The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 14

"I see."

"Once I saved him from taking the wrong track at the point where the path forks. He'd been drinking then. Yes," with a quiet a.s.surance, "I think he died in the keg."

Her companion seemed to have come to the end of his cross-examination.

He suddenly rose from his seat. The chattering of the ducks in the distance caused him to turn his head. Then he turned again to the girl before him. The indolence had gone from his eyes. His face was set, and the firm pursing of his lips spoke of a determination arrived at. He gazed down at the rec.u.mbent figure upon the ground. There was something in his gaze which made the girl lower her eyes and look far out down the valley.

"This brother of yours--he was tall and thin?"

The girl nodded.

"Am I right in my recollection of him when I say that he was possessed of a dark, dark face, lantern jaws, thin--and high, prominent cheek-bones?"

"That's so."

She faced him inquiringly as she answered his eager questions.

"Ah!"

He quickly turned again in the direction of the noisy water-fowl. Their rollicking gambols sounded joyously on the brooding atmosphere of the place. The wintry chill in the air was fast ousting the balmy breath of spring. It was a warning of the lateness of the hour.

"Now listen to me," he went on presently, turning again from the contemplation of his weird surroundings. "I lost all that was left to me from the wreck of my little ranch this afternoon--no, not to Lablache,"

as the girl was about to p.r.o.nounce the hated name, "but," with a wintry smile, "to another friend of yours, Pedro Mancha. I also discovered, this afternoon, the source of Lablache's phenomenal--luck. He has systematically robbed both your uncle and myself--" He broke off with a bitter laugh.

"My G.o.d!"

The girl had sprung to her feet in her agitation. And a rage indescribable flamed into her face. The fury there expressed appalled him, and he stood for a moment waiting for it to abate. What terrible depths had he delved into? The hidden fires of a pa.s.sionate nature are more easily kept under than checked in their blasting career when once the restraining will power is removed. For an instant it seemed that she must choke. Then she hurled her feelings into one brief, hissing sentence.

"Lablache--I hate him!"

And the man realized that he must continue his story.

"Yes, we lost our money not fairly, but by--cheating. I am ruined, and your uncle--" Bill shrugged.

"My uncle--G.o.d help him!"

"I do not know the full extent of his losses, Jacky--except that they have probably trebled mine."

"But I know to what extent the hound has robbed him," Jacky answered in a tone of such bitter hatred as to cause her companion to glance uneasily at the pa.s.sionate young face before him. "I know, only too well. And right thoroughly has Lablache done his work. Say, Bill, do you know that that skunk holds mortgages on our ranch for two hundred thousand dollars? And every bill of it is for poker. For twenty years, right through, he has steadily sucked the old man's blood. Slick? Say a six-year-old steer don't know more about a branding-iron than does Verner Lablache about his business. For every dollar uncle's lost he's made him sign a mortgage. Every bit of paper has the old man had to redeem in that way. What he's done lately--I mean uncle--I can't say.

But Lablache held those mortgages nearly a year ago."

"Whew--" "Lord" Bill whistled under his breath. "Gee-whittaker. It's worse than I thought. 'Poker' John's losses during the last winter, to my knowledge, must have amounted to nearly six figures--the devil!"

"Ruin, ruin, ruin!"

The girl for a moment allowed womanly feeling to overcome her, for, as her companion added his last item to the vast sum which she had quoted, she saw, in all its horrible nakedness, the truth of her uncle's position. Then she suddenly forced back the tears which had struggled into her eyes, and, with indomitable courage, faced the catastrophe.

"But can't we fight him--can't we give him--"

"Law? I'm afraid not," Bill interrupted. "Once a mortgage is signed the debt is no longer a gambling debt. Law is of no use to us, especially here on the prairie. There is only one law which can save us. Lablache must disgorge."

"Yes--yes! For every dollar he has stolen let him pay ten."

The pa.s.sionate fire in her eyes burned more steadily now. It was the fire which is unquenchable--the fire of a lasting hate, vengeful, terrible. Then her tone dropped to a contemplative soliloquy.

"But how?" she murmured, looking away towards the stream in the heart of the valley, as though in search of inspiration.

