The Forfeit

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE ROUND-UP

  Bud's great bulk blocked the window opening on to the veranda. It washis favorite vantage point in leisure. The after breakfast pipeusually found him there. His evening pipe, when the sun was dippingtoward the glistening, fretted peaks of the hills, rarely found himelsewhere. It was the point from which, in a way, he was able to viewthe whole setting of the life that was his.

  The winter had come and gone, vanishing amidst the howling gales ofsnow and sleet which never fail to herald the approach of the openseason. It is almost like the last furious onslaught of a despairingand defeated foe. Now the world was abeat with swift pulsations infibre and nerve. The wide valley of Rainbow Hill was stirring with thevigor of renewed life. Man, beast, fowl, foliage. It was the same.Spring was in the blood. Spring was in the sap. And all the world wasfresh and ready for the call of the coming year.

  The spring round-up was in full swing with all its ceaseless toil forthe ranching world. Already the pastures were crowded with stockbrought in from distant valleys and grazings. Numberless calvesanswered their mothers' calls, and hung to their sides in panic at thecommotion in the midst of which they found themselves. Alreadyhundreds of them had endured the terrors of the searing irons whichleft them indelibly marked as the property of the great Obar Ranch,while hundreds more were awaiting the same process.

  And the irons and forges were kept going all day. Just as was thelargely augmented band of cattlemen. In ones and twos these hardyruffians, many of them "toughs" who worked at no other time of theyear, scoured every hill, and valley, and plain, however remote in thevast region. Theirs it was to locate the strays to whatever ranch theybelonged, and bring them in to home pastures. The sorting would bemade after and the distribution. For the whole of the round-up was acommonwealth amongst the growers, and each and everybody was calledupon to do his adequate share in the work.

  Bud was glad. Nor was it without good reason. The busy life was thelife he lived for. And the busy life had been made possible andcomplete by the events of the previous summer.

  He was physically weary and yearning for the supper which was stillawaiting Nan's return. But if he were physically tired the feeling didnot extend beyond his muscles. His thoughts were busy as his eyesgazed out upon the scenes of life and movement which were going on.

  Just now he was thinking of the girl, impatient at the delay of herreturn from the pastures, where she was superintending the sorting forthe morrow's branding. Thinking of her quickly carried him to thoughtsof his partner and friend, and thus, by degrees, his mind went back tothe events of the last summer which had left the present operationsfree from the threat which had then overshadowed all their efforts.

  It had been a bad time, a bad time for them all. But for Jeff--ah, ithad been touch and go. How near, perhaps, it was only now, after longmonths had passed, and a proper perspective had been obtained, that thefull extent of his narrow escape could be estimated.

  It had been Christmas before Jeff was completely out of the hands ofthe surgeon they had had to obtain from Calthorpe. For three months ofthat time he had hovered between life and death. Nor had his troublebeen confined solely to his physical hurts. No, these had been sore:they had been grievous in the extreme. Three times wounded, and hisface, and hands, and arms badly burned. But half of his trouble hadbeen the mental sufferings he had endured as a result of his marriage,and the final tragedy of Evie's death.

  Now, as Bud looked back on that time, two things stood out beyond allthe rest. It was the desperate courage--even madness he called it--ofJeff, and the superlative devotion of Nan.

  He had by no means understood all that Jeff had achieved at the momentof his rescue. It was not till long after, by a process of closequestioning, that the magnitude of it became plain. Then the marvel ofit dawned on him. The courage, the madness of it. Jeff had rid thedistrict of the whole gang of rustlers single-handed. He had shot fiveof them to death, and the last two had fallen victims to his own,Bud's, gun after they had been wounded by Jeff.

  Then had followed that period when Nan had stepped into the picture.With pride, and a great satisfaction, he remembered her weeks andmonths of devotion to the injured man. Her sleepless, tireless watch.Her skill and patient tenderness. These things had been colossal. Tohim it had been a vision of a mother's tender care for an ailing child.And the thought of it now stirred him to a touch of bitterness in hisfeelings toward his partner and friend.

