CHAPTER IX
NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL
Jessamy Selden stood before the cheap soft-wood dresser in her bedroom,in a wing of the old log house, and completed the braiding of the twolong, thick strands of cold-black hair. Then in the cozy little sittingroom, which adjoined the bedroom and was hers alone, she slipped on hermorocco-top riding boots and buckled spur straps over her insteps.
The sun had not yet climbed the wooded ridges beyond Poison Oak Ranch.The night before the girl had prepared a cold breakfast for herself; andwith this wrapped in paper she left the sitting room by its outside doorand ran to the corral. The family was at breakfast in the vast room.Hurlock's and Winthrop's families were likewise engaged in theirrespective houses. So no one was about to disturb or even see Jessamy asshe hastily threw the saddle on White Ann, leaped into it, and rodeaway.
When she had left the clearing, and the noise of rapid hoofbeats wouldnot be heard, she lifted the mare into a gallop. At this reckless speedthey swung into the trail and plunged hazardously down the mountainsidealong the serpentine trail. They forded the river, took the trail on theother side, and raced madly up it until compassion for her labouringmount forced the rider to rein in. Now she ate her breakfast of coldbaked apple and cold fried mush in the saddle as the mare clamberedupward.
At sunrise they topped the ridge and took up the lope again toward theheadwaters of Clinker Creek. Long before she reached it Jessamy saw abay horse and its rider at rest, with the early sunlight playing on theflashing silver of the famous saddle and bridle of Oliver Drew.
"Let's go!" she cried merrily as White Ann, convinced that somedevilment was afoot, cavorted and humped her back and shied from side toside while she bore down swiftly on the waiting pair.
For answer Oliver Drew pressed his calves against Poche's ribs, and thebay leaped to White Ann's side with a snort that showed he had caughtthe spirit of the coming adventure, whatever it might prove to be. At agallop they swung into the county road, Poche producing a challengingmetallic rattle by rolling the wheel of his halfbreed bit with histongue, straining at the reins, and bidding the equally defiant white todo that of which "angels could do no more."
"Good morning!" cried Oliver. "What's the rush?"
"Old Man Selden is riding to Aunt Nancy's today," she shouted back."Good morning!"
"Oh! In that case, if that white crowbait you're riding hadn't alreadycome three miles, we'd find out whether she can run. She's telling theworld she can."
Jessamy made a face at him and, leaning forward, caressed the mare'ssmooth neck. White Ann evidently considered this a sign of abetment, forshe plunged and reared and cast fiery looks of scorn at her pseudorival.
"There, there, honey!" soothed the girl. "We could leave that oldflea-bitten relic so far behind it would be cruelty to animals to do it.Just wait till we're coming back, after we've rested and have an evenchance; for I really believe the man wants to be fair."
Oliver's eyes were filled with her as her strong, sinewy figure followedevery unexpected movement of the plunging mare as if a magnet held herin the saddle. The dew of the morning was on her lips; the flush of iton her cheeks. Her long black braids whipped about in the wind likestreamers from the gown of a classic dancer. The picture she made wasthe most engrossing one he had ever looked on.
They slowed to a walk after a mile of it.
"Well," said Jessamy, "I delivered your letter."
"Yes? Go on. That's a good start."
"It created quite a scene. Old Adam simply won't--can't--believe thatyou own the Old Ivison Place. So that's why he's fogging it up to AuntNancy's today. I think we'll be an hour ahead of him, though, and can beat the reservation by the time he reaches the house."
"Is he angry?"
"Ever try to convince a wasp that you have more right on earth than hehas?" Her white teeth gleamed against the background of red lips andsunburned skin.
"Well?"
"He says that, whether you own the place or not, you'll have to leave."
"M'm-m! That's serious talk. In some places I've visited it would becalled fighting talk."
"Number this place among them, Mr. Drew," she said soberly, turning herdark, serious eyes upon him.
"But I didn't come up here to fight!"
"Neither did the President of the United States take his seat inWashington to fight," she pointed out, keeping that level glance fixedon his face.
"Oh, as to that," mused Oliver after a thoughtful pause, "I guess I_can_ fight. They didn't send me back from France as entirely useless.But it strikes me as a very stupid proceeding. Look here, MissSelden--how many acres of grass does your step--er--Old Man Selden runcows on for the summer grazing?--how many acres in the Clinker CreekCountry, in short?"
