Later in the afternoon the two brothers found themselves seated on the veranda talking together, as only devoted relationship will permit after years of separation.
They had just returned from a brief inspection of the little ranch for Bill’s edification. The big man’s enthusiasm haddemanded immediate satisfaction. His headlong nature impelled him to the earliest possible digestion of the life he was about to enter. So he had insisted on a tour of inspection.
The inspection was of necessity brief. There was so little to be seen in the way of an outward display of the prosperity his elder brother claimed. In consequence, as it proceeded, the newcomer’s spirits fell. His radiant dreams of a rancher’s life tumbled about his big unfortunate head, and, for the moment, left him staggered.
His first visit was to the barn, where Kid Blaney, his brother’s ranchman, was rubbing down two well saddle-marked cow-ponies, after his morning out on the fences. It was a crazy sort of a shanty, built of sod walls with a still more crazy door frame, and a thatched roof more than a foot thick. It was half a dug-out on the hillside, and suggested as much care as a hog pen. The floor was a mire of accumulations of manure and rotted bedding, and the low roof gave the place a hovelish suggestion such as Bill could never have imagined in the breezy life of a rancher, as he understood it.
There were one or two other buildings of a similar nature. One was used for a few unhealthy looking fowls; another, by the smell and noise that emanated therefrom, housed a number of pigs. Then there was a small grain storehouse. These were the buildings which comprised the ranch. They were just dotted about in the neighborhood of the house, at points most convenient for their primitive construction.
The corrals, further down the slope, offered more hope. There were three of them, all well enough built and roomy. There was one with a branding “pinch,” outside which stood a small hand forge and a number of branding irons. At the sight of these things Bill’s spirit improved.
When questioned as to pastures and grazing, Charlie led him along a cattle track, through the bush up the slope, to the prairie level above. Here there were three big pastures running into a hundred acres or more, all well fenced, and the wire in perfect order. Bill’s improving spirits received a further fillip. The grazing, Charlie told him, lay behind these limits upon the open plains, over which the newcomer had spent so much time riding.
“You see, Bill,” he said, half apologetically, “I’m only avery small rancher. The land I own is this on which the house stands, and these pastures, and another pasture or two further up the valley. For grazing, I simply rent rights from the Government. It answers well enough, and I only have to keep one regular boy in consequence. Spring and fall I hire extra hands for round-up. It pays me better that way.”
Bill nodded with increasing understanding. His original dreams had received a bad jolt, but he was beginning a readjustment of focus. Besides, his simple mind was already formulating fresh plans, and he began to talk of them with that whole-hearted enthusiasm which seemed to be the foundation of his nature.
“Sure,” he said cordially. “And—and you’ve done a big heap, Charlie. Say, how much did dad start you out with? Five thousand dollars? Yes, I remember, five thousand, and our mother gave you another two thousand five hundred. It was all she had. She’d saved it up in years. It wasn’t much to turn bare land into a money-making proposition, specially when you’d had no experience. But we’re going to alter all that. We’re going to own our grazing, if it can be bought. Yes, sir, we’re going to own a lot more, and I’ve got nearly one hundred thousand dollars to do it with. We’re going to turn these barns into barns, and we’re going to run horses as well as cattle. We’re going to grow wheat, too. That’s the coming game. All the boys say so down East—that is, the real bright boys. We’re just going to get busy, you and me, Charlie. We’re going to have a deed of partnership drawn up all square and legal, and I’m going to blow my stuff in it against what you’ve got already, and what you know. That’s what I’m here for.”
By the aid of his big voice and aggressive bulk Bill strove to conceal his obvious desire to benefit his brother under an exterior of strong business methods. And he felt the result to be all he could desire. He told himself that a man of Charlie’s unbusiness-like nature was quite easy to impress. When it came to a proper understanding of business he was much his brother’s superior.
Charlie, however, was in no way deceived, but such was his regard for this simple-minded creature that his protest was of the mildest.
“Of course we could do a great deal with your money, Bill, but—but it’s all you’ve got, and——”
His protest was hastily thrust aside.
“See here, Charlie, boy, that’s right up to me,” Bill cried, with a buoyant laugh. “I’m out here to ranch. That’s what I’ve come for, that’s what I’ve worn my skin to the bone for on the most outrageously uncomfortable saddle I’ve ever thrown a leg over. That’s why I took the trouble to keep on chasing up this place when my brain got plumb addled at the sight of so much grass. That’s why I didn’t go back to find the feller—and shoot him—for advising me to get off at Moosemin instead of hitting back on my tracks for the right place to change trains. You see, maybe I haven’t all the horse sense in some things you have, but I’ve got my back teeth into the idea of this ranching racket, and my dollars are going to talk all they know. I tell you, when my mind’s made up, I can’t be budged an inch. It’s no use your trying. I know you, Charlie. You’re scared to death I’ll lose my money—well, I’m ready to lose it, if things go that way. Meanwhile, I’ve a commercial proposition. I’m out to make good, and I’m looking for you to help me.”
Charlie looked into the earnest, good-natured face with eyes that read deep down into the open heart beneath. A great regret lay behind them, a regret which made him hate and despise himself in a way he had never felt before. He was thinking whither his own follies had driven him; he was thinking of his own utter failure as a man, a strong, big-principled man. He was wondering, too, what this kindly soul would think and feel when he realized how little he was changed from the contemptible creature his father had turned out of doors, and when he finally learned of the horrors of degradation his life really concealed.
He had no alternative but to acquiesce before the strong determination of his brother, and though his words were cordial, his fears, his qualms of conscience underlying them, were none the less.
So they came back to the house, and finally foregathered on two uncomfortable, rawhide-seated, home-made chairs, while Bill enlarged upon his plans. It was not until these were completely exhausted that their talk drifted to more personal matters. Then it was that Charlie himself openedup the way, with a bitter reference to the reasons that saved him from completely going under when their father shipped him out to this forlorn spot to regenerate.
