Bindloss Harold
The Cattle-Baron's Daughter
Cheyne made her a little grave inclination. “Then, I hope we shall be good friends when I meet the other one. I am going to stay some little time in the cattle country.”
“I almost hope you will not meet just yet,” Hetty said anxiously, “and you must never mention what I have told you to anybody.”
“You have only told me that I was one of two good Americans,” said Cheyne, with a quiet smile which the girl found reassuring. “Now, you don’t want to send me away?”
“No,” said Hetty. “It is so long since I have seen you. You have come to help us against our enemies?”
Cheyne saw the girl’s intention, and was glad to fall in with it, but he betrayed a little embarrassment. “Not exactly, though I should be content if my duty amounts to the same thing,” he said. “We have been sent in to help to restore order, and it is my business just now to inquire into the doings of a certain Larry Grant. I wonder if you could tell me anything about him?”
He noticed the sudden intentness of Hetty’s face, though it was gone in an instant.
“What have you found out?” she asked.
“Very little that one could rely upon. Everybody I ask tells me something different, he seems a compound of the qualities of Coleman the Vigilante, our first President, and the notorious James boys. As they were gentlemen of quite different character, it seems to me that some of my informants are either prejudiced or mistaken.”
“Yes,” said Hetty. “He is like none of them. Larry is just a plain American who is fearlessly trying to do what he feels is right, though it is costing him a good deal. You see, I met him quite often before the trouble began.”
Cheyne glanced at her sharply, but Hetty met his gaze. “I don’t know,” he answered, “that one could say much more of any man.”
Just then Flora Schuyler and Miss Allonby came in. “Hetty,” said the latter, “everybody is waiting for you to sing.”
In the meanwhile, Allonby and his nephew sat with Torrance and Clavering, and one or two of the older men, in his office room. Clavering had just finished speaking when Allonby answered Torrance’s questioning glance.
“I have no use for beating round the bush,” he said. “Dollars are getting scarce with me, and, like some of my neighbours, I had to sell out a draft of stock. The fact that I’m throwing them on the market now is significant.”
One of the men nodded. “Allonby has put it straight,” he said. “I was over fixing things with the station agent, and he is going to send the first drafts through to Omaha in one lot if two of his biggest locomotives can haul the cars. Still, if Clavering has got hold of the right story, how the devil did the homestead-boys hear of it?”
Clavering glanced at Torrance with a little sardonic smile on his lips. “I don’t quite know, but a good many of our secrets have been leaking out.”
“You’re quite sure you are right, Clavering?” somebody asked.
“Yes. The information is worth the fifty dollars I paid for it. The homestead-boys mean to run that stock train through the Bitter Creek bridge. As you know, it’s a good big trestle, and it is scarcely likely we would get a head of stock out of the wreck alive.”
There were angry ejaculations and the faces round the table grew set and stern. Some of the men had seen what happens when a heavy train goes through a railroad trestle.
“It’s devilish!” said Allonby. “Larry is in the thing?”
“Well,” said Clavering drily, “it appears the boys can’t do anything unless they have an order from their executive, and the man who told me declared he had seen one signed by him. Still, one has to be fair to Larry, and it is quite likely some of the foreign Reds drove him into it. Any way, if we could get that paper – and I think I can – it would fix the affair on him.”
Torrance nodded. “Now we have the cavalry here, it would be enough to have him shot,” he said. “Well, this is going to suit us. But there must be no fooling. We want to lay hands upon them when they are at work on the trestle.”
The other men seemed doubtful, and Allonby made a protest. “It is by no means plain how it’s going to suit me to have my steers run through the bridge,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”
Clavering laughed. “You will not lose one of them,” he said. “Now, don’t ask any questions, but listen to me.”
There were objections to the scheme he suggested, but he won over the men who raised them, and when all had been arranged and Allonby had gone back to his other guests, Clavering appeared satisfied and Torrance very grim. Unfortunately, however, they had not bound Christopher Allonby to silence, and when he contrived to find a place near Miss Schuyler and Hetty he could not refrain from mentioning what he had heard. This was, however, the less astonishing since the cattle-barons’ wives and daughters shared their anxieties and were conversant with most of what happened.
“You have a kind of belief in the homestead-boys, Hetty?” he said.
“Yes, but everybody knows who I belong to.”
“Of course! Well, I guess you are not going to have any kind of belief in them now. They’re planning to run our big stock train through the Bitter Creek bridge.”
Hetty turned white. “They would never do that. Their leaders would not let them.”
“No?” said Allonby. “I’m sorry to mention it, but it seems they have Larry’s order.”
A little flush crept into Flora Schuyler’s face, but Hetty’s grew still more colourless and her dark eyes glowed. Then she shook her shoulders, and said with a scornful quietness, “Larry would not have a hand in it to save his life. There is not a semblance of truth in that story, Chris.”
