The Forbidden Way. Gibbs George

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      "Stop, Rita," put in Betty Haviland. "You're letting out all the secrets of the craft."

      "Come, Camilla," said Cortland, rising, "wouldn't you like to see the horses and dogs? It's not nearly dark yet."

      "Oh, yes," she cried gladly. And then to her host, "What am I to expect, Mr. Janney, silver feed troughs and sterilized water?"

      "Oh, no," said their host, "not yet. But they're worth it."

      The pair made their way through the library and a small corridor which led to the south portico.

      "How do you like my cousin Rita?" Bent asked when they were alone outside.

      "Is she your cousin?"

      "Through my mother – the Davidges. Quite wonderful, eh?"

      "I don't like her. You don't mind my saying so, do you?"

      "Not in the least. She's not your sort, Camilla. But then nobody ever takes Rita seriously. She doesn't want them to. She's a spoiled darling. Everybody pets her. That bored kind of cleverness is effective – but everybody knows she doesn't mean half she says."

      "I'd be sorry to think she meant anything she says," severely.

      Bent laughed. "I'm afraid you're too sincere for my crowd, Camilla."

      "Who is Mr. Cheyne?" she asked suddenly.

      "A perfectly amiable person with a bald head and a passion for domesticity and music, both of which Rita affects to despise."

      "Why did she marry him then?"

      "Nobody knows. It was one of the marriages that weren't made in Heaven, that's all."

      "Few marriages are, but they're none the less binding because of that."

      "Yes, I know," he said soberly.

      She recognized the minor note and turned the subject quickly.

      "What a heavenly spot! These are the stables, of course. And the buildings beyond?"

      "The kennels. Mr. Janney has his own pack – corking hounds. They've been breeding this strain a long while in England. I suppose they're as good as any in the world."

      "I'm wild to see them."

      The head groom met them at the door of the carriage house and showed them through. The much despised touring car of the Havilands occupied a negligible part of the great floor. The coach, brake, carryall, station wagons, victoria, runabouts, and brake-carts – all in royal blue with primrose running-gear – looked down with an old-fashioned dignity and disapprobation on this product of a new civilization. The paneled walls of the room were covered with sporting prints, and the trophy room, with its cabinets of cups and ribbons, bore eloquent testimony to Curtis Janney's success at horse shows in every large city of the country. In the stables Camilla lost all sense of restraint. A stable had never meant anything like this. The cement floors were spotless, and the long line of stalls of polished wood with brass newels and fittings shone like the silver in the drawing room. The mats and blankets were of blue, and each bore the monogram of the owner in yellow.

      "These are the coach and carriage horses, Camilla," Bent explained.

      "Yes, ma'am," put in the groom. "The hunters are here," and he led the way to the box stalls.

      "Where is Mackinaw? Mr. Janney promised him to me for to-morrow."

      "Oh, Mackinaw is right here, ma'am. And a fine bit of flesh he is." He went in and threw off the blanket, while Camilla followed. "Not a blemish. He'll take his four rails like they was two. Just give him his head, and you won't be far off when they kill."

      "Oh, what a darling! I'm wild to get on him. Is he gentle?"

      She patted him on the neck, and he nosed her pocket for sugar. One by one she saw them all, and they reached the kennels in time for the evening meal.

      "Oh, well," she sighed as they turned back toward the house, "I'm almost reconciled to riches. One could live in a place like this and forget there was anything else in the world."

      "Yes, perhaps some people might," he said significantly. "I couldn't, even if I wanted to. The only real joy in life is the memory of Saguache Peak at sunset."

      "Sunsets pass – they're symbols of the brevity of things beautiful – "

      "But the night is long," he murmured. "So long, and so dark."

      CHAPTER VIII

      THE BRUSH

      Jeff Wray was learning many things. The arrival of Lawrence Berkely on the scene had at first seemed rather alarming. Several wires in cipher before Larry reached New York had apprised Jeff of an uncertain state of mind in members of the directorate of the Denver and Western Railroad Company. Collins, Hardy, and even Jim Noakes had been approached by representatives of the Chicago and Utah with flattering offers for their interests in the D. & W., and Berkely reported them on the horns of a dilemma. Collins and Hardy were big owners of land which lay along the trunk line and were dependent on that company for all facilities for moving their wheat and other crops. It had not always been easy to get cars to haul their stuff to market, and this fall they only got their hay and potatoes in by a dispensation from the men higher up. Noakes, as Jeff well knew, owned stock in the through line, but the showing of the Saguache Mountain Development Company for the year had been so strong that he had felt sure his associates would see the importance of keeping their interests intact, temporizing, where they could, with the Denver crowd, who had it in their power to threaten his connections at Saguache.