by Harold Titus
CHAPTER XII
A NEIGHBORLY CALL
The mountains which had been brown and saffron when Jane Hunter came totake possession of her ranch grew tinted with green as grasses sproutedunder the coaxing sun. Pinons were edged with lighter tints,contrasting sharply with the deep color of older growth. Service bushesturned cream color with bloom and sage put out new growth; calves,high-tailed and venturesome, frolicked between frequent meals fromswollen udders, birds nested and shy mountain flowers completed theirscant cycle.
No life remained arrested and with the rest the girl developed. Shetook on a more robust color, her eyes which had always been clear andcool, possessed a different look and a thin sprinkling of tiny frecklesappeared across her nose. She had taken to the ways of the mountainseasily. Her modish clothing was discarded and she wore brightly coloredshirts, a brimmed hat, drab riding skirt and the smallest pair of bootsthat had ever been manufactured in that country.
Two-Bits was wide-eyed in his enthusiasm.
"My gosh, Reverend!" he whispered, "look at them boots! Ain't they th'grandest little things you ever seen?... Gosh, they're too little forany spurs she can buy, ain't they? _Gosh_ ..."--in helplessadmiration.
Two-Bits and the Reverend had something on. This was evident from themanner in which they kept apart from the others. Each evening theywould sit on a wagon seat or perch on a corral or Azariah would standnear while his brother groomed his little horse, Nigger, and they wouldtalk, low and confidently, the Reverend gesticulating and Two-Bitslooking far away and talking laboriously as though he were memorizingsomething.
The homely fellow took several mysterious trips to town and once heborrowed ten dollars from Beck and offered a buckskin bridle assecurity, which the other waved away with affectionate curses.
Hepburn had been commissioned to talk with Cole, the nester, anddetermine his plans as they might affect the HC. This took him awayfrom the ranch repeatedly ... so many times, in fact, that it gave Beckone more thing to wonder about. Also, there was a letter for Hepburn,arriving a day or two after his return with the stolen horses, whichsent him suddenly to Ute Crossing; thereafter he went frequently.
There seemed no way around the potential difficulty which the nesterpresented and, as one of her last resorts, Jane sent Tom to theCrossing to look up the record of the filing himself and to confer withthe one remaining attorney in the town. He announced his going andTwo-Bits, hearing, asked him to bring back a package which would bewaiting there. When Tom returned that night he handed the gawky lad asmall parcel which he immediately stuffed into his shirt and carried tothe supper table.
"Them your jooles?" Oliver asked.
"None of your gol-darned business!"
"Ah, come on, old timer, an' let us in on it," the other pleaded. "I'llbet it's a present for your best girl."
"If you got to know, it's corn plasters for th' corns on your brains,Jimmy," Two-Bits countered.
He hurried through his meal and from the table and, with the Reverend,walked down toward the creek where they went through their usualperformance, this time, however, with less prompting from theclergyman. Then, brushing the dust from his shirt, adjusting his scarf,Two-Bits walked nervously toward the ranch house.
Jane answered his knock with a call to enter. He stepped in with thepackage in his hand, but as he removed his hat the parcel dropped tothe floor and when he regained an erect position after recovering ithis face was fiery red.
"What's your trouble tonight, Two-Bits?" Jane asked, approaching him.
"In," he began and stopped to clear his throat. He swallowed with greatdifficulty. "In--In recognition of your--your God--" He coughed andswallowed once more.
_"What?"_--in amazement.
"In recognition of your God--your God given beauty, an'estim--estimable qualifications--"
He ran a finger inside his collar and dropped his hat. Perspirationstood on his lip in beads and his dismayed eyes roved the room. Hemoved his feet nervously.
"In recognition of your God--" he began again, but broke short:
"Hell, ma'am," he exploded, "my brother taught me a fine speech--
"Here!"--holding the package toward her with an unsteady hand and agreat relief coming into his eyes. "I found this in th' road an'thought mebby you might want 'em."
Controlling her desire to laugh at his confusion Jane took the packageand turned it over in her hands.
