The Forfeit Part 29

"That's so." Bud's eyes were following the horses as they moved away in the wake of the barn-hand.

"It's pretty bad?"

"An' gettin' worse."

Bud's eyes came back to his partner's face. They gazed steadily into it.

"Can't you tell me--now? Evie's in there with Nan," he added significantly.

Bud shook his head.

"It's a big yarn, an' needs time. But----" He paused, searching the other's face.

"Go right on."

Jeff read through the pause. He waited, his lips firmly set.

Bud cleared his throat.

"I've got to say these things later if I don't say 'em now, Jeff, boy.

What I need to tell 'll make you sore, an' I don't guess it's the best sort o' welcome making you sore at your home-comin'. It's the worst of the yarn anyway, an' I kind o' feel it's best spitting out the worst right away. We're up against a gang, a slick gang, organized right, same as----"

He hesitated. But the younger man seemed to have no similar scruples.

"The gang my brother ran."

Bud nodded.

"Some of 'em got clear away--that time."

"And you figure after giving things time to get forgotten they've gathered up a crowd of toughs and started in on this district?"

"It seems that way."

"How?"

"System," Bud declared sharply. "They're takin' a steady toll of us, an' other folks in the district. We trailed 'em to the hills, an'--lost 'em. Say, if we don't handle 'em it means----"

"Something like ruin for the--Obar."

Jeff's manner was shorn of any equivocation. He spoke with almost ruthless force, but the coldness of tone was incomparable with the steely light in his blue eyes.

After a moment's silence he turned away. He stood looking back over the trail he had just left, and Bud regarded his keen profile, waiting.

He felt there was nothing more for him to say at the moment.

At last the other turned in his quick, decided fas.h.i.+on as the sound of the women's voices reached them from within the parlor.

"Will you stop and eat with us?" he asked bluntly.

Bud shook his head.

"Not now, Jeff, boy. This is your home-coming."

"Yes. Well, I'll get around your place to-morrow morning, Bud. We can make big talk then."

CHAPTER XVI

THE RANCHMAN

The cool night breeze died out under the increasing heat of the early sun. Away to the west gossamer melted upon the hillsides. The mountain tops stood out under their eternal snows, above the lower cloud belts. The summer dews on thirsty foliage dried up before their mission was completed. But the wide prairie world stood up refreshed to withstand the day's heat yet to come.

Elvine Masters was on the veranda of her new home gazing after the receding figure of her husband, who had just left her to discuss with his partner those vital things which they had touched upon at the moment of his arrival yesterday.

Everywhere about her the busy life of the ranch was stirring. Inside the house the maids were at work garnis.h.i.+ng the home which Nan had already left spotless. The corrals, which stood out from the shelter of a wood bluff, were claiming attention from several cow-hands.

Sounds reached her from the region of the bunkhouse, away to the right.

Then at the barns, and other ranch buildings, the voices of men implied the work that was going forward in their region. Away in the distance isolated hors.e.m.e.n were moving about in the apparently aimless fas.h.i.+on of all fence riders, while, dotted about, small bands of cattle proceeded leisurely with the endless task of endeavoring to satisfy the craving of insatiable appet.i.tes.

The woman's farewell smile had left her eyes cold as she surveyed the scene. There was no sign of the expressed delight with which she had followed Nan at her first inspection of her new home. The recollection of it had even left her. Only a certain sense of the irony of it all occupied her. That, and a painful wonder as to when the dread under which she labored would materialize into the shattering of every hope within her heart.

Presently a "hand" appeared leading a saddle horse. He was a youngster, a "barn-hand" who only worked around cattle in times of pressure. But he possessed all the air of a cowpuncher, which he ultimately purposed to become. Elvine watched his leisurely approach, and remembered the days when she would have saddled her own pony.

The boy displayed no sign of deference. He stood before her chewing a straw with all the unconcern of his kind, his arm linked through the reins, and his hands thrust into the tops of his trousers. He was probably not more than thirteen years of age, but he possessed all the independence bred in the calling of the cattle world.

Elvine broke in upon his meditative curiosity as he surveyed the new mistress of the ranch.

"What's your name, boy?" she demanded, in a tone of authority.

But the youngster was not to be startled out of his leisurely regard.

An amiable smile upon his unclean face was the preliminary result of the question.

"Pete, ma'am," he replied after a moment. "An' around this b.u.m lay-out I mostly reckon to have to do the stunts other folks don't notion."

"Ch.o.r.e boy?"

"Wal, mebbe that's how I figger on the pay roll. I allow I ain't allus called that way."

The smile had left his eyes. He was talking with the frank candor of one unused to being taken notice of. There was a deep curiosity in the look with which he surveyed her. He had already been told that the boss's wife was a "swell piece," and his youthful mind was eager to verify the opinion.

"How do they call you then?" Elvine took the reins and threw them back over the horse's head, and examined the cinching of the saddle with the touch of experience.

"Mostly a 'mule-headed bussock,' ma'am. Sometimes I allow they change it to 'slap-sided hoboe,' or somethin' more fancy. But that's jest the ignorant b.u.ms that ain't got no more learnin' than'll let 'em lose their cents reg'lar at 'draw.' Ther's others who don't jest use langwidge--only their feet. Then ther's the foreman, Lal Hobhouse.

Mebbe you ain't acquainted yet--you bein' new around these parts. He's a fine bully feller till he gits mad. Then he's mean, ma'am. Guess he's most as mean as a skunk. He needs watching if you want to get on a racket. I don't guess he ever laffed in his life. Not even at a cirkis. Yep. He's a holy terror when he's mad. He cowhided me t'other day so I ain't sat right in a week. If he was to start in to fix you that way, why----"

"I don't guess he'll cowhide me," said Elvine quickly, as she swung herself into the saddle. "I'm not likely go on a racket." Then she leaned forward over the horn of the saddle, and smiled down into the unclean face gawking up at her. "How'd you fancy looking after my horses and saddle and things? I mean just look after them for me, and nothing else?"

The boy's eyes lit.