out the note and passed it to
his companion. "I have tried to do my duty by the boys; but I am going to
Cedar to-night."
Breckenridge opened the note, which had been written the previous day, and
read, "In haste. Come to the bluff beneath the Range--alone--nine
to-morrow night."
Then, he stared at the paper in silence until Grant, who watched him
almost jealously, took it from him. "Yes," he said, though his face was
thoughtful, "of course, you must go. You are quite sure of the writing?"
Grant smiled, as it were, compassionately. "I would recognize it
anywhere!"
"Well," said Breckenridge significantly, "that is perhaps not very
astonishing, though I fancy some folks would find it difficult. The 'In
haste' no doubt explains the thing, but it seems to me the last of it does
not quite match the heading."
"It is smeared--thrust into the envelope wet," Larry said.
Breckenridge rose, and walked, with no apparent purpose, across the room.
"Larry," he said, "Tom and I will come with you. No--you wait a minute. Of
course, I know there are occasions on which one's friends' company is
superfluous--distinctly so; but we could pull up and wait behind the
bluff--quite a long way off, you know."
"I was told to come alone." Larry turned upon him sharply.
Breckenridge made a gesture of resignation. "Then I'm not going to stay
here most of the night by myself. It's doleful. I'll ride over to Muller's
now."
"Will it be any livelier there?"
Breckenridge wondered whether Larry had noticed anything unusual in his
voice, and managed to laugh. "A little," he said. "The fräulein is pretty
enough in the lamplight to warrant one listening to a good deal about
Menotti and the franc tireurs. She makes really excellent coffee, too,"
and he slipped out before Grant could ask any more questions.
Darkness was just closing down when the latter rode away. There was very
little of the prairie broncho in the big horse beneath him, whose sire had
brought the best blood that could be imported into that country, and he
had examined every buckle of girth and headstall as he fastened them. He
also rode, for lightness, in a thin deerskin jacket which fitted him
closely, with a rifle across his saddle, gazing with keen eyes across the
shadowy waste when now and then a half-moon came out. Once he also drew
bridle and sat still a minute listening, for he fancied he heard the
distant beat of hoofs, and then went on with a little laugh at his
credulity. The Cedar was roaring in its hollow and the birches moaning in
a bluff, but as the damp wind that brought the blood to his cheeks sank,
there was stillness save for the sound of the river, and Grant decided
that his ears had deceived him.
It behooved him to be cautious, for he knew the bitterness of the
cattle-men against him, and the Sheriff's writ still held good; but Hetty
had sent for him, and if his enemies had lain in wait in every bluff and
hollow he would have gone.
While he rode, troubled by vague apprehensions, which now and then gave
place to exultation that set his heart throbbing, Hetty sat with Miss
Schuyler in her room at Cedar Range. An occasional murmur of voices
reached them faintly from the big hall below where Torrance and some of
his neighbours sat with the Sheriff over their cigars and wine, and the
girls knew that a few of the most daring horsemen among the cow-boys had
their horses saddled ready. Hetty lay in a low chair with a book she was
not reading on her knee, and Miss Schuyler, glancing at her now and then
over the embroidery she paid almost as little attention to, noticed the
weariness in her face and the anxiety in her eyes. She laid down her
needle when Torrance's voice came up from below.
"What can they be plotting, Hetty?" she said. "Horses ready, that most
unpleasant Sheriff smiling cunningly as he did when I passed him talking
to Clavering, and the sense of expectancy. It's there. One could hear it
in their voices, even if one had not seen their faces, and when I met your
father at the head of the stairs he almost frightened me. Of course, he
was not theatrical--he never is--but I know that set of his lips and look
in his eyes, and have more than a fancy it means trouble for somebody. I
suppose he has not told you anything--in fact, he seems to have kept
curiously aloof from both of us lately."
Hetty turned towards her with a little spot of colour in her cheek and
apprehension in her eyes.
"So you have noticed it, too!" she said very slowly. "Of course, he has
been busy and often away, while I know how anxious he must be; but when he
is at home he scarcely speaks to me--and then, there is something in his
voice that hurts me. I'm 'most afraid he has found out that I have been
talking to Larry."
Miss Schuyler smiled. "Well," she said, "that--alone--would not be such a
very serious offence."
The crimson showed plainer in Hetty's cheek and there was a faint ring in
her voice. "Flo," she said, "don't make me angry--I can't bear it
to-night. Something is going to happen--I can feel it is--and you don't
know my father even yet. He is so horribly quiet, and I'm afraid of as
well as sorry for him. It is a long while ago, but he looked just as he
does now--only not quite so grim--during my mother's last illness. Oh, I
know there is something worrying him, and he will not tell me--though he
was always kind before, even when he was angry. Flo, this horrible trouble
can't go on for ever!"
Hetty had commenced bravely, but she faltered as she proceeded, and Miss
Schuyler, who saw her distress, had risen and was standing with one hand
on her shoulder when the maid came in. She cast a hasty glance at her
mistress, and appeared, Flora Schuyler fancied, embarrassed, and desirous
of concealing it.
"Mr. Torrance will excuse you coming down again," she said. "He may have
some of the Sheriff's men and one or two of the cow-boys in, and would
sooner you kept your room. Are you likely to want me in the next
half-hour?"
"No," said Hetty. "No doubt you are anxious to find out what is going
on."
The maid went out, and Miss Schuyler fixed anxious eyes on her companion.
"What is the matter with the girl, Hetty?" she asked.
"I don't know. Did you notice anything?"
"Yes. I think she had something on her mind. Any way, she was
unexplainably anxious to get away from you."
Hetty smiled somewhat bitterly. "Then she is only like the rest. Everybody
at Cedar is anxious about something now."
Flora Schuyler rose, and, flinging the curtains behind her, looked out at
the night. The moon was just showing through a rift in the driving cloud,
and she could see the bluff roll blackly down to the white frothing of the
river. She also saw a shadowy object slipping through the gloom of the
trees, and fancied it was a woman; but when another figure appeared for a
moment in the moonlight the first one came flitting back again.
"I believe the girl has gone out to meet somebody in the bluff," she
said.