He talked earnestly, leaning forward in his chair. His delicate hands were tightly clasped, as his eyes gazed out across the valley at a spot where Kate Seton’s house stood beyond the river.
Bill sat listening. He wanted Charlie to talk. He wanted to learn all those little things, sometimes even very big things, which can only be read between the lines when the tongue runs on unguardedly. He knew his brother’s many weaknesses, and it was his ardent desire to discover those signs of betterment and strengthening he fondly hoped had taken place in the passing of years.
He lolled back with the luxury of an utterly saddle-weary man. His heavy bent pipe hung loosely from the corner of his mouth. His big blue eyes were steady and earnest.
“Yes,” Charlie went on, after a moment’s thought, “I’m glad, mighty glad, I came here when I did.” He gave a short mirthless laugh. “I doubt if my satisfaction is inspired by any moral scruple,” he added hastily, as the other nodded. “Say, can you understand how I feel when I say I believe all moral scruple has somehow decayed, rotted, died in me? I don’t mean that I don’t want to be decent. I do; but that’s because decency appeals to me from some sort of artistic feelings which have survived the wreck I made of life years ago. No, moral scruples were killed stone dead when I was chasing through Europe hunting Art, searching for it with eyes too young to gaze upon anything more beautiful than a harsh life of strict discipline.
“Now I have to follow inclinations that have somehow got the better of all the best qualities in me. That’s how I’m fixed now. And, queer as it may seem, that’s been my salvation—if you can call it salvation. When I first came here I was ready to drift any old way. I did drift into every muck-hole that appealed to me. I didn’t care. As I said, moral scruples were dead in me. Then this same self-indulgence did me a good turn. The only good turn it’s ever done me.”
The eyes gazing across the valley grew very soft.
“Say, Bill,” he began again, after a brief, reflective pause, “I came here, and—and found a woman. The greatest, thebest woman God ever created. She was strong, big-spirited, beautiful. She’d come out here to earn a living with her sister. She’d left the East for no better reason than her big spirit of independence, and a desire to live beyond the narrow confines of convention. Say, I think I went crazy about that woman.”
The man was smiling very softly. All Bill’s senses were alert. His slow brain was groping for the subtle comprehension which he felt was needed for a full understanding.
“That woman came near to saving me—from myself,” Charlie went on, with a tenderness he was unaware of. “And it was through that very weakness of self-indulgence. I love her that bad it’s bigger than anything else in my life. Say, I’d rather have her good opinion, and—and liking—than anything in life. It’s more to me than any of those desires that have always claimed me. But there are times when even her influence isn’t quite big enough. There are times when even she can’t hold me up. There are things back of my head I can’t beat—even through her—at times. That’s why I say she’s come near saving me. Not quite—but near.
“Bill, guess you can’t understand. Guess no one can. I fight, fight, fight. She fights, too. She fights without knowing it, too, because always in my mind is a picture of her handsome face, and eyes of disapproval. That picture wins most times—but not always. Wait till you see Kate, Bill, then you’ll understand. I just love her to death—and that’s all there is to it. She only likes me. She’ll never feel for me same as I do for her. How can she?—I’m—but I guess you know what I am. Everybody who knows me knows that I’m a hopeless drunkard.”
The man’s final admission came without any self-pity or bitterness. It is doubtful if there was any shame in him at the acknowledgment. Bill marveled. He could not understand. He tried to picture himself making such an admission, and to estimate his feelings at it. Shame, unutterable shame, was all he could think of, and his good-natured face flushed with shame for his brother, who had somehow so squandered all his better feelings.
Charlie saw the flush, and the tenderness died out of his eyes. He shook his head.
“Don’t feel that way about it,” he cried bitterly. “I’mnot worth it. Besides, I can’t stand it from—you. Only—from Kate. I know what you’re thinking. You’re bound to think that way. You were born with a man’s body—a big, strong man’s body. I was born weak and puny. I was born all wrong. I don’t say it in excuse. I merely state a fact. Look at me beside you, both children of the same parents. I’m like a woman, I can’t even grow the hair of a man on my face. My mother reveled in what she regarded as the artistic beauty of my features, my hands”—he held out his thin hands with their long tapering fingers—“and my love for all those softer things of life that should only be found in female nature. She gloried in those things and fostered them. She did her best, all unknowingly, bless her, to kill the last vestige of manhood in me. And all the time it was crying out, crying out bitterly. It was growing stronger and stronger, as my physique remained undeveloped. Finally it became too great to withstand. Then, when it turned loose, I was without power to check it. My moral strength was not equal to the tide, and all my passions swayed me whithersoever they chose. Again I say this is no excuse; it is merely fact as I see it. I was powerless to resist temptation. The woman who once looses her hold on her moral nature can never recover herself. That is nature—her nature—and, by the curse of fate, it is also mine.”
For the moment Bill had no answer. He sat with his eyes averted. All his affection for his erring brother was uppermost, all his sympathy and pity. But he dared not display them. All that Charlie had said was true. His whole appearance was effeminate. He was a man without the physical support belonging to his sex. As he said, he was left powerless by nature and upbringing to fight a man’s battle on the plains of moral integrity. His fall had been drink, with its accompanying vices, and Bill realized now, after five years’ absence, how hopeless his brother’s reformation had become. If his love for this woman could not save him, then surely nothing on earth could. For Bill, in his simple fashion, believed that such an appeal was above all in its claims upon any real man.
He groped for something to say, for something that might show Charlie that his affection remained utterly unaltered, but he had no great cleverness, and the right thing refusedto come to his aid. As the silence lengthened between them his groping thoughts took their own course, which led him to the name, “Kate,” which the other had used. He remembered he had heard it that day once before.
“Kate?” he inquired lamely. “Kate—who?”
“Kate Seton.”
In an instant Bill’s whole attitude underwent a change. He sat up, and, removing his pipe, dashed the charred ashes from its bowl.
“Why, that’s the sister of—Helen Seton.”
Charlie nodded, his eyes lighting with a sharp question.
