SUSPICION
Why had her mother come to her in such a way? Why had she been so
quick to see what people would say? Did she believe that Wayne Shandon
had killed Arthur; was she afraid that Wanda might have found something
that would incriminate him; and did she want to warn her of what the
inevitable result of such a disclosure would be?
And she had found something! She had known from the first sight of it,
half hidden by Shep's eager pays, that it was Wayne Shandon's. He had
shown it to her only last week.
"I am going to teach you to shoot as I shoot," he had laughed, bringing
the revolver out of his pocket. "Then I am going to give it to you.
And then you are going to make me a pretty bow and give me a pretty
smile and say, 'Thank you, Red,' as you did when I chastised your first
suitor! Remember, Wanda?"
"Only I don't call you 'Red' any more," she had laughed back at him.
"We're grown up now, you know, and Wayne is much more dignified
and . . . and respectful."
"And you can handle your own suitors now," he had retorted. "More
artistically and with equal finality!"
Only a week ago out there in the orchard where now the sunlight lay in
golden splashes over the fruit trees, she and Red Reckless had bantered
each other as they strolled toward the house where Arthur was sitting
on the veranda with her mother, watching them. It was a sparkling
morning like to-day's, and they had spoken of the old school days
before Mr. Shandon sent his two sons to the East to school, of the time
when she was eight and he was fifteen and he had "licked" a boy whom
she did not like but who was stubborn in vowing that the little girl
should eat a red cheeked apple he had brought her. A week ago, and now
Arthur Shandon was dead and men were ready to believe that Wayne
Shandon had killed him.
She sat very still, while her mind wandered in many directions. The
old days rose up vividly bringing back the young faces of Arthur and
Wayne and Garth Conway,--they had all played Prisoner's Base and
Anti-over at the little white school house down in the valley. She
remembered the day when a letter came from Mr. Shandon summoning Arthur
and Wayne and Garth to the East, and how merry the boys had been over
it. She missed them dreadfully after they went away until vacation
came and her own father had taken her with him on a tour of inspection
to his four other ranches, up and down the State. For three years she
did not see the three boys, their letters had ceased, and she was well
on the way to forget her playfellows. And then, when she was twelve
and Wayne Shandon nineteen, he had come back.
He had run away. He had quarrelled with his father, and Arthur had
tried to show him that he was unreasonable. Then the boy's hot temper
had flashed out at his brother and finally at Garth Conway who had long
been accustomed to thinking as Arthur Shandon thought. So the youth,
in whom love of adventure and hatred of restraint were already marked
characteristics, had sold his books, the saddle pony which his father's
generosity had given him, his guns and fishing tackle, in fact
everything which he might sell even to his spare clothing, had caught a
night train and come West again.
Wanda's mother had tried to reason with the boy when he came to them,
laughing at the trick he had played his father, full of mockery of the
hidebound ways of cities, and had wanted to send him back to Mr.
Shandon. She had cried a little over him and kissed him and talked
gently with him as was her motherly way. But Wanda's father berated
him severely and sternly and Wayne flushed and bit his lip and then
went away from them as he had gone away from the East.
More years, happy years for Wanda Leland, sped by and she did not see
the boy. Both Arthur and Garth came in the long summer vacations to
Mr. Shandon's range and were frequent visitors at the Echo Creek place.
Word came now and then of Wayne Shandon, sometimes by infrequent and
unsatisfactory short letters from him, more often in elaborately
embroidered rumour from men making long trips across the country. He
had gone to work for a cattle outfit, taking a dollar a day and doing
an ordinary cowboy's work. Even before he was twenty-one, men called
him Red Reckless. He had learned to gamble, and to gamble for big
stakes. He played poker; he took his chance with the "bank"; but he
loved the dice. They were quicker; a man could "make or break" at one
throw. It was his way to hazard everything on a throw, to laugh if he
won, to laugh if he lost.
Rumour said that he had been shot by a notorious gambler, Dash Dulac;
and had come near dying; that he had shot another man up at Spanish Dry
Diggings where he had rushed with a frantic flood of men on news of a
golden strike; that he had been sucked away with another flux of gold
seekers to the Yukon country where he had lived lawlessly with his
lawless companions; that he had drifted back to the lumber camps of the
mountains; that at last he had returned to the cattle country.