Allonby glanced up in astonishment, but he was youthful, and that Hetty could have more than a casual interest in her old companion appeared improbable to him.
“It is quite a long time since you and Larry were on good terms, and no doubt he has changed,” he said. “Any way, his friends are going to try giant powder on the bridge, and if we are fortunate Cheyne will get the whole of them, and Larry, too. Now, we’ll change the topic, since it does not seem to please you.”
He changed it several times, but his companions, though they sat and even smiled now and then, heard very few of his remarks.
“I’m going,” he said at last, reproachfully. “I am sorry if I have bored you, but it is really quite difficult to talk to people who are thinking about another thing. It seems to me you are both in love with somebody, and it very clearly isn’t me.”
He moved away, and for a moment Hetty and Miss Schuyler did not look at one another. Then Hetty stood up.
“I should have screamed if he had stayed any longer,” she said. “The thing is just too horrible – but it is quite certain Larry does not know. I have got to tell him somehow. Think, Flo.”
XXIII
HETTY’S AVOWAL
The dusk Hetty had anxiously waited for was creeping across the prairie when she and Miss Schuyler pulled up their horses in the gloom of the birches where the trail wound down through the Cedar bluff. The weather had grown milder and great clouds rolled across the strip of sky between the branches overhead, while the narrow track amidst the whitened trunks was covered with loose snow. There was no frost, and Miss Schuyler felt unpleasantly clammy as she patted her horse, which moved restively now and then, and shook off the melting snow that dripped upon her; but Hetty seemed to notice nothing. She sat motionless in her saddle with the moisture glistening on her furs, and the thin white steam from the spume-flecked beast floating about her, staring up the trail, and when she turned and glanced over her shoulder her face showed white and drawn.
“He must be coming soon,” she said, and Miss Schuyler noticed the strained evenness of her voice. “Yes, of course he’s coming. It would be too horrible if we could not find him.”
“Jake Cheyne and his cavalry boys would save the bridge,” said Flora Schuyler, with a hopefulness she did not feel.
Hetty leaned forward and held up her hand, as though to demand silence that she might listen, before she answered her.
“There are some desperate men among the homestead-boys, and if they found out they had been given away they would cut the track in another place,” she said. “If they didn’t and Cheyne surprised them, they would fire on his troopers and Larry would be blamed for it. He would be chased everywhere with a price on his head, and anyone he wouldn’t surrender to could shoot him. Flo, it is too hard to bear, and I’m afraid.”
Her voice failed her, and Miss Schuyler, who could find no words to reassure her, was thankful that her attention was demanded by her restive horse. The strain was telling on her, too, and, with less at stake than her companion, she was consumed by a longing to defeat the schemes of the cattle-men, who had, it seemed to her with detestable cunning, decided not to warn the station agent, and let the great train go, that they might heap the more obloquy upon their enemies. The risk the engineer and brakesmen ran was apparently nothing to them, and she felt, as Hetty did, that Larry was the one man who could be depended on to avert bloodshed. Yet there was still no sign of him.
“If he would only come!” she said.
There was no answer. Loose snow fell with a soft thud from the birch branches, and there was a little sighing amidst the trees. It was rapidly growing darker, but Hetty sat rigidly still in her saddle, with her hand clenched on the bridle. Five long minutes passed. Then, she turned suddenly, exultation in her voice.
“Flo,” she said, “he’s coming!”
Miss Schuyler could hear nothing for another minute or two, and then, when a faint sound became audible through the whispering of the trees, she wondered how her companion could be sure it was the fall of hoofs, or that the horse was not ridden by a stranger. But there was no doubt in Hetty’s face, and Flora Schuyler sighed as she saw it relax and a softness creep into the dark eyes. She had seen that look in the faces of other women and knew its meaning.
The beat of hoofs became unmistakable, and she could doubt no longer that a man was riding down the trail. He came into sight in another minute, a shadowy figure swinging to the stride of a big horse, with the line of a rifle-barrel across his saddle, and then, as he saw them, rode up at a gallop, scattering the snow.
“Hetty!” he said, a swift flush of pleasure sweeping his face, and Miss Schuyler set her lips as she noticed that he did not even see her.
Hetty gathered up her bridle, and wheeled her horse. “Ride into the bluff – quick,” she said. “Somebody might see us in the trail.”
Larry did as he was bidden, and when the gloom of the trees closed about them, sprang down and looped his bridle round a branch. Then, he stood by Hetty’s stirrup, and the girl could see his face, white in the faint light the snow flung up. She turned her own away when she had looked down on it.
“I have had an anxious day, but this makes up for everything,” he said. “Now – and it is so long since I have seen you – can’t we, for just a few minutes, forget our troubles?”