  To Bud there could only be one possible end to such a wealth ofdevotion as his little Nan had displayed, but it seemed that all hisideas on the subject must be wrong. To his uncomprehending mind theyseemed no nearer to each other than in the days before a mad passionhad seized upon Jeff for the woman he had married.

  Bud was very human. His patience had its limits, and just now theyseemed to have been reached. He admitted this to himself frankly. Hetold himself he had "no durned patience with the bunch." And the bunchincluded both Nan and Jeff. He felt that Nan, too, must be to blame insome way.

  He had "no durned patience with the bunch." Therein lay the key-noteof his mixed feelings. Here everything was prospering but the onething above all others upon which he had set his heart. He felt asthough he must "butt in" and put matters right himself. How, he didnot attempt to suggest. But he felt that if he did not do so, orsomething or other did not occur to precipitate matters, the "wholedurned shootin' match was li'ble to peter."

  This was how he saw things. This was how he felt, as he awaited Nan'sreturn from the pastures.

  She came at last. She rode up and passed her weary horse to abarn-hand who promptly waited upon her. She was covered with dust toher waist. Her top-boots were white with it. But her cheeks were asfresh as peach bloom, and her soft eyes shone with all a ranchman'senthusiasm at the most exhilarating period of the year.

  "One hundred an' forty-two young Obars to-day, my Daddy," she cried outexuberantly. "Ther' don't seem any end to last year's crop. Say,Jeff's just crazy to death about things."

  "He surely is."

  The old man's reply was tinged by a reflection of his thoughts. Buthis eyes lit nevertheless.

  Nan regarded him seriously.

  "Most men get a grouch when they're kept waiting food," she observedslily. "Say, come right in an' you'll soon feel the world's a mightygood place to live in."

  Instantly Bud's humor improved.

  "Guess you do your best to make it that way."

  The girl laughed as she led the way in.

  "That surely is a pretty nice talk, my Daddy. Guess I'll takeadvantage of it, an' keep you waiting another three minutes while I getrid of the dust."

  Her father nodded.

  "Jeff comin' up?" he inquired.

  The girl shook her head. For a moment the smiling eyes were hiddenbeneath their lids.

  "Not for supper. He's gone on to the branding 'pinch.'"

  She was gone before her father could reply, and he was left to his ownreflections, which were still further inspired by impatience.

  Well enough he knew the arduous nature of the work. Had he not been atit himself since the first streak of dawn? But he felt that Jeff wasgoing beyond the bounds of necessity. Even beyond the bounds of reason.

  However, he was not given much time to nurse any imaginary grievance.For Nan reappeared after a surprisingly short interval, and thetransformation she had achieved was not a little startling. Her dustyriding suit had given place to a pretty house frock of some softlyclinging material which restored to her at once the charm of heressential femininity. The pretty brown of her eyes, and the wavysoftness of her hair became indescribably charming in such a setting.Bud regarded her with warm approval, and his spirits rose.

  "Jeff's coming right up after he's eaten," she said, as they look theirplaces at the table. "He's getting the food he needs at the bunkhouse.He guesses he hasn't time to get supper right."

  "Ah."

  The announce
ment gave Bud more pleasure than his monosyllable admitted.His eyes once more took in the picture Nan made as she sat behind thesteaming coffee urn at the head of the table. And somehow the changeshe had made became less startling.

  The meal was the customary ranch supper. The table was simply loadedwith cold meats, and sweets, and cakes of varied description. The farewas homely but plentiful, and, to these simple-living people, it wasall that was required. Bud helped himself liberally, while Nan pouredout the fragrant coffee.

  "We ought to be through in a week now," Nan said, passing a heavy chinacup of coffee across to her father. "Jeff figures we're well up onaverage in spite of the stock we lost last summer. It's pretty good tothink--after that time. Say, Daddy, we owe Jeff a pretty big thing."

  The old man looked up with a smile.

  "Guess the owin' ain't all with us," he said, with his mouth full.

