The Forfeit Part 34

"Go on."

Jeff's eyes were gazing out through the lacing of creeper. He was no longer regarding the man's unemotional gray features.

"Wal, the place wa'an't worth the five thousand, 'cep' fer one clause in them papers. This widder woman owned a right to graze up to two hundred head o' stock on Mr. McFarlane's range. There was no mention o' lease, nor nothin' to talk of payin' fer it. The right was in the deed of sale, clear an' unquestioned. You'll see it right there in them papers. Wal, I'm runnin' a hundred of stock, and the half section is under cultivation. Now, Mr. McFarlane comes on me with the news that this widder woman had no such rights to sell, an' that she and her man were only allowed to graze their stock on his gra.s.s to help them out. He's acted white over it so far, an' ain't taken no sort of action. He's jest let my fool cows an' their calves run around chewin'

till their jaws is tired, which is a white way of seein' things. All he's handed me is that I ain't got no right, an' the thing stands pending your decision. He says the whole proposition is jest business.

He's got to safeguard the values of his property. Now, sir, I claim them rights by right of that deed, an' if ther's any case it's between that Van Blooren widder an' Mr. McFarlane. You got my papers, an'--wal, how d'you guess I stand?"

The little man's eyes were anxious as he made his final appeal. But no satisfaction was forthcoming at the moment. Jeff's head was bent over the papers he had been handed. His eyes were hidden. He seemed wholly engrossed upon the various clauses in the deed. Finally he spoke without looking up.

"There's no deed granting grazing rights executed by Mr. McFarlane here," he said.

Before Peters could reply, Dug broke in.

"Ther' never was one made," he said easily. "I don't guess you'll find it ther'--'less you use trick eyes. Here--say, Peters has given you his story right. I ain't no kick comin' to a word of it. But this thing has more sides to it than you'd fancy. Now, I don't just care a cuss Peters' grazin' two hundred, or five hundred head of stock on my pastures. But if Peters bo't rights an' ken prove it, why, he's the right to sell 'em on to any feller who comes along, which kind o' turns my ranch into common land. Nothin' doin'. No, siree!"

Jeff had abandoned his search of the papers. Nor was he regarding either of the men. His eyes were directed through the lacing of creeper, his gaze concentrated upon the purple vista of the hills. His brows were depressed with profound thought. Nor were the blue depths of his eyes easy. Peters' whole attention was upon the rancher.

"Now, see right here, Masters," Dug went on, after a deeply considering pause. "I got a story to tell you I'd have liked to hold up, an' the reason I hate handin' it you is jest a sort o' fool sense of honor.

Howsum, when folks git gay I can't see you're right to hold your hand.

Now, them rights are sold by the law fellers of that widder woman, an', I guess, actin' under her instructions. Now, she knows she don't own no rights to sell. Wal, I allow she's on the crook."

"Crook?" Jeff's interrogation came swiftly, in a harsh voice utterly unlike his own. Then his eyes came round to the face of the rancher.

There was something deadly in the steadiness of their regard. "This widow," he said. "Her name is Van Blooren. What is her first name, and the first name of her--husband?"

Before Dug could reply Peters pointed at the deeds of sale.

"Guess her full name's writ ther'," he said. "Elvine van Blooren.

Sort of queer name, ain't it? It sort o' hit me that way when I first see it. Kind o' good name fer a--crook."

Jeff's eyes dropped to the papers again as Dug gave the other information required.

"The man's name was Robert--Bob. Called hisself when he was here.

Y'see, his paw was some swell guy who guessed his son had made some darn fool marriage. An' I allow he was wise. Howbe, their names an'

sech don't cut no ice."

"No."

Jeff's monosyllable brought Dug's gaze swiftly in his direction. The next moment they were looking squarely into each other's eyes, and, as far as Jeff was concerned, Peters was entirely forgotten.

"Will you tell me all you know of--this woman?" Jeff said, after a moment. "I guess it'll be necessary--before we're through."

"Sure. That's how I figgered." A momentary tension seemed to have been relaxed. Dug once more settled himself at his ease.

"'Tain't a pretty yarn, when you come to think," he said, his brows contracting under his feelings. "Men are jest men, an' I guess you don't generly expect more'n a stink from a skunk. But with women it's diff'rent. When a feller thinks of women, he thinks of his mother, or sweetheart, or his wife. An' when he thinks that way, why, I don't guess he figgers to find bad wher' he reckoned ther' was only good.

Howsum, it kind o' seems to me human nature's as li'ble to set a feller cryin' as laffin' most times. This thing come over that Lightfoot gang. We got most of 'em, and those we got if they wa'an't pumped full of lead out of hand they was hanged. Sort o' queer, too, the way we got 'em. I'd set up a reward. Ten thousand dollars. It was right out o' my own bank roll. Wal, I set it up--the notice o' reward--one night, an' next day got the news we was all yearnin' for. Bob Whitstone, as he called himself, brought it right along to me. I hadn't no use fer the feller up to then. He was weak-kneed. And, in a way, had fallen fer Ju Penrose's rye. He'd come to me once before on the subject o' these all-fired grazin' rights. Y'see, he'd been tryin'

to git ahead raisin' wheat in a country where ther' was only a market fer cattle an' rye whisky. Anyway, he cut most o' the wheat racket, an' guessed he'd travel the same road as other folks, an' asked me for permission to graze. I was kind o' sorry about him, an' his good-lookin' wife--both city-raised folk--an' I did as he ast. I said he could graze up to two hundred head. Git a line on that. Them rights was verbal between him an' me to help him out. Ther' wa'an't no sort o' deed, an' he knew it wa'an't no saleable proposition. Wal, when he come along in with his news I set him right through it, an' I allow, before I quit him, I got the notion that fer all his addled ways there was a heap to him I hadn't guessed. He started by sayin' he'd located the rustlers, got their camp set in the hills, an' could hand over the whole blamed bunch right away quick. That was elegant. But I ast him how it come he'd on'y located 'em twelve hours after I'd set up a ten thousand dollar reward. Y'see, they'd been rustlin' around fi'

years. Wal, to cut a long yarn, I got the whole thing out of him in quick time--he was like a kid in my hands. He hadn't located that camp, he wasn't goin' to touch a cent of them ten thousand. He called it 'blood money,' an' cussed it good an' plenty with an elegant flow.