“Sure. But—you don’t know—Helen?”
Bill’s face beamed.
“Met her on the trail,” he cried triumphantly. “No end of a pretty girl. Gray eyes and fair hair. Might have been walking on Broadway, New York—from her style. Fyles told me about her.”
“Fyles?”
Charlie’s eyes suddenly darkened with resentment. He rose abruptly from his chair, and began to pace the veranda. Then he halted, and looked coldly down into his brother’s eyes.
“What did he say?” he demanded shortly.
Bill’s eyes answered him with question for question.
“Just told me who Helen was. Said she had a sister—Kate. Said they were farmers—of a sort. Said they’d been here five years. Why?”
Charlie ignored the question.
“That’s all?” he demanded.
“Sure.” Bill nodded.
Then the hardness died out of Charlie’s eyes to be replaced once more by his usual gentle smile.
“I’m glad. You see, I don’t want him—around Kate. Say——” he hesitated. Then he moved toward the door of the house. “Guess I’ll get supper. I forgot, you must be starving.”
Kate Seton had spent the whole morning at home. The work of her little farm had claimed her. She had been out with her two disreputable boys around the grain, now rapidly turning from its fresh green to that delicate tint of yellowso welcome to the farmer. It was a comparatively anxious time, for the cattle grazing at large upon the prairie loved the sweet flavor of the growing grain, and had no scruples at breaking their way through the carelessly constructed barbed wire fencing, and wrecking all that came within their reach. The fences needed “top railing,” and Kate could not trust the work to her two men without supervision. So she spent the morning in their company.
After the mid-day meal, as soon as Helen had left the house on a journey to Billy Unguin’s drapery store, she sat herself down at a small bureau in their kitchen-parlor and drew a couple of books, suspiciously like account books, from one of its locked drawers, and settled herself for an hour’s work upon them.
The room, though not large, was comfortable. It was full of odd, feminine knick-knacks contrived by Helen’s busy hands. The walls were dotted with a number of unframed water colors, also the work of the younger of the two women. There were three comfortable rockers, so dear to the heart of the women of the country. Besides these, there was a biggish dining table, and, in one corner of the room, beside a china and store cupboard, a square iron cook stove stood out, on which a tin kettle of water was pleasantly simmering.
It was a homely room which had been gradually furnished into its present atmosphere of comfort by two pairs of busy hands, and both Kate and Helen loved it far more, in consequence, than if it had borne the hall-mark of lavish expenditure.
But Kate, as she sat before her bureau, had no thought of these things just now. She was anxious to complete her work before Helen returned. It was always impossible to deal with figures while her sister was in the room. And her figures now needed careful attention.
She opened her books, and soon her busy pen was at work. From a pocket in her underskirt she drew a number of papers, and these she carefully sorted out.
Having arranged them to her satisfaction the task of entering figures in her book was resumed. Finally she performed the operation of many sums, the accurate working out of which took considerable time and pains. Then, from the same pocket, she drew a bundle of notes which she carefully counted and checked by the figures in the books.
This work completed she sat back idly in her chair with a thoughtful, ironical smile in her dark eyes, and the holder of her pen poised in the grip of her even white teeth.
She was thinking pleasantly, with a half humorous vein running through her thought. She was dreaming, day-dreaming, of many things dear to her woman’s heart. Now and again her look changed. Now a quick flash leaped into her slumberous eyes, only to die out almost immediately, hidden under that softer gleam which had so much humor in it. At another time a grave look replaced all other expression; then, again, a quick frown would occasionally mar the fair, smooth brow. But always the dominating note of humorous thoughtfulness would return, as if this were her chief characteristic.
Her day-dreaming did not last long, however. It was abruptly dispelled, as such moods generally are. The sound of hurrying feet brought a quick look that was one almost of anxiety into her usually confident eyes. With one comprehensive movement she scrambled her books and papers together and heaped them into the still open drawer. Then she gathered up the money, and flung it in after the other things.
As the door burst open and Helen ran into the room, her eyes bright with excitement, and her breathing hurried and short from her run, Kate was in the act of locking the drawer.
Helen halted as she came abreast of the table, and her dancing eyes challenged her sister.
“At your Bluebeard’s chamber again, Kate?” she cried, in mock reproval. Then she raised a warning finger. “One of these days—mind, one of these days, I surely will have a duplicate key made and get a peek into that drawer, which you never open in my presence. I believe you’re carrying on an intrigue with some man. Maybe it’s full of letters from—Dirty O’Brien.”
Kate straightened herself up laughing.
“Dirty O’Brien? Well, he’s all sorts of a sport anyway, and I like ‘sports,’” she said lightly.
Helen took up the challenge.
“‘Sports’? Why, yes, there are plenty of ‘sports’—of a kind—in this place. I’ll have to see if I can find one who canmake skeleton keys. I’d surely say that sort of ‘sport’ should be going round the village all right, all right.”
She nodded her threat at her sister, who was in no way disconcerted. She only laughed.
“What’s brought you back on the run?” she inquired.
“Why, what d’you s’pose?”
Kate shrugged, still smiling.
“I’d say the only thing that could fix you that way was a—man.”
“Right. Right in once. A man, Kate, not a mouse,” Helen declared, “although I allow they’re both motive forces calculated to set me running. The only thing is, one attracts, and the other repels. This is distinctly a matter of attraction.”
“Who’s the man?” demanded the practical Kate, with a look of real interest in her handsome eyes.
“Why, Big Brother Bill, of course, the man I promised you all I’d marry.”
Helen suddenly dashed at her sister and caught her by the arm in pretended excitement.