He held out his hand, as though to lift her down, but the girl turned her eyes on him and what he saw in them checked him suddenly.
“No,” she said, with a tremor in her voice, “we can’t get away from them. You must not ask any question until you have heard everything!”
She spoke with a swift conciseness that omitted no point and made the story plain, for there was a high spirit in the girl, and a tangible peril that could be grappled with had a bracing effect on her. Grant’s face grew intent as he listened, and Hetty, looking down, could see the firmer set of his lips, and the glint in his eyes. The weariness faded out of it, and once more she recognized the alert, resourceful, and quietly resolute Larry she had known before the troubles came. He turned swiftly and clasped her hand.
“I wonder if you know how much you have done for me?”
Hetty smiled and allowed her fingers to remain in his grasp. “Then, you have heard nothing of this?” she said.
“No,” said the man. “But Hetty – ”
Again the girl checked him with a gesture. “And I need not ask you whether you would have had a hand in it?”
Grant laughed a little scornful laugh that was more eloquent than many protestations. “No,” he said, “you needn’t. I think you know me better than that, Hetty?”
“Yes,” said the girl softly. “You couldn’t have had anything to do with that kind of meanness. Larry, how was it they did not tell you?”
She felt the grasp of the man’s fingers slacken and saw his arm fall to his side. His face changed suddenly, growing stern and set, until he turned his head away. When he looked round again the weariness was once more plain in it, and she almost fancied he had checked a groan.
“You have brought me back to myself,” he said. “Only a few seconds ago I could think of nothing but what you had done for me. I think I was almost as happy as a man could be, and now – ”
Hetty laid her hand on his shoulder. “And now? Tell me, Larry.”
“No,” said the man. “You have plenty of troubles of your own.”
The grasp of the little hand grew tighter, and when Grant looked up he saw the girl smiling down on him half-shyly, and yet, as it were, imperiously.
“Tell me, dear,” she said.
Larry felt his heart throb, and his resolution failed him. He could see the girl’s eyes, and their compelling tenderness.
“Well,” he said, huskily, “what I have dreaded has come. The men I have given up everything for have turned against me. No, you must not think I am sorry for what I have done, and it was right then; but they have listened to some of the crazy fools from Europe and are letting loose anarchy. I and the others – the sensible Americans – have lost our hold on them, and yet it was we who brought them in. We took on too big a contract – and I’m most horribly afraid, Hetty.”
The light had almost gone, but his face still showed drawn and white and Hetty bent down nearer him.
“Put your hand in mine, Larry,” she said softly. “I have something to tell you.”
The man obeyed her, wondering, while a thrill ran through him as the mittened fingers closed upon his own.
“Hetty,” he said, “I have only brought trouble on everyone. I’m not fit to speak to you.”
“No,” said the girl, with a throb in her voice. “You have only done what very few other men would have dared to do, and many a better girl than I am would be proud to be fond of you. Now listen, Larry. For years you were ever so good to me, and I was too mean and shallow and selfish even to understand what you were giving me. I fancied I had a right to everything you could do. But come nearer, Larry.”
She drew him closer to her, until his garments pressed the horse’s flank and the blanket skirt she wore, and leaned down still further with her hand upon his shoulder.
“I found out, dear, and now I want you to forgive me and always love me.”
The grasp on her hand became compelling, and she moved her foot from the stirrup as the man’s arm reached upwards towards her waist. Had she wished she could not have helped herself; as she slipped from the saddle the arm closed round her and it was several seconds before she and Grant stood a pace apart, with tingling blood, looking at one another. There was no sign of Flora Schuyler, they were alone, enfolded in the silence of the bluff.
“It is wonderful,” he said. “I can’t even talk, Hetty. I want to realize it.”
Hetty laughed but there was a note in her voice that set the man’s heart beating furiously. “Yes, it is wonderful it should come to me,” she said. “No, you needn’t look round, Larry. There is nothing and nobody that counts now except you and me. I am just beginning to understand your patience, and how hard I must have been to you.”
“I waited a long time,” he said. “It was worth while. Even the troubles I felt crushing me seem very little now. If they were only over, and there was nothing to come between you and me!”
“Larry,” the girl said very softly, “are you sure they need do that? It has been so horrible lately, and I can’t even sleep at night for thinking of the risks that you are taking.”
Grant closed one hand, but it was too dark now for Hetty to see his face, and she was glad of it.
“You mean – ” he said hoarsely, and stopped.
“Just this,” her voice almost a whisper. “I am frightened of it all, and when you want me I will come to you. No, wait just a little. I could never marry the man who was fighting against my father and the people I belong to, while, now I know what you are, I could never ask him to go back on what he felt was right; but, Larry, the men you did so much for have turned against you, and the things they are doing are not right, and would never please you. Can’t we go away and leave the trouble behind us? Nobody seems to want us now.”