  Nan paused in the act of sipping her coffee. Her eyes were full ofincredulity.

  "I don't understand, Daddy," she said frankly. "We owe more to Jeffthan ever. Much more. He came pretty near handing over his poor lifeso the Obar might prosper. He cleared out that gang who would havedone the Obar to death. A man can't give more to--his friends."

  Bud remained unconvinced. He shook his great head and his smiledeepened to a twinkle of real amusement.

  "That's so," he said. "But he didn't just give that poor life of his.I allow he was ready to because--because, wal, I guess he's built in aright fashion. We owed him for that sure. But I 'low he's been paidin a way it don't fall to every feller's lot to git paid. You paidthat score for us both, an' if ther's any debt left over to be paid,why I guess I'm ready to pay it." He chuckled. "You know, Nan,woman's a ticklish proposition. Ther's wise highbrows guess theyhanded out all ther' is to say 'bout women-folk, an' I figger some hasused elegant langwidge, an' made pretty talk. But they ain't said itall, an' ain't never likely to ef they was to yarn the whole way fromhere to hell an' back. I'm gettin' older most every day, an' maybe Ioughter git wiser. But ef I was to live till the great round-up Idon't guess I'd ever learn the limits of a woman's self-sacrifice ferthem she takes the notion to mother. An' it don't matter if it's herown folk, or her beau, or her man, or some pestilential kid she'srescued from drownin' in a churn of cream she's jest fixed ready ferbutter makin'. Wot Jeff don't owe you fer haulin' him right back intothe midst of life, why I guess you couldn't find with one of themthings crazy highbrows wastes otherwise valuable lives in lookin' atbugs with."

  Nan laughed, but her denial came swiftly.

  "Jeff doesn't owe me a thing," she declared. "The wasn't a soul elsearound to nurse him. I'd have hated handing him on to you." Then shesighed, but her eyes shone with a light which her father well enoughunderstood. "I--I needed to nurse him. If I hadn't been able to, why,I think I'd have just died. But he don't owe me a thing--not a thing."

  Bud took a great gulp of coffee and set his cup down with a clatter.His deep gurgling laugh was good to hear.

  "That ain't no argyment," he cried, his deep eyes twinkling. "You'vejest said the things I hadn't savvee to put into words right. Woman'sjest a sort of angel come right down from Heaven on a snowflake. Shesure is. Ther' ain't no reason to her. Set her around a sick bed withphysic she ken hand on to the feller lyin' there, an' ther' ain't nolimit to wot she can do. It's a passion. You can't blame her. She'sfixed that way. She'll just nurse that feller in a way that makes himfeel he wants to start right in trundlin' a wooden hoop, or blowin' apainted trumpet, hanging on to her hand, same as he did before he quitactin' foolish on his mother's lap. It kind o' seems to me a mortalwonder women don't set their men-folk actin' queer settin' aside arailroad track guessin' they're advertisements fer a new hair-wash, orsome other fancy dope. I guess women is the greatest proposition everstep out o' the Garden of Eden--someways."

  Nan laughed happily.

  "That's spoiled it, Daddy," she cried. "Why not leave it at the Gardenof Eden?"

  Bud laughingly shook his head.

  "Why for should I?" he retorted. "If they're angels they ain't allhalo an' wings. Anyway, she did step out o' the Garden. An' thoughthe committee ast her to vacate, I allow it was a mighty good thing ferthe human race, or we'd all be eatin' grass still, or some otherperfectly ridiculous cattle feed. No siree! She ain't all halo an'wings, or us men 'ud be settin' around all the time shoutin' hymnsdoleful instead of enjoyin' ourselves lyin' awake at nights figgerin'to beat the other feller's play. Woman's jest woman, an' thediff'rences in her is just what a mighty tough world makes of her.Maybe she's foolish. Maybe she ain't. Anyway, she's got most thingsagin her to make her that way, an' it seems to me a yeller dawg don'thave much the worst of the game. No. I guess woman's jest woman, an'us men needs to git right on our knees and thank Providence that is so."

