The Last Woman Part 16

Morton accepted the letter, but the lines of his face were hard and unrelenting; his jaws and lips were shut tightly together; his aggressive chin was thrust forward just a little bit, and his hazel eyes were cold and uncompromising in their expression.

He read the letter through to the end, without a change of expression; then, he read it a second time, and a third. At last, he slowly left his seat, and, stepping forward, placed the doc.u.ment, which he had refolded, upon the table. He reached for his hat, and smoothed it tentatively with the palm of one of his big hands. But all the while he kept his eyes fixed sternly upon the face of the young Croesus he had gone there to interview.

"Mister Roderick Duncan," he drawled, in a low, even tone, "I don't savvy this business, a little bit. Just for the moment, I don't know what to make of you, or of Miss Langdon, but I am going to work it out to some sort of a conclusion; and, when I have found the answer to the questions that puzzle me now, I'll let you know."

He moved quickly toward the door, but with the lightness of a panther Duncan sprang between it and him.

"One moment, Morton," he said, coldly.

"Well, sir?"

"I have been very patient with you, and extremely considerate, I think, of your importunities and your insolence; but you try my patience almost too far. Take my advice, and don't meddle any farther in matters that do not, and cannot, concern you."

For a moment, the two men faced each other in silence, and both were angry. Duncan was not less tall than Morton, but was slighter of build, and very different--with the difference that will never cease to exist between the well-groomed thoroughbred of many experiences and the blooded young colt. Morton's wrath flamed to the surface, and, forgetting for the moment that he was not upon his native heath, that he was not dressed and accoutred as was his habit when riding the range, he reached down for the place where his holster and cartridge-belt would have been located had he been dressed in the cowboy costume of his native Montana.

It was a gesture as natural to the young ranchman as it was to breathe, and he was ashamed of it the instant it was made. He would have apologized had he been given time to do so. Indeed, he did flush hotly, in his confusion. But Duncan, quite naturally, misinterpreted the act. He thought, and with good reason, that Morton was reaching for his gun; the flush of shame on Morton's cheeks served only to strengthen the conviction. And so, with a cat-like swiftness, he took one step forward and seized the wrist of Morton's right arm, twisting it sharply and bending it backward with the same motion, whereby the ranchman was thrown away from him, and was brought up sharply against the table, in the middle of the room.

Duncan was smiling again now; but it was the smile of intense anger, and not pleasant to see. Without waiting for Morton to recover himself, Duncan calmly turned his back upon the ranchman, and threw open the door; then, stepping away from it, he said, with quiet dignity:

"This is your way out, sir."

CHAPTER XIII

SALLY GARDNER'S PLAN

What might have happened between those two fiery natures at that crisis will never be known, because at the moment when Duncan threw the door ajar, and uttered his dismissal, Jack Gardner appeared suddenly upon the scene, having just stepped from the elevator. If he heard that expression of dismissal, he showed no evidence of it, or he did not comprehend its significance; and, if he saw in the att.i.tude of the two men anything out of the ordinary, he gave no sign that he did so. But Jack Gardner, too, was from Montana; and he had learned, long ago, how to conduct himself in emergencies. It was a fortunate interruption, all around. Duncan, although apparently calm, was in a white rage. He would not have hesitated to meet Morton more than half-way, in any manner by which the latter might choose to show his resentment for the twisted arm. As it was, Gardner was the savior of the situation.

"h.e.l.lo, Duncan! How are you?" he exclaimed, in his usual manner.

"Why, d.i.c.k! I didn't expect to find you here; didn't know that you and Dun were acquainted." He shook hands with both the men, one after the other, in his accustomed hearty and irresistible manner, grinning at them and utterly refusing to see that there was restraint in the manner of either.

"It is my first acquaintance with Mr. Morton," replied Duncan easily, and touched a lighted match to the cigar he had previously taken from his case. He was, outwardly, entirely at ease. "He did me the honor to call upon me, and we have been chatting together for more than half an hour. Will you sit down, Jack? Mr. Morton, be seated again, won't you?"

The ranchman looked upon his late antagonist with utter amazement. It was an exhibition of a kind of self-control that was strange to him.

