XXV
CHEYNE RELIEVES HIS FEELINGS
A blustering wind moaned outside the lonely building, and the stovesnapped and crackled as the chilly draughts swept into the hall at CedarRange. Jackson Cheyne had arrived on horseback in the creeping dusk anhour or two earlier, after spending most of four nights and days in theslushy snow, and was now resting contentedly in a big hide chair. Indeed,notwithstanding the fact that Hetty sat close by, he was feelingpleasantly drowsy when she turned to him.
"You have only told us that you didn't find the train-wreckers, and youknow we are just dying with curiosity," she said.
Cheyne looked up languidly, wondering whether the half-indifferentinquisitiveness was assumed, as he remembered the anxiety he had seen inHetty's face when he first came in. Instead of answering directly, heglanced round the little group sitting about the stove--for Miss Schuyler,and Christopher Allonby and his cousin were there, as well as Hetty.
"One would scarcely fancy you were dying of anything," he said. "In fact,it would be difficult to imagine any of you looking better. I wonder ifyou know that with the way that the light falls that dusky panelling formsa most effective background, Miss Schuyler?"
Flora Schuyler laughed. "We are not to be put off. Tell us what youfound--and you needn't have any diffidence: we are quite accustomed tohearing the most astonishing things at Cedar."
"The trouble is that I didn't find anything. I spent several mostunpleasant hours watching a railroad-trestle in blinding snow, until thecattle-train went by in safety. Nobody seemed to have the slightest wishto meddle with it."
Without exactly intending it he allowed his eyes to rest on Hetty amoment, and fancied he saw relief in her face. But it was Flora Schuylerwho turned to him.
"What did you do then?"
"I and the boys then decided it would be advisable to look for a ranchwhere we could get food and shelter, and had some difficulty in findingone. In the morning, we made our way back to the depot, and discoveredthat a gentleman you know had hired a locomotive a little while after thecattle-train started."
"Larry, of course!" ejaculated Chris Allonby. "I wanted to stake fivedollars with Clavering that he would be too smart for him again."
Cheyne looked at him inquiringly. "I don't quite understand."
"No?" and Allonby's embarrassment was unmistakable. "Well, there is nogreat reason why you should. I have a habit of talking at randomoccasionally. There are quite enough sensible people in this countrywithout me just now."
"Then," said Cheyne, "I went on to an especially forlorn place calledBoynton, and discovered with some difficulty that Mr. Grant, who hired thelocomotive, had stopped it at a dangerous curve and picked several men up.He took them on to Boynton, and there they seem to have disappeared,though it was suggested that they had departed for a place unknown, eitheron the top of, or underneath a fast freight train."
Chris Allonby chuckled. "Well," he said, "we haven't the least use forLarry here, but I am almost proud he was a friend of mine."
Cheyne glancing round at the others fancied there was a little glow inHetty's eyes and a trace of warmer colour in Flora Schuyler's face. It wasonly just perceptible to him, but he had less doubt when he saw that MissAllonby was watching her companion covertly, for he was quite aware thatthe perceptions of the average young woman were likely to be much keenerthan his own in such affairs.
"I can't help fancying you have a clue to what really happened, MissTorrance," he said.
"Yes," said Hetty quietly. "It is quite plain to me that Larry saved thetrain."
Cheyne glanced at her sharply, and then turned to Allonby. "It strikes youthat way, too?"
"Of course," said Allonby unguardedly. "It is too bad of Larry. He hasbeaten us again, though Clavering fixed the thing quite nicely."
Cheyne's face grew stern. "I am to understand that you did not warn theengineer or any of the railroad men?"
"No," said Allonby, with evident embarrassment. "We didn't. It wasnecessary to make the thing as ugly for Larry's friends as we could, andwe knew you would be at the bridge. If you had caught them in the act,with the train not far away, it would have looked ever so much better forus--and you."
He stopped, with an unpleasant feeling that he had blundered. Cheyne'sface had become grimmer. Miss Schuyler's lips were curled in a littlescornful smile, and there was a curious sparkle in Hetty's eyes.
"I wonder if you quite recognize the depth of Mr. Grant's iniquity yet?"Flora Schuyler asked.
Cheyne smiled. "I confess I should very much like to meet the man. Yousee, my profession prevents my being a partisan, and the cleverness anddaring of what he has evidently done appeals to me. He took the chances ofhis own men turning on him to save them from an affray with us, broughtthem off, and sent your cattle-train through; and what, it seems to me,was more than all, disregarded the probability of his enemies associatinghim with the contriving of the outrage."