  Bud reattacked his supper. There had been impatience as well asamiability in his denial. For all his regard for his partner he couldnot allow Nan her absurd self-effacement without protest. None knewbetter than he the extent of his debt to Jeff for ridding the Obar ofthe rustlers. But Jeff, he also knew, owed his life to the devotion,the skill, the love of this girl upon whom he had no claim.

  He remained silent now, lost in thoughts he dared not impart to Nan,and the girl herself had nothing to say. She, too, was thinking. Butthere was no impatience in her thoughts.

  She was thinking of a moment which had occurred down at the pastures.A moment just before her return home to supper. To her it had been amoment of compensation for everything which she had ever suffered, amoment when the whole aspect of her life had been suddenly changed to aradiant vision of happiness.

  She had been standing beside Jeff watching the work of the boys withinthe pastures. Their talk had all been of the business of the day.There had been no other sign between them. The old comradeship aloneseemed to prevail. Then they had turned away, with their talksilenced. They had moved toward their horses which were standing inthe shadow of a small bluff.

  Just as they came up Jeff had paused, and turned, and looked down ather from his superior height. She would never forget that look. Itwas the look she had seen in his eyes when he first gazed on the beautyof the woman he had married. Her heart was set thumping in her bosomas she thought of it now. A deep flush surged to her cheeks, and shekept her head studiously bent over her plate.

  Then had followed a great impulsive abandoning of his usual reserve.It had been so unusual in him, but to Nan so natural. It seemed asthough of a sudden some great barrier between them had been thrustaside by emotions beyond the man's control. He had flung out his handstoward her, and, before she knew what was happening, she felt theirpassionate pressure under the buckskin gauntlets she was wearing. Thenhad come words, rapid, even disjointed; again to her so natural, yetstrange, awkward on the lips of this man.

  "Say, little Nan," he cried, "we've won out. Look at 'em. Thepastures. They're full. Fuller than we ever guessed they'd be afterlast year. Things are running same as we've dreamed. The Obar's goingup--up. And--it's all too late."

  On the warm impulse of the moment she had answered him without a secondthought.

  "Why--why is it too late?"

  Her hands were still held in his passionate grasp. He laughed abitter, mirthless laugh.

  "Why, because--because I've wakened out of a passionate nightmare torealize all I've--lost."

  She had abruptly withdrawn her hands. She remembered the curious chillwhich suddenly seemed to pass through her body. But she answered himsimply, earnestly.

  "You mustn't blame yourself for all you've lost, Jeff," she said."Maybe Evie loved you better than you knew. But she--she, too, was toblame. You must try to forget."

  Then had happened something so startling that even now she could hardlycredit it. Jeff had turned away. His face was toward the hills wherethe setting sun still lit the fastnesses in which lay the fatefulSpruce Crossing. His words came shortly, simply.

  "I wasn'
t thinking of--Evie," he said. "The memory of her, of allthat, has gone--forever."

  Oh, the bewilderment of that moment. Nan remembered the absurdity ofher reply now with something very like panic:

  "Who--what--were you thinking of then?"

  "Who--what?" The man's eyes lit with a deep, passionate yearning."Why, little Nan, the only person who is ever in my thoughts now--you."

  It had come so simply yet so full of scarcely restrained passion.Would she ever forget? Never, never. Her emotions had been beyondwords. She wanted to weep. She wanted to laugh. But more than allshe wanted to flee before he could utter another word. She turned toher horse without a word. In a moment she was in the saddle, and hadturned the creature about to ride off. But Jeff's voice stayed her.

  "Say, little Nan, I----" he broke off. "Oh, I guess I'll eat at thebunkhouse. I haven't time for supper right. I've got to get down tothe branding pinch. Say, Nan," a sudden deep urging had filled hisvoice, and he came to her horse's side and laid a detaining hand uponits reins. "Can I come along up--later? I didn't mean to make youmad. True. I couldn't help it. I---- May I come along--after I getthrough?"