“I’ve seen him, Kate, seen him!” she cried. “And—and he raised his hat to me. He’s big—ever so big, and he’s got the loveliest, most foolish blue eyes I’ve ever seen. That’s how I knew him. Say, and when I saw him with Inspector Fyles, I remembered what Charlie said about him having no sense, and I had to laugh, and I think he thought I was grinning at him, and that’s why he raised his hat to me. It seemed so comical—looked just as if he was being brought in charge of a policeman for fear he’d lose himself, and would never find himself again. He’s surely a real live man, and I’ve fallen in love with him right away, and, if you don’t find something to send me up to see Charlie about right away, I’ll—I’ll go crazy—or—or faint, or do something equally foolish.”
Kate’s amusement culminated in a peal of laughter. She knew Helen so well, and was so used to her wild outbursts of enthusiasm, which generally lasted for five minutes, finally dying out in some whimsical admission of her own irresponsibility.
She promptly entered into the spirit of the thing.
“Let’s see,” she cried, gazing thoughtfully about the room,while Helen still clung to her arm. “An excuse—an excuse.”
“No, no,” cried the impetuous Helen. “Not an excuse. I never make any excuse for wanting to be in a man’s company. Besides——”
“Hush, child,” retorted Kate. “How can I think with you chattering? I’ve got to find you an excuse for going across to Charlie’s place. Now what shall it be? I know,” she cried, suddenly darting across the room, followed by the clinging Helen. “I’ve got it.”
“Got what?” cried the other, with difficulty retaining her hold.
“Why, the excuse, of course,” cried Kate, grabbing up two books from a chair under the window. “Here, I promised to send these to Charlie days ago. That’s it,” she went on. “Take these, and,” she added mischievously, “I’ll write a note telling him to be sure and introduce you to Big Brother Bill, as you’re dying to—to make love to him!”
“Don’t you dare, Kate Seton, don’t you ever dare,” cried Helen threateningly. “I’ll shoot you clean up to death with one of your own big guns if you do. I never heard such a thing, never. How dare you say I want to make love to him? I—I don’t think I even want to see him now—I’m sure I don’t. Still, I’ll take the books up if you—really want Charlie to have them. You see, I sure don’t mind what I do to—to help you out.”
Kate’s eyes opened wide. Then, in a moment, she stood convulsed.
“Well, of all the sauce,” she cried. “Helen, you’re a perfect—imp. Now for your pains you shan’t take those books till after supper.”
Helen’s merry eyes sobered, and her face fell.
“Kate—I——”
“No,” returned the other, with pretended severity. “It’s no use apologizing. It’s too late. After supper.”
Helen promptly left her side, and, with a laugh, ran to the wall where a pair of revolvers were hanging suspended from an ammunition belt.
She seized one of the weapons by the butt, and was about to withdraw it from its holster. But, in a flash, Kate was at her side.
“Don’t Helen!” she cried, in real alarm. “Let go of that gun. They’re both loaded.”
Helen withdrew her hand in a panic, her pretty face blanching.
“My, Kate!” she cried horrified. “They’re—loaded?”
The other nodded.
“Whatever do you keep them loaded for? I—I never knew. You—you wouldn’t dare to—use them?”
Kate’s dark eyes were smiling, but the smile was forced.
“Wouldn’t I?” she said, with a curious set to her firm lips. Then she added in a lighter tone: “They’re all that stand between us and—the ruffians of Rocky Springs.”
For a moment Helen looked into her sister’s eyes as though searching for something she had lost.
“I—I thought you’d changed, Kate,” she said at last, almost apologetically. “I thought you’d forgotten all—that. I—thought you’d become a sort of ‘hired girl’ in this village. Guess I’ll have to wait until after supper—seeing you want me to.”
It was well past six o’clock in the evening when the two brothers completed the discussion of their future plans. It had been a great day for Bill. A day such as one may look forward to in long anticipatory moments of dreaming, but the ultimate realization of which often falls so desperately short of the anticipation. In the present instance, however, no such calamity had befallen. He felt that his weary journeyings, with their many discomforts and trials, had not proved vain. Many of his hopes had been fully realized.
The unselfishness of the man was supreme. He wanted nothing for himself, but the delight of sharing in the life of his less fortunate brother, and changing the course of that fortune into the happier channels wherein his own lay. And Charlie seemed to accept the position. He certainly offered no opposition, and, if his manner of acceptance was undemonstrative, even to an excess of reserve, at least it was sufficiently cordial to satisfy the unsuspicious mind of Big Brother Bill.
Had the big man’s wide, blue eyes been less ready to acceptall they beheld, had his mind been more versed in the study of human nature, and those shadowy, inexpressible feelings glancing furtively out of eyes intended only to express carefully controlled thoughts, then Bill must have detected reluctance in his brother. There were moments, too, when only a half-heartedness found vent in the man’s verbal acceptance of his brother’s proposals, which should have been significant, and certainly invited investigation.
But even if he observed these things Bill undoubtedly misread them. He had no reason to doubt that his presence, and all his enthusiastic plans were welcome, and so he was left blinded to any other feelings on the part of his brother than those which he verbally expressed. That Charlie delighted in his presence there could be no doubt, but as to those other things, well, a close observer might well have been forgiven had he felt sorry for the bigger man’s single-minded generosity. To the end Bill felt confident, and remained quite undisturbed.
There were still fully two hours of daylight left when Charlie finally rose from his seat upon the veranda.
He smiled down at the big figure of the brother he so affectionately regarded.
“We’ll need to set about getting your baggage sent through from Moosemin to-morrow,” he said. Then he added with a quizzical gleam in his eyes: “Guess you’ve got the checks all right?”
Bill nodded with profound gravity, and dived into one of his pockets.
“Sure,” he replied, dragging forth a bunch of metal discs on a strap. “Five pieces.”
“Good.” Charlie nodded. His brother’s unconsciousness amused him. Then, after a moment, his gaze drifted across the valley, and came to rest on the little home of the Setons, and he went on reflectively, “I need to get around a piece before dark,” he said. Then with an unmistakable question in his dark eyes: “Maybe you’ll fancy a walk around—meantime?”
Bill’s eyes lit good humoredly.
“Which means I’m not wanted,” he said with a laugh.
Then he, too, rose. He stretched himself like some great contented dog.