Wanda had gone away to school in the East, spending only her summers
upon the Echo Creek ranch. She had seen very little of Wayne Shandon.
When Mr. Shandon died, leaving his wide reaching cattle range to his
elder son, Arthur had come promptly to take charge of the Bar L-M
Outfit, and Garth Conway had come with him as foreman and general
manager under him. Arthur, whose affection for his stormy souled
brother had lasted strong through the years, had at last prevailed upon
Wayne to "come home" and to go to work for him. That had been a year
ago.
A light knock at her door brought back her wandering thoughts to
to-day, to Arthur Shandon, to the suspicion which was so quickly
lifting its venomous head. She rose from the bed, pushed back the hair
which had fallen unnoticed into confusion about her cheeks, and said
softly,
"Come in, mamma."
"We were just going to have lunch when you came, Wanda," her mother
said quietly. "You must come and have a cup of tea."
"Mamma! I can't."
"But you can!" Her mother smiled a little at her and patted the
restless hand she took in her own. "You had a very early breakfast and
you must have a cup of tea."
Together they went back to the dining room.
"Where are Garth and Mr. Hume?" asked Wanda.
"They have gone . . . with the others, dear," Mrs. Leland told her.
The two women sat down in silence. Wanda forced herself to drink half
of her tea and pushed the cup away from her. She got swiftly to her
feet and leaving the room, went out upon the north veranda, where she
saw Julia, the cook, standing at the window, her red hands upon her
broad hips, her eyes even redder than her hands. On the window sill
were half a dozen fresh, hot pies which Julia had made for "the
boys" . . .
Wanda bit her lips and her eyes went whither her mother's had gone,
down the trail along which the men had ridden to the creek.
It seemed a very long time before she saw them. The wagon, with Jim
driving slowly and carefully, climbed over a ridge and wound its way
down into the valley. Her father, Garth, and Sledge Hume, were riding
behind it, abreast and close together. Wayne Shandon farther back was
riding alone, his head down, his hat drawn low over his brows.
At last she could see the faces shaded by the wide brimmed hats. They
were strangely alike in their hard, set expression, the gravity which
told little. These were not, any of them, men given to wearing their
deeper emotions on their sleeves. Her eyes ran to Wayne Shandon's face
first. It was white, the mouth was sterner than she had ever thought
Red Reckless' laughing mouth could be, the eyes were hard and
inscrutable.
From him she looked anxiously at her father, then at Sledge Hume, then
at Garth Conway. And these faces, stern like Wayne's, sent a little
shiver of fear through her.
Her mother went out to meet the wagon, crying quietly. Wanda felt the
tears rush with a hotness like fire into her own eyes, and then she
turned and hurrying out of sight of the slow procession ran down to the
orchard. She was lying there, face down, sobbing like a child, when
she felt a shadow over her, heard a man's spurs jingle, and knew who it
was that had come out to her.
She looked up at him, wondering.
"Wanda," he said very quietly, his voice strangely steady, "it was good
of you to give him your hat. If I were dead and you did a thing like
that for me I think I should come back to life to kiss your dear hands."
This was so like him! Oh, just the thing Red Reckless would do! The
little thoughtful act of hers had stirred him more deeply than most men
are moved even by big things; and the impulse had come to him to go
straight to her and thank her. And he was a man who obeyed impulses.
The other men had entered the house for their lunch. It seemed
horrible to her that people should be able to eat at a time like this.
Wayne Shandon spoke to her again.
"Your father is going to let Jim go with me," he said. "We are going
to El Toyon. Then I am going to take him back East."
"East!" she exclaimed,
"Yes. I have a fancy he'd like to be buried close to dad."
"You are coming back soon?"
"Immediately. Within ten days, I think. Good-bye, Wanda."
"Wait a minute," she hesitated. "I want to think."
She had not meant to tell him so soon, in the first shock of the death,
about what she had found. But he was going away, and he ought to know,
it was his right to know.