"What is it, Two-Bits? Why do you bring it to me?"
"I can't use it--'em. I thought ... I ..." he began, backing rapidlytoward the door, moving with accelerated speed as he put distancebetween them.
"Two-Bits, you wait!" she commanded. "I'm going to find out what thisis before you go."
He looked about in a fresh agony of embarrassment but her order hadrendered him unable to move. Jane broke the string, took off thewrapping and opened a paper box. Within reposed a pair of spurs, assmall spurs as her boots were small boots. They were beautiful productsof some mountain forge, one-piece steel, heavily engraved by hand,silver plated. Small silver chains and hand-tooled straps were attachedand as she held them up the delicate rowels jingled like tiny bells.
"Two-Bits!" she cried. "Aren't they beautiful?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, and made for the door again.
She caught him by the arm that time, else he would have fled, and shemade him look at her.
"Two-Bits, you lied to me! You didn't find these on the road, now, didyou?"
"Well, that is.... Not exactly, ma'am,"--weakly.
"Where did they come from?"
"A fella, he made 'em an' give 'em to me an' they was too small forme--"
"Don't you tell me another single lie! _Where_ did you get them?"
"Well ... I had 'em made,"--swallowing again, and _very_ weakly.
"Two-Bits!"--seizing his rough, cold hand while a suggestion of tearscame into her eyes. "You had these made for me? Why, bless your heart,I've never had a finer gift before. And to think--
"You're a dear!"
"Oh, my gosh!" he whimpered, and despite her detaining hand, fled thedisquieting presence.
* * * * *
Of all men in that country, Two-Bits was the only one who openlyaccepted Jane Hunter and his devotion was caused by an awedappreciation of her beauty. The others, even her own riders, remainedstolidly skeptical of her ability to measure up to the task she hadundertaken and when men talked of the business of the country theyunconsciously spoke of the prestige of the HC as a thing of the past.
Hepburn had brought back some of her property that was being driven offbut he had not halted attempts to make away with her horses and cattle.There were rumors, vague but persistent, of other depredations andthose who best knew the ways of the cattle country awaited that timewhen the situation must reach a crisis, when Jane Hunter must be put tothe ordeal that would test her mettle.
She was yet unconscious of much of this for her urge to make a placefor herself centered on penetrating the callousness of the one man shewanted to impress most of all. He remained aloof, watching her eitherwith that tantalizing amusement or a subtle challenge to win his openfriendship. There were moments when, as on that night after their driveto Ute Crossing, she wanted to throw herself on him, to beg, to pleadthat he lower his reserve and give her a place ... a place in his heart.
But that, reason told her, would be the last thing to win him. She musttrust to the force of her personality to drive her way into his life....
Occasionally he would talk, for she offered a sympathetic audience tothe things he had to say but never did their conversation becomeintimate; the subjects he discussed were invariably abstract andimpersonal. While listening she studied the man, striving to definethat quality about him which lay behind his reserve and drew her on.She could not seize and analyze it.... He was, aside from obvious minorqualities, a closed book.
Still she saw him at night patrolling the cottonwoods before he slept!
She could not know what went on in the h
eart of that man, of the fighthe waged with himself, of the struggle he made to stick to his creed:never to take a chance. He did not know that she was aware of thosenightly vigils. The first had been on that night after he had playedwith her pride and her high spirits. Returned to the bunk house he hadsuddenly seen her not a smart, capable stranger but as a girl, alone,facing a new life, surrounded by strange people and unfriendlyinfluences. He sensed a pity for her and walked back to look about theplace and see that all was well, as he might have watched over asleeping child.
And then, the day that the sorrel threw her, he had felt her body andthe man in him had been stirred and when next he paced those shadows itwas not as a protector of some defenseless life, but as one who quitetenderly lays siege to the heart of a woman.
