A few weeks later, had Jacqueline Kent been altogether outspoken, there were many hours when she would have confessed her regret at not having obeyed her sister Frieda's command. One could hardly describe Frieda's attitude otherwise.
Certainly Jack had not been able to imagine the degree of excitement and controversy aroused by the simple fact that a comparatively unknown young woman had been nominated for membership in the Congress of the United States. If it were in her power and the power of the men and women voters supporting her she intended to be elected. Nevertheless, Jack had not understood either the amount or the character of work that would be required of her personally to accomplish this result.
In the past electioneering had appeared as a fairly amusing pastime. Living in England, she had often seen Englishwomen engagedin it. They had not at that time been electioneering for themselves, but for their husbands or brothers, fathers or friends. Their method had been to drive about from one village to another talking to the village people and asking their support, or else stopping to argue or plead with the passers-by along the country roads. At big political meetings, which men and women attended together, speeches were made and questions put to the speakers. In the past Jack had frequently accompanied her husband to these gatherings, where she had been greatly entertained. Then she had been a spectator with no personal rôle to fill. Now the situation was wholly changed.
A curious fact, but in the United States, supposedly less conservative a country than England, the nomination of a woman for a high public office was creating a greater storm of protest and of indignation than had been aroused in England by the same act. True, Jack was not the first woman chosen for this same office in a western state. But the fact that the number should increase, many persons in Wyoming declared to be alarming.
Now when Jack went to political gatherings, she found herself not only a center ofattention and of controversy, but more often than not was compelled to make a speech. Never regarding herself as a good speaker, and always frightened, she never learned to enjoy the opportunity.
Moreover, as Frieda had warned her and as she had not fully appreciated, there was hardly an issue of the daily papers in which some information or misinformation concerning her personal history did not appear.
At first Jack refused to allow her photograph to be reproduced, insisting that people might wish to know what she thought and why she thought it, but certainly could have no interest in her appearance. Yet this was so absurd a position, as her friends and acquaintances agreed, that Jack was obliged to surrender. Afterwards she was forced to see photographs of herself, or at least what claimed to be photographs, in papers and magazines throughout the entire country, so that if ever she had possessed any personal vanity Jack considered that it would have been hopelessly lost. Now and then she used to carry the newspapers containing her pictures to members of her family, asking them if it were really true that she looked as the pictures indicated? Sometimes thefamily cruelly said the likeness was perfect and at others they were as annoyed as Jack herself.
But she really did not enjoy the political meetings as she had expected, or the notoriety, or the personal enmity oftentimes directed toward her.
Since the afternoon of her meeting with Peter Stevens by the Rainbow creek he had declined to do more than bow to her in public. The reason Jack did not fully comprehend. She had not intended to be frivolous or ungrateful concerning his proposal. She had not believed for a moment that he really cared for her. Peter was a confirmed old bachelor and always freely expressed himself as disapproving of her from the afternoon of their first re-meeting after many years. At the time she had been engaged in an escapade which had annoyed Peter Stevens almost as much as her present one.
Peter had not resigned as her political opponent. The only remark he had made to Jack which was at all friendly was to say to her one day when they were passing each other on the street in Laramie, that the greatest kindness he could pay her was to defeat her in the present election.
Yet notwithstanding all the worry and the work, Jack did not agree with him. She did not intend to be defeated. She meant to win, else why the struggle and the fatigue and, more often than she confessed, the heartache?
Frieda had never forgiven her. This Jack had not at first believed possible, yet as the days passed Frieda did not relent. Instead she appeared more annoyed and more unyielding, continuing to insist Jack was disgracing not alone herself but her family by running for a political office as if she were a man.
In fact, had it not been for her little girl, Jack feared that Frieda would have declined speaking to her. But Peace continued to adore her and Frieda would do nothing to frighten or grieve the child. The year or more spent at the ranch for the sake of the little girl's health had not been successful. Peace seemed to grow more ethereal, more fairylike with each passing day. She was like a spring flower, so fragile and delicate one feared the first harsh wind would destroy her. Yet if she were at all seriously ill, it was Jack she wanted, Jack who seemed able to give a part of her vitality to the child, when Frieda was oftentimes too frightened to be helpful.
Therefore during the spring and summer of Jack's political campaign, if Frieda was not entirely estranged from her sister, it was only because Peace was occasionally ill and needed her.
Moreover, Jack had to endure Jim Colter's regret. Little as Jack had known what experiences she would be forced to pass through in a political campaign, Jim apparently had known even less. Now, although he was not given to looking backward when no good could come of it, more than once he had been driven to confess to Jack that he wished to heaven he had opposed her acceptance of the political nomination with every bit of influence he possessed.
Jack could see that it was agony to Jim to hear her name and character discussed as it had to be discussed were she to win enough popularity to elect her to office.
Not that he talked to her upon the subject during the few evenings when they were at home and saw each other a short time alone.
"You need a rest from the plagued thing, Jack, and so do I. To think that I actually agreed to allow one of my little Rainbow ranch girls to enter a campaign for office in Washington, D. C!" If Jim Colter had beenspeaking of a much worse place his tone could not have been drearier.
However, what worried Jack even more was that Jim insisted upon accompanying her wherever and whenever she was forced to attend any kind of political meeting. For this purpose he was neglecting his own work on the two ranches, and growing older and more haggard, chiefly, Jack thought, through boredom and the effort to hold his temper.
He did not always manage to keep his temper, however; on several occasions, although Jim never reported the fact, he came to blows over remarks he overheard. When Jack asked questions he simply declined to answer, and as Jim Colter was the one person in the world of whom Jacqueline Kent was afraid, she did not dare press the matter.
Naturally Jack made enemies, as every human being does who enters political life, and she was unusually frank and outspoken with regard both to her principles and ideas. But there was one enemy she made whom both she and Jim Colter especially disliked and distrusted. He was a young man who had been employed as a private secretary by Senator Marshall and was helping to manage Peter Stevens' election to Congress.
Senator Marshall had made a friendly call upon Jacqueline Kent at the time of her nomination, protesting in a fatherly fashion against her permitting herself to be put up as a candidate.
Afterwards he declared he had the right to oppose her election in favor of Peter Stevens. This right Jack never disputed. Mrs. Marshall led the opposition against Jacqueline Kent among the conservative women in Wyoming.