Bunning-Ford smiled as he heard the half-whispered question. But his smile was not pleasant to look upon. All the latent recklessness which might have made of him a good soldier or a great scoundrel was roused in him. He was pa.s.sing the boundary which divides the old Adam, which is in every man, from the veneer of early training. He was mutely--unconsciously--calling to his aid the savage instincts which the best of men are not without. His face expressed something of what was pa.s.sing within his active brain, and the girl before him, as she turned and watched the working features, usually so placid--indifferent, knew that she was to see a side of his character always suspected by her but never before made apparent. His thoughts at last found vent in words of almost painful intensity.

"How?" he said, repeating the question as though it had been addressed to himself. "He shall pay--pay! Everlastingly pay! So long as I have life--and liberty, he shall pay!"

Then as if antic.i.p.ating a request for explanation he told her the means by which Lablache had consistently cheated. The girl listened, speechless with amazement. She hung upon his every word. At the conclusion of his story she put an abrupt question.

"And you gave no sign? He doesn't suspect that you know?"

"He suspects nothing."

"Good. You are real smart, Bill. Yes, shooting's no good. This is no case for shooting. What do you propose? I see you mean business."

The man was still smiling but his smile had suddenly changed to one of kindly humor.

"First of all Jacky," he said, taking a step towards her, "I can do nothing without your help. I propose that you share this task with me.

No, no, I don't mean in that way," as she commenced to a.s.sure him of her a.s.sistance. "What I mean is that--that I love you, dear. I want you to give me the right to protect--your uncle."

He finished up with his hands stretched out towards her. Golden Eagle stirred in his stable, and the two heard him whinny as if in approval.

Then as the girl made no answer Bill went on: "Jacky, I am a ruined man.

I have nothing, but I love you better than life itself. We now have a common purpose in life. Let us work together."

His voice sank to a tender whisper. He loved this motherless girl who was fighting the battle of life single-handed against overwhelming odds, with all the strength of his nature. He had loved her ever since she had reached woman's estate. In asking for a return of his affections now he fully realized the cruelty of his course. He knew that the future--his future--was to be given up to the pursuit of a terrible revenge. And he knew that, in linking herself with him, she would perforce be dragged into whatever wrong-doing his contemplated revenge might lead him. And yet he dared not pause. It all seemed so plain--so natural--that they should journey through the crooked, paths of the future together. Was she not equally determined upon a terrible revenge?

He waited in patience for his answer. Suddenly she looked up into his face and gently placed her hands in his. Her answer came with simple directness.

"Do you really, Bill? I am glad--yes, glad right through. I love you, too. Say, you're sure you don't think badly of me because--because I'm Peter's sister?"

There was a smiling, half-tearful look in her eyes--those expressive eyes which, but a moment before, had burnt with a vengeful fire--as she asked the question. After all her nature was wondrously simple.

"Why should I, dear?" he replied, bending and kissing the gauntleted hands which rested so lovingly in his. "My life has scarcely been a Garden of Eden before the Fall. And I don't suppose my future, even should I escape the laws of man, is likely to be most creditable. Your past is your own--I have no right nor wish to criticise. Henceforth we are united in a common cause. Our hand is turned against one whose power in this part of the country is almost absolute. When we have wrested his property from him, to the uttermost farthing, we will cry quits--"

"And on the day that sees Lablache's downfall, Bill, I will become your wife."

There was a pause. Then Bill drew her towards him and they sealed the compact with one long embrace. They were roused to the matters of the moment by another whinny from Golden Eagle, who was chafing at his forced imprisonment.

The two stood back from one another, hand in hand, and smiled as they listened to the tuneful plaint. Then the man unfolded a wonderful plan to this girl whom he loved. Her willing ears drank in the details like one whose heart is set with a great purpose. They also talked of their love in their own practical way. There was little display of sentiment.

They understood without that. Their future was not alluring, unless something of the man's strange plan appealed to the wild nature of the prairie which, by a.s.sociation, has somehow become affiliated with theirs. In that quiet, evening-lit valley these two people arranged to set aside the laws of man and deal out justice as they understood it. An eye for an eye--a tooth for a tooth; fortune favoring, a cent, per cent, interest in each case. The laws of the prairie, in those days always uncertain, were more often governed by human pa.s.sions than the calm equity of unbiased jurymen. And who shall say that their idea of justice was wrong? Two "wrongs," it has been said, do not make one "right." But surely it is not a human policy when smote upon one cheek to turn the other for a similar chastis.e.m.e.nt.

"Then we leave Golden Eagle where he is," said Jacky, as she remounted her horse and they prepared to return home.

"Yes. I will see to him," Bill replied, urging his horse into a canter towards the winding ascent which was to take them home.