He did not admit that even to himself. He reasoned that he wasprotecting her because she was a stranger in a strange land and thatthe impulse was only kindness. But his reason in that was a consciouslie for as he stood under the stars with the cool, quiet night allabout him he could hear her voice in the murmur of the creek, hear herlimbs rustling her skirts in the soft sigh of wind in the trees, couldfeel her presence there ... when he was stark alone....
And he fought it off, fought stubbornly, coldly because he did notknow, he did not know love, did not know the ground into which he wasbeing carried.
Women? He had had many but the experiences had been casual, meresurface rifflings, and he had never been stirred as this woman stirredhim. It was new, entirely new, and Tom Beck feared that which he didnot know.
He was accustomed to talk to his horses as men will who love them andwhile he rode the gulches alone he would in later days reason aloudwith his own roan or the HC black or bay he used.
"Why, old stager, we can't take a chance like that!" he said time aftertime. "We've kept our heels out of trouble by playing a close game, notgettin' out on a limb, but up to now everything that come along hasbeen boy's play ... compared to this.
"If an _hombre_ took a chance with his love that'd be the limit,wouldn't it? He'd have his stack on the table, an' the deal wouldn't bemore than started!"
He talked over the loves of other men with those horses, earnestly,soberly. He recalled the marriages he had known between men and womenwho were from the same stocks, who knew none but the same life; so manywere failures! And this girl, this girl of whom he dreamed at night andthought by day, scarcely yet spoke his language!
But he could not argue away the disturbing impulse. He could cover it,hide it from others, hide it from himself at times, but drive it out?Never!
* * * * *
Tom's report to Jane after his trip to town offered no encouragement.The filing had been legally accomplished and its significance wasfurther impressed on the girl when he said:
"It's a mighty popular subject in town, ma'am. Everybody's interested."
"I suppose they all think it will mean trouble for me?"
"Yes, an' they're likely to be right."
She shook her head sharply.
"We don't want trouble, but if it does come we must meet it half way!"She leaned forward determinedly and Beck stirred in his chair. It was agesture of delight for those were almost his very words to Hepburn whenthey cleared their relationships of pretense; but he said only:
"That's the easiest way to take trouble on."
Just then Hepburn came in with his report on his visit to the Hole.
"The old fellow seems reasonable, Miss Hunter," he said ponderously."He don't look like he's a permanent neighbor even if he has boughtsome cows from Webb, which I found out today. He's poor as a churchmouse to begin with--"
"And buyin' more cattle?" put in Beck.
"Oh, they were old stock an' I guess Webb was glad to get rid of 'em,"the foreman said with a wave of his hand, yet he did not return Beck'ssearching gaze.
"Cole told me he didn't have any intention of fencin' up the water so Iguess there ain't anything to fret you, Miss Hunter. I sounded him outon buyin' but didn't get far. He's a shiftless old cuss, from th' lookof things, so I don't anticipate any trouble at all. He may not evenlast the summer out."
Tom left and afterward Hepburn talked at length of the situation,minimizing the menace the others saw, urging Jane to put the matter outof her mind. But the girl was not satisfied and the next day, with Tom,rode off toward the Hole.
They made an early start, riding out of the ranch just as the suntopped the heights to the eastward. Dew hung heavily on the sage fromwhich fresh, clean fragrance rose as their horses stirred the brush.Their shadows were thrown far in advance as they followed a narrowgulch and the sunlight was caught and concentrated and scattered againas the drops flew from leaf and twig.
The girl breathed deeply of the light, sweet air and looked at Beckwith a little laugh as of relief.
"When I sit at that desk, I feel like a prosaic business woman whoseinterest is in ledgers," she said, "but when I ride in this country Ifeel like a character in some romantic story."
Tom scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"That's too bad, 'ma'am," he said.
"Which?"
"Both."
"I can see disadvantages to the first, but why the other?"
"I guess I ain't struck much with stories. Used to read 'em, used toget real interested in some but that was before I commenced to getinterested in folks."
"Yes?" she encouraged after a moment.
"You see, I think the folks I see and hear and live with and get toknow are a lot more interestin' than the folks somebody's thought upout of his head.
