CHAPTER II
"ON THE TRAIL"
Williston himself came to the door. His thin, scholarly face lookeddrawn and worn in the mid-day glare. A tiredness in the eyes toldgraphically of a sleepless night.
"I'm glad to see you, Langford," he said. "It was good of you to come.Leave your horse for Mary. She'll give her water when she's cooled off abit."
"You sent for me, Williston?" asked the young man, rubbing his faceaffectionately against the wet neck of his mare.
"I did. It was good of you to come so soon."
"Fortunately, your messenger found me at home. As for the rest, Sade,here, hasn't her beat in the cow country, if she is only a cow pony, eh,Sade?"
At that moment, Mary Williston came into the open doorway of the rudeclaim shanty set down in the very heart of the sun-seared plain whichstretched away into heart-choking distances from every possible point ofthe compass. And sweet she was to look upon, though tanned and glowingfrom close association with the ardent sun and riotous wind. Her auburnhair, more reddish on the edges from sunburn, was fine and soft andthere was much of it. It seemed newly brushed and suspiciously glossy.One sees far on the plains, and two years out of civilization are notenough to make a girl forget the use of a mirror, even if it be but abroken sliver, propped up on a pine-board dressing table. She lookedstrangely grown-up despite her short, rough skirt and badly scuffedleather riding-leggings. Langford stared at her with a startled look ofmingled admiration and astonishment. She came forward and put her handon the mare's bridle. She was not embarrassed in the least. But colorcame into the stranger's face. He swept his wide hat from his headquickly.
"No indeed, Miss Williston; I'll water Sade myself."
"Please let me. I'd love to."
"She's used to it, Langford," said Williston in his quiet, gentlemanlyvoice, the well-bred cadence of which spoke of a training far removedfrom the harassments and harshnesses of life in this plains country."You see, she is the only boy I have. She must of necessity be my choreboy as well as my herd boy. In her leisure moments she holds down herkitchen claim; I don't know how she does it, but she does. You hadbetter let her do it; she will hold it against you if you don't."
"But I couldn't have a woman doing my grooming for me. Why, the veryidea!"
He sprang into the saddle.
"But you waited for me to do it," said the girl, looking up at himcuriously.
"Did I? I didn't mean to. Yes, I did, too. But I beg your pardon. Yousee--say, look here; are you the 'little girl' who left word for me thismorning?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"Well, you see," smiling, but apologetic, "one of the boys said thatWilliston's little girl had ridden over and said her father wanted tosee me as soon as I could come. So, you see, I thought--"
"Dad always calls me that, so most of the people around here do, too. Itis very silly."
"I don't think so at all. I only wonder why I have not known about youbefore," with a frank smile. "It must be because I've been away so muchof the time lately. Why didn't you wait for me?" he asked suddenly. "Tenmiles is a sort of a lonesome run--for a girl."
"I did wait a while," said Mary, honestly, "but you didn't seem in anyhurry. I expect you didn't care to be bored that long way with the sillychatter of a 'little girl.'"
"Well," said Langford, ruefully, "I'm afraid I did feel a littlerelieved when I found you had not waited. I never will again. I do begyour pardon," he called, laughingly, over his shoulder as he gallopedaway to the spring.
When he returned there was no one to receive him but Williston. Togetherthey entered the house. It was a small room into which Langford wasushered. It was also very plain. It was more than that, it was shabby.An easy-chair or two that had survived the wreckage of the house ofWilliston had been shipped to this "land of promise," together with afew other articles such as were absolutely indispensable. The table wasa big shipping box, though Langford did not notice that, for it wasneatly covered with a moth-eaten, plum-colored felt cloth. A rug,crocheted out of particolored rags, a relic of Mary's conservative andthrifty grandmother, served as a carpet for the living-room. A peepthrough the open door into the next and only other room disclosedglimpses of matting on the floor. There was a holy place even in thiscastaway house on the prairie. As the young man's careless eyes took inthis new significance, the door closed softly. The "little girl" hadshut herself in.
The two men sat down at the table. It was hot. They were perspiringfreely. The flies, swarming through the screenless doorway, stungdisagreeably.
Laconically Williston told his story. He wasted no words in the telling.In the presence of the man whose big success made his own pitifulfailures incongruous, his sensitive scholar's nature had shut up like aclam.
Langford's jaw was set. His young face was tense with interest. He hadthrown his hat on the floor as he came in, as is the way with men whohave lived much without women. He had a strong, bronzed face, withdare-devil eyes, blue they were, too, and he had a certain turn of thehead, a mark of distinction which success always gives to her sons. Hehad big shoulders, clad in a blue flannel shirt open at the throat. Inhis absorption he had forgotten the "little girl" as completely as ifshe had, in very truth, been the ten-year-old of his imagination. Howplainly he could see all the unholy situation,--the handful of desperatemen perfectly protected on the little island. One man sighting frombehind a cottonwood could play havoc with a whole sheriff's posse onthat open stretch of sand-bar. Nothing but a surprise--and did theseinsolent men fear surprise? They had laughed at the suggestion of thenear presence of an officer of the law. And did they not do well tolaugh? Surely it was a joke, a good one, this idea of an officer's beingwhere he was needed in Kemah County.