In fact, among her own family and her more intimate friends and acquaintances Jack possessed only three staunch and always enthusiastic supporters, her own small son, Jimmie Kent, who accompanied her to most of the day-time political meetings, Billy Preston, the young Kentucky mountaineer who after soldiering in France had decided to try his fate as a cowboy in Wyoming, and John Marshall, Senator Marshall's son.
Billy Preston assured Jack that he was making it his business to see that every cowboy in Wyoming voted for her. John Marshall declared that he proposed showing his father who had the greater influence in the state. He protested that his father had lost all chivalry by assisting a man when awoman was his opponent. If he would not descend to the tactics employed by Alec Robertson, his father's secretary and Peter Stevens' campaign manager, nevertheless, he was backing Mrs. Kent to win against all odds.
"The boy is falling in love with Jacqueline Kent, I am afraid, my dear, as he has never showed the slightest interest in politics in his entire life until recently," Senator Marshall confided to his wife toward the latter part of the summer.
"Nonsense, Mrs. Kent is older than John, and is not an especially attractive woman!"
And although Senator Marshall did not agree with his wife, he pretended to accept her opinion.
"But I do think it would be wiser of you not to be present, not this afternoon. I could take a message saying you were not well."
Jack laughed.
"Yet the fact is I am perfectly well, John Marshall, and besides I am not a coward, or at least if I am a coward there are other things of which I am more afraid."
Jacqueline Kent and her neighbor, John Marshall, were having an early luncheon on the front porch of the Rainbow Lodge upon a fairly warm day. Jack, however, appeared to be dressed for a journey. She was wearing a seal brown tailored suit and a light chiffon blouse. Her hat and gloves were lying on the railing of the veranda.
"Besides," she added lightly, "I do not believe anything uncomfortable will happen. The story has been spread abroad merely because I am a woman and am supposed to be easily frightened."
As luncheon was over, with a little nod for permission, John Marshall arose and began walking up and down the porch.
"You may be right, of course, and yet I confess I feel nervous. It is nonsensical that so much excitement has been aroused by this campaign, makes one think perhaps we are less civilized than we thought we were! I myself believe there won't be any actual rumpus. But I would not be surprised if a few ruffians, hired for the occasion, do try to interrupt your speech by making a lot of noise. I must say I am surprised that Peter Stevens allows such tactics to be employed against an opponent, especially a girl who had been his friend."
Jack shook her head.
"Peter Stevens says that the kindest thing he can do for me is to defeat me, and sometimes I think perhaps he is right. So from that viewpoint he does not consider it makes any difference what methods he uses. However, I am not so sure Peter himself knows everything that is going on. He may or he may not. He does not come to the meetings of my supporters and friends and I suppose his manager, Mr. Robertson, does not tell him everything that takes place.But please do not confide to any member of my family, if you should see one of them before we leave, what you have just told to me. You probably won't see any one. They are too worn out and bored to pay attention these days to my goings out or my comings in. My sister scarcely speaks to me and the remainder of the family are busy with their own affairs. Fortunately for me, Mr. Colter is away for several days on business. But to show you I really don't think there is going to be any disturbance this afternoon, I am going to take Jimmie along with me to the meeting as usual. Poor Jimmie, he is dreadfully tired hearing me talk, and yet seems to have an instinctive feeling that he has to stay by and look after me. You have pretty much the same feeling, haven't you, and I want you to know I am extremely grateful," Jack added. "I'll go now and find Jimmie, as we ought to start in a few moments if we are to be on time."
"Very well," John Marshall returned. "But if you don't mind I'll ride down to the ranch house first. I want to speak to Billy Preston. He telephoned I would find him at about lunch time."
Jack frowned for an instant and then nodded agreement.
She guessed that her two young men friends were to discuss the self-same news that John Marshall had just repeated to her. It seemed unnecessary, still she did not feel that she had the right to object.
The word John Marshall had brought was that an effort was to be made to break up the meeting at which she was to speak during the afternoon. The meeting was to occur in a fairly large sized village not far away in which she was supposed to have but few friends. The village was one of the manufacturing towns in the state, and her friends were among the ranchmen.
But Jack honestly did not believe any serious outbreak would occur. She was not always foolhardy, although this was occasionally one of her weaknesses of character; she simply thought this afternoon that an effort was being made to frighten her away. Afterwards it would be easy to say that a woman candidate to an important political office who could be so easily frightened should hardly be entrusted with the service of the state.
Within half an hour, John Marshall having returned, he and Jack and Jimmie and the chauffeur were motoring toward the desired destination.
"Billy Preston will be at the meeting with a few of the cowboys from the Rainbow ranch and from a few of the other ranches in this neighborhood, so if thereistrouble there will be some people onourside," John Marshall insisted with boyish satisfaction when the car had taken them several miles from the lodge.
"What?"
Jack clutched her companion's sleeve for an instant, her voice and manner for the first time revealing alarm. "You don't mean you and Billy Preston have actually made arrangements for a difficulty. I did not think there could be one simply because an effort might be made to make me stop talking. I can do that readily enough and I intend to stop if any trouble begins. Now I think I had better give up after all and go back home. John, you were foolish."
"You can't go back now, it is too late," the young man argued. "The crowd will already have started to the meeting and if you don't turn up and they are disappointed it may lose you heaps of votes. And it is going to be pretty close if you do win. Everybody says it depends upon your personality and good sense and yourmagnetism. You have got to win people over and to make them forget the prejudice against you. You have got to show them that you have been studying this whole question of government and really know a thing or two. Funny to be calling yourself an 'Independent' and belonging to no old-time political party. I don't know whether the idea is a good one or a bad one. But don't be worried about Billy Preston and his little party. There won't be more than a dozen in all and Billy has promised they won't make as much noise as a whisper if things go well and the game is a straight one."
Shaking her head, Jack glanced nervously at Jimmie.
"But suppose they don't go well? I shan't even begin to make a speech, John Marshall, until you promise me on your word of honor that you will see Billy Preston and tell him from me that he and my other friends are to say nothing and do nothing, whatever takes place. If there is any difficulty Jimmie and I will quietly come out and climb into our car and start back to the ranch. And if my speech is no better than they usually are, I cannot feel that the audience will be deeply disappointed."
