The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXV

  UNCLE AND NIECE

  "Poker" John's remorse came swiftly, but not swiftly or strongly enoughto make him give up the game. After Lablache had taken his departure theold rancher sat drinking far into the night. With each fresh potationhis conscience became less persistent in its protest. He sought no bedthat night, for gradually his senses left him and he slept where he sat,until, towards daybreak he awoke, partially sober and shivering withcold. Then he arose, and, wrapping himself in a heavy overcoat, flunghimself upon a couch, where he again sought sobriety in sleep.

  He awoke again soon after daylight. His head was racked with pain. He,at first, had only a dim recollection of what had occurred the nightbefore. There was a vague sense of something unpleasant having happened,but he did not attempt to recall it. He went to his bedroom and douchedhimself with cold water. Then he set out for the kitchen in search ofcoffee with which to slack his burning thirst. It was not until he hadperformed his ablutions that the whole truth of his interview withLablache came back to him. Immediately, now that the effect of theliquor had passed off, he became a prey to terrible remorse.

  Possibly had Jacky been at hand at that moment, the whole course ofevents might have been altered. Her presence, a good breakfast, andoccupation might have given him strength to carry out the rejection ofLablache's challenge which his remorse suggested. However, none of thesethings were at hand, and John Allandale set out, from force of habit, toget his morning "Collins" down at "old man" Smith's. Something to pullhim together before he encountered his niece, he told himself.

  It was a fatal delusion. "Old man" Smith sold drink for gain. The morehe sold the better he liked it. John Allandale's "Collins" developed, asit always did now, into three or four potent drinks. So that by the timehe returned to the ranch for breakfast his remorse was pushed well intothe background, and with feverish craving he lodged for the fatefulgame.

  In spite of his devotion to the bottle John Allandale usually made ahearty breakfast. But this morning the sight of Jacky presiding at histable upset him, and he left his food almost untasted. Remorse wasdeadened but conscience was yet unsilenced within him. Every time shespoke to him, every time he encountered her piercing gray eyes he felthimself to be a worse than Judas. In his rough, exaggerated way he toldhimself that he was selling this girl as surely as did the old slaveowners sell their slaves in bygone days. He endeavored to persuadehimself that what he was doing was for the best, and certainly that itwas forced upon him. He would not admit that his mania for poker was themain factor in his acceptance of Lablache's terms. Gradually, however,his thoughts became intolerable to him, and when Jacky at last remarkedon the fact that he was eating nothing and drinking only his coffee, hecould stand it no longer. He pushed his chair back and rose from thetable, and, muttering an excuse, fled from the room.

  Her uncle's precipitate flight alarmed Jacky. She had seen, as anybodywith half an eye could see, that he had had a heavy night. The blearedeyes, the puffed lids, the working, nervous face were simple enoughevidence. She knew, too, that he had already been drinking this morning.But these things were not new to her, only painful facts which she wasunable to alter; but his strange behavior and lack of appetite werethings to set her thinking.

  She was a very active-minded girl. It was not her way to sit wonderingand puzzling over anything she could not understand. She had a knack ofsetting herself to unravel problems which required explanation in themost common-sense way. After giving her uncle time to leave thehouse--intuition told her that he would do so--she rose and rang thebell. Then she moved to the window while she waited for an answer to hersummons. She saw the burly figure of her uncle walking swiftly downtowards the settlement and in the direction of the saloon.

  She turned with a sigh as a servant entered.

  "Did any one call last night while I was out?" she asked.

  "Not for you, miss."

  "Oh!"

  "No, miss, but Mr. Lablache was here. He was with your uncle for a longtime--in the office."

  "Did he come in with Mr. Allandale?"

  "Oh, no, miss, the master didn't go out. At least not that I know of.Mr. Lablache didn't call exactly. I think he just came straight to theoffice. I shouldn't have known he was there, only I was passing the doorand heard his voice--and the master's."

  "Oh, that will do--just wait a moment, though. Say, is Silas around?Just find him and send him right along. Tell him to come to theveranda."

  The servant departed, and Jacky sat down at a writing-table and wrote anote to "Lord" Bill. The note was brief but direct in its tone.

  "Can you see me this afternoon? Shall be in after tea."

  That was all she put, and added her strong, bold signature to it. Silascame to the window and she gave him the note with instructions todeliver it into the hands of the Hon. Bunning-Ford.

  The letter dispatched she felt easier in her mind.