"And my brand was on that spotted steer," he interrupted. "I know thecreature--know him well. He has a mean eye. Had the gall to dispute theright of way with me once, not so long ago, either. He was in the corralat the time, but he's been on the range all Summer. He may have the evileye all right, but he's mine, bad eye and all; and what is mine, I willhave. And is that the only original brand you saw?"
"The only one," quietly, "unless the J R on that red steer when he gotup was an original one."
"J R? Who could J R be?"
"I couldn't say, but the man was--Jesse Black."
"Jesse Black!"
The repeated words were fairly spit out.
"Jesse Black! I might have known. Who else bold enough to loot the ThreeBars? But his day has come. Not a hair, nor a hide, not a hoof, nottallow enough to fry a flapjack shall be left on the Three Bars beforehe repents his insolence."
"What will you do?" asked Williston.
"What will you do?" retorted Langford.
"I? What can I do?" in the vague, helpless tone of the dreamer.
"Everything--if you will," briefly.
He snatched up his wide hat.
"Where are you going?" asked Williston, curiously.
"To see Dick Gordon before this day is an hour older. Will you comealong?"
"Ye--es," hesitatingly. "Gordon hasn't made much success of things sofar, has he?"
"Because you--and men like you--are under the thumb of men like JesseBlack," said Langford, curtly. "Afraid to peach for fear of antagonizingthe gang. Afraid to vote against the tools of the cattle thieves forfear of antagonizing the gang. Afraid to call your souls your own forfear of antagonizing the gang. Your 'on the fence' policy didn't workvery well this time, did it? You haven't found your cattle, have you?The angel must have forgotten. Thought you were tainted of Egypt, eh?"
"It is easy for you to talk," said Williston, simply. "It would bedifferent if your bread and butter and your little girl's as welldepended on a scrawny little bunch like mine."
"Maybe," said Langford, shrugging his shoulders. "Doesn't seem to haveexempted you, though, does it? But Black is no respecter of persons, youknow. However, the time has come for Dick Gordon to show of what stuffhe is made. It was for this that I worked for his election, though Iconfess
I little thought at the time that proofs for him would befurnished from my own herds. Present conditions humiliate me utterly. AmI a weakling that they should exist? Are we all weaklings?"
A faint, appreciative smile passed over Williston's face. No, Langforddid not look a weakling, neither had the professed humiliation loweredhis proud head. Here was a man--a godlike type, with his sunny hair andhis great strength. This was the man who had thrown not only the wholeweight of his personal influence, which was much, but his whole-heartedand aggressive service as well, into the long and bitter campaign forcounty sovereignty, and had thus turned the scale in favor of thescarcely hoped-for victory over the puppet of the cattle rustlers.Williston knew his great object had been to rid the county of itsbrigands. True it was that this big, ruddy, self-confident ranchman wasno weakling.
Langford strode to the door. Then he turned quickly.
"Look here, Williston, I shall make you angry, I suppose, but it has togo in the cattle country, and you little fellows haven't shown up verywhite in these deals; you know that yourself."
"Well?"
"Are you going to stand pat with us?"
"If you mean, am I going to tell what I know when called upon," answeredWilliston, with a simple dignity that made Langford color with suddenshame, "I am. There are many of us 'little fellows' who would have beenglad to stand up against the rustling outrage long ago had we receivedany backing. The moral support of men of your class has not been whatyou might call a sort of 'on the spot' support, now, has it?" relapsinginto a gentle sarcasm. "At least, until you came to the front," hequalified.
"You will not be the loser, and there's my hand on it," said Langford,frankly and earnestly, ignoring the latter part of the speech. "TheThree Bars never forgets a friend. They may do you before we are throughwith them, Williston, but remember, the Three Bars never forgets."
Braggadocio? Maybe. But there was strength back of it, there wasdetermination back of it, and there was an abiding faith in the power ofthe Three Bars to make things happen, and a big wrath destined to sleepnot nor slumber till some things had happened in the cattle country.
Mary Williston, from her window, as is the way with a maid, watched thetwo horsemen for many a mile as they galloped away. She followed themwith her eyes while they slowly became faint, moving specks in the leveldistance and until they were altogether blotted out, and there was nosign of living thing on the plain that stretched between. But PaulLangford, as is the way with a man, forgot that he had seen a beautifulgirl and had thrilled to her glance. He looked back not once as he urgedhis trusty little mare on to see Dick Gordon.