"Very well, I promise," the young man answered.
The frame building where she was to speak, a rough one-story shack, sometimes employed for revivals, was larger than any hall in which Jacqueline Kent had ever attempted talking before.
As she stepped up on the platform she found that her audience was also larger than the ones to which she had tried to grow accustomed in these last few months.
But the people were quietly seated and there appeared no unusual excitement or confusion.
Gratefully Jack observed that the larger number were women. The men were at the back toward the rear of the hall.
There were to be no other speakers during the afternoon, so as soon as she had been introduced Jack began her speech.
From the beginning she was fearful that she was going to interest this audience even less than she believed she interested most audiences. And in her heart of hearts Jack was always puzzled why anyone should be influenced by what she had to say.
Her causes were to increase the size and number of the ranches in Wyoming, increasethe number of the livestock, and bring the producers of food and the consumers closer together. She frankly stated at all times that she was not interested in politics. She simply wanted the chance to make human beings happier by giving them the kind of government they desired and ought to have.
"I am afraid you will have some difficulty in hearing me," Jack stated, "but that need not trouble you as much as it does me, because after all you will not have lost a great deal. There are a good many reasons why it is harder for a woman to be a candidate for an office than a man, and I suppose having to make speeches is one of the hardest."
"Louder!" some one shouted at the back of the building.
Jack tried again.
"Louder!" the voice repeated. "How do you think you are going to make yourself heard in Washington if you can't be heard here?"
The joke was at her expense and Jack laughed good-naturedly.
"Ain't going to make any difference, she ain't never going to get there," another man shouted.
"Perhaps not, but I am goingto try," Jack answered, still with entire good nature.
But she flinched unconsciously at this instant and stepped backward. A large bouquet had been thrown directly at her, not a bouquet of flowers, but of ugly, evil-smelling weeds and tied with a rag instead of a ribbon.
As it fell several feet away from her, Jack soon continued her speech as if she had not noticed what had occurred.
"Shame! Put him out!" some one interrupted.
"Please don't. It is not important," Jack replied.
Yet if her manner failed to reveal the fact, she was nervous. By turning her head she could see Jimmie seated upon the platform beside the principal of the public school, who had just introduced her to the audience.
Jimmie had jumped up indignantly when the bunch of weeds fell beside her, but had been persuaded to sit down again.
The persons in the rear of the building were undoubtedly becoming noisier.
Jack flushed so hotly that the tears came into her eyes and her cheeks were flaming.
Never had she been treated with anything like this discourtesy before. Evidently she was not to be allowed to make a speech, scarcely to begin one.
Swiftly Jack thought of Jim Colter, of his anger and disgust should he behold her in such a plight. She had not expected this nor anything like it.
There was scuffling now in the rear of the building, as well as shouting among her audience.
Jack suffered a feminine desire to weep over the unkindness and the humiliation of her present situation, yet she was not in the least afraid. At no time in her life was Jack ever a physical coward.
The uproar continued, growing greater. Women were crying out in terror.
Yet Jack Kent stood her ground. Quietly, as if nothing were happening and in spite of her humiliation, knowing that no one could hear, she went on with her speech. Jimmie had come and was now standing beside her, holding tightly to her hand.
"It's a shame! She is so young and pretty and is not half the coward any man is who doesn't give her a fair show!" a woman shouted in a voice which chanced to be heard.
The next moment Jack felt a hand placed on her elbow.
"Please come away. It is as I feared;they don't mean to hear you," John Marshall urged.
Jack shook her head.
"No, I'll stay till I finish."
It was an autumn afternoon and unexpectedly a storm had broken. Outside were flashes of lightning and the rain beating against the small windows. In the building some one suddenly switched off the electric lights, and before they were switched on again there was an uproar that was deafening.
"For Jimmie's sake you must get away," John Marshall insisted.
"Very well, for Jimmie's sake I do give up," Jack returned, "but for goodness' sake don't think either of us is afraid."
Drawing back from her companions Jack again went to the edge of the platform.
"You won't listen to me this afternoon, and I don't want to make anybody uncomfortable or frightened by going on with my speech in the midst of so much noise, nevertheless I am coming back some other afternoon to try again, so good-by to my friends, and I trust my enemies may have better manners next time."
There was a little burst of applause from the spectators who could hear, andimmediately after Jack, Jimmie and John Marshall slipped away.
The car was waiting at the back of the building with the starter already in action. Before Jack was able to realize exactly what was taking place she was several miles on the journey home toward the Rainbow ranch.
"Do you suppose things quieted down as soon as I disappeared?" Jack inquired. "You were right, I should not have gone. I wish I were not one of the most hard-headed people in the world. After all, I don't suppose women do belong in political life. I hope there may not be any serious trouble over me."
"But you were awfully game, Mrs. Kent," John Marshall replied, "and I'm not so sure women don't belong in politics to keep things like this afternoon's proceedings from happening."
It was not six o'clock when Jack and her companions arrived safely at the Rainbow lodge. John Marshall had too much good sense to come in, in answer to Jack's invitation.
Personally, as soon as she got indoors Jack felt she never had been so tired in her life.
After undressing and putting on a housedress she lay down in the hammock and remained there, eating her dinner on a small table with Jimmie seated beside her. When Jimmie had gone to bed, still she did not stir.
At about eight o'clock, however, she arose and picked up a white crêpe shawl, winding it about her, as it was growing cooler. She intended walking over to the big house before she finally went to bed.
No member of her family had been near her all day and it was strange that she had seen and heard nothing of Olive or Jean.
Frieda never came down to the Rainbow lodge any more unless she were obliged to come.
Yet the family must know of her intended speech that afternoon, although they discussed her affairs as little as possible. At least she could hope they would never hear of the scene that afternoon in which she had been obliged to appear as a central figure. Especially she hoped Jim Colter would never hear.
In fact, Jack wanted to see her family before trying to sleep that night. She believed she was still both too excited and too tired to sleep for several hours.Moreover, she wanted to find out if Jim had returned home and if not when he might be expected.
She must see Billy Preston the first thing in the morning and beg him to use his influence with the other cowboys never to mention to Jim what had occurred during the afternoon.
Jack found the veranda of the big house deserted, which was most unusual at this hour of the evening.
Only a dim light was burning in the drawing-room. But the front door was open and she walked in without knocking or calling.
Undoubtedly there was a subdued atmosphere about the place. Not yet half-past eight, so surely not all the family could be in bed. At this hour one could at least count upon finding the two oldest of the four new Rainbow ranch girls, Lina and Jeannette. Lina was extremely studious and given to doing a great deal of reading at odd hours. She bore no resemblance to the oldest of the four original Ranch girls, but was like her mother.
Ordinarily one could find her in the library at this time, when she could count upon being fairly undisturbed.
Jack went from the drawing-room to thelibrary on the left side of the house. If not Lina, Professor Russell might be discovered there. He and Jim Colter's oldest daughter had developed a shy friendship from the fact that they often remained together in the big room reading for hours without speaking or disturbing each other.
But to-night there was not even a dim light in the library.
At the foot of the stairs Jack waited, puzzled and frowning for an instant. Then she called softly, "Jean, Jean, what has become of everybody? Certainly you cannot all be asleep!"
As no answer followed, Jack started up the stairs. After having gone a few steps she called a second time.
Instead of Jean, however, Frieda appeared.
"Please don't make any noise," she admonished, "Peace is ill."
Jack ran up swiftly to where her sister was standing.
"How long has she been ill and why haven't you let me know?"
With a slight gesture of nervous irritability the younger of the two sisters drew away.
"Since yesterday, but not seriously so until to-day."
"Then why didn't you let me hear this morning? No member of my family has been near me all day. Do the others know?"
Frieda nodded.
"Yes, but I thought it best not to disturbyouwith the news. You are fond of Peace, I suppose, even if you do prefer a public career to the affection of your family. I knew, of course, that you were going somewhere this afternoon to address an audience and I thought you would wish not to have anything interfere even mentally with your speech."
"I see," Jack answered, with her usual gentleness and good temper. She was wounded, but Frieda's attitude toward her had been like this for some time, and to-night, when she appreciated that her sister was especially troubled, was scarcely the moment to refer to their differences. "Of course I should have preferred to know. Is Peace very ill?"
Frieda shook her head.
"No, not at present, but I am uneasy and we have sent for a nurse."
"Won't you let some of the other little girls come down to the lodge and stay with me?"
A second time Frieda shook her head.
"No, they have gone to Olive. Jean has gone with them. You know Olive and Captain MacDonnell have an extra sleeping tent and I thought it best you should not be annoyed by them either."
This time Jack was unable wholly to restrain herself.
"Why should I have been annoyed, Frieda? I am not so impossible a person, am I? And the work I have been trying to do lately, even if you do disapprove of it, has not turned me into an ogre. But I won't worry you to-night, although I do believe, Frieda, you really intend to be unkind. Has Jim come back? I have not seen him for several days and if he is at home and not busy I thought perhaps he would walk back to the lodge with me."
Never in her life from the time she was a small girl had Frieda accepted reproof in an humble spirit, except under a few and very exceptional circumstances. The truth was that she had been spoiled all her days, first because she was the youngest of the four Rainbow ranch girls, her mother having died when she was little more than a baby, and later by her husband, who was a good deal her senior.
Now in spite of her sister's long self-restraint, Frieda showed resentment.
"It is your own fault and your own choice, Jack, that you no longer seem one of us as you did in the past. You can't have everything, you know, be a public character and a——"
"And a human being? I think you are mistaken, dear. I am very far from being a 'public character' as you express it, and I don't like the expression. Yet it seems to me that the celebrated women I have read about or known have been rather more human than most people, and not in the least anxious to be discarded by their families because they have found other things to occupy them outside of domestic life. I'll see you in the morning. Is Jim in his room, or has he gone with Jean and the little girls?"
Frieda frowned.
"Jim has not come back and that is another thing that is worrying us, although not a great deal. He wrote to say that he would return home this afternoon before dinner and we waited dinner for him an hour. But no word and no Jim. I suppose it is foolish to be uneasy, but Jim so rarely breaks hisword even in the smallest matters, and he might have telephoned. It would not be pleasant to have Jim disappear as Ralph Merritt has, would it? It is funny, but now we are grown up, we seem to depend upon Jim as our guardian as much as we ever did. I don't see how we could get on without him."
Frieda ended her remarks without any special significance; nevertheless, her last few words continued to repeat themselves in Jacqueline Kent's mind during her walk back to the lodge.
The storm of the afternoon had passed over and it was turning a good deal colder. Jack was not ordinarily impressionable and yet it seemed to her that to-night the sky possessed a peculiar hard brilliance, as if the mood of the outside world and the persons she loved were both harsh and unsympathetic.
Even Jean and Olive had not been near her in twenty-four hours, and if they should pretend they were trying to spare her, she knew that in former times they would not have wished to keep her shut out either from their happiness or sorrow.
Jim Colter would be different. Never at any moment in her life could Jack recallthat he had been either harsh or unsympathetic, although stern he might be and had been when he thought it necessary. How infinitely kind he had been concerning this latest adventure of hers, regardless of his own disapproval.
About her difficulty of the afternoon he must never hear if she could keep the news from him. Yet of course if he had to know, Jack felt she would prefer to describe the situation herself, making as light of it as possible. All of her family and friends would be angry should they learn of it, even if some of them believed she deserved what she had received. But Jim would take the matter far more to heart.
How stupid of Frieda to talk of their ever having to get on without Jim Colter's guardianship! In any case it could not mean so much to Frieda, who had her devoted if eccentric husband always at her service. Besides, Frieda and Jim had never been devoted friends. Jim had cared for Frieda, of course, as her guardian and for Jean and Olive, but the other Rainbow ranch girls had never shared his interests and tastes as she had done.
Jack drew her shawl more closely abouther and started to run toward home. She was feeling uncommonly forlorn and depressed. Yet surely the day had been a sufficiently trying one to depress almost any human being!
The following morning Jacqueline was in the act of dressing when she heard Jean's voice calling her from below.