Jessamy pursed her lips. "Perhaps four thousand," she decided afterthought.
"Uh-huh. And on my forty there's about fifteen acres, all told, thatrepresents grass land. The rest is timber and chaparral. Now, fifteenacres added to four thousand makes four thousand fifteen acres. Theaddition would take care of perhaps five additional animals for thethree months or more that his stock remains in that locality. Do youmean to tell me that Adam Selden would attempt to run a man out of thecountry for that?"
She closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly up and down in achildlike fashion that always amused him. It meant "Just that!"
He gave a short laugh of unbelief.
"Listen," she cautioned: "Don't make the fatal mistake of taking thismatter too lightly, Mr. Drew."
"But heavens!" he cried. "A man who would attempt to dispossess anotherfor such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the penniesin his cup! I've had a short interview with Old Man Selden. Corrupt hemay be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be corrupt on a bigscale. I couldn't think of the masterful old reprobate I talked with asa piker."
Jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "You've got him aboutright," she informed her companion. "One simply is obliged to think ofhim as big in many ways."
Oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched downcomfortably. "Say," he said, "I don't get you at all."
"Don't get me?" She was not looking at him now.
"No, I don't. One moment you said he would put the skids under me forthe slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. Next moment youmaintain that he is not a piker."
"Yes."
Oliver rolled a cigarette. Not until it was alight did he say:
"Well, you haven't explained yet."
She was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off Sierras.For the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a lossfor words. And had her direct gaze faltered? Were her eyes evading his?And was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it theglow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder inthe sky?
She turned to him then--suddenly. There was in her eyes a look partly ofamusement, partly of chagrin, partly of shame.
"I can't answer you," she stated simply. "I blundered, that's all.Opened my mouth and put my foot in it."
"But can't you tell me how you did that even?"
"I talk too much," was her explanation. "Like poor old Henry Dodd, Iwent too far on dangerous ground."
Oliver tilted his Stetson over one eye and scratched the nape of hisneck. "I pass," he said.
"That reminds me," was her quick return, "I sat in at a dandy game ofdraw last night. There was--"
"Wh-_what_!"
"And now I have both feet in my mouth," she cried. "And you'll have toadmit that comes under the heading, 'Some Stunt.' I thought I saw achance to brilliantly change the subject, but I see that I'm worse offthan before. For now you're not only mystified but terribly shocked."
He gave this thirty seconds of study.
"I'll have to admit that you jolted me," he laughed, his face a littleredder. "I'm not accustomed to hearing young ladies say, 'I sat in at adandy little game of draw'--just like that. But I'm sure I went too farwhen
I showed surprise."
"And what's your final opinion on the matter?" She was amused--Notworried, not defiant.
"Well, I--I don't just know. I've never given such a matter a great dealof thought."
"Do so now, please."
Obediently he tried as they rode along.
"One thing certain," he said at last, "it's your own business."
"Oh, you haven't thought at all! Keep on."
A minute later he asked: "Do you like to play poker?"
"Yes."
"For--er--money?"
"'For--er--money.' What d'ye suppose--crochet needles?"
Then he took up his studies once more.
Finally he roused himself, removed his leg from the horn, andstraightened in the saddle.
"Settled at last!" she cried. "And the answer is...?"
"The answer is, I don't give a whoop if you do."
"You approve, then?"
"Of everything you do."
"Well, I don't approve of that," she told him. "I don't, and I do. Butlisten here: One of the few quotations that I think I spout accuratelyis 'When in Rome do as the Romans do.' I'm 'way off there in the hills.I'm a pretty lonely person, as I once before informed you. Yet I'm agregarious creature. We have no piano, few books--not even a phonograph.Bolar Selden squeezes a North-Sea piano--in other words an accordion. Oflate years accordion playing has been elevated to a place among thearts; but if you could hear Bolar you'd be convinced that he hasn't keptpace with progress. He plays 'The Cowboy's Lament' and something about'Says the wee-do to the law-yer, O spare my only che-ild!' Ugh! He givesme the jim-jams.
"So the one and only indoor pastime of Seldenvilla is draw poker. Now,if you were in my place, would you be a piker and a spoilsport and apink little prude, or would you be human and take out a stack?"