“I’ve a notion to get a peek at the village,” he said. “I’ll call along down at the saloon and hunt Fyles up. Guess I owe him a drink for—finding me.”
At the mention of Fyles’s name a curious look changed the expression of his brother’s regard. A short laugh that had no mirth in it was the prompt reply.
“You can’t buy Fyles a drink in Rocky Springs,” Charlie exclaimed. “Maybe you can buy all the drinkyouwant. But there’s not a saloonkeeper in the Northwest Territories would hand you one for Fyles. This is prohibition territory, and I guess Fyles is hated to death—hereabouts.”
For a moment Bill’s eyes looked absurdly serious.
“I see,” he demurred. “You—hate him—too?”
Charlie nodded.
“For—that?” suggested Bill.
Charlie shrugged. “I certainly have no use for Inspector Fyles,” he declared. “Maybe it’s for his work, maybe it isn’t. It don’t matter either way.”
The manner of Charlie’s reply reminded his brother that his question had been unnecessarily pointed, and he hastened to make amends.
“I’m kind of sorry, Charlie,” he said, his face flushing with contrition. “I didn’t think. You see, I hadn’t——”
But the other waved his regret aside.
“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “Guess you can’t hurt me that way. I was thinking on other lines. What does matter, and matters pretty badly, is that some day, if you stop around Rocky Springs, you’ll find it up to you to take sides between Fyles and——”
“And?” Bill’s interest had become suddenly absorbed as his brother paused, his gaze once more drifting away beyond the river. Finally, Charlie turned back to him.
“Me,” he said quietly. And the two stood facing each other, eye to eye.
It was some moments before Bill’s slow-moving wit came to his aid. He was so startled that it was even slower than usual.
“You and—Fyles?” he said at last, his eyes full of absurd wonder. “I don’t understand. You—you are not against the law?”
Bill’s wonder had changed to apprehension, and the sight of it distracted his brother’s more serious mood.
“Does a fellow always need to be against the law to get up against a police officer?” he inquired, with a smile of amusement. Then his smile died out, and he went on enigmatically. “Men can scrap about most anything,” he said slowly. “Men whoaremen. I may be a poor example, but——Say, when Fyles takes hold of things in Rocky Springs, I guess he isn’t likely to feel kindly disposed my way. That being so, you’ll surely be fixed one way or the other. Get me, Bill?”
Bill nodded dubiously.
“I get that, but—I don’t understand——” he began.
But Charlie gave him no time to finish.
“Don’t worry to,” he said quickly. Then he gripped the other’s muscular arm affectionately. “See you later,” he added, smiling whimsically up into the troubled blue eyes as he moved off the veranda.
Bill was left puzzled. He was thinking very hard and very slowly as he looked after the departing man. He watched him till he reached the barn and disappeared within it to get his horse. Then he, too, moved away, but it was in the direction of the trail which led ultimately to the village.
Bill’s nature was too recklessly happy to long remain a prey to disquieting thoughts. Once the avenue of spruce trees swallowed him up he abandoned all further contemplation of his disquietude, and gave himself up to the full enjoyment of his new surroundings.
It was in the gayest possible mood and highest spirits that Helen, with her “two-book” excuse tucked under her arm, set out for Charlie Bryant’s ranch.
When she appeared at supper time Kate’s dark eyes shone with admiration and a lurking mischief. At the sight of Helen she clapped her hands delightedly. The younger girl’s smart, tailored suit had made way for the daintiest of summer frocks, diaphanous, seductive, and wholly fascinating.
“A vision of fluffy whiteness,” cried Kate delightedly, as Helen sat down at the table. “Helen,” she went on, mischievously, “as a man hunter you are just too dreadful. Poor Big Brother Bill, why, he hasn’t the chance of a rat in a corner. He surely is as good as engaged, married, and—done for.”
Helen’s eyebrows went up in lofty resentment.
“Katherine Seton, I—don’t understand you—thank goodness. If I did I should want to box your ears,” she added, in mild scorn. “You’re a perfectly ridiculous woman, and of no account at all.”
Kate’s amusement was good to see.
“Oh, Hel——” she cried.
But her sister cut her short.
“Don’t use bad language, please. My name’s ‘Helen’—unless you’ve got something pleasant to say.”
Kate poured out the coffee, and helped herself to cold meat. The supper was the characteristic evening meal of the village. Cakes, and sweets, and cold meat.
“How could I have anything but something pleasant to say, with you looking such a vision?” Kate went on, quite undisturbed. “Why, I hadn’t a notion you had such a pretty frock.”
Helen’s attitude modified, as she helped herself to home-made scones and butter.
“I’ve been saving it up,” she deigned to explain. “Do I look all right? How’s my hair?”
She beamed on her sister, waiting for an expected compliment.
“Lovely!” exclaimed Kate. Then with added mischief: “And your hair is simply as fluffy as—as a feather duster.”
Helen laughed. Her eyes were dancing with that merriment she could never long restrain.
“I—I simply hate you, Kate,” she cried. “I’m so upset I can’t eat a thing. Feather duster indeed. Well, it’s better than the mop Pete swabs up the floors with. If you’d said that, I’d sure have gone straight off into a trance, and—and got buried alive. But your appetite’s awful, Kate, and I can’t sit here forever. I’d say food’s mighty important, but it’s nothing beside amanwaiting for you somewhere, and you don’t know where. Guess I’ll have something to eat before I go to bed. Please, Kate—please may I go?”
The humility of the final request was quite too much for Kate, who laughed immoderately while she gave the required permission.
“Yes, off with you, bless your heart,” she cried joyously. “And don’t you dare come back here without bringing yourfuture husband with you. Remember, I want to see him, too, and—and if you’re not mighty good, and nice to me, I’ll see what I can do cutting you out. Remember, too, I’m not quite on the shelf yet—in spite of what folks may say. Off with you!”
Helen needed no second bidding. She snatched up her books, took a swift glance at herself in the small mirror on the wall, and hastened out of the house.