"A man in a book talks and acts like a man in a book an' nothing else.You never hear men talk out here in the bunk house or ridin' thecountry like a writer would make 'em talk on the page of a book; takemy word for that....
"Folks are mighty interestin'. The best fun I get is watching folks,studying them. It's a lot more fun than reading about some man or womanyou know ain't real, ma'am.
"Life is mighty interesting if you look at it right. If you try toglorify and lie about it you cheapen the whole works. It's eitherdamned serious or a joke. There's no in between. I don't know which itis, yet, but I do know that most of the books I ever read was th'in-between kind, neither one thing nor the other.
"I've been around considerable among men but I never seen things happenin life like writers make things happen in books. Everything works outso lovely in books, folks never make mistakes in anything ... that is,the heroes don't. Why, love even works out right in books!"
He spoke the last in a lowered voice as if he talked of a sacred thingthat had been mistreated. Unconsciously he had voiced the fear that hadgrown in his own soul and when he turned to look at her his eyesreflected a queer mental conflict, almost fright!
She caught something of his mood and waited a moment to summon thecourage to ask very gently:
"And doesn't it ... doesn't love work out in life?"
He shook his head.
"Seldom, ma'am. In books folks gamble with it like it was ... why,ma'am, like their love was a white chip!"
Again he spoke as of a sacrilege and his earnestness, though he did notappear to be thinking of her, confused the girl. The wordless intervalwhich followed was distressing to her so she said:
"And the other forms of expression? Music? Poetry? Painting?"
"You've got me on music," he confessed with a laugh. "I've heardgreasers playin' fandangoes on busted old guitars that sounded a lotsweeter to me than any band I ever heard.
"As for poetry ... I don't know,"--shaking his head. "I read some;tried to understand it, but it seems all messed up with words as ifpoets liked to take the long, painful way of telling things.
"I expect poets want to tell something that's sort of ... delicate an'beautiful.... Now and then I've got a funny feel out of poetry, but itain't anything to me like, say, seeing a bunch of little quail runalong under the brush, heads up, lookin' back at you, whistlin' to eachother. That's the most delicate thing I've ever seen
or heard....
"I've seen some paintings, in Los and San Francisco; once in Chicagoand once in Denver. I don't know. They don't get my idea of it. I neverwant to see anything more beautiful than sunrise over the Grand Canyon,or sunsets over these hills, dust storm on the desert, snow blowin'before a norther off the ridges, and things like that. God, who's sucha close friend to the Reverend, and who I don't know much about, is asgood a painter as any I've ever seen."
He said no more but rode apparently thinking of much more that might besaid and Jane watched him carefully, a hungry look coming into hereyes. His words had partly analyzed him for her:
He was _real_.
He was the most real human being she had ever known, real because helived a real life, because he appreciated realities; he was sufficientto himself, finding such an interest in life about him that his ownimpressions and reactions occupied the foreground of his consciousness.
All her life she had been fed on the artificial, living on a soft padof unrealities which softened and hid the bed-rock foundation ofexistence from her. Within the last weeks she had had her first tasteof the real, was face to face with life and with herself; it had beensweet and inspiring; she felt a great urge for more of that experienceand her mind sped ahead into the vague future, the future which herimagination could not even conjure because the new foundation beneathher feet was as yet unfamiliar. But for all that vagueness she thrilledand as she peered forward eagerly she saw this man, this clean, frankman ever at her side....
And yet he had spoken of love as a gamble which did not work itself outin life! A sharp stab of shame shot through her heart, for she had oncehandled her love as though it had been a white chip, she had beenwilling to chance it as a thing of little value and she knew that tohim that would be the outraging of a sacred thing.
And again she heard the pronouncement of Hilton: You cannot standalone! You will fail! A knave, she now knew, but he knew her as she hadbeen. And could he be right? Could she measure up to where a real man'slove would not be wasted upon her? She did not know; she dared notthink further, so driving back these doubts, she said:
"There's one question I want to ask and I want your honest answer. Whatis your opinion of Hepburn?"