"Jack, hurry, will you, and come up to the big house. Peace is ever so much worse and the news has just reached us that Jim was hurt yesterday afternoon. No one understands exactly what has happened. Billy Preston telephoned, saying he was with Jim and would remain with him. We are not to go to him for the present. I answered the telephone myself and tried my best to find out how badly Jim was hurt. Billy says he was not run over and had not had a fall, only there had been some kind of an accident. He would not say what kind and I guessed by his voice that he was not telling all the truth."
"I'll be with you in half a moment if you'll wait for me, Jean," responded Jack.
A little later she joined Jean. "I wonder if you can tell me the name of the town where Jim was hurt yesterday?" she asked. "SurelyBilly Preston told you as much as that! I must go to him of course."
The name of the town was what she had expected to be told. It was the village where she had attempted making a speech the afternoon before and been interrupted. Jim must have known of her plans and also learned of what might take place. How like him to have gone quietly to her protection without letting her hear of his presence! Yet in what way had he been hurt and how serious was his injury? Whatever other consequences she might hope to escape, for Jim's hurt she was entirely responsible. Whatever Frieda might say of her selfish interest in her own future, of her desire for a career outside her own home and family, she would never be able to deny that Jim Colter had suffered because of her.
"Will you see that a car is ready for me immediately, please, Jean. I won't come back to the lodge. Jim will want me if anyone and I have the first right to go to him, because I am responsible."
Jean was scarcely listening.
"You won't be able to leave just now, Jack. After all Frieda's antagonism toward you she has been begging to have you cometo her since dawn. You seem to be the only person she wants."
Jean nodded.
"There is only one hope. The doctor means to try a transfusion of blood. I don't know from whom. We have all offered."
"Oh, Jean," Jack's voice shook, "I am the one person who will be best. I am stronger than any one else and Peace has always responded to my vitality. Yet if I am chosen I can't go to Jim."
"The choice is pretty hard, Jack. If you can not go Olive and Captain MacDonnell and I will. And some one will come back with the news as soon as possible. Yet you may not be the one."
However, as Jean Merritt looked at her cousin she had little doubt. In spite of the fatigue and chagrin of the day before, even of her anxious night, Jack walked with the swinging grace of perfect health and poise. At this moment of dreadful double anxiety, harder upon her than any one save Frieda, she was for the time when the need was greatest, perfectly self-controlled. No one had ever seen Jack break down until the moment for action had passed.
"It is because I have been so unkind toyou, Jack darling,thisis my punishment," Frieda confessed brokenly, meeting her sister outside Peace's door. "But I have wanted to make up more times than you can dream, only I am so dreadfully spoiled and do so hate to give in, and I have despised your running for a public office chiefly I suppose because I realized it would separate us. Peace won't know you."
Two hours later Frieda and Jack were in Frieda's bedroom, Jack undressed and in a loose white wrapper, her hair braided in two heavy braids.
"Now you must not be a goose, Frieda, dear," she expostulated. "I am not in the least danger from the blood transfusion, as the doctor has just told you. I may be laid up for a little while afterwards, perhaps not long. And there are many chances that Peace will get better at once. You know how glad I am of the opportunity to help. What is the use of being a healthy person if one cannot be useful."
"But, Jack, you may be more exhausted than you dream. You may be forced to give up your political work for several weeks. And Henry said only yesterday that these were the most important weeks of all, if youare to be elected. At the very last people will probably have made up their minds one way or the other."
"Oh, well, perhaps the question of my election is not so important to me as you may think, Frieda. In any case it does not count the tiniest little bit in comparison with either you or Peace, now that you actually need me. When I accepted the nomination for Congress I did not know that anybody needed me especially except Jimmie. I thought perhaps I was freer than most women."
Jack was talking to distract Frieda, who had not been told of Jim Colter's injury and so did not realize the extent of the sacrifice her sister was making.
"When do you think we will hear, Jack?"
"Toward late evening, Jim. At least I was told that at about eight o'clock a fairly good guess could be made. But suppose we don't talk of it. Let me read to you."
Jim Colter, who was lying on a couch in a large sunny, empty room moved a little impatiently.
"If you lose the election, Jack, it will be because of the demands we have all made upon you in these last weeks. You had nothing much to go upon but your personality, your chance of pleasing people and convincing them of your sincerity, and here you have been shut up at the Rainbow ranch for weeks. It has not been in the least necessary for you to take care of me, any one of the girls could have looked after me equally well. You are not a born nurse, Jack, as the saying goes. So when yourecovered and I was safe at home you should have gone on with your election campaign."
"Really, Jim, 'ingratitude, more fierce than traitors' arms, quite vanquished him,' or her, in this case. If I'm not a 'born nurse' you don't dare say that of late I have not become a cultivated one. Moreover, if the other girls could have taken equally good care of you, please remember that they have been doing their share, they and every member of this household! Do you suppose a man can continue in perfect health for as many years as you have and then in case of illness not require a regiment of nurses to look after him? But confess, if I am not a good nurse, you can growl more successfully at me than at any one else."
"Am I growling, Jack? Perhaps I do pretty often, but at present it is because I regret so deeply that you have to devote yourself first to Frieda and Peace and afterwards to me, when you have needed all your time and energy for your political work. If you are defeated I shall always feel responsible."
"Vain of you, don't you think?" Jack answered. "Besides, Jim Colter, you are well enough now for us to talk of somethingthat I have been thinking of for a long time. Never have you confessed to me or to any one else, so far as I know, how in the world you happened to be so seriously hurt. In the first place, what brought you to town on that especial afternoon when you were supposed to be miles away attending to some business connected with the ranch? Then arriving there, how did you manage to get into the midst of a rough-and-tumble fight? Billy Preston did tell me this much. But I presume you must have ordered him to keep quiet, else he would not have been so non-committal."
Jim Colter stared at the opposite wall rather than toward the figure of the girl sitting near him, or through either of the two large windows with wide outlooks over the Rainbow ranch. It was mid-afternoon of an early autumn day with a faint haze in the air, unusual in the prairie country.
"I don't believe I feel equal to talking, Jack, not just at present, or for any length of time," he answered a trifle uneasily. "Perhaps I'd better try to sleep."
"Very well," Jacqueline Kent agreed, smiling and at the same time with a serious expression in her eyes. "But, Jim, when you wakeyou might as well decide to tell me the truth. Don't you suppose I have guessed the greater part of it?"