  It had been utterly impossible for her to make articulate reply. Heremotions were too deep, too overwhelming. She had simply nodded herhead. And in that trifling movement she knew she had conveyed a signbeyond all misunderstanding.

  After that the woman had impelled her. She hurriedly rode off, fearingshe knew not what. She knew she fled, incontinently fled. And herfirst act on arrival home had been to rid herself of the almost mannishsuit in which she worked, so that Jeff, when he made his appearance,might find her the woman she really was.

  The voices of the men on the veranda reached Nan within the parlor.She did not want to listen. She told herself so. Besides, she had aperfect right to remain where she was. And, anyway, Bud had no secretsfrom her. So she placed herself beyond the chance of observation, andremained quiet lest she should lose a word of what the voices weresaying.

  Bud was talking. His tone and words rumbled pleasantly upon theevening air. His talk was of the round-up. It was the talk of a manwedded to the life of the western plains. It was the talk of a man whois conscious of success achieved in spite of great difficulties andtrials. There was a deep note of satisfaction in all he said.

  Jeff's voice sounded at intervals. A lighter note. His answers wereprecise, as was his way. But they lacked the enthusiasm of the other.It was as though his thoughts were traveling far afield, while his earssubconsciously conveyed the other's talk to a brain ready to formulateadequate reply.

  Apparently, however, this abstraction impressed itself upon the otherat last, for presently Nan heard her father challenge him in his directfashion.

  "Feelin' beat, eh?"

  Nan pictured the steady gaze of her father's deep-set inquiring eyes ashe put the question.

  "No."

  The reply came without hesitation. It was simple, definite. Again thepicture presented itself to Nan. Jeff, she felt, was gazing out intothe twilight, absorbed in the thoughts which held him. She knew theattitude. She had seen it so often before.

  It was Bud's voice which broke the silence that followed.

  "Guess the work's pretty tough," he said. "You don't need to fergityou bin a mighty sick man. If you do, why, you'll be li'ble to findyourself on Nan's hands again."

  "I couldn't wish for better."

  The reply had come on the instant. It must have warned even Bud thathe had found a key to the man's abstraction.

  "That's so--sure."

  The emphasis was unmistakable. Nan waited almost breathlessly in adelicious condition of apprehension.

  "Wher's Nan?"

  Jeff's demand came sharply.

  "Som'eres around inside."

  "I came up to see her."

  "So?"

  "Yes."

  The lowing of the cattle in the pastures was dying with the deepeningtwilight. The calves seemed to have found their mothers and all wascontentment. Nan glad of the growing shadows. For her, obscurity theonly thing just now.

  Jeff's voice again broke the silence. There was something utterlysimple in the manner of his words.

  "I love Nan, Bud," he said. "I want to tell her so. If she'd marryme, I don't guess there'd be a thing left worth asking for. But Idon't guess she will. Why should she? I'm not worth her. Gee! But Iwant her bad."

  Nan buried her face in her hands. Then she drew back, back, far intothe dusk of the room. But she could not escape the voices.

  Bud's answer came slowly, deliberately. There was a curious note ofemotion in it.

  "You sure aren't. No man is. Ther' ain't a feller on earth worthy mylittle Nan. But it's up to her. Guess she's around inside som'eres."

  There was the sound of swift footsteps on the veranda. Nan drewfurther back into the room. The far wall alone stayed her progress.The door was to her hand, but she made no attempt to avail herself ofit. Oh, those delicious moments of terror. It seemed to her as ifevery joy of life was concentrated in them. Her breath came pantingly.The moments became insupportable.

  Suddenly a figure, tall, slim, filled the open window. Swift as aflash the mind of the girl went back to the long months of nursing whenhe had lain helpless in her hands. He had been hers then in hishelplessness. Now, in his full manhood's strength, he was coming toher again. A choking sensation seized her, a mist grew before her eyes.

  "Nan!"

  The tone of it The softness. The thrilling passion.

  "Yes, Jeff."

  The answer was low, almost inaudible.

  Nor did the man have to search the darkened room. The love which hehad for so long thrust aside was--waiting for him.