A Vendetta of the Hills. Emerson Willis George

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Very prettily put,” observed Merle Farnsworth. “Fortunately the place selected for the round-up this year isn’t very far from La Siesta, so we rode across the valley.”

      “Have you anything in New York,” asked Grace, “to compare with this?”

      “Indeed we have not,” replied the lieutenant with conviction. “I am beginning to think that the West is a pretty good place in which to live. By the way,” he went on, taking a newspaper clipping from his pocket, “here is something that our mutual friend, Dick, gave me, and said I should read once a day for a month, and then – well, then, he says I will never go East again, but remain in this great picture country. Shall I read it?”

      “Oh, do, by all means,” said the girls in unison. “Well, here goes! ‘Every idea we have in the East is run with a convention. We cannot think without a chairman. Our whims have secretaries; our fads have by-laws. Literature is a club. Philosophy is a society. Our reforms are mass meetings. We cannot mourn our mighty dead without some great chairman and a half hundred vice-presidents. We remember our novelists and poets with trustees, while the immortality of a dead genius is looked after by a standing committee. Charity is an association, and theology at best only a set of resolutions.’.rdquo;

      “What do you think of that?” he asked, laughing. “Isn’t that an awful slam on the East?”

      “It is rather severe,” smiled Merle. “But you know, Mr. Willoughby has become a thorough Westerner. The lure of the hills and the valleys has taken complete possession of him.”

      “And yet he remains unspoiled.” exclaimed the lieutenant. “But are you aware he is trying to tamper with my old allegiance to the East?”

      “Indeed,” asked Grace, “in what way?”

      “He wants me to resign my commission and take pot luck with him, as he terms it.”

      “You couldn’t do better,” exclaimed Grace enthusiastically.

      While this conversation was going on, an exciting incident was taking place only a short distance away. Young Marshall Thurston had come with his father to the round-up, and was riding about watching the operations. Chancing to pass near, Dick Willoughby overheard him use an insulting epithet in regard to Miss Farnsworth – the young man was evidently peeved that the ladies had not sought him out instead of Munson, and it was obvious, too, that he had been drinking even at that early hour in the morning.

      Swiftly wheeling, Dick rode up to him with a look of anger so intense that even the cowboys who knew him were taken aback.

      “You foul-mouthed beast!” he hissed, as he pushed his quirt into the slanderer’s face. “Just let me overhear you make a rude remark again about Miss Farnsworth and I will hammer the life out of you. You are nothing better than a drunken hobo, not fit to associate with ladies.”

      The outburst was so sudden that young Thurston was cowed and attempted no reply. But as Willoughby rode off he sent after him a look of sullen and resentful hatred. Two or three of the cowboys, who really were good friends of Dick Willoughby, but were nevertheless not above fawning for the favor of the heir to the great rancho, indicated that they were on Marshall’s side.

      “Guess two can play at the hammering game,” remarked one.

      “He don’t come any of his rough-house business over you, Marshall, while I’m around,” affirmed another, pugnaciously.

      But the young man, still without uttering a word, turned gloomily away and started his pony in the direction of home.

      “Guess he feels like another drink,” grinned an irreverent youth.

      “Hell,” exclaimed an elderly man, the blacksmith at the rancho, “if the Thurston family don’t beat the band for quarrels and bloody feuds!”

      But just then a bunch of cattle broke from the main herd and the group of cowboys dispersed in a galloping scamper.

      Munson and the young ladies, engrossed in their light conversation, knew nothing of this unpleasant episode. They were now discussing the date of the projected visit to the home of Mr. Ricardo Robles among the oaks above La Siesta. It was decided to fix it for the first Sunday after the cattle muster was completed, when Dick Willoughby would be free to make one of the party.

      “But hold a moment,” exclaimed the lieutenant suddenly, “unless I’m to be court-martialled for absence without leave, I must take the train East next Saturday, or – or – ”

      His eyes fixed on Grace, he hesitated to complete the alternative.

      “Or what?” she inquired.

      “Follow Dick’s advice and send in my resignation.” As he spoke he thrust a hand into his breast pocket and drew forth a letter, sealed, addressed and stamped, all ready for the mail. “I really can’t quite make up my mind,” he added, dubiously.

      “Let me help you,” said Grace with a gay smile as she extended her hand for the letter.

      “How?” he asked.

      “I’ll mail your resignation for you. We shall be riding home by La Siesta postoffice.”

      “Oh, Grace!” murmured Merle in timid protest. “Think of the responsibility you are taking.”

      “A woman’s mission in life is to encourage men to do the proper thing,” replied Grace with roguish defiance. “Our friend here is enamored of the West, and the West is the very best place for him. I’ll post your letter, lieutenant.”

      He placed it between her fingers, doffed his hat, and bowed gallantly.

      “Be it so. Let the gods – or should I say, a fair goddess? – decide.”

      “Thanks for the compliment,” cried Grace, with a pretty flush on her face. “Good-bye, then, for the present. Get ready for Sunday’s picnic among the oaks. Come along, Merle, my dear.”

      And with a touch of the quirt she started her pony into a canter.

      “Great guns, but she’s worth while,” exclaimed Munson as he gazed after the retreating figures.

      CHAPTER VII – Old Bandit Days

      ON the evening of the day that followed the big round-up of cattle, Dick Willoughby and Chester Munson rode over to the store. As they cantered along, both men were pre-occupied with their thoughts.

      Dick was not worrying over his sharp passage of words with his employer’s son, for he knew that his services at the present time were quite indispensable, more especially if the rancho was to be sold to the best advantage. The owner had spoken lightly of the negotiations, and had chuckled in a sinister way about the money he had frequently made over unexercised options. But this time it was a Los Angeles syndicate that was seeking the property, composed of men whose financial reputation and keen business ability Willoughby knew well. For he had learned their names after his interview with Ben Thurston, and he felt certain that this particular group of capitalists would have entered into no serious negotiations without having both the cash and the intention to put the deal through. Therefore he scented a change of ownership in the rancho, and consequently, perhaps, the necessity for his looking around to find employment elsewhere. He hated to think of leaving a place that he had come to look on as home and parting from all the friends he had made throughout the countryside. Unconsciously to himself, СКАЧАТЬ