There was a silence for some time in the big room, Jim Colter closing his eyes, Jack staring out the window at the familiar scenes she loved.
By and by, when he did not believe she was aware of what he was doing, Jim opened his eyes and stared at his companion's profile.
Jack looked more fatigued than he often remembered to have seen her; she had less color, less her old suggestion of vitality. There were circles under her eyes, little hollows in her cheeks. Yet she did not look ill and one could scarcely marvel at the change in her after the past trying months, first the strain of her effort at electioneering on her own behalf, and more recently the tax which he and Frieda's little girl had put upon her.
If she were elected to Congress would she ever be the old-time Jack again? Jim Colter had to suppress a sigh of dissatisfaction over the thought, which may have sounded more like a groan. To think of Jack with her youth and charm shut up within the Legislative halls in Washington was not only an absurdity, but something far worse! Well,of course if caught by a wave of enthusiasm and desire for change, Jack should be elected to the United States Congress he must arrange to spend part of the year with her. The two older of the new little Ranch girls must go to school and Jean Merritt would look after the others. The Rainbow ranch and his own adjoining ranch would have to be turned over to one of his assistants, since Jack would need him more than any other person or any other thing.
Then Jim Colter closed his eyes. Would she actually need him more, or was it because he cared more for her need than for any possible human demand that could be made upon him? Always he had been tremendously fond of Jack, unhesitatingly more fond of her than of the other three Ranch girls in her gallant but wilful girlhood. Now, since his own loss and hers, and since Jack's return to the Rainbow ranch, surely there was no point in denying to himself that the affection which held him to her was stronger than ever, stronger than any other emotion in his life.
"Jim, you are not asleep, you are only pretending," Jack said suddenly. "Now tell me, didn't you go over to the village onthe day you were hurt because you heard I was to make a speech and there might be trouble? And didn't you arrive so late you felt it best not to tell me to go home, because I had already started to speak? And after the rumpus began and Jimmie and I were safely on the way home didn't you try to find out who was responsible for the discourtesy to me? Afterwards what happened, Jim?
"Jack, I suppose I forgot a good many things I should have remembered, first and foremost that I did not wish you made conspicuous and that I was older than I used to be, and that I ought by this time to have learned to control my temper."
"Yes, but Billy Preston declares that when he arrived you seemed to have half a dozen persons against you and that you were managing pretty well. It was disgraceful of you, Jim; you who have been preaching for as many years as I can remember that there was to be no fighting on the Rainbow ranch for any cause whatsoever and that no excuse would be accepted by you as a justifiable one. What influence do you suppose your sermons will now have among the cowboys? As for making me conspicuous, it seemsrather a funny thing that neither you nor I recognized that running for a public office is apt to make one conspicuous. One can hardly vote for a person one has never heard of."
Jim sighed.
"Yes, you are right, Jack, but it is too late now to discuss this side of the situation. If you are elected it won't be any better; sure to be worse, in fact. I suppose you realize that if you live in Washington the greater part of the year, you'll have to bear with my society most of the time."
Jacqueline Kent bit her lip for an instant and then shook her head.
"Good of you to suggest it, Jim, but out of the question of course. Jimmie and I'll have to manage somehow, trusting members of the family will visit us now and then to see how we are getting on. But as for you, you are too much needed here at the ranch, besides having to look after the new little ranch girls. I could never accept the sacrifice."
"Yes? But I don't see how you are going to prevent it, Jack," Jim answered abruptly and in a tone Jack had never contradicted in her life. Always Jim Colterhad been the one person whose will was stronger than her own, even in the important matters in which she always felt she had the better right to judge.
"Oh, well, we won't quarrel on the subject yet, Jim, because of course there are ninety-nine chances to one that I won't be elected. I must go now and dress for dinner. Here comes Professor Russell to sit with you. I'll come back later if I hear the returns to-night."
A little after eight o'clock on this same evening, a group of Jacqueline Kent's friends, her own family, and Jacqueline herself, were standing talking together in the drawing-room of the big house; occasionally one or two of them disappeared to come back with the latest news of the election returns.
Earlier in the afternoon the reports from the neighborhood districts had given a majority to the feminine candidate. Later, when the counting began to take place in the cities, there appeared a change in the results, with Peter Stevens leading. Then Jacqueline Kent's victory seemed assured by a sudden spurt in the figures giving her an important lead throughout the western portion of the state.
"Do you think we will know to-night without doubt?" Frieda Russell inquired of John Marshall, who had driven over and had dinner with his friends at the Rainbow ranch.
"One cannot be positive in any election until the next day, Mrs. Russell," he assured Frieda, "but I think between ten o'clock and midnight we can be pretty positive, at least that is the view my father takes, and he has been in politics nearly as long as I can remember. He told me to tell 'Jack' as he calls her, that he congratulates her whatever occurs, whether she is defeated or elected."
"Well, I don't know what to hope," Frieda murmured. "For months I have been praying Jack wouldnotwin, and now to-night I feel I may hate it if she is not elected. You know I shall also feel responsible in a way since so many of Jack's friends insist that her taking no part in the campaign during the last weeks has made such a difference."
"Oh, that could not be helped! And sometimes I think, though I have done my best to help Mrs. Kent win, that she is too young and that an older and perhaps a differentkind of woman might be more suitable. See, even after all she has been through, she looks like a young girl to-night. I don't believe she cares very much."
Frieda glanced toward her sister, who was standing before the drawing-room fire laughing and talking to several friends and appearing less perturbed than she herself felt.
Jack was paler than usual and there were circles under her eyes which Frieda knew were uncommon, notwithstanding her eyes and lips were both smiling. She wore a white serge dress trimmed with silver braid, her hair was slightly parted on one side and coiled low on her neck.
"One cannot always tell how Jack feels, she is braver than most persons. Frankly, I don't know any more than you do how much she is interested in winning. I do think she scarcely realized what it meant when she was originally nominated. It isn't like Jack to turn back once she has started, although I believe she did find the publicity harder to bear than she anticipated. You see, an older person, or one who had had more experience in political life, would have understood, but Jack has lived in England for the past years. On her return home it appeared awonderful experience to play some part in American politics, as the women are beginning to do in England. I don't think Jack realized she might not be fitted for a political career when other people began urging her forward."