"Wouldn't you have done that?" asked Miss Allonby.
"No," said the soldier quietly. "I don't think I should. A man who woulddo what this one has done would be very likely to take a hand in that kindof thing."
Again there was an almost embarrassing silence broken by Miss Allonby. "Iwonder who could have told him."
Nobody spoke until Cheyne felt it advisable to break the silence.
"You have no sympathy with Grant, Miss Allonby?"
"No," said the girl plaintively. "I don't go quite as far as Mr. Claveringand my cousin do--though Chris generally talks too much--but Larry is anuisance, and really ought to be crushed. You see, we had everything wewanted before he and the others made the trouble here."
"That is quite convincing," Cheyne said, with somewhat suspicious gravity.He looked at the others, and fancied that Hetty would have answered butthat Flora Schuyler flashed a warning glance at her.
"One could almost fancy that most of us have too much now," she said. "Arewe better, braver, stronger, or of choicer stuff than those others whohave nothing, and only want the little the law would give them? Oh, yes,we are accomplished--very indifferently, some of us--and have been bettertaught, though one sometimes wonders at the use we make of it; but wasthat education given us for our virtues, or thrust upon us by the accidentthat our fathers happened to be rich?"
"You will scarcely approve, Miss Allonby?" said Cheyne.
The girl's lips curled scornfully. "I never argue with people who talklike that. It would not be any use--and they would never understand me;but everybody knows we were born different from the rabble. It isunfortunate you and Larry couldn't go up and down the country together,convincing people, Flo."
Cheyne, seeing the gleam in Miss Schuyler's eyes, wondered whether therehad been malice in the speech, and was not sorry that Torrance andClavering came in just then.
"I have just come from Newcombe's and heard that you had failed," saidTorrance. "If you will come along to my room, I should like to hear aboutit."
Cheyne smiled as he rose. "I don't know that failed was quite the correctword. My object was to protect the track, and so far as I could discover,no attempt was made to damage it."
Torrance glanced at him sharply as they moved away. "Now, we were underthe impression that it was the capture of the man responsible for theaffair."
"Then," said the soldier drily, "I am afraid you were under amisapprehension."
He passed the next half-hour with Torrance amicably, and it was not untilhe was returning to the hall with Clavering that he found an opportunityof expressing himself freely. Torrance, he realized, was an old man, andquite incapable of regarding the question except from his own point ofview.
"I am just a little astonished you did not consider it advisable to followthe thing up further, when you must have seen what it pointed to," saidClavering.
"That," said Cheyne, smiling, "is foolish of you. I would like to explainthat I am not a detective or a police officer."
"You were, at least, sent here to restore tranquillity."
; "Precisely!" said Cheyne. "By the State. To maintain peace, and notfurther the cattle-men's schemes. I am, for the present, your leader'sguest; but I have no reason for thinking he believes that in any wayconstitutes me his ally. In his case I could not use the wordaccomplice."
Clavering flashed an observant glance at him. "It should be evident whichparty is doing the most to bring about tranquillity."
"It is not," said Cheyne. "I don't know that it is my business to go intothat question; but one or two of the efforts you have made lately wouldscarcely impress the fact on me."
"You are frank, any way," with a disagreeable laugh.
"No," said Cheyne, with a twinkle in his eyes, "I'm not sure that I am. Weoccasionally talk a good deal more plainly in the United States cavalry."
He passed on to the hall and Clavering went back to Torrance's room. "Wehave got to get rid of that man, sir," he said. "If we don't, Larry willhave him. Allonby had better go and worry the Bureau into sending foranother two or three squadrons under a superior officer."
Torrance sighed heavily. "I'm 'most afraid they are not going to takekindly to any more worrying," he said. "In fact, now it's evident how thefeeling of the State is going, I have an idea they'd sooner stand in withthe homestead boys. Still, we can try it, any way."
It was about the same time that Grant flung himself wearily into a chairin the great bare room at Fremont ranch. His face was haggard, his eyesheavy, for he had spent the greater part of several anxious days andnights endeavouring to curb the headstrong passions of his followers, andriding through leagues of slushy snow.
"Will you hurry Tom up with the supper, while I look through my letters?"he said.
Breckenridge went out, and, when he came back a little while later, foundGrant with a strip of paper on his knee.
