The Forfeit Part 32

But Jeff did not accept her excuse.

"Maybe that's so," he said thoughtfully. "But it don't alter things a little bit. I'd just like to feel I deserved it. But I don't and can't feel that way. Some day----" He laughed and made a helpless gesture. "But why talk? It's too easy, and it's mighty cheap anyway.

I----"

But Nan was pointing out of the window. She welcomed a sudden diversion.

"It's Elvine coming right along over." Then, as Jeff craned forward: "Say, she's a dandy horsewoman. Get a look at her. Gracious, she might have been born in the saddle."

But Jeff had not waited. He was out on the veranda to greet his wife as she came. And just for one instant Nan caught a glimpse of the light in his eyes which the sight of Elvine had conjured. All the coldness she had witnessed that morning, all the merciless purpose, even the simple friendliness he had displayed toward her. These were gone. Their place had been taken by a light of pa.s.sionate regard for the woman who had yielded herself to him. For a moment it seemed as if her own emotions must stifle her. But the next she was within the room again, her eyes merrily dancing, talking to the parent she adored.

"Say, you Daddy of mine," she said, almost boisterously, "haven't you work to be done, the same as I have? Shame on you for dallying. Shame on us both. Come right along, sir. Come right along at once." Then, as he moved toward the window, "No, no, you dear blundering Daddy, not that way! That's reserved. The back door for us, sure. Come along."

And the great Bud permitted himself to be hustled from the room through the kitchen way.

Nan's effort was only partially successful. In a few moments the fugitives were urgently recalled to hear the news of the disaster at Spruce Crossing, which Elvine had brought with her. And during the discussion which followed Nan was forced to stand by while the handsome woman who had supplanted her occupied the centre of attention.

Somehow the news which held the others, drawing forth hot condemnation from Bud, and the bitter comment of Jeff, for once left Nan cold.

Somehow it seemed so small a thing compared with that other disaster which was always with her. Her whole attention was held by Jeff and his wife. Not a detail of expression or emotion, as the swift words flowed between them, was lost upon her. And the exquisite pain of it all was excruciating.

The great love of the man was so apparent. There was a moment, even, just as Jeff and Elvine were about to take their departure, when Nan could have almost cried out. It had followed upon an expression of Elvine's dislike and fear of the man who conveyed the news to her.

Jeff took up her complaint in no half-hearted fas.h.i.+on, and, somehow, the injustice of his att.i.tude and his obvious thought for his wife alone brought the girl's hot resentment very near the surface.

"Yes," he said. "He's a tough, sure. I've kept him on because he's one of the brightest cow-hands east of the mountains. But you're right, Evie. And I can't stand for you being scared by the 'hands' on my ranch. I'll have to get rid of him." Then, as he sat in the saddle with Elvine on her pony at his side, he had taken in Nan and her father in a smiling, comprehensive glance. "I guess Evie's some sport acting the way she's done," he declared with a lover's pride. "I allow we owe her a heap of thanks, eh, Bud?"

Bud nodded.

"We're mighty grateful, ma'am," he declared, heartily in his formal way. "Guess we all thank you, sure." Then he turned to Jeff more directly. "I'll get busy right away. That'll leave you free to get right on doping out that reward notice this afternoon, an' generally fixing things before you make the trail to-morrow morning."

Then they had taken their departure. And with their going Nan hastily returned to the parlor.

Bud followed her almost on the instant. He had moved with incredible swiftness, which is often the way of heavy men under stress of feeling.

Already the tears were gathering in the girl's eyes when his words fell upon her ears.

"Say, little gal," he said, with a deep note of sympathy in his rumbling tones, "we're bein' hit up pretty bad since Jeff bro't her back home. Maybe we're feelin' 'bout as foolish as we're lookin'. But we're goin' to beat the game--sure, eh? We're goin' to beat it because we're built that way, an'--we got the grit to do it."

The horses were walking leisurely over the summer gra.s.s. The house was less than two miles distant. There was no immediate hurry. Besides, Elvine was reading the letter which Jeff had handed her in reply to her inquiry as to the contemplated journey which Bud had mentioned.

Jeff was observing her closely as she read. There were no doubts in his mind. He was not even seeking the effect of the letter. He was dwelling with a lover's delight upon the picture she made.

Nor was his approval extravagant. Any one must have admitted the justice of it. Nan had admitted it when she beheld her in a prairie saddle, on a prairie pony, with only the wide wealth of gra.s.s-land for her setting. Elvine in the saddle suggested a single ident.i.ty between horse and rider. Her riding suit was expensively simple, and cut as only such suits can be cut. The figure beneath it was displayed to its fullest advantage. There was no studied pose. Just the perfection of horsemans.h.i.+p which demands an intimate freedom at all times. Then her dark head under her carefully adjusted prairie hat. The s.h.i.+ning ma.s.ses of hair, obvious in their wealth even under careful dressing. The softly healthy cheeks, and the perfect profile as she pored over the letter in her hand.