“So long, Kitty,” she cried lightly; “my nets are spread for the big fish, my dear. He’s there, slumbering peacefully in the shady pool, waiting to be caught. Do you think he’s ever been fished before? I hope he’s not wily. You see, I’m so out of practice. That’s the worst of living in a place where men have to get drunk before they have the courage to become attentive. And, Kitty, dear——”
“Off with you, you man hunter,” cried Kate, from her place at the table, “and don’t you dare ever to call me ‘Kitty’ again. I——”
But the door was closed, and further expostulation was useless. The next moment Kate beheld a waving hand through the window. She responded, and, a moment later, as her sister passed from view, the smile died out of her eyes.
She sat on at the table, although her meal was finished. And somehow all her gaiety had dropped like a mask from her face, leaving her handsome eyes strangely thoughtful and something hard.
Meanwhile Helen crossed the river by the quaint log footbridge which had been one of the first efforts at construction upon which Kate had embarked on arrival at Rocky Springs. It was stout, and, from a distance, picturesque. Close to it was a trap for the unwary. For the two sisters, and their hired men, it was a simple matter for negotiation. They were used to its pitfalls, which increased with every spring flood.
Beyond this the track wound through the bush on its way to the village main trail, but Helen had no thought of adopting such a circuitous route when the bush offered her a far more direct one. She vanished into the wood like a flitting shadow, nor did she reappear until half the slope up to Charlie Bryant’s house had been negotiated.
Her reappearance was in the midst of a small clearing, whence she had an uninterrupted view of Charlie’s house, and a less clear view of the winding track leading up to it.
Somehow, by the time she reached this spot, a marked change had come over her. Her pretty, even brows were slightly drawn together in an odd, thoughtful pucker. Her usually merry eyes were watchful and sober. It may have been the gradient of the hills, but somehow her gait had lost something of its buoyancy. Her steps were lagging, even hesitating, and, when she finally halted, it was almost with an air of relief.
There were several fallen tree trunks about, and, though they must have been sufficiently inviting if she were weary with her effort, she quite ignored them. She stood quite still, looking first ahead at her goal, and then back over the valley toward the little house where her sister was probably still watching her. Her eyes slowly became expressive of doubt and indecision. It seemed as though she found it hard to make up her mind about something.
After a moment or two she removed the two books from under her arm, and idly read their titles. She knew them quite well, and promptly returned them to their place with an impatient sigh.
Again her look had changed. Now her cheeks suddenly flushed a burning, shamefaced crimson. Then they paled, and something like a panic grew in her eyes. But this, too, passed, all but the panic, and, with a little vicious stamp of her foot, she half determinedly faced the ranch house on the hill. Her determination, however, was evidently insufficient, for she did not move on, and, presently, she laughed a short mirthless laugh. It was her belated sense of humor mocking her. Her courage, she knew, had failed her. She could not live up to her boasted claims as a man hunter.
But her laugh died almost at its birth. Something moving down the hill among the trees caught her troubled eyes. Then, too, the sound of a whistle reached her. Some one was approaching from the direction of Charlie’s house, whistling a tune which somehow seemed familiar. She promptly warned herself it could not be Charlie. She never remembered to have heard Charlie whistling so blithe an air.
Now she distinctly heard the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps drawing nearer. The panic in her eyes deepened.They were staring intently at the surrounding bush, searching for a definite sight of the intruder. Nor had she to wait long. The path was just beyond the clearing, and she had fixed her gaze upon a narrow gap in the foliage. She felt almost safe in doing so, for the stranger must pass that way if he were on the path, and the gap was so narrow that it would probably escape his notice.
The whistling came nearer, so, too, the rapid footsteps. Then followed realization. A figure passed the gap. She saw it quite plainly. The big, broad-shouldered figure of a man with fair hair and blue eyes. It was Big Brother Bill. Instinctively she drew back, entirely forgetful of the fallen tree trunks. Then tragedy came upon her.
How it happened she didn’t know. She afterward felt she never wanted to know. Something seemed to hit her sharply at the back of the knees. She remembered that they bent under her. Then, in a second, she found herself sitting upon the ground with her feet sticking up in the air in a perfectly ridiculous manner, and, by some horribly mysterious means, with the support of a fallen sapling pine holding them there.
At the moment of impact she was too paralyzed with fear to move, then as a sharp exclamation in a man’s deep voice reached her, a wild terror seized upon her, and, with a violent effort she rolled herself clear of the log, scrambled to her feet, her dainty frock stained and torn with her tumble, and fled for dear life down the hill.
Faster and faster she ran, breaking her way through all obstructing foliage utterly regardless of the rents she was making in the soft material of her frock. She felt she dared not pause for anything with that man behind her. She felt that she hated him worse than anybody in the world. To think that he must have witnessed her discomfiture, and worse than all her two absurd feet sticking up in the air like—like signposts. It was too awful to contemplate.
She did not pause for breath until she reached the footbridge. Then a fresh panic set in. She had left the books behind. They were at the place where she had fallen.
Oh dear, oh dear! He would find them. He would find her name in them. He would take them back to Charlie, and her last hope would be gone. She would undoubtedly be recognized!
She wanted to burst into tears, then and there, but something inside her would not permit her such relief. Instead a whimsical humor came to her aid and she laughed.
At first her laugh was pathetically near to tears, but the moment of doubt passed, and the whole humor of the situation took hold of her. She hurried on home, laughing as she went; and, desperately near hysterics, she at last burst into her sister’s presence.
Kate was on her feet in an instant.
“Oh, Kate,” she cried, with a wild sort of laughter. “Behold the man hunter—hunted!” Then she flung herself into a chair, gasping for breath.
Kate’s anxious eyes took in something of the situation at a glance.
“Stop that laughing,” she cried severely.
Helen’s laugh died out, and she sighed deeply. The next moment she stood up, and began to smooth out her tattered frock.
