The Cattle-Baron's Daughter Part 16

Grant only looked at her with an odd little smile, but the crimson grew deeper in Hetty's cheek. "Oh, of course you couldn't. I was sorry the last time I asked you," she said. "Larry, you make me feel horribly mean; but you would not do anything that would hurt them, unless it was quite necessary?"

"No," said the man drily, "I don't think I'm going to have an opportunity."

"You are. I came to let you go. It will be quite easy. Chris is quite foolish about Flo."

Grant shook his head. "Doesn't it strike you that it would be very rough on Chris?"

Hetty would not look at him, and her voice was very low. "If anyone must be hurt, I would sooner it was Chris than you."

He did not answer for a moment, and the girl, watching him in sidelong fas.h.i.+on, saw the grim restraint in his face, which grew almost grey in patches.

"It is no use, Hetty," he said very quietly. "Chris would tell them nothing. There is no meanness in his father or him; but that wouldn't stop him thinking. Now, you will know I was right to-morrow. Take him back his pistol."

"Larry," said the girl, with a little quiver in her voice, "you are right again--I don't quite know why you were friends with me."

Grant smiled at her. "I haven't yet seen the man who was fit to brush the dust off your little shoes; but you don't look at these things quite as we do. Now Chris will be getting impatient. You must go."

Hetty turned away from him, and while the man felt his heart throbbing painfully and wondered whether his resolution would support him much longer, stood very still with one hand clenched. Then she moved back towards him swiftly, with a little smile.

"There is a window above the beams, where they pitch the grain-bags through," she said. "Chris will go away in an hour or so, and the other man will only watch the door. There are horses in the corral behind the barn, and I've seen you ride the wickedest broncho without a saddle."

She whisked away before the man, who felt a little, almost caressing, touch upon his arm; and heard something drop close beside him with a rattle, could answer, and in less than a minute later smiling at Chris Allonby gave him back his pistol.

"Do you know I was 'most afraid you were going to make trouble for me?" he said.

"But if I had you wouldn't have told."

The lad coloured. "You have known me quite a long time, Hetty."

Hetty laughed, but there was a thrill in her voice as she turned to Miss Schuyler. "Now," she said, "you know the kind of men we raise on the prairie."

As they moved away together, Flora Schuyler cast a steady, scrutinizing glance at her companion. "I could have told you, Hetty," she said.

"Yes," said Hetty, with a little nod. "He wouldn't go, and I feel so mean that I'm not fit to talk to you or anybody. But wait. You'll hear something before to-morrow."

It was not quite daylight when Miss Schuyler was awakened by a murmur of voices and a tramp of feet on the frozen sod. Almost at the same moment the door of her room opened, and a slim, white figure glided towards the window. Flora Schuyler stood beside it in another second or two, and felt that the girl whose arm she touched was trembling. The voices below grew louder, and they could see two men come running from the stable, while one or two others were flinging saddles upon the horses brought out in haste.

"He must have got away an hour ago," said somebody. "The best horse Allonby had in the corral isn't there now."

Then Hetty sat down laughing excitedly, and let her head fall back on Flora Schuyler's shoulder when she felt the warm girdling of her arm. In another moment she was crying and gasping painfully.

"He has got away. The best horse in the corral! Ten times as many of them couldn't bring him back," she said.

"Hetty," said Miss Schuyler decisively, "you are s.h.i.+vering all through. Go back at once. He is all right now."

The girl gasped again, and clung closer to her companion. "Of course," she said. "You don't know Larry. If they had all the Cedar boys, too, he would ride straight through them."

X

ON THE TRAIL

Grant and Breckenridge sat together over their evening meal. Outside the frost was almost arctic, but there was wood in plenty round Fremont ranch, and the great stove diffused a stuffy heat. The two men had made the round of the small homesteads that were springing up, with difficulty, for the snow was too loose and powdery to bear a sleigh, and now they were content to lounge in the tranquil enjoyment of the rest and warmth that followed exposure to the stinging frost.

At last Breckenridge pushed his plate aside, and took out his pipe.

"You must have put a good many dollars into your ploughing, Larry, and the few I had have gone in the same way," he said. "You see, it's a long while until harvest comes round, and a good many unexpected things seem to happen in this country. To be quite straight, is there much probability of our getting any of those dollars back?"

Grant smiled. "I think there is, though I can't be sure. The legislature must do something for us sooner or later, while the fact that the cattle-men and the Sheriff have left us alone of late shows that they don't feel too secure. Still, there may be trouble. A good many hard cases have been coming in."

"The cattle-men would get them. It's dollars they're wanting, and the other men have a good many more than we have. By the way, shouldn't the man with the money you are waiting for turn up to-night?"

Grant nodded. A number of almost indigent men--small farmers ruined by frost in Dakota, and axe-men from Michigan with growing families--had settled on the land in his neighbourhood, and as every hand and voice might be wanted, levies had been made on the richer homesteaders, and subscribed to here and there in the cities, for the purpose of enabling them to continue the struggle.

"We want the dollars badly," he said. "The cattle-men have cut off our credit at the railroad stores, and there are two or three of the Englishmen who have very little left to eat at the hollow. You have seen what we have sent out from Fremont, and Muller has been feeding quite a few of the Dutchmen."

He stopped abruptly, and Breckenridge drew back his chair. "Hallo!" he said. "You heard it, Larry?"

Grant had heard the windows jar, and a sound that resembled a faint tap.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I may have been mistaken, but it was quite like a rifle shot."

They were at the door in another moment, s.h.i.+vering as the bitter cold met them in the face; but there was now no sound from the prairie, which rolled away before them white and silent under the moonlight. Then, Breckenridge flung the door to, and crossed over to the rack where a Marlin rifle and two Winchesters hung. He pressed back the magazine slide of one of them, and smiled somewhat grimly at Grant.

"Well," he said, "we can only hope you're wrong. Where did you put the book I was reading?"

Grant, who told him, took out some accounts, and they lounged in big hide chairs beside the stove for at least half an hour, though it was significant that every now and then one of them would turn his head as though listening, and become suddenly intent upon his task again when he fancied his companion noticed him. At last Breckenridge laughed.

"It's all right, Larry. There--is--somebody coming. It will be the man with dollars, and I don't mind admitting that I'll be glad to see him."

Five minutes later the door opened and Muller came in. He looked round him inquiringly.

"Quilter is not come? I his horse in der stable have not seen," he said.

"No," said Grant sharply. "He would pa.s.s your place."

Muller nodded. "He come in und der supper take. Why is he not here? I, who ride by der hollow, one hour after him start make."

Breckenridge glanced at Grant, and both sat silent for a second or two.

Then the former said, "I'm half afraid we'll have to do without those dollars, Mr. Muller. Shall I go round and roll the boys up, Larry?"

Grant only nodded, and, while Breckenridge, dragging on his fur coat, made for the stable, took down two of the rifles and handed one to Muller.

"So!" said the Teuton quietly. "We der trail pick up?"

In less than five minutes the two were riding across the prairie towards Muller's homestead at the fastest pace attainable in the loose, dusty snow, while Breckenridge rode from shanty to shanty to call out the men of the little community which had grown up not far away. It was some time later when he and those who followed him came up with his comrade and Muller. The moon still hung in the western sky and showed the blue-grey smear where horse-hoofs had scattered the snow. It led straight towards a birch bluff across the whitened prairie, and Breckenridge stooped in his saddle and looked at it.