The Land of Strong Men Part 61

"Well, well, G.o.d knows our hearts," Mrs. Foley commented piously. "Foour min I've buried, an' I know their ways."

"You might have another husband if you liked," Jean told her by way of counter-attack.

"Ye mane th' big Swede," Mrs. Foley responded calmly, "Maybe I could.

But I've had no luck keepin' min, an' he might not last either, though him bein' phwat he is it might not matther. Still an' all, buryin'

husbands is onsettlin' to a woman."

"But Gus is so healthy!" Jean giggled.

"So was me poor b'ys that's gone," Mrs. Foley sighed. "They was that healthy it hurt 'em. Health makes f'r divilmint, an' divilmint shortens a man's days. I'm tellin' ye, ut's th' scrawny little divils that ain't healthy enough to enj'y life that nawthin' shakes loose from ut. But rip-roarin', full-blooded b'ys, like thim I had, they leaves a woman lorn."

"Were your husbands _all_ Irish?" Jean asked.

"They wor," Mrs. Foley replied, "if Galway, Wicklow, Clare an' Down breed Irishmin, G.o.d rest thim!"

"Well, Gus is a good worker. He's been with us for years."

"But ye could fire him when ye liked," Mrs. Foley pointed out. "A husband an' a hired man is cats of diff'rent stripes. But they tell me this lad of yours has money. Then why is he workin' as a hired man onless f'r love of ye, tell me that?"

"I can't help his feelings," Jean returned.

"No, but ye might soothe thim, instid iv playin' cat-an'-mouse--"

"I'm not!" Jean cried. "And I wish you wouldn't talk about him any more."

The net result was that, feeling herself under Mrs. Foley's skeptical eye, she treated the unfortunate Chetwood more distantly than ever.

Faith observed, but said nothing, waiting for an opportune moment which was slow in coming.

Since her wedding Faith's ranch had been abandoned. She had removed some of her personal belongings, but the furniture remained. She was aware, now, of the worthlessness of the place. The reasons which had impelled G.o.dfrey French to purchase, whatever they were, were not operative with his children. If Braden had been behind that offer it was improbable that it would be renewed by him. The place was dead horse.

Nevertheless, Faith held a fondness for it, princ.i.p.ally sentimental.

Occasionally she rode over to see that all was in order. She had an idea that, if the Mackay ranch was cut up, they might live there, and she had a wish, of which she had not yet spoken to her husband, to spend a week or two there alone with him before the winter. And so one day she paid a visit to her property.

Though the day was warm the interior struck chill. She threw the doors open and raised the blinds, letting in the air and sun. Then, taking a book, she moved a rocker to the front veranda, and basked in the sun.

For a time she admired the mountains sharply defined, gulch, shoulder and summit, in the clear air, but speedily she became lost in her own thoughts.

A sudden, thudding detonation broke her reverie and brought her upright in her chair. It rumbled into the hills, caught by the rocks, flung across gorges and back in a maze of echoes, diminis.h.i.+ng and dying in the far ranges. For a startled instant she wondered what it could be, and then she knew that it was powder--a blast.

The shot seemed near, not more than a mile distant. It was either on her land or very near it, in the vicinity of the foot of the round mountain which projected from the foot of the range. While she puzzled, another shot came. Yes, undoubtedly that was where it was. But who could be using powder on her property?

She made up her mind to find out what was going on. She locked the doors, and mounting her pony took as straight a line as she could in the direction of the blasts.

There were no more shots, but she rode on, and presently came to what seemed to be a new trail leading upward beside the shoulder of the round hill aforesaid. Her pony scrambled up the rough going, walled on either side by brush. Then she emerged upon a bench a few acres in extent, above which the hill rose steeply. There stood a couple of tents. The brush had been cut away, and earth and stones stripped from the mountain side, leaving a new, raw wound. Fragments of gray country rock, split and driven by the force which had ripped them loose, lay around. By the face thus exposed half a dozen men were at work. Closer at hand two men conversed. As she pulled up her pony they saw her.

For a moment they stared at her. She rode forward.

"I--I hope I'm not in the way," she began, feeling the words inadequate.

"I was down at the ranch and heard the blasts. I am Miss--I mean I am Mrs. Mackay." She was not yet accustomed to the latter designation.

"My name is Garland," said the younger of the two. "This is Mr. Poole."

Mr. Poole murmured unintelligibly. Then both waited. A hammer man began to strike. The measured clang punctuated the stillness.

"I thought I would ride up and see what was going on," Faith explained.

"We're doing a little development work."

"Oh," Faith said, and hesitated for an instant. "But--but this is my land."

"Your land!" Garland and Poole were plainly surprised. They exchanged glances. In them was quick suspicion, unspoken question, speculation.

"Where would your line run?" Garland asked.

But Faith could not tell him. G.o.dfrey French had indicated in general terms where her boundaries lay, but she had never followed them. She could only repeat her conviction. Again the men exchanged glances.

"I'm afraid you'll have to see Braden about that," Garland told her.

"This is his property--or he thinks it is. We're working for him."

"But what are you working at? What are you doing?"

"We're opening up a prospect--what's going to be a mine."

"A mine! What kind of a mine?"

"A coal mine," Garland replied, "and a good one, too. I guess this little mountain is mostly coal. We're just clearing off the face, but you can see the seam if you like."

Coal! Faith stared at the wound in the hillside. She could see a dark belt, the "seam" of which Garland had spoken, partially exposed. There, overlain by soil and worthless rock, screened by tree and brush, was the stored fertility of some bygone age, the compression of the growth of a young world, potential heat, light, power.

"This isn't much more than outcrop," Garland was saying, "but it's good coal. Braden will make a clean-up on this when the railway comes through--that is if it is his." His eyes met Poole's, and again there was the unspoken query, the speculation.

"But I'm sure it isn't," said Faith. "That is, I'm almost sure."

"It would be a good thing to be sure about," Garland told her.

"I think my husband will be able to tell you," said Faith.

"No use telling us," Garland replied. "Braden's the man for him to see.

And--well, our instructions are not to allow anybody on the ground."

"No trespa.s.sing," Poole corroborated.

"But if this is my property--"

"That's the point--_if_ it is."

"I think it is. And until I know it isn't I have a right to come here, and so has my husband."

Garland shrugged his shoulders. "I'm only telling you our instructions.

I may as well tell you Braden wouldn't want your husband coming here.