John Marshall laughed.
"No, I don't feel she is unsuited to a great career, but it was of her personally I was thinking. If you'll excuse me for a few moments I will go to the telephone again. It is growing late and my father has promised to telephone me from headquarters at a little before ten o'clock. Even if he has been working for Peter Stevens because he wants a man to be elected rather than a woman, we can count on his figures being accurate."
John Marshall disappeared. A quarter of an hour passed and he did not return. In the meantime three or four other persons went away to join him.
The clock on the mantel was striking half-past ten when Jack herself heard the noise of a horse galloping toward the house. It was she who walked quietly to an already open window and stretched forth her hand to receive the telegram.
"This telegram comes from Cheyenne, I suppose it will be official and we shall know the best or the worst," she announced. Then opening it she read aloud:
"Victory conceded to Peter Stevens. Better luck next time."
Afterwards, in the brief silence which followed, Frieda Russell burst into tears.
"But, Frieda," Jack expostulated, slipping an arm about her sister and smiling as she faced the group of people gazing directly at her, "I thought you wanted me to be defeated. You have never wished for anything else." She turned to the others. "I can only say that I am deeply grateful for everybody's kindness, yet the voters of Wyoming probably have acted wisely. All women may not need longer preparation before holding public office, but I am afraid I do. Now if you will pardon me, I confess I am tired and would like to say good-night."
Running swiftly upstairs, Jacqueline Kent paused for an instant outside her former guardian's door. She had been staying in the big house during his illness.
"Is that you, Jack?" a voice asked instantly. "Well, what is the news?"
"I was defeated, Jim. Peter Stevens is the next Congressman from Wyoming."
"Well, Jack, I'd hate to tell you how glad I am. Are you very deeply disappointed?"
"No, Jim, I am not. I believe I feel relieved. But please don't tell other people. Good-night."
"Mrs. Kent, there is some one down at the ranch house inquiring either for you or for Jim Colter. He will not give his name. Since you do not wish Mr. Colter to be disturbed I thought it best to bring the message to you. The man looks as if he had been ill for some time and his clothes are pretty shabby, but otherwise he seems all right."
The man who was speaking was one of the new ranchmen on the Rainbow ranch whom Jacqueline Kent had lately employed.
As Jim Colter had not recovered from his injury so rapidly as might have been expected, Jack had taken upon herself the entire management of the Rainbow ranch and was assisting with the management of the adjoining place, which belonged to Jim Colter.
"Yes, thank you, I am glad you came to me; I'll ride down to the ranch house as soon as I can get away. I have some things that must be attended to first. You'll seethat the man is properly cared for until I can get there."
"Yes."
Smiling after he had turned his back, the ranchman rode away.
It suddenly had struck him that Mrs. Kent looked absurdly young for the responsibilities of her present position, but that they did not seem to trouble her in the least, in fact she appeared to enjoy them. Moreover, she was extremely popular with all he employees on the place, who would do a good deal to win her thanks.
This morning Jack's costume was an extremely businesslike one, a dark brown corduroy riding habit with a short skirt and trousers and a fairly long coat. It was a cold morning in early December. She had not yet put on her hat and gloves, as she was waiting to consult with a neighboring ranchman in regard to the purchase of a thousand head of cattle.
Jimmie had gone off to school an hour earlier with the four little new ranch girls and Jean's two daughters. These daily excursions to school were an annoyance to Jimmie and he would have preferred to have walked or ridden his pony instead of beingdriven in the family motor car with so many girls. However, as the school was five or six miles from the Rainbow ranch, this appeared one of the crosses he was forced to endure.
Half an hour later, following a talk with her neighbor, Jacqueline Kent was on her way to the ranch house.
A busy day lay ahead of her. First of all she had agreed to buy the cattle for the Rainbow ranch at the price offered, subject to Jim Colter's approval. But as Jim rarely interfered with her recent control of the ranch she did not expect him to object to her latest venture. In the afternoon, escorted by Billy Preston, whom she had promoted to being one of her chief assistants, she intended riding over to look at the cattle. In the meantime, beside her housekeeping, which was already finished for the day, she had to look at some fencing that needed repairing, consult with a veterinary surgeon concerning an injury to one of the finest mares on the ranch, and hear reports from several ranchmen who had charge of details of the work upon the place.
Nevertheless, Jack felt extremely fit and not in the least perturbed by the number ofher duties, as this was the character of outdoor life she had always loved and been trained to since her childhood.
The question of the man who was waiting to see her at the ranch house did not particularly absorb her attention. Frequently of late men had wished to see her either to ask for employment on the Rainbow ranch or to discuss projects for new agricultural schemes to raise grains in greater abundance by a more scientific development of the soil. Moreover, there were always persons who insisted that the Rainbow gold mine could be made to yield a fresh output of gold by the application of new methods in mining. But at least Jack had nothing to do with the Rainbow mine, always referring any such enthusiasts to her scientific brother-in-law, Professor Russell, now that Jim Colter was taking a temporary rest from the affairs of the place, the first he had ever taken for as long as Jack had known him.
Billy Preston was standing on the front porch of the ranch house in spite of the coldness of the day and as Jack rode up he came forward to help her dismount.
"The fellow waiting to see you is rather a queer looking beggar, so I thought I'dhang round till you'd had a talk with him," Billy grinned boyishly. "We don't want another of the Rainbow ranch managers knocked out in a fight at present."
"But I was knocked out in a fight, a big one, Billy Preston, by failing to be elected, and you have all been awfully good not to reproach me after taking such a lot of trouble in my behalf."
"Oh, but we cowboys are glad you lost, though as long as we thought you wanted to win the boys on the Rainbow ranch and a good many other ranches were for you to the last man. No one of us really liked the idea of your either being elected or being licked. But now it can't be helped, it's kind of pleasanter to think of you just trying to run the old ranch."
"Trying, Billy? But I thought Iwasrunning it," Jack returned, "although I suppose you realize the men are still doing the work and trying to humor me at the same time. Well, it is kind of you and it is fun. Now show me my man and stand outside, Billy, to see nothing happens. But please remember you are an assistant ranch manager these days and hide that dreadful Kentucky mountain pistol."