It was his wife. Yes, siree, it was the woman driving the man. She'd located them rustlers by chance only the day before, while he was around Ju's place sousin' rye. When he got home an told her of the reward, she was nigh crazy to git her hands on the dollars. Seems to me ther' must have been a mighty sc.r.a.p-up. I guess she told him of his ways, an' what he'd brought her to--in a way some women-folk can. I didn't git it all clear. Y'see, he did his best to screen her.

Anyways, she made him promise to fix things so she touched those dollars. An' that's why he come to me. Ther's jest one thing stuck in my head so I can't lose it. It was his last words to me about it. He says, says he, see here, Mr. McFarlane, I need one favor out o' you. I want to go with you on this racket, an' if ther's any mercy in the G.o.d of Heaven, he'll let me get my dose when the shootin' starts.

Effie--that's how he called his wife--wants them dollars, an' you'll see she gets 'em. But for me I just couldn't ever live around a woman who'd handled that blood money! He didn't use them words. They're mine. But it's 'bout how he put it. Wal, when the play was over he'd had his wish. He was dropped plumb in his tracks. Then I handed his widder the dollars. She ain't around these parts now so it don't matter handin' you the story of it. Maybe she's married agin. She was some picture woman. But anyway I'd say right here, the woman who could take the price of men's lives would be low enough to bluff a boy like Peters here out of his stock of dollars on a play like these rights.

An' that's why I reckon this thing's been done on the crook."

He reached round for his gla.s.s and took a deep drink in the silence that followed his story. Then, as neither the man who was to arbitrate, nor Peters, attempted to break it, he went on:

"Guess a reward's jest a reward, an' you can't kick at the feller who comes along an' grabs a holt on it. But when a woman, young, a good-looker, an' eddicated, an' refined, gits grabbin', why, it makes you see sulphur an' brimstone, an' horns an' hoofs when your thoughts are full o' buzzin' white wings an' harps, an' halos an' things. Git me? I guess stealin' dollars out o' a citizen's pocket-book wouldn't be a circ.u.mstance to a female of that nature. Say, I ain't got rid o'

the stink of it yet, though it happened four years ago."

The man's contempt and loathing were intense. He had offered the reward, paid it, he had led the Vigilantes in the hanging. But these things were simply part of the justice of man as he saw it, and rightly administered.

The silent moments slipped by. Jeffrey Masters was sitting erect in his chair. A marble coldness seemed to have settled itself upon his keen face. Peters was waiting for that decision he desired. Dug McFarlane, with more understanding, realized that something was wrong.

He, too, remained silent, however.

At last Jeff stirred. His gaze s.h.i.+fted. It turned half vaguely upon the little man Peters. Then it seemed to drift unmeaningly toward the rancher. A moment later it fell upon the papers he was so tightly gripping. It was then that realization seemed to come upon him. He reached out and handed the deeds to their owner. A moment later he was on his feet, and had moved across to the front of the veranda, where he stood, slim, erect, and with his back turned upon the others.

He cleared his throat and spoke in a steady voice.

"I can only hand you a decision on the intention as apart from the legal aspect of the case," he said judicially. "It's clear to me no saleable rights were given. There was no transaction over them. The widow of this man had no rights to sell. If disinterested advice is acceptable I should urge this. It's in view, I guess, of McFarlane's expressed indifference to Peters' cattle grazing on his land. Let Peters acknowledge he has no rights. Then let McFarlane enter into an agreement that Peters can run his stock on his land, the right being non-transferable. I should put the whole thing in writing."

"An' a darn good an' honest decision, too," cried Dug heartily.

The shadow of a beatific smile pa.s.sed over Peters' small features.

"Bully!" he murmured. Then he added: "But I sort o' feel we both oughter set the law on that--she devil."

Jeff turned abruptly. His movement was almost electrical.

"I shouldn't," he said sharply.

Dug caught a glimpse of the desperate light in his eyes.

"Why not?" There was a dash of resentment in Peters' tone.

But Jeff was spared a reply. Dug antic.i.p.ated him with an oath.

"Gol darn you, because she's--a woman!" he cried, with a fierce warmth.

"h.e.l.l take it you ken have your rights. That's enough, I guess. I'll have the papers wrote, an' have you sign 'em to-morrow. Meanwhile I'm sick to death of the whole blamed thing. I quit right here."

His intention was plain enough. He meant there should be no misunderstanding it. And the little man, Peters, took his dismissal without demur.

The moment Peters had safely negotiated the saddle and vanished in a cloud of dust, Dug pressed the whisky bottle upon his guest. Jeff almost mechanically accepted it. He gulped down a stiff drink of neat spirit. Dug watched him.

"Guess you're feelin' pretty darn saddle weary," he said kindly.

Jeff flung himself into his chair without replying.

Dug returned to his seat and gazed out at the yellow and purple afterglow of sunset.

"Say, maybe you'd feel like handin' me the reason you wouldn't set the law on to that--woman?" he went on presently.