It angered him, too, because of his own inability to a.s.sume it. He was suddenly ashamed. Patricia's reference to his "training," recurred to him. He understood, now, exactly what she had meant--it had not been plain to him before. Here before him was "the man of the East," at whom he had so often scoffed, for the word "Tenderfoot" had, until now, been synonymous with contempt. But Morton felt himself to be the tenderfoot, in the present case. He replied, stiffly, to the invitation to be seated.

"Thank you," he said. "I find that I am neglecting an engagement." It was the only excuse he could think of.

"Wait just a minute, d.i.c.k, and I'll go along with you," said Gardner.

"I only stepped in a moment to give Duncan a message from my wife. She says, Roderick, that she would like to have you drop around at the house, for a moment, if you can make it. She is not going out. Now, d.i.c.k, if you are ready, I'm with you. So long, Duncan; I'll see you later, at the club."

Just previous to Jack Gardner's interruption of the almost tragic scene at Duncan's rooms, he had been having what he called "a heart-to-heart" talk with his wife, and the message he now delivered to his friend from Sally was, in part, the outcome of that interview.

Sally Gardner had been greatly troubled since the occurrences of Sat.u.r.day night. Being herself intensely practical, she had sought deeply, through her reasoning powers, to find a means whereby she might be instrumental in helping out of their difficulties her several friends whom she so dearly loved. She believed that she had succeeded in hitting upon a scheme which would, at least, bring things to a focus. She was sure that, if she could bring all the parties together under one roof, matters would straighten themselves without much outside a.s.sistance. Jack and Sally owned a beautiful country place, within easy motoring distance of the city, and the young matron, having decided upon what course she would adopt, had lost no time in summoning her husband to her, taking him into her confidence, and convincing him of the wisdom of her project.

"Jack," she told him, when he was seated opposite her, "I don't suppose you realize into what a terrible mess and muddle you got things last Sat.u.r.day night, by reason of your fondness for a joke?"

"Oh, confound it, Sally, drop it!" he exclaimed, smiling, but annoyed nevertheless.

"No," she said, "we can't drop it, Jack. You're responsible for the whole affair. I have seen the necessity of finding a way out of it, for all of us--although my heart bleeds for poor Beatrice."

Jack shrugged his shoulders, and lighted a cigar. Then, he thrust his feet far out in front of him, and studied the toes of his tan shoes intently.

"What's the matter with Beatrice?" he asked, presently.

"She is in love with Roderick Duncan," replied his wife, with an emphatic nod of her blond head.

"Eh? What's that? In love with Rod? Nonsense!"

"She is, Jack; I know she is."

"Gee, little girl, but it surely is a mix up! What are you going to do about it? Why in blazes didn't she marry him, then, when she had the chance?"

"I've thought of a way Jack, if you will agree to it, and help me out--a way by which things can be smoothed over. Will you help me?"

"Yes, I will. What is it?"

"Could you tear yourself away from the city for two or three days, beginning to-morrow morning?" she asked him.

"I guess so, Sally."

"Are you willing to go out to Cedarcrest for a few days, and entertain a select party, there?"

"Suit me to death, girl. Glad you thought of it. Whom will you ask?

And what is the game?"

"I have made out a list," replied Sally, meditatively. "I shall read it off to you, if you will listen."

"Go ahead."

"It includes Beatrice and Patricia, of course; d.i.c.k Morton and--"

"Wait a moment, Sally. I've got a sort of a notion in my head that neither Beatrice nor Patricia, will care to go to Cedarcrest on such an expedition as that, under the present circ.u.mstances."

"My dear John"--she sometimes called him John when she was particularly in earnest, and when she attempted to be especially dignified--"you may leave all the details of this arrangement to me. I merely wished your consent to the plan."

"Oh, well, if you can manage it, Sally, you've got my consent, all right. What do you want me to do about it? You didn't have to consult me, you know."

"I want you, first, to listen to the list I have made out, and, after that, to carry out my directions in regard to it."

"Good girl; I can do that, too."

"Patricia and Beatrice, Roderick Duncan and the Houston girls, Richard Morton, Nesbit Farnham; and, to supply the other two men who will be necessary to make up the party, you yourself may make the selection. I only wish them to be the right sort."