Ernest Haycox - Ernest Haycox - Ultimate Collection - Western Classics & Historical Novels

Awakened, Jill debated on self-imposed confinement. But that passed, for she was not the kind to sulk. Hers was the temperament that took the fight to the enemy; in this case she considered it the better part of valor to break bread with the Englishman and talk him out of his ideas. So she rose, washed some of the dust from her face and stepped forth to meet him. He had recovered his perfect urbanity and led her into the dining- room, seating her with a studious politeness. Jill looked about her with considerable interest.

The man lived high and took pains to bring as much of England into the desert as he could. He had fashioned the dining-room, which was the living-room as well, after the fashion of a manorial hall, its ceiling extending a story and a half up. Trophies studded the four walls and bear rugs quite entirely covered the floor. There was a great fireplace, surmounted by a mantel filled with pipes, tobacco and a litter of purely masculine bric-a-brac. A long gun rack stood to one side, the row of oiled weapons glistening dully in the lamp light And somewhere he had picked up some magnificent oil paintings of the West—a Remington's scene of a bighorn on the high ledges; a thorough-brace stage coach tilting perilously down a mountain road done as Russell alone knew how to do.

He enjoyed her unspoken compliment and said so. "You see, I surround myself with as many comforts as I can. Really, the old Westerners are grand fighters, but they don't understand the gentle art of living. It takes a gentleman of the old country to show them."

Jill shrugged her shoulders in dissent. A Chinaman came silently in and they ate through four sedate courses, conversing in desultory phrases. The Englishman proceeded quite as if he were entertaining an honored guest and Jill, for all her distrust of the man, conceded that he was a far more polished specimen than she had ever before known. He made a ritual of supper and, when they had finished, drew her to the glowing blaze. The Chinaman came in with coffee; over the cups Stubbins smiled expansively and touched on dangerous territory.

"Jill, it has been unfortunate that your father and I never struck it off. A fine gentleman. One I was sincerely sorry to see go."

The girl stared at him somberly. It was a direct lie—she saw as much in his eyes. Stubbins spread his hands outward in a symbol of frankness. "All this warfare has been exaggerated. True, we fought sometimes, but usually it was our crews that collided and caused the rumpus. What I'm getting around to, is that you must not harbor ill will toward me on account of a fancied feud. I—most assuredly do I say so—am your friend."

"What are you getting to?" demanded Jill, using her father's bluntness.

Stubbins shut his mouth suddenly and breathed through his nose. "Ah, you disbelieve. My dear girl, you must understand that this world is a dreadful place. Men fight each other over nothing at all, bear tales that are untrue and so go on weaving a web of animosity. It's this I wish to break down, betwixt you and me. We must stick together."

"By all means," said Jill. "Even if you must lock me in my bedroom."

"Only because I was afraid you would run away before I had a chance of putting the situation before you in its proper light. Now, look; here you are entirely alone and very much in trouble. What are you going to do about it?"

"I am going to scratch your eyes out, Mr. Stubbins," said she, quite earnestly. "Once I get the chance."

He pondered over this, not quite knowing whether she meant it literally or figuratively. The girl made herself clear.

"Don't take me for a baby. Trono is quite crooked—and you are behind him. You mean to make life so miserable for me that I'll be glad to give you the JIB."

"Who told you that?" he asked, drawing the question through his nose.

"It's to be seen."

He put his cup down, growing slightly red around the gills. "That newcomer filled you with that yarn. You sh'd have known better than to've trusted him."

"How is it you know so much about him in so short a time?" she countered. "Evidently someone has been keeping you informed."

The Englishman studied her at some length and at last came to a decision. "Well, if you want the cards on the table, I'll not deny I've been interested. But I'm a little better than you give me credit for being. Truth is, I have long cherished a notion."

"Yes?"

For so stolid a temper, he displayed unusual signs of nervousness. Rising, he kicked back the log of the fire, aligned the pipes on the mantle, and jammed one hand in his coat pocket. "Jill, you can't go on alone. Who ever heard of a woman running a cattle ranch? Now, look; I'm a substantial man. I own a great deal of land and stock and I can command a fair size of money. I'm not so old and, bless me, I do know how to enjoy life. But it is plagued lonesome batching in this house. Here—I'm getting into deep water! Will you throw in with me, Jill?"

"Marry you?"

"Well, it's a pleasant idea."

He was not expecting the torrent of laughter that followed. Indignant refusal he could understand, but laughter! Ridicule! The rosy color stained his long, horsey jaws from temple to cleft and he stood very quiet, waiting for her to stop. "What would you be marrying me for?" she asked, catching her breath.

"Why, devil! What does a man marry for? Companionship."

"And land and cattle." she added ironