The Forfeit Part 22

He moved off the stoop and took his horse from the waiting man. He swung himself into the saddle with an agility which belied his years.

He waved one great hand in response to the manager's deferential bow, and turned his horse away. In a moment Bud and Nan were riding side by side down the wide Avenue.

It was a long time before either attempted to break the silence between them. They had even reached the outskirts of the city before Nan broached the subject from which her father admittedly shrank.

"I'm glad Jeff didn't get up to see us off," she said imply. Then she laughed softly. "Y'see, Daddy, there's times for most things; and 'good-byes' in the early morning are a bit like cold baths in winter."

Bud eyed his daughter with a quick sidelong glance, and then continued his survey of the trail ahead as it lifted over a gentle gra.s.sy slope.

They were pa.s.sing the last houses of the town, and ahead lay the tawny fields which made the country one of the greatest pastures in the world.

"Ther'd been no sort o' sense his turning out around sun-up to see us folks off. It ain't goin' to be weeks before he gets back home."

"No."

Nan's smile remained, and Bud, for all his avoidance of it, was aware that was so. It was a smile that cut him to the heart, and yet he was simple man enough to find relief in it.

"There'll be a deal for him to fix before he gets back home," Nan went on.

She spoke in the earnest fas.h.i.+on of deep consideration. Bud glanced round at her again, steadying his powerful horse to permit her pony to push its nose ahead. Her manner had startled him. But he refrained from the folly of replying. He had that in his mind to impart the thought of which nearly broke his heart. But it must be told, and by him. And a pa.s.sionate desire to lighten the blow made him watch desperately for the best opportunity.

But he was dealing with a nature stronger, deeper, more honest and clear-sighted than he knew. He was dealing with a woman who could sacrifice all to the well-being and happiness of those she loved. With Nan self held a particularly subservient place to every other emotion.

And when it did manage to obtrude itself it was her way to fight her battle alone, at a time when no prying eyes were there to witness her sufferings. To the daylight she presented a pair of sweet brown smiling eyes, and lips as full, and ripe, and firm as though no shadow of doubt and unhappiness had ever crossed her path.

She went on rapidly, speaking as though the matter under consideration were fully accepted between them.

"It's queer how things fix themselves the way you don't guess," she said reflectively. "Just one week, and they're changed around in a way that makes you wonder if you aren't dreaming. It's sort of like the Indian summer, isn't it? There's the beautiful light of the full sun on colors that set you 'most crazy with delight. Pictures that make you feel Providence is just the biggest painter ever set brush to canvas. Then, with a s.h.i.+ver of wind from the north, down the leaves tumble, and right on top of 'em comes the snow, and then you're moving around in a sort of crystal fairy web, and wonder when you'll wake up.

A week ago Jeff didn't even know her; she wasn't in the world so far as he knew. Now he's going to marry her."

Nan stated the fact without a tremor of voice, without a shadow of hesitation. The sunny smile was entirely without a cloud. Her father stared down at her from his superior height with eyes wide with astonishment and something of alarm.

"Say, did Jeff tell you?" he asked sharply.

Nan shook her head.

"Then how in h.e.l.l d'you know it all? Say----"

"How d'you know anything that affects you here, Daddy?" the girl retorted, gently indicating her soft rounded bosom with one gauntleted hand.

Then her smile broke out again, and the man's trouble was further increased.

"Y'see, I don't mind saying things to you. You're my Daddy and Momma all rolled into one. And there's sure a heap of you for two," she smiled up at him. "Maybe you don't always say all the things you feel, but it don't keep me guessing long. You'd a heap of terr'ble, terr'ble things on your mind to say to me on this ride. Oh, and they weighed heavy. Your poor worried face had lost all its smile, and your eyes just looked as if you'd been lying awake nights an' nights, an' you'd seen every sort of nightmare ever thought of in the world of dreams.

It made me kind of sorry, and I just couldn't wait for you to make that big talk you figgered on."

Bud was gazing far out ahead at the brilliant sky-line where the crests of gra.s.s-land cut the line in perfect undulations. Nan's gently drawn sigh was like the stab of a knife in his heart. His feelings at that moment were too deep for words. And so the girl went on in a voice that struck fresh chords of sympathy in the soul of the man who idolized her.

"It seems to me, my Daddy, that we often think things that a great big Someone don't guess are good for us to think. We sort of set up hopes we've no right to. An' when we do, why, we've got to be handed our lessons. Sometimes the lesson is pretty tough, sometimes I don't guess it's a deal worse than a pin-p.r.i.c.k. Anyway, lessons aren't joyous things at best, not even pin-p.r.i.c.ks. Well, if folks are right they'll just learn their lessons all they can without kicking, and if they get a hunch on, why, I don't figger it's likely to make 'em harder. I've been learning my lesson a whole week now, and, yes, I've got it right.

Oh, I've had to work. It hasn't been easy. And somehow, my Daddy, all these lovely, lovely gowns, and the thought of the generous hands that gave them to me, have helped me to learn quicker, and--better."

She paused again. Their horses were ambling leisurely along over the sandy trail. They moved together, side by side, in a closeness of companions.h.i.+p which perhaps symbolized that of their riders.

"I jest don't know what to say, Nan. I surely don't," Bud lumbered at last with a half-bewildered drawing together of his heavy brows. "It don't seem I ken even think right--about it."