"I understand," he told her. "I think I'd take out a stack."
"And besides," she added mischievously, "I won nine dollars and thirtycents last night."
"That makes it right and proper," he chuckled. "But we've wandered farafield. Why did you say that Selden would try to run me off my toy ranchin one breath, and that he is wicked only in a big way in the next?"
"I'd prefer to quarrel over poker playing," she said. "Please, Iblundered--and I can't answer that question. But maybe you'll learn theanswer to it today. We'll see. Be patient."
"But I'll not learn from you direct."
"I'm afraid not."
"I think I understand--partly," he said after another intermission. "Itmust be that there's another--a bigger--reason why he wants me out ofClinker Creek Canyon."
"You've guessed it. I may as well own up to that much. But I can't tellyou more--now. Don't ask me to."
After this there was nothing for the man to do but to keep silent on thesubject. So they talked of other things till their horses jogged intoCalamity Gap.
Here was a town as picturesque as Halfmoon Flat, and wrapped in the sametraditions. Jessamy's Aunt Nancy Fleet lived in a little shake-coveredcottage on the hillside, overlooking the drowsy hamlet and the railroadtracks.
It appeared that all of the Ivison girls had been unfortunate inmarrying short-lived men. Nancy Fleet was a widow, and two other sistersbesides Jessamy's mother had likewise lost husbands.
Nancy Fleet was a still comely woman of sixty, with snow-white hair andJessamy's black eyes. She greeted her niece joyously, and soon the threewere seated in her stuffy little parlour.
Oliver opened up the topic that had brought him there. Mrs. Fleet, afterstating that she did so because he was Oliver Drew, readily made answerto his questions.
Yes, she had sold the Old Ivison Place to a Mr. Peter Drew somethinglike fifteen years before. She had never met him till he called on her,and no one else at Calamity Gap had known anything about him.
He told that he had made inquiry concerning her, and that this hadresulted in his becoming satisfied that she was a woman who would keepher word and might be trusted implicitly. This being so, he told herthat he would relieve her of the Old Ivison Place, if she would agree tokeep silent regarding the transfer until he or his son had assured herthat secrecy was no longer necessary. For her consideration of hiswishes in this connection he told her that he was willing to pay a goodprice for the land.
As there seemed to be no rascality coupled with the request, she gaveconsent. For years she had been trying to dispose of the property forfive hundred dollars. Now Peter Drew fairly took her breath away byoffering twenty-five hundred. He could well afford to pay this amount,he claimed, and was willing to do so to gain her co-operation in thematter of secrecy. She had accepted. The transfer of the property wasmade under the seal of a notary public at the county seat, and the moneywas promptly paid.
Then Peter Drew had gone away with his deed, and for fifteen years shehad made the inhabitants of the country think that she still owned theOld Ivison Place simply by saying nothing to the contrary. She had beentold to accept any rentals that she might be able to derive from it--touse it as her own. For several years Peter Drew had regularly forwardedher a bank draft to cover the taxes. Then Adam Selden had offered to paythe taxes for the use of the land, and she had written Peter Drew tothat effect and told him to send no more tax money until further notice.Since that date she had heard no more from the mysterious purchaser ofthe land.
She was surprised to learn that the transfer had at last been recorded,but could throw no light whatever on the proceedings.
She took a motherly interest in Oliver because of his father, whosegenerosity had greatly benefited her. In fact, she said, she couldn'tfor the life of her tell how she'd got along without that money.
"And whatever shall I say, dearie, when Adam Selden comes to me today?"she asked her niece. "I'm afraid of the man--just afraid of him."
"Pooh!" Jessamy deprecated. "He's only a man. Oliver Drew's coming, andthe fact that the transfer has at last been placed on record leaves youfree to tell all you know. So just tell Old Adam what you've told Mr.Drew, and say you know nothing more about it. But whatever else you say,don't cheep that we've been here, Auntie."
"Well, I hope and trust he'll believe me," she sighed as she showed hercallers out.
"Now," said Jessamy, as they remounted, "we'll ride away and be at thereservation by the time Old Adam arrives here. What do you think of yourmystery by now, Mr. Drew?"
"It grows deeper and deeper," Oliver mused.
The Heritage of the Hills Page 9