  What had Lablache been closeted with her uncle for? This was thequestion which puzzled--nay, alarmed her. She had seen her uncle earlyon the previous evening, and he had seemed happy enough. She wished now,when she had returned from visiting Mrs. Abbot, that she had thought tosee if her uncle was in. It had become such a custom for him lately tobe out all the evening that she had long ceased her childhood's customof saying "Good-night" to him before retiring to bed. One thing wascertain, she felt her uncle's strange behavior this morning was in someway due to Lablache's visit. She meant to find out what that visitmeant.

  To this end several plans occurred to her, but in each case wereabandoned as unsuitable.

  "No," she murmured at last, "I guess I'll tax him with it. He'll tellme. If Lablache means war, well--I've a notion he'll get a hustling hedon't consider."

  Then she left the sitting-room that she might set about her day's work.She would see her uncle at dinner-time.

  Foss River had not yet risen to the civilized state of late dinners andindigestion. Early rising and hard work demanded early meals and heartyfeeding. Dinner generally occurred at noon--an hour at which Europeansociety thinks of taking its _dejeuner_. By rising late society can thusavoid what little fresh, wholesome air there is to be obtained in alarge city. Civilization jibs at early rising. Foss River was still awild and savage country.

  At noon Jacky came in to dinner. She had not seen her uncle sincebreakfast. The old man had not returned from the settlement. Truth totell he wished to avoid his niece as much as possible for to-day. Asdinner-time came round he grew nervous and uncomfortable, and was halfinclined to accept "old man" Smith's invitation to dine at the saloon.Then he realized that this would only alarm Jacky and set her thinking.Therefore he plucked up the shattered remains of his moral courage andreturned to the ranch. When a man looses his last grip on hisself-respect he sinks with cruel rapidity. "Poker" John told himselfthat he was betraying his niece's affection, and with this assurance hetold himself that he was the lowest-down cur in the country. The naturalconsequence to a man of his habit and propensity was--drink. The onetime in his life when he should have refrained from indulgence he drank;and with each drink he made the fatal promise to himself that it shouldbe the last.

  When Jacky saw him swaying as he came up towards the house she couldhave cried out in very anguish. It smote her to the heart to see the oldman whom she so loved in this condition. Yet when he lurched on to theveranda she smiled lovingly up into his face and gave no sign that shehad any knowledge of his state.

  "Come right along, uncle," she said gayly, linking her arm within his,"dinner is on. You must be good and hungry, you made such a poorbreakfast this morning."

  "Yes, child, I wasn't very well," he mumbled thickly. "Not verywell--now."

  "You poor dear, come along," and she led him in through the open window.

  During the meal Jacky talked incessantly. She talked of everything butwhat had upset her uncle. She avoided any reference to Lablache withgreat care. But, in spite of her cheerfulness, she could not rouse thedegenerate old man. Rather it seeme
d that, as the meal progressed, hebecame gloomier. The truth was the girl's apparent light-heartednessadded to his self-revilings and made him feel more criminal than ever.He ate his food mechanically, and he drank glass after glass of ale.

  Jacky heaved a sigh of relief when the meal was over. She felt that shecould not much longer have kept up her light-hearted talk. Her uncle wasabout to move from the table. The girl stayed him with a gesture. He hadeaten a good dinner and she was satisfied. Now she would question him.

  It is strange how a woman, in whatever relationship she may stand, lovesto see a man eat well. Possibly she understands the effect of a gooddinner upon the man in whom she centers her affection; possibly it isthe natural maternal instinct for his well-being.

  "Uncle, what did Lablache come to see you for last night?"

  The question was abrupt. It had the effect of bringing the rancher backto his seat with a drunken lurch.

  "Eh?" he queried, blinking nervously.

  "What did he come for?" Jacky persisted.

  The girl could be relentless even with her uncle.

  "Lablache--oh--er--talk bus--bus'ness, child--bus'ness," and heattempted to get up from his chair again.

  But Jacky would not let him go.

  "Wait a moment, uncle dear, I want to talk to you. I sha'n't keep youlong." The old man looked anywhere but at his companion. A cold sweatwas on his forehead, and his cheek twitched painfully under the steadygaze of the girl's somber eyes. "I don't often get a chance of talkingto you now," she went on, with a slight touch of bitterness. "I justwant to talk about that skunk, Lablache. I guess he didn't pass theevening talking of Retief--and what he intends to do towards hiscapture? Say, uncle, what was it about?"

  The old man grasped at the suggestion.

