'Firebrand' Trevison. Seltzer Charles Alden

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      “How do you know?”

      “Cowboys do not commonly measure their distances with parasangs,” she laughed.

      “Nor do ordinary women try to shake off ennui by coming West in private cars,” he drawled.

      She started and looking quickly at him. “How did you know that was what happened to me?” she demanded.

      “Because you’re too spirited and vigorous to spend your life dawdling in society. You yearn for action, for the broad, free life of the open. You’re in love with this country right now.”

      “Yes, yes,” she said, astonished; “but how do you know?”

      “You might have sent a man here in your place – Braman, for instance; he could be trusted. You came yourself, eager for adventure – you came on a borrowed horse. When you were looking at the country from the horse in front of my house, I saw you sigh.”

      “Well,” she said, with flushed face and glowing eyes; “I have decided to live out here – for a time, at least. So you were watching me?”

      “Just a glance,” he defended, grinning; “I couldn’t help it. Please forgive me.”

      “I suppose I’ll have to,” she laughed, delighted, reveling in this freedom of speech, in his directness. His manner touched a spark somewhere in her, she felt strangely elated, exhilarated. When she reflected that this was only their second meeting and that she had not been conventionally introduced to him, she was amazed. Had a stranger of her set talked to her so familiarly she would have resented it. Out here it seemed to be perfectly natural.

      “How do you know I borrowed a horse to come here?” she asked.

      “That’s easy,” he grinned; “there’s the Diamond K brand on his hip.”

      “Oh.”

      They rode on a little distance in silence, and then she remembered that she was still curious about him. His frankness had affected her; she did not think it impertinent to betray curiosity.

      “How long have you lived out here?” she asked.

      “About ten years.”

      “You weren’t born here, of course – you have admitted that. Then where did you come from?”

      “This is a large country,” he returned, unsmilingly.

      It was a reproof, certainly – Rosalind could go no farther in that direction. But her words had brought a mystery into existence, thus sharpening her interest in him. She was conscious, though, of a slight pique – what possible reason could he have for evasion? He had not the appearance of a fugitive from justice.

      “So you’re going to live out here?” he said, after an interval. “Where?”

      “I heard father speak of buying Blakeley’s place. Do you know where it is?”

      “It adjoins mine.” There was a leaping note in his voice, which she did not fail to catch. “Do you see that dark line over there?” He pointed eastward – a mile perhaps. “That’s a gully; it divides my land from Blakeley’s. Blakeley told me a month ago that he was dickering with an eastern man. If you are thinking of looking the place over, and want a trustworthy escort I should be pleased to recommend – myself.” And he grinned widely at her.

      “I shall consider your offer – and I thank you for it,” she returned. “I feel positive that father will buy a ranch here, for he has much faith in the future of Manti – he is obsessed with it.”

      He looked sharply at her. “Then your father is going to have a hand in the development of Manti? I heard a rumor to the effect that some eastern company was interested, had, in fact, secured the water rights for an enormous section.”

      She remembered what Corrigan had told her, and blushingly dissembled:

      “I put no faith in rumor – do you? Mr. Corrigan is the head of the company which is to develop Manti. But of course that is an eastern company, isn’t it?”

      He nodded, and she smiled at a thought that came to her. “How far is it to Blakeley’s ranchhouse?” she asked.

      “About two parasangs,” he answered gravely.

      “Well,” she said, mimicking him; “I could never walk there, could I? If I go, I shall have to borrow a horse – or buy one. Could you recommend a horse that would be as trustworthy as the escort you have promised me?”

      “We shall go to Blakeley’s tomorrow,” he told her. “I shall bring you a trustworthy horse at ten o’clock in the morning.”

      They were approaching the cut, and she nodded an acceptance. An instant later he was talking to his men, and she sat near him, watching them as they raced over the plains toward the Diamond K ranchhouse. One man remained; he was without a mount, and he grinned with embarrassment when Rosalind’s gaze rested on him.

      “Oh,” she said; “you are waiting for your horse! How stupid of me!” She dismounted and turned the animal over to him. When she looked around, Trevison had also dismounted and was coming toward her, leading the black, the reins looped through his arm. Rosalind flushed, and thought of Agatha, but offered no objection.

      It was a long walk down the slope of the hill and around its base to the private car, but they made it still longer by walking slowly and taking the most roundabout way. Three persons saw them coming – Agatha, standing rigid on the platform; the negro attendant, standing behind Agatha in the doorway, his eyes wide with interest; and Carson, seated on a boulder a little distance down the cut, grinning broadly.

      “Bedad,” he rumbled; “the bhoy’s made a hit wid her, or I’m a sinner! But didn’t I know he wud? The two bulldogs is goin’ to have it now, sure as I’m a foot high!”

      CHAPTER VI

      A JUDICIAL PUPPET

      Bowling along over the new tracks toward Manti in a special car secured at Dry Bottom by Corrigan, one compartment of which was packed closely with books, papers, ledger records, legal documents, blanks, and even office furniture, Judge Lindman watched the landscape unfold with mingled feelings of trepidation, reluctance, and impotent regret. The Judge’s face was not a strong one – had it been he would not have been seated in the special car, talking with Corrigan. He was just under sixty-five years, and their weight seemed to rest heavily upon him. His eyes were slightly bleary, and had a look of weariness, as though he had endured much and was utterly tired. His mouth was flaccid, the lips pouting when he compressed his jaws, giving his face the sullen, indecisive look of the brooder lacking the mental and physical courage of independent action and initiative. The Judge could be led; Corrigan was leading him now, and the Judge was reluctant, but his courage had oozed, back in Dry Bottom, when Corrigan had mentioned a culpable action which the Judge had regretted many times.

      Some legal records of the county were on the table between the two men. The Judge had objected when Corrigan had secured them from the compartment where the others were piled.

      “It isn’t regular, Mr. Corrigan,” he had said; “no one except a legally authorized person has the right to look over those books.”

      “We’ll say that СКАЧАТЬ