Presently Elvine looked up. She did not turn at once to the husband at her side. Her gaze was directed ahead. It ignored the scene of undulating plain, and the distant ramparts of wooded hills. It saw nothing but the images in her own brain, and the conjured thoughts of a troubled heart and conscience.

"You see it's important," Jeff said, with a feeling that the news in the letter had caused disappointment.

"I s'pose it is."

There was a curious lack of interest in the woman manner. Her tone was listless.

"I'm afraid I'll have to go." The man felt he was apologizing, and it seemed absurd that apology should be required. Then he reminded her.

"You see, these things come with my work as President. It's pretty good if you think. Guess I'll only be from home one night."

"You _must_ go--I s'pose?"

The man's eyes widened.

"Sure."

"But it seems unfair you should be put to all this for nothing."

Jeff shook his head.

"Why, I don't guess it's any worry. Besides, it's an honor. You see, Evie, I'm out all I know to set up a big position for you. And it's these calls as President of the Western Union are going to fix things the way I'd have them."

His eyes had somehow become serious. There was even a lack of his recent warmth in them. He had not expected any protest from his wife.

A shade of disappointment at his going perhaps. But that was all.

"You're at the call of anybody around to settle disputes?"

"Only where the interests of cattle-raising are affected."

Elvine handed him back the letter. She did not turn to him. A curious set to her lips warned Jeff that in some way his contemplated journey was adversely affecting her. Nor was it merely the disappointment he had been prepared for. He felt there was need to say more, though the need of it was obscure. It had never been his way to appeal, but he resigned himself to the reflection that his life had been entirely changed by his marriage. He was no longer responsible only to himself.

With an effort he flung aside an inclination to resentment.

"Say, Evie," he cried, "it's a bit tough on you having to leave you even for a day just as we've got back to home. It's that way with me, too. I just don't fancy going a small bit. But I daren't refuse Dug McFarlane. He's one of the biggest men around, and I'll need all the friends I can round up. There's another thing. I've got it back of my mind later on to form a Trust amongst the growers, and Dug's a most important concern in such a scheme. I'd be crazy to refuse. Why, I just couldn't refuse anyway. You're going to help me, dear, aren't you? I've talked to Bud and Nan, and fixed things so you won't be lonesome. Nan's promised to sleep in the house with you, so you shan't feel that way. Or you could go over to her. It's just one night, that's all."

It may have been his obvious sincerity, it may have been that the woman's objections were really the result of disappointment only. At any rate a distinct change came over her, and she turned to him with a smile.

"I'm just too selfish, Jeff," she cried. "But--but it did seem hard--at first. Go? Of course you must go. And you're not to worry about me. Nor is Nan. I wouldn't have her come over for me for anything, and I'm not going to sleep out of my home, either. You needn't be scared I'll be lonesome. I've got all this beautiful world around me, and all your interests. And rustlers? Why, I'm not scared of the worst rustlers living."

A delighted sense of grat.i.tude replaced Jeff's every other feeling.

"Say," he cried, with a sudden vehemence, "you've good grit, Evie.

You're a bully soul. You're the sort would set a man crazy to corral the world, and set it at your feet. I'll get right back quick. I won't wait an hour more than I need."

Elvine's decision had been forced upon her, but once having taken it she threw something more into her words than the mere encouragement that seemed necessary.

"No," she declared, her eyes s.h.i.+ning. "You're not even to hurry back.

Get right through with your work, or any schemes you have to arrange while you're there, before you think of me." Then her voice softened to a great tenderness. "I want you to win through in everything you undertake, Jeff. I don't care now for a thing else in the world. You do believe that, don't you? Oh, Jeff, I want you always to believe that. Whatever may come in our life together, I want you always to know I love you better--better than the whole world, and your--your happiness is just my happiness. Without your happiness I can never be happy. It was selfishness made me demur at first. You believe that, don't you? I have always been very, very selfish. It was nothing else. You don't think there was anything else, do you? I sort of feel I'd always have you in my sight, near me. I'm happy then, because I feel nothing can ever come between us. When you're away, I don't know, but it sort of seems as if shadows grow up threatening me. I felt that way this morning. I felt that way when I read your letter. But these things just shan't be. I love you with all that's in me, and--you love me. Nothing shall ever come between us. Say that's so, Jeff.

Nothing. Nothing."

The man responded with all a lover's impetuosity. He gave her to the full that rea.s.surance of which she stood in need. But for all his sincerity it was as useless as if it had been left unspoken.

The letter from Dug McFarlane at Orrville, the recognition of her by the man Sikkem Bruce, had warned Elvine that the sands of her time of happiness were running out. She felt she knew that a gape of despair was already yawning at her feet.