“I’m—all right now—Kate,” she said almost humbly. “But——”
Again Kate took charge of the situation.
“Go and change your frock before you tell me anything,” she said decidedly.
Helen was about to protest, but the quiet command of her sister had its effect. She moved toward the door, and Kate’s serious tones further composed her.
“Take your time,” she said. “You can tell me later.”
Helen left the room, and Kate remained gazing after her at the closed door.
But it was only for a few moments. The sound of footsteps approaching the house startled her. She remembered the torn condition of her sister’s dress. The poor girl had been on the verge of hysterics. “The man hunter hunted!” she had cried.
Kate glanced at her revolvers hanging on the wall. Then, with a shrug, she flung open the door.
Big Brother Bill was standing outside it. He had removed his hat, and the evening light was shining on his good-looking fair head. His wide blue eyes were smiling their most persuasive smile as he held two books out toward her.
“I’m fearfully sorry to trouble you, but I was just comingalong down from up there,” he pointed back across the river, “and saw a—a lady suddenly jump up as though she was scared some, and run on down the hill toward this house. I guessed it must have been a—a rattler or—or maybe a bear, or something had scared her, so I jumped in to—to find it. I was too late, however. Couldn’t find it. Only found these two books instead. I just followed the lady on down here, and—well, I brought ’em along.”
The man’s manner was so frankly ingenuous, and his whole air so hopelessly that of a tenderfoot that Kate recognized him at once. Instantly she held out her hand with a smile.
“Thanks, Mr. Bryant. They’re my sister’s. She was taking them up to your brother. It’s very kind of you to take so much trouble. Won’t you come in, and let her thank you herself? You see, we’re great friends of your brother’s. I am Kate Seton, and—the lady you so gallantly sought to help is my sister—Helen.”
A pair of gray eyes were struggling to glare coldly into a pair of amiably smiling blue eyes. It was a battle of one against an opponent who had no idea battle was intended. From the vantage ground of only partial understanding a pair of dark eyes looked on, smiling with the wisdom which is ever the claim of the onlooker.
“This is my sister, Helen, Mr. Bryant,” Kate said, with quiet enjoyment, as her sister, perfectly composed once more, but still angry with the world in general, abruptly entered the room from that part of the house where her bedroom was situated.
As the words fell upon her ears, and she looked into the good-looking, cheerful face of the man, all Helen’s feelings underwent a shock, as though a mighty seismological upheaval were going on inside her.
The man who had witnessed her discomfiture—the man who had dared to be within one hundred miles of her whenher daintily shod feet, with a display of diaphanous stocking, had been waving in the air like two wobbly semaphores celebrating Dominion Day or the Fourth of July, or—or something. Those silly looking prying eyes had seen. How dared he? What right had he to be walking down that particular trail at that particular moment? How dared he whistle, any way? What right had he in Rocky Springs? Why—why was he on earth at all?
At that moment Helen felt that if there was one combination in the world she disliked more than another it was blue eyes and fair hair. Yes, and long noses were hateful, too; they were always poking themselves into other people’s business. Big men were always clumsy. If this man hadn’t been clumsy he—he—wouldn’t have been there to see. Yes, she hated this man, and she hated her sister for standing there looking on, grinning like—like a Cheshire cat. She didn’t know what a Cheshire cat was like, but she was certain it resembled Kate at that moment.
“How d’you do?”
The frigidity of Helen’s greeting was a source of dismay to the man, who had suddenly become aware that she was again dressed in the tailored suit which had so caught his fancy earlier in the day. His dismay became evident to Kate, the onlooker. Helen, too, noted the effect in his sobering eyes, and was resentfully glad.
“It was a lucky chance my coming along,” Bill blundered. “You see, if the dew had got on these books they’d have got all mussed. Must have been a sort of fate about my being around, and—and finding ’em for you.”
“Fate?” sniffed Helen, with the light of battle in her eyes, while Kate began to laugh.
“Why, sure,” said Bill eagerly. “Don’t you believe in fate? I do. Say,” he went on, gaining confidence from the sound of his own voice, “it was like this. Charlie and I had been talking a piece, and then he had to go off, and didn’t want me. If he had, I should have gone with him. Instead, I set off by myself, making toward the village. Being a sort of feller who never sees much but what’s straight ahead of him, it didn’t occur to me to look around at things. That’s how it was I didn’t see you till I caught sight of your——”
“You needn’t go into details,” broke in Helen icily. “Ijust think it was hateful your standing there looking on while I fell over that tree trunk.”
Bill’s eyes took on a sudden blank look of bewilderment, which raised a belated hope in Helen’s broken heart, and set Kate chuckling audibly.
“Tree trunk?” he exclaimed. “Did you fall? Say, I’m real sorry, Miss Helen. I surely am. You see, I just caught sight of”—again came Helen’s warning glance, but the man went on without understanding—“somebody in white, disappearing through the bushes, on the run. I guessed a rattler, or a bear, or—or something had got busy scaring you to death. So I jumped right in to fix him. That’s how I found these books,” he finished up rather regretfully. “And I was just feeling good enough to scrap a—a house.”
A thaw had abruptly set in in Helen’s frozen feelings. The memory of those unfortunate feet of hers no longer waved before her mind’s eye. It was fading—fading rapidly.He had not seen—them.And as the frozen particles melted, she could not help noticing what splendidly cut features the man really had. His nose was really beautifully shaped. She was glad, too, that his eyes were blue; it was her favorite color, and went so well with fair hair, especially when it was slightly wavy.
She smiled.
“Won’t you sit down awhile?” she inquired, with a sudden access of graciousness. “You see, we’re very unconventional here, and your brother’s a great friend of ours.” Then, out of the corners of her eyes she detected Kate’s satirically smiling eyes. She promptly resolved to get even with her. “Especially Kate’s, and—I’ll let you into a secret. A great secret, mind. We knew you were coming to-day—had arrived, in fact—and Kate’s been dying to see you all day. Said she really couldn’t rest till she’d seen Charlie’s brother. Truth.”