He looked at her with that twinkle in his eye again.
"In just what way, ma'am?"
"At times he seems reluctant to talk to me, as though he knew more thanhe wanted to tell and again I've had a notion he didn't want me askingabout certain ranch matters at all.
"I confess to you that with all the talk of thieving I've wondered ifhe didn't know more about it than he gave me to understand, but what hedid the other day seems, in all reason, to wipe that suspicion out."
He said: "It seems you've answered your own question. When you've saidthat he went a long ways to prove that he's the man you want by whathe's just done, you've said all there was to say."
"But do you mean that? Are you keeping some suspicion of your own fromme?"
He deliberated a moment, then smiled.
"It's easy to suspect but it don't pay very big until you knowsomethin'. Then you don't need to."
They climbed out of the gulch, horses breathing loudly as they made thelast steep ascent and gained the ridge they were to follow and therewas little more talk until they stopped and sat looking down across thegreat flat-bottomed cavity of Devil's Hole. It was a pear-shapeddepression, perhaps four miles from rim to rim at the widest point andfully a score of miles in length. Its sides were sprinkled with cedarswhich clung to the sheer cliffs determinedly, but its bottom wasblanketed with thrifty sage brush, purple in the sunlight that was justthen slanting across the floor and beneath this sheen they could seethe bright green of new grasses. A dark line marked with the clarity ofa map the course of the creek and half way down toward the neck of theHole was a small cabin erected by the man who had filed on the land forColonel Hunter and who had drifted on without establishing title.
"There's your neighbor," Beck said.
Jane looked for a moment, then lifted her eyes to the country whichshowed through the narrow outlet of the deep valley. Behind her endlessridges tossed upward to a sharp horizon, but out through that gap therange lay in a vast basin, rising gently to diminutive lavendar buttesplastered against the sky many miles away. It seemed soft and vague andunreal ... like one of the unreal paintings Beck had seen hangingwithin walls.
Tom led the way through trees and among upstanding ledges of rock intothe narrow, dangerous trail and as he went down, his big roan pickingthe way quickly yet cautiously, he half turned in his saddle to explainthe significance of the descent.
It was the only egress on that side of the Hole. There was one trail onthe far side, so steep and hazardous that a man must lead his horseeither up or down. The only other outlet was through the narrow Gapwhere the wash of flood water during storms had made the going easy formen and stock. Out to the northwest, however, lay miles of desert, thegreat basin of which Jane had had a glimpse, well enough to use forrange in three seasons, but in summer it became parched and useless. Inthe Hole cattle could feed on the abundant gramma, could drink from thecreek, but getting them out and over the divide to the more plentifulwater of Coyote Creek was an undertaking.
"That's the danger," he told her, "It's a long, hard climb for stock ingood shape, but if anything should happen to prevent your stock fromdrinkin' down here and they should get low from lack of water, why thenyou'd leave a lot of 'em down there if you tried to bring 'em up."
He pointed over the abrupt drop at his left where a pebble would fallhundreds of feet before striking again and as he indicated his rightchap scrubbed the face of the cliff, so narrow was the way to whichthey clung.
Finally they reached the flat and swung along at a free trot throughthe brash sage.
"There's water here now," he explained, as they followed the steepcreek bank, "but that don't last. It's mighty low right this mornin'.The creek sinks when it don't rain an' its been comin' up in just onespot for years. That's what makes a nester dangerous for you."
They approached the cabin. A mare and a newly born colt eyed themsuspiciously. An ancient wagon, its top tattered, its tires red withrust, stood close beside a frail corral. Fire wood was scattered about;here was an axe with a broken helve, there a rust-eaten shovel, and thewhole place spoke of poverty.
And yet piled against the cabin was spool upon spool of new barbed wire!
"Fence!" muttered Beck.
"But Mr. Hepburn said--"
"Yeah, I recall what he _said!_"
Just then the canvas which served as a door was thrown back and thegirl stepped out. She stood just across the threshold looking at them,sullen and defiant.
"Good-morning," said Jane.