"More bad news?" he asked.
Grant made no answer, but passed the strip of paper across to him, andBreckenridge's pulses throbbed fast with anger as he read: "It is quitedifficult to sit on both sides of the fence, and the boys have no more usefor you. Still, there was a time when you did what you could for us, andthat is why I am giving you good advice. Sit tight at Fremont, and don'tgo out at nights."
"The consumed asses!" he said. "You see what he means? They have goneafter the herring Clavering drew across the trail."
The bronze grew darker in Larry's face, and his voice was hoarse."Yes--they figure the cattle-men have bought me over. Well, there werepoints that would have drawn any man's suspicions--the packet I would notgive up to Chilton--and, as you mention, Miss Torrance's wallet. Still, ithurts."
Breckenridge saw the veins swell up on his comrade's forehead and thetrembling of his hands. "Don't worry about them. They are beasts, oldman," he said.
Grant said nothing for at least a minute, and then clenched one lean brownhand. "I felt it would come, and yet it has shaken most of the grit out ofme. I did what I could for them--it was not easy--and they have thrown meover. That is hard to bear, but there's more. No man can tell, now thereis no one to hold them in, how far they will go."
Breckenridge's answer was to fling a cloth upon the table and lay out theplates. Grant sat very still; his voice had been curiously even, but hisset face betrayed what he was feeling, and there was something in his eyesthat Breckenridge did not care to see. He also felt that there weretroubles too deep for any blundering attempt at sympathy, but the silencegrew oppressive, and by and by he turned to his companion again.
"We'll presume the fellow who wrote that means well," he said. "What doeshis warning point to?"
Grant smiled bitterly. "An attempt upon my homestead or my life, and Ihave given them already rather more than either is worth to me," he said.
Breckenridge was perfectly sensible that he was not shining in the role ofcomforter; but he felt it would be something accomplished if he could keephis comrade talking. He had discovered that verbal expression isoccasionally almost a necessity to the burdened mind, though Larry was notgreatly addicted to relief of that description.
"Of course, this campaign has cost you a good deal," he said.
"Probably five thousand dollars--all that seemed good in life--and everyfriend I had."
"After all, Larry, the thing may be no more than a joke or an attempt atbluff. Even admitting that it is not, it probably only expresses the viewsof a few of the boys."
Grant shook his head. "No. I believe it is quite genuine. I saw howaffairs were going even before I wouldn't give Chilton the packet; most ofthe boys were ready to break away then. Well, one could scarcely blamethem for not trusting me, and I felt I was laying down my authority when Isent the stock train through."
"Not blame them!" said Breckenridge, clenching his fist, his eyes blazing."Where in the wide world would the crazy fools get another man like you?But if you can take it quietly, I ought to, and the question is, what areyou going to do?"
"What I can," said Grant. "Hold the boys clear of trouble where it ispossible. There are still one or two who will stand behind me, and what wecan't do may be done for us. When a man is badly wanted in this country heusually comes to the front, and I will be glad to drop out when I seehim."
"Larry," Breckenridge said slowly, "I am younger than you are, and Ihaven't seen as much, but it would be better for me if I had half youroptimism. Still, that was not quite what I was asking. If the beastsactually mean to burn your place or attempt your life you are surely notgoing to give them the opportunity. Can't we fix up a guard among the fewsensible men or send for the cavalry?"
Grant smiled wearily as he shook his head. "No," he said. "The one thing Ican't do is to lift my hand against the men I brought here in a privatequarrel."
Just then the cook came in with the supper, and, though the pair had eatennothing since sunrise and ridden through soft snow most of that day, itcost Breckenridge an effort to clear the plate set before him. Grantscarcely touched the food, and it was a relief to both when the meal wasover, and Grant's plate, still half-filled, was taken away. After he hadseveral times lighted a cigar and let it go out again, Breckenridgeglanced at him deprecatingly.
"I can't keep it up any longer, and I know how it is with you, because Ifeel the thing myself," he said. "Now, if you want me here, I'll stay, butI have a notion the poor attempts at talk I'm making are only worryingyou."
Grant smiled, but Breckenridge saw the answer in his face, and went outhastily, which was, under the circumstances, the wisest thing he could do.Then, Grant stretched his arms wearily above his head, and a faint groanescaped him.
"It had to come--but it hurts," he said.
The Cattle-Baron's Daughter Page 25