"Will you wait here for me a moment, Wayne?" she asked looking
pitifully up into the face of the man whose grave eyes were fixed upon
her. "Until I run to the house and get something?"
She was glad then that the other men were able to eat, and that her
mother and Julia were waiting on them. Hastening back to her room, she
took the revolver from its hiding place in her trunk, slipped it into
her blouse and ran back to the orchard.
"Wayne," she whispered coming close to him, suspicious of every little
sound in the orchard, fearful of an approaching footstep. "I found
something near Arthur. I did not tell any one. As you are going away
I had better tell you."
She held out the revolver. The sunlight fell on it, glinting brightly
from the polished silver. Wayne Shandon stared at it frowning, as
though he could not or would not believe his eyes. Slowly a deeper
pallor crept into his white face. Then a terrible look which the girl
could not read came into his eyes.
"Good God!" he whispered hoarsely. "You found that near him?"
Suddenly he put his hand out and took it. His fingers touched hers.
They were as cold as ice.
"Wanda," he said, his voice frightening her, it was so hard and
unfamiliar, "you were good to give it to me."
That was all. She felt vaguely that his mind was groping for other
words which it could not find. He slipped the revolver into his
pocket, turned and left her.
From the orchard she watched him ride away. Jim was driving the two
big greys, while Shandon followed close behind the wagon, sitting very
straight in the saddle, his face telling her nothing. . . . She sank
back upon the grass under the apple tree and lay still, staring up at
the patches of blue seen through the green and white of the branches
and blossoms.
When at last she went back to the house she heard her father's voice
lifted angrily. He was talking to her mother and the name flung
furiously from his lips was the name of Wayne Shandon.
"Hush, Martin," protested Mrs. Leland. "You mustn't . . ."
Martin Leland, his face red, his mouth working wordlessly, swept up his
hat and went away to the corrals by the stable. Wanda saw his eyes as
he brushed by her and she shivered, drawing away from him.
Garth Conway had already gone, riding the half dozen miles to the Bar
L-M to carry word of the death of its owner, and to assume entire
charge there until Wayne should return. Sledge Hume was loitering down
by the stable.
The day passed, strangely silent. No reference was made in the Leland
household to the tragedy which had stirred each member of it so deeply,
so differently. Throughout the long afternoon Martin Leland remained
among his cattle and horses, often flaring into anger at trifles. Mrs.
Leland was in her room, alone, suffering as she might have suffered had
Arthur and Wayne been the sons nature had denied to her. Wanda
wandered restlessly back and forth, from the house to the stable, about
the yard, where the pigeons whirled and circled and cooed.
The days which followed were like this one, silent, tense, expectant.
It was as though each one of these people was waiting for something,
all but breathless. MacKelvey, a heavy set, quick eyed man, the county
sheriff, came one day and talked long with Martin Leland. The two sat
for an hour on the corral fence below the stable. After that MacKelvey
went away and the waiting, the tense expectancy was more marked than
before.
The tenth day came and went its laughing, blue way. Wayne Shandon did
not come with it, but Garth Conway rode over that evening. He had had
no word from Wayne, although he was expecting him hourly. Two weeks
passed, and still no word from Wayne. One by one, slowly, heavily the
days went by.
Then at last Garth Conway rode again to the Leland ranch house and
brought tidings of Wayne. He had tired of New York, but he was not yet
coming West. Instead he was sailing for Europe, and would probably go
down into Africa for some hunting.
"Where does he get the money?" demanded Martin Leland sharply.
Garth's short laugh was rather full answer. But he elaborated it into
words:
"I am to rush a forced sale of cattle," he said, lifting his shoulders.
"He wants two thousand dollars in a hurry. God knows what for. He is
going to fritter his property away just as he fritters away everything!"
Leland sprang up from his chair, his two fists clenched and lifted high
above his head, his eyes blazing.
"Martin! Martin!" cried Mrs. Leland.
He dropped his hands to his sides and turned away, the words on his
tongue checked.
"Dear God," Wanda prayed within her soul. "Let him be a man. Let him
come back soon. Before every one believes he did that thing,
before . . . they send for him!"