Bill lumbered heavily into an ample rocker, and Helen propped herself upon the table, while Kate, upon whom had descended an avalanche of displeasure, suddenly bestirred herself.
“How dare you, Helen?” she cried, in an outraged tone. “You—mustn’t take any notice of her, Mr. Bryant. You see, she isn’t altogether—responsible. She has a naturallytruth-loving nature, but she has somehow become corrupted by contamination with this—this dreadful village. I—I feel very sorry for her at times,” she added, laughing. “But really it can’t be helped. She keeps awful company.”
“Well, I like that,” protested Helen, now thoroughly restored to good humor by the conviction that Big Brother Bill had not witnessed her shameful trouble. “Mr. Bryant will soon know which of us to believe, after a statement like that.”
“I always believe everybody.” The man laughed heartily. “It saves an awful lot of trouble.”
“Does it?” inquired Kate, as she slipped quietly into the other rocker.
Helen shook her head decidedly.
“Not when you’re living in this ‘dump’ of a village. Say, Mr. Bryant, you’ve heard of Mr. Ananias in the Bible? If you haven’t you ought to have. Well, the people who wrote about him never guessed there was such a place as Rocky Springs, or they’d sure have choked rather than have written about such a milk-and-water sort of liar as Mr. Ananias. Truth, he’s not a—circumstance. All you need to believe in Rocky Springs is what you come up against, and then you don’t need to be too sure you haven’t got—visions.”
“Yes, and generally mighty unpleasant—visions,” chimed in Kate, with a laugh.
Bill’s smiling eyes refused to become serious under the portent of these warnings.
“Guess I’ve been around Rocky Springs about five hours, and the visions I’ve had, so far, don’t seem to worry me a thing,” he said.
Helen smiled. She remembered her first meeting with this man.
“What were you doing with Fyles to-day?” she inquired unguardedly.
Bill suddenly brought his fist down on the arm of his rocker.
“There,” he cried, as though he had suddenly made a great discovery. “I knew it was you I saw on the trail. Why,” he added, with guileful simplicity, “you were wearing that very suit you have on now. Say, was there ever such a fool, not recognizing you before?”
Helen was deceived—and so easily.
“I didn’t think you really saw me,” she said, without the least shame. “You were so busy with the—sights.” Bill nodded.
“Yes, we’d just come along down past that mighty big pine. Fyles had told me it was the landmark. I—I was just thinking about things.”
“Thinking about the old pine?” inquired Helen.
“Well, not exactly,” replied Bill. “Though it’s worth it. I mean thinking about——. You see, a fellow like me don’t need to waste many big thinks. Guess I haven’t got ’em to waste,” he added deprecatingly.
Helen shook her head, but her laughing eyes belied the seriousness of her denial.
“That’s not a bit fair to—yourself,” she said. “I just don’t believe you haven’t got any big ‘thinks.’”
Bill’s manner warmed.
“Say, that makes me feel sort of glad, Miss Helen. You see, I’m not such a duffer really. I think an awful lot, and it don’t come hard either. But folks have always told me I’m such a fool, that I’ve kind of got into the way of believing it. Now, when I saw that pine and the valley I felt sort of queer. It struck me then it was sort of mysterious. Just as though the hand of Fate was groping around and trying to grab me.”
He reached out one big hand to illustrate his words, and significantly pawed the air.
Helen’s face wreathed itself in smiles.
“I know,” she declared. “You felt your fate was somehow linked with it all.”
Kate was gently rocking herself, listening to the light-hearted inconsequent talk of these two. Now she checked the movement of the rocker and leaned forward.
Her eyes were smiling, but her manner was half serious.
“It’s not at all strange to me that that old pine inspired you with—superstitious feelings,” she said. “It has the same effect on most folks—right back to the old Indian days. You know, there’s a legend attached to it. I don’t know where it comes from. Maybe it’s really Indian. Maybe it belongs to the time when King Fisher used to live in the old Meeting House, before it was a—saloon. I don’t know.”
Helen suddenly raised herself to a seat upon the table. Her eyes lit, and Big Brother Bill, watching her, reveled in the picture she made. Now he knew her, his first feelings at sight of her on the trail had received ample confirmation. She surely was one of the most delightful creatures he had ever met.
“Oh, Kate, a legend,” cried the girl, as she settled herself on the table. “However did you know about it? You—you never told me.”
Kate shook her head indulgently.
“I don’t tell you everything,” she said with mock severity. “You’re too imaginative, too young—too altogether irresponsible. Besides, you might have nightmare. Anyway most folk know it in the village.”
“Oh, Kate!”
“Say, tell us, Miss Seton,” cried Bill, his big eyes alight with interest. “If there’s one thing I’m crazy on it is legends. I just love ’em to death.”
“I don’t think I ought to tell it in front of Helen,” Kate said mischievously. “She’s——”
Helen sprang from her seat and stood threateningly before her sister.
“Kate Seton,” she cried, “I demand your story.” Then she went on melodramatically, “You’ve said too much or too little. You’ve got to tell it right here and now, or—or I’ll never speak to you again—never,” she finished up feebly.
Kate smiled.
“What a dreadful threat!” Then she turned to Bill. “Mr. Bryant, I s’pose I’ll have to tell her. You don’t know what an awful tempered woman it is. I really believe it would actually carry out its threat for—five minutes.”
Bill’s good-natured guffaw came readily.
“I’ll back Miss Helen up,” he declared promptly. “If you don’t tell us we’ll both refrain from speech for—five minutes.”
Kate sighed.
“Oh, dear. Then I’ll have to tell. It’s bullying. That’s what it is. But—here goes.”
Helen beamed upon Bill, and the man’s blue eyes beamed back again. While he settled himself in his chair Helen returned to her less dignified seat upon the table.
“Let’s see,” began Kate thoughtfully. “Now, just where does it begin? Oh, I know. There’s a longish rhyme about it, but I can’t remember that. The story of it goes like this.