William MacLeod Raine - The Best Western Novels of William MacLeod Raine

There were many stormy scenes between the general and his grandson, but the boy continued to go from bad to worse. After a peculiarly flagrant case, involving the character of a respectable young girl, young Ned Bannister was forbidden his ancestral home. It had been by means of his cousin that this last iniquity of his had been unearthed, and the boy had taken it to his grandfather in hot indignation as the last hope of protecting the reputation of the injured girl. From that hour the evil hatred of his cousin, always dormant in the heart, flamed into active heat. The disowned youth swore to be revenged. A short time later the general died, leaving what little property he had entirely to the one grandson. This stirred again the bitter rage of the other. He set fire to the house that had been willed his cousin, and took a train that night for Wyoming. By a strange irony of fate they met again in the West years later, and the enmity between them was renewed, growing every month more bitter on the part of the one who called himself the King of the Bighorn Country.

She broke the silence after his story with a gentle “Thank you. I can understand why you don't like to tell the story.”

“I am very glad of the chance to tell it to you,” he answered.

“When you were delirious you sometimes begged some one you called Ned not to break his mother's heart. I thought then you might be speaking to yourself as ill people do. Of course I see now it was your cousin that was on your mind.”

“When I was out of my head I must have talked a lot of nonsense,” he suggested, in the voice of a question. “I expect I had opinions I wouldn't have been scattering around so free if I'd known what I was saying.”

He was hardly prepared for the tide of color that swept her cheeks at his words nor for the momentary confusion that shuttered the shy eyes with long lashes cast down.

“Sick folks do talk foolishness, they say,” he added, his gaze trained on her suspiciously.

“Do they?”

“Mrs. Winslow says I did. But when I asked her what it was I said she only laughed and told me to ask y'u. Well, I'm askin' now.”

She became very busy over the teapot. “You talked about the work at your ranch—sheep dipping and such things.”

“Was that all?”

“No, about lots of other things—football and your early life. I don't see what Mrs. Winslow meant. Will you have some more tea?”

“No, thank y'u. I have finished. Yes, that ce'tainly seems harmless. I didn't know but I had been telling secrets.” Still his unwavering eyes rested quietly on her.

“Secrets?” She summoned her aplomb to let a question rest lightly in the face she turned toward him, though she was afraid she met his eyes hardly long enough for complete innocence “Why, yes, secrets.” He measured looks with her deliberately before he changed the subject, and he knew again the delightful excitement of victory. “Are y'u going to read to me this evening?”

She took his opening so eagerly that he smiled, at which her color mounted again.

“If y'u like. What shall I read?”

“Some more of Barrie's books, if y'u don't mind. When a fellow is weak as a kitten he sorter takes to things that are about kids.”

Nora came in and cleared away the supper things. She was just beginning to wash them when McWilliams and Denver dropped into the kitchen by different doors. Each seemed surprised and disappointed at the presence of the other. Nora gave each of them a smile and a dishcloth.

“Reddy, he's shavin' and Frisco's struggling with a biled shirt—I mean with a necktie,” Denver hastily amended. “They'll be along right soon, I shouldn't wonder.”

“Y'u better go tell the boys Miss Nora don't want her kitchen littered up with so many of them,” suggested his rival.

“Y'u're foreman here. I don't aim to butt into your business, Mac,” grinned back the other, polishing a tea plate with the towel.

“I want to get some table linen over to Lee Ming to-night,” said Nora, presently.

“Denver, he'll be glad to take it for y'u, Miss Nora. He's real obliging,” offered Mac, generously.

“I've been in the house all day, so I need a walk. I thought perhaps one of you gentlemen—” Miss Nora looked from one to the other of them with deep innocence.

“Sure, I'll go along and carry it. Just as Mac says, I'll be real pleased to go,” said Denver, hastily.

Mac felt he had been a trifle precipitate in his assumption that Nora did not intend to go herself. Lee Ming had established a laundry some half mile from the ranch, and the way thereto lay through most picturesque shadow and moonlight. The foreman had conscientious scruples against letting Denver escort her down such a veritable lovers' lane of romantic scenery.

“I don't know as y'u ought to go out in the night air with that cold, Denver. I'd hate a heap to have y'u catch pneumony. It don't seem to me I'd be justified in allowin' y'u to,” said the foreman, anxiously.

“You're THAT thoughtful, Mac. But I expect mebbe a little saunter with Miss Nora will do my throat good. We'll walk real slow, so's not to wear out my strength.”

“Big, husky fellows like y'u are awful likely to drop off with pneumony. I been thinkin' I got some awful good medicine that would be the right stuff for y'u. It's in the drawer of my wash-stand. Help yourself liberal and it will surely do y'u good. Y'u'll find it in a bottle.”

“I'll bet it's good medicine, Mac. After we get home I'll drop around. In the washstand, y'u said?”

“I hate to have y'u take such a risk,” Mac tried again. “There ain't a bit of use in y'u exposing yourself so careless. Y'u take a hot footbath and some of that medicine, Denver, then go right straight to bed, and in the mo'ning y'u'll be good as new. Honest, y'u won't know yourself.”

“Y'u got the best heart, Mac.” Nora giggled.

“Since I'm foreman I got to be a mother to y'u boys, ain't I?”

“Y'u're liable to be a grandmother to us if y'u keep on,” came back the young giant.

“Y'u plumb discourage me, Denver,” sighed the foreman.

“No, sir! The way I look at it, a fellow's got to take some risk. Now, y'u cayn't tell some things. I figure I ain't half so likely to catch pneumony as y'u would be to get heart trouble if y'u went walking with Miss Nora,” returned Denver.

A perfect gravity sat on both their faces during the progress of most of their repartee.

“If your throat's so bad, Mr. Halliday, I'll put a kerosene rag round it for you when we get back,” Nora said, with a sweet little glance of sympathy that the foreman did not enjoy.

Denver, otherwise “Mr. Halliday,” beamed. “Y'u're real kind, ma'am. I'll bet that will help it on the outside much as Mac's medicine will inside.”

“What'll y'u do for my heart, ma'am, if it gits bad the way Denver figures it will?”

“Y'u might try a mustard plaster,” she gurgled, with laughter.

For once the debonair foreman's ready tongue had brought him to defeat. He was about to retire from the field temporarily when Nora herself offered first aid to the wounded.

“We would like to have you come along with us, Mr. McWilliams. I want you to come if you can spare the time.”

The soft eyes telegraphed an invitation with such a subtle suggestion of a private understanding that Mac was instantly encouraged to accept.

He knew, of course, that she was playing them against each other and sitting back to enjoy the result, but he was possessed of the hope common to youths in his case that he really was on a better footing with her than the other boys. This opinion, it may be added, was shared by Denver, Frisco and even Reddy as regards themselves. Which is merely another way of putting the regrettable fact that this very charming young woman was given to coquetting with the hearts of her admirers.