"Howdy," replied the girl indifferently.
An awkward pause. Surely, she would volunteer no more and Beck asked:
"Your dad around?"
"What do you want with him?"--a demand rather than a question.
"I am Miss Hunter. I own the--"
"Oh, I know who you are!" the girl cut in defiantly.
"I came down to talk to your father. We are neighbors. If we are to begood neighbors there are things we must discuss."
Jane was unpoised by the attitude of the other but she dismounted andwalked toward the cabin.
"What did you want with him?" the girl asked again.
"I want to ask some things about your plans."
"And what is our business to you?" The girl's eyes snapped and hervivid color intensified.
"It may be a great deal to me. That is why I am frank in coming here.For years this place has been range for HC cattle. Recently water hasbeen short. You have wire and evidently are going to fence.
"I don't come as an enemy. Now that you are here I want to make thebest of it."
"But you don't want us here!"
The simple declaration, voiced with that same defiance, confused Jane;then she met the other on her own ground.
"No, we don't want you
here unless you will work with us as we all tryto work together. I think you will do that because it is the wiser--"
"So you start out workin' with us by lookin' up our claim, the way wefiled it, before you come to talk!"
"Yes, I did that,"--frankly. "I wanted to be sure just what your rightswere before I came to talk business."
"Well, you know now. You know no lawyers can run us off. Ain't thatenough? If you know we've got rights, what do you come here for?" Shestopped, but before Jane could reply went on, her eyes flashing suddenheat: "You don't want us here but we've come to stay an' from the wayyou've started in to talk your business I guess that's all you'll findout."
Jane eyed her for an interval then said:
"You and I are the only women for miles about in this country. We arenear neighbors as neighbors go in the mountains; do you think this isthe best way to start in being friends?"
"Who said anything about bein' friends?"
"I want to be your friend." The sincerity of this balked the girl andher eyes became puzzled. "I want to be your friend and want you for myfriend. We can help each other in a good many ways."
"I don't recollect askin' for your help."
"No, but I want to give it to you and I want to ask yours in return. Weare here in a big country. We are all dependent to an extent on thoseabout us. None of us can get along so well alone as we can by workingtogether."
"Like turnin' folks out in the rain at night, for instance?"
Jane's cheeks flamed.
"I don't understand," she said.
"Think it over an' maybe you will!"
The girl's eyes blazed uncovered hate, but as they took Jane in againfrom hat to boots a curious envy showed in them.
"I've seen how much you big outfits want to help poor folks before,"she said. "I know all about that,"--bitterly. "Maybe it's a good thingyou come here today so you'll get to understand, first hand, instead ofsendin' your men around to learn things for you.
"We've come a long ways. We've been on th' move ever since I canrecollect. Folks have offered to help us before, an' they have helpedus ... to decide to move. We've come to stay here; we can take care ofourselves; we don't ask nothin' but to be let alone, an' we're goin' tobe let alone if we have to make it stick with gun play."
She had advanced and, hands on her hips, weight on one foot, spoke thelast with her face close to Jane's, her head nodding in slow emphasis.
"I trust it won't come to that," Jane said evenly. She had notflinched, but studied the girl carefully, impersonally, though thecolor in her cheeks had died; her face was in repose, her bearingdignified and assured, yet without suggestion of any superficialsuperiority. "If it does come to that it will not be because I amunwilling to do all that is reasonable. I have come down here to talkto you, which should be evidence of my good faith; I have been frank.You meet me as though I had come to cheat you or drive you out. I don'tthink that is fair."
The other drew back a step, clearly puzzled again. Her face, in spiteof its forbidding expression, was very beautiful.
"That sounds all right," she said at length, "but I've heard it beforeand I know how much it's worth. You ain't my kind. You don't belonghere and I do. You don't want to be my friend ... you wouldn't know how.
"All we want is to be let alone. Our business ain't yours an' we won'ttry to make yours ours. Have you said all you wanted to say?"