Nan gazed up into his big troubled face with the frank eyes that looked wholly untroubled.

"Don't try, my Daddy. Guess I've done all that's necessary that way.

Maybe I know just how you're feeling, because I know how I'm feeling.

G.o.d's been good to me all my years. He's given me a Daddy who's the best in the world. A Daddy who's taught me by his own example how to be strong and fight the little battles I guess it's meant for us to fight. Oh, I won't say it hasn't hurt," she went on, with a catch in her voice. "You see, I loved Jeff. I love him now, and I'll go right on loving him to the end. And it's because I love him I want to help him now--and always. You won't think me a fool girl, my Daddy, will you, but--but--I won't hate Elvine van Blooren. I'm--I'm going to try so hard to like her, and--and anyway, with all my might, I'm going to help them both. D'you guess Jeff would let me get his house ready for--his wife?"

The father's reply came with a violence which he calculated should conceal an emotion which his manhood forbade, but which only helped to reveal it the more surely to the clear eyes of the girl at his side.

"h.e.l.l take the bunch--the whole of 'em!" he cried fiercely. Then he added weakly: "You're nigh breakin' my heart all to pieces."

But Nan's smile suddenly became radiant, as she turned her brown eyes away from the spectacle of her father's trouble to the distant horizon ahead.

She shook her head.

"No, my Daddy. I allow it feels that way just now. I've felt that way, too. But it's just G.o.d's tempering. And when it's through, why I guess our hearts'll be made of good metal, strong and steady to do the work He'd have us do. And that's just all we can ask, isn't it?"

CHAPTER XIII

THE NEWS

Nan rode up to the veranda of the ranch house and sprang lightly from the saddle. Her pony's flanks were caked with sweat. The days now, as they approached July, were blistering, and the work of the great ranch was heavy for everybody. Nan had const.i.tuted herself Jeff's subst.i.tute during his absence, and performed his share of the labor with a skill and efficiency which astonished even her father.

She was a little weary just now. The heat was trying. Four weeks of continuous effort, four weeks of day-long saddle work, superintending the distant out-stations, the pasture fencing, the re-branding, which never seemed to come to an end, the hundred and one little duties which always cropped up unexpectedly; these things, in conjunction with the intense heat and the constant trouble which she held safely screened behind her smiling eyes, were not without effect upon her, although display was only permitted when no other eyes were present to witness her weakness.

It was the ranch house dinner time. Bud was due, as was the return of the men who belonged to the home station.

Nan released the cinchas of her saddle and removed her pony's bridle.

Then, with a sharp pat upon the creature's quarters, she sent it strolling off toward the open pasture, in which the windmill pump kept the string of watering tubs ready for the thirsty world about it.

She watched the animal as it flung itself down for a roll. Its ungainly, thrusting legs held her interest. Then, as it scrambled to its feet and shook itself, and headed for the water, she seated herself in a low wicker chair and wiped the dust from her long riding boots with the silk handkerchief she wore loosely tied about her neck. A few moments later her brown eyes were gazing fixedly out at the s.h.i.+mmer of heat which hovered low over the distant horizon.

She was meditating deeply, her tired body yielding to the greater activity of her thought. The scene was lost to her. Her gaze sped beyond the maze of corrals, and the more distant patchwork of fenced pastures to the western boundary of her beloved Rainbow Hill Valley.

There was nothing but gra.s.s, endless gra.s.s, until the purple line of the wood-clad mountains was reached. And here it was that her regard found a resting place. But even so she was unaware of it, for her thoughts were miles away in another direction.

Her courage had reaped its natural harvest. Her labors had yielded her a peace of mind which at one time had seemed impossible. She could reflect calmly now, if not without a world of regret and sadness. Just now, in the brief interval of waiting for her father for their midday meal, her relaxed body permitted her thoughts to wander toward the city where Jeff was still held captive by toils she herself had been unable to weave about him.

She had had her desire. She had pressed her less willing father into her service, and through him she had obtained the right to see that Jeff's house was made ready. It had been a labor of love in its highest sense, for not one single detail of her efforts but had been a fresh laceration of her loyal soul. In her mind it was never possible to shut out the memory that everything that was for Jeff was also for a woman who had plucked the only fruit she had ever coveted with her whole heart. There had been moments of reward, however, a reward which perhaps a lesser spirit might never have known. It was the pa.s.sionate satisfaction that her hands, her love, were able to minister to the well-being of the man she loved, for all that another woman occupied her place in his heart.

Feelings such as these filled her heart now. They had so filled it that morning during her hour of superintending the work of the builders engaged upon the reconstruction of Jeff's house. This was nearly completed, and somehow she felt when all the preparations were finished the last support must be banished forever. Then there would be nothing left her but to watch, perhaps from afar, the happiness of the other woman basking in the love for which she would willingly have given her life.

There were moments when her spirit furiously rebelled, when she felt that the sacrifice was too great, when the limits of human endurance forbade submission to her lot. They were moments when mad jealousy rose up and threatened her bulwark of spiritual resistance. And at such time her battle was furious and hard, and she emerged therefrom scarred and suffering, but with a spirit unbroken and even strengthened.

Then her pride, a small gentle thing, added its quota to her support.

No one should pity her, no one should ever, ever know anything of the sufferings she endured. No, not even her beloved father. So her smile, even her ready laughter, was enlisted in her support, and the manner of her discussion of the work on Jeff's house was an education in courageous acting.