There was a cold dew on the man’s forehead the girl could not see. “And your father?” he said.
“I would never help anyone against him, as I told you,” said the girl. “Still, there are times when his bitterness almost frightens me. It is hard to admit it, even to you, but I can’t convince myself that he and the others are not mistaken, too. I can’t believe any longer that you are wrong, dear. Besides, though he says very little, I feel he wants me to marry Clavering.”
“Clavering?” said Larry.
“Yes,” said Hetty, with a shiver. “I dislike him bitterly – and I should be safe with you.”
Grant held out his hands. “Then, you must come, my dear. One way or other the struggle will soon be over now, and if I have to go out an outcast I can still shelter you.”
The girl drew back a pace. “I can’t turn against my own people – but yours have turned on you. That makes it easier. If you will take me, dear, we will go away.”
Grant turned from her, and ground his heel into the snow. He had already given up almost everything that made life bright to him, but he had never felt the bitterness he did at that moment, when he realized that another and heavier sacrifice was demanded of him.
“Hetty,” he said slowly, “can’t you understand? I and the others brought the homesteaders in; this land has fed me and given me all I have, and now I can’t go back on it and them. I would not be fit to marry you if I went away.”
The words were very simple, but the man’s voice betrayed what he felt. Hetty understood, and the pride she had no lack of came to the rescue.
“Yes,” she said with a little sob, “Larry you are right. You will forgive me, dear, for once more tempting you. Perhaps it will all come right by and by. And now I must go.”
There was a crackle of brittle twigs, and Grant dimly saw Miss Schuyler riding towards them. Reaching out, he took Hetty’s hands and drew her closer.
“There is just one thing you must promise me, my dear,” he said. “If your father insists on your listening to Clavering, you will let me know. Then I will come to Cedar for you, and there are still a few Americans who have not lost confidence in their leader and will come with me. Nothing must make you say yes to him.”
“No,” said Hetty simply. “If I cannot avoid it any other way, I will send for you. I can’t wait any longer – and here is Flo.”
Larry stooped; but before she laid her foot in the hand he held out for her to mount by, Hetty bent her head swiftly, and kissed him.
“Now,” she said softly, “do you think I could listen to Clavering? You will do what you have to, and I will wait for you. It is hard on us both, dear; but I can’t help recognizing my duty, too.”
Larry lifted her to the saddle, and she vanished into the gloom of the birches before he could speak to Miss Schuyler, who wheeled her horse and followed her. A few minutes more and he was riding towards Fremont as fast as his horse could flounder through the slushy snow, his face grown set and resolute again, for he knew he had difficult work to do.
“I don’t quite know what has come over you, Larry,” Breckenridge said an hour or two later with a puzzled look at Grant as he lifted his eyes from the writing pad on his knee. “I haven’t seen you so obviously contented for months, and yet the work before us may be grim enough. The most unpleasant point about it is that Clavering must have got hold of one of your warrant forms. It was a mistake to trust anybody with one not filled in.”
“Well, I feel that way too,” Grant confessed, “and at the same time I’m desperately anxious. We are going to have trouble with the boys right along the line, and there is no man living can tell what will happen if any of them go down in an affair with the cavalry.”
“It wouldn’t be difficult to guess what the consequences would be if they cut the track just before the stock train came through. You are quite sure they have not changed their minds again?”
“Yes,” said Larry quietly. “I bluffed it out of Harper. He would have taken a hand in, and only kicked when it came to taking lives. More of the others cleared out over that point, too, and as the rest were half-afraid of some of those who objected giving them away, they changed their plans; but it seems quite certain they mean to pull the rails up at the bend on the down grade by the bunch grass hollow. It is fortunate, any way. Cheyne and his cavalry will be watching the bridge, you see; but you had better get ready. I’ll have the last instructions done directly, and it will be morning before you are through.”
Breckenridge poured himself out a big cup of coffee from the jug on the stove, put on a black leather jacket, and went out to the stable. When he came back, Grant handed him a bundle of notes.
“You will see every man gets one and tell him all he wants to know. I dare not put down too much in black and white. They are to be round at the rise behind the depot at six Thursday night.”
“You believe they will come?”
“Yes,” Grant said firmly. “They are good men, and I’m thankful there are still so many of them, because just now they are all that is standing between this country and anarchy.”
Breckenridge smiled a little, but his voice was sympathetic. “Well,” he said, “I am glad, on my own account, too. It’s nicer to have the chances with you when you have to reckon with men of the kind we are going to meet, but I shall not be sorry when this trouble’s through. It is my first attempt at reforming and a little of it goes a long way with me. I don’t know that there is a more thankless task than trying to make folks better off than they want, or deserve, to be.”
He went out with a packet of messages, and Grant sat still, with care in his face, staring straight in front of him.