  "Yes--yes, child. It was Retief."

  He kept his eyes averted. The girl was not deceived.

  "All the time?"

  "Poker" John remained silent. He would have lied but could not.

  "Uncle!"

  Her tone was a moral pressure. The old man turned for relief to hisavuncular authority.

  "I must go. You've no right--question me," he stuttered. "I refu--"

  "No, uncle, you won't refuse me." The girl had risen and had moved roundto where the old man sat. She fondled him lovingly and his attempt atangry protest died within him. "Come, dear, tell me all about it. Youare worried and I can help you. What did he threaten you with? Isuppose he wants money," contemptuously. "How much?"

  The old drunkard was powerless to resist her loving appeal.

  He was cornered. Another might have lied and so escaped, but JohnAllandale's weakness was such that he had not the courage to resort tosubterfuge. Moreover, there was a faint spark of honor nickering deepdown in his kindly heart. The girl's affectionate display was surelyfanning that spark into a flame. Would the flame grow or would itsparkle up for one brief moment and then go out from pure lack of fuel?Suddenly something of the truth of the cause of her uncle's distressflashed across Jacky's mind. She knew Lablache's wishes in regard toherself. Perhaps she was the subject of that interview.

  "Uncle, it is I who am causing you this trouble. What is it thatLablache wants of me?" She asked the question with her cheek pressed tothe old man's face. His whisky-laden breath reeked in her nostrils.

  Her question took him unawares, and he started up pushing her from him.

  "Who--who told you, girl?" His bleared eyes were now turned upon her,and they gazed fearfully into hers.

  "I thought so," she exclaimed, smiling back into the troubled face. "Noone told me, uncle, I guess that beast wants to marry me. Say, uncle,you can tell me everything right here. I'll help you. He's smart, but hecan't mate with me."

  "But--but--" He struggled to collect his thoughts.

  "No 'buts,' dear. I've refused Lablache once. I guess I can size up theracket he thinks to play. Money--money! He'd like to buy me, I take it.Say, uncle, can't we frolic him some? Now--what did he say?"

  "I--can't tell you, child," the old man protested desperately. Then heweakened further before those deep, steadfast eyes. "Don't--press me.Don'--press me." His voice contained maudlin tears. "I'm a vill'n,girl. I'm worse. Don'--look a' me--like that.Ja'y--Ja'y--I've--sol'--you!"

  The miserable old man flung himself back in his chair and his head boweduntil his chin sank heavily upon his chest. Two great tears welled intohis bloodshot eyes and trickled slowly down his seared old cheeks. Itwas a pitiable sight. Jacky looked on silently for a moment. Her eyestook in every detail of that picture of despair. She had heard the oldman's words but took no heed of them. She was thinking very hard.Suddenly she seemed to arrive at a decision. Her laugh rang out, and shecame and knelt at her uncle's side.

  "So you've sold me, you old dear, and not a bad thing too. What's theprice?"

  Her uncle raised his bowed head. Her smiling face dried his tears andput fresh heart into him. He had expected bitter invective, but insteadthe girl smiled.

  Jacky's task now became a simple one. A mere matter of pumping. Sharpquestions and rambling replies. Bit by bit she learned the story ofLablache's proposal and the manner in which an acceptance had beenforced upon her uncle. She did not relinquish her task until theminutest detail had been gleaned. At last she was satisfied with hercross-examination.

  She rose to her feet and passed her hand with a caressing movement overher uncle's head, gazing the while out of the window. Her mind was madeup. Her uncle needed her help now. That help should be his. She condonedhis faults; she saw nothing but that which was lovable in his weakness.Hers was now the strength to protect him, who, in the days of his bestmanhood had sheltered her from the cruel struggles of a life in thehalf-breed camp, for such, at the death of her impecunious father, mustotherwise have been her lot.

  Now she looked down into that worn, old face, and her brisk,business-like tones roused him into new life.

  "Uncle, you must meet Lablache and play--the game. For the rest, leaveit to me. All I ask is--no more whisky to-day. Stay right here and havea sleep. Guess you might go an' lie down. I'll call you for supper. Thenyou'll be fit. One thing you must remember; watch that ugly-faced curwhen you play. See he don't cheat any. I'll tell you more before youstart out. Come right along now and have that sleep."

  The old man got up and the girl led him from the room. She saw him tohis bedroom and then left him. She decided that, for herself, she wouldnot leave the house until she had seen Bill. She must get her unclesober before he went to meet Lablache.