Inside the ranch house living-room, a crude enough place but bright and comfortable, there was a fire burning in the fireplace and a man sitting slumped before it in such a position that Jack upon entering the room could not see his face.
He heard her, however, and got up and stumbled forward with both hands outstretched.
"Ralph Merritt, but we thought you were lost forever, thought you were—" Jack hesitated and stopped an instant. "Why, we have sought for you all over the United States in every possible place and in every possible fashion! But you have been ill. Do sit down, you can't know how glad I am to see you. Don't try to talk to me, let us go first to Jean. It is cruel to keep her in ignorance another moment."
Ralph Merritt shook his head.
"No, Jack, I want to talk toyoufirst. I am glad it is you rather than Jim Colter. Then you can tell me what I should do next. I have been ill and in a strange way and so perhaps I need advice more than one usually does. I will sit down, if you don't mind and you'll be seated."
It was one of Jacqueline Kent's goodqualities that she did not talk when talking was unnecessary.
Now she dropped into the nearest chair, opened her coat and took off her hat and gloves.
"Try and tell me from the beginning if you can remember, Ralph. We have heard nothing of you or from you since the news that you appeared to have been slightly hurt at the mine in New Mexico and then disappeared."
Ralph Merritt nodded.
"I will try to tell as much as I can remember although it is remarkably little. I remember the fall at the mine and also that I did not seem to have been much hurt, only bruised and shaken up a bit and that my head ached a good deal from a blow I had received. I recall going into my own tent a little after dusk and lying down because my head ached. Then, you may not believe me, yet the truth is, I know of nothing else that has taken place in my life for over a year, nothing until a few months ago."
"Yes, go on," Jack answered. "The blow on your head occasioned a loss of memory?"
"A complete loss of memory. How I ever got my living in the meantime, whether Iworked or whether I was cared for through other people's kindness I am not sure, except that I did work on a farm for a time and probably worked on others. I know this from some one who befriended me and partly guessed what my trouble was. Through this friend I was taken to a hospital and an operation performed and my memory partially restored. I now remember perfectly everything that took place before my injury, but nothing in the interval between then and now."
"But that is not important, Ralph dear; perhaps it is better not to be able to recall what must have been days of suffering. The wonderful thing is now that you are alive and at home again, and with Jean and the little girls well and waiting for you."
Ralph Merritt shook his head.
"I am afraid returning in the plight I am in at present will not be a pleasant surprise for Jean. Remember I told you, Jack, that I would not come back until I had earned money enough to make Jean happier. I told her the same story. And I haven't the money, in fact I haven't even the chance of making it until I am stronger. So I want you to tell Jean for me that I am alive and care for her and the little girls as much as Iever did, and have not yet given up hope of accomplishing what she has a right to expect of me. Then if you'll tell me about the family I'll be off again. I'll write Jean, but I thought it might be best that you speak to her and explain what has occurred first."
"I will do no such thing, Ralph Merritt," Jack returned more sharply than she was in the habit of speaking. "You'll see and talk to Jean yourself in a quarter of an hour. Don't you think Jean has had a long enough period of agony and suspense? The desire of her heart is to know you are alive. She asks for nothing else, has asked for nothing else all along. I do wish men were not so stupid. You always believe the wrong things girls and women say. Jean did care for wealth and position, most people do, but that is no reason to think that she did not always care more for you than anything or anybody else. I'll ride up to the big house this instant and try to prepare Jean a little for seeing you. But right away you are to follow me. If you are strong enough to ride horseback Billy Preston will saddle a horse and ride up with you."
Jack was already up and half way to the door.
"Don't be long. Jean already has been waiting a long time, and I shall tell her nothing except that you are here."
"All right, Jack," Ralph Merritt answered and squared his shoulders, appearing fifty per cent more like his former self than before Jack had spoken.
At eight o'clock that night Jacqueline Kent was walking up and down the front porch of the Rainbow lodge alone. There was a light snow falling outside and she had slipped on a fur coat, but her head was uncovered.
At a little distance away she heard a familiar whistle.
"Do hurry, Jim, I can't wait any longer," she called out. "You promised to come over immediately after dinner."
"Yes, and I'm here," Jim returned, "dinner has not been over ten minutes at the big house, and please remember I am a semi-invalid and cannot walk with white hot speed. I can only report, 'all is well.' Jean and Ralph both appear extraordinarily happy and Ralph Merritt does not look so ill, not half so badly off as I do. I won't have the honor of being the family invalid taken from me. He and Jean expressedthemselves as being disappointed at your not coming up to dinner, but I told them you wanted them to have the dinner to themselves, which they managed to have along with Professor Russell and Frieda and six small girls clamoring for attention beside your humble servant. You might have asked me to dine with you."
"Why, I never thought of it, but then you would have if you had wished to anyhow. Besides, you should of course have been at home to welcome Ralph. I trust you told him right away that we were going to start work on the old Rainbow mine so Ralph can stay here at home and have something to do at the same time. I have decided on this; there must be gold enough in the old mine to pay expenses and to give Ralph a good salary, and otherwise it does not matter. Oh, Jim, please do come in out of the snow. I want to tell you also that I am going to buy a thousand new head of cattle for the Rainbow ranch. It is all right, isn't it?"
"It isnot, Jack. Rainbow ranch has all the cattle it can take care of at present. We have stocked up as far as we ought to go unless we can buy more land for grazing and raising grain, and I don't see any prospect of that in this immediate neighborhood."
"But I have almost made a bargain for the cattle, Jim."
"How far has the bargain gone?"
"Oh, the agreement was not positive until I had consulted with you, but I thought I was being allowed to run the Rainbow ranch. Of course if you interfere with what I think best, why it is not managing the ranch at all."
"But I never agreed to allow you to run the ranch into debt, Jack, and that iswhat wouldhappen if you have to pay for feed for a thousand new head of cattle this winter."
In silence the man and girl continued to walk up and down the porch of the Rainbow lodge.
"Want me to give up trying to manage the ranch, Jim? Now you are better, I suppose I am only a nuisance."
"I want you to keep on if the work interests you and if you are willing to listen to my advice now and then. You have some ideas for running things that are considerably better than mine, but I have had a good deal longer experience."