"No, not quite all, but if you won't listen to me, if you won't believeme, there is only one more thing I can say: You will know where to findme any time you want to talk to me. I will be ready to work with you,to do my share, and maybe a little more. I hope there will be notrouble, for it would force me to make my share of that."
She turned abruptly and walked toward Beck.
The man had purposely held aloof to watch the encounter between the twowomen. He had been certain that the meeting would be anything butamicable and it was like other situations into which he had let JaneHunter walk, needlessly and only to see how she would handle herself.Usually the result only amused him but today he had watched Jane bearup admirably under difficult circumstances, refusing to be angered orconfused, refusing to plead yet, while retaining dignity, leaving thedoor to friendship open.
As Jane mounted Bobby Cole stepped back into the cabin with no word andthe riders turned back on the way they had come.
"I've been wonderin'," Beck said after a time, "how this old codgerrakes up the dust to buy cattle and wire."
Jane did not reply. She wondered at that, too, but there was anotherwonder in her mind about another, more human mystery, going back to anight of storm in the heavens and storm in hearts. How did Bobby Coleknow she had turned Dick Hilton out?
As they went silently each thinking of significant things which hadbeen revealed the girl threw back the curtain in the doorway andwatched them.
"I hate you!" she whispered at Jane Hunter. "I hate you!... Because youturned him out ... because you're ... you're _you_."
She stood a long time watching them and with the darkness in her faceanother quality finally mingled: that envy again.
After a time Jane said:
"A queer creature, that girl."
"On the peck from the start!" Beck replied.
"And beautiful!"
"Ain't she, though?... Poor kid! I've seen 'em before, kids of moverslike that, not so good lookin', not so smart as she is, but like herbecause they was always suspicious, always ready to scrap....
"That's because they've never had a chance to be decent, brought up ina wagon that way."
"A shame!" Jane whispered.
"I like kids," he said later, as though his mind had been on nothingelse. "I like all kids, but I feel sorry for a lot of 'em ... for mostof 'em.... Every kid that's born ought to have a chance, a fair showagainst the world, because the old world don't seem to like kids anytoo much.
"That girl didn't have a chance, never will have it. She was markedfrom the day she was born.
"Why, ma'am, one winter I worked for a cow man down in the Salt Rivervalley which is in Arizona. He didn't have a big outfit, he didn't havemuch luck; trouble with his water, his cattle got sick and his horsesdidn't do well and he had just one dose of trouble after another.
"But he had three kids, all in a row they seemed,"--indicatingprogressive heights with his hand. "I think they was the happiest kidsI've ever seen. I always think of 'em when I see kids that've had togrow up like that girl. I remember those mornin's when we used to startout for a day's ride, looking back and seeing those kids playing in thedirt beside the rose bushes. Their clothes was dirty the minute theystepped outside and their hands an' faces was a sight from the 'dobe,but there was roses in their cheeks as bright as th' roses on thebushes and they laughed loud and their eyes always smiled ... like thatArizona sky, which ain't got a match anywhere....
"This man and his wife just buckled down an' bucked old Mister HardLuck from the word Go, for them kids! They sure thought the world of'em. I guess that was what put the roses in their cheeks an' the smilesin their eyes....
"I'll never forget those kids by the rose bushes with somebody to carefor 'em, an' work their hearts out for 'em. That's the way kids oughtto grow up; not like that catamount grew up."
He smiled in reminiscence and his smile was tender.
"Roses and kids," he repeated after a while. "They ought to gotogether."
He looked at Jane and saw that her eyes were filmed.
She rode closer to him, until her knee touched his chap and said:
"I think that is beautiful: Roses and kids. I shall always remember it;always...."
She knew, now, the man she loved, the man whose love she would win, theman behind that exasperating front of caution. His clear eyes and keenmind were interested only in realities and yet he could display atenderness more delicate than she had ever before encountered in men.He was strong, and as gentle as he was strong; he was generous while askeptic; he had poise and personality. And he could liken love to apoker chip; without
using the word make her know that he held lovesacred!
She raised her hand to that locket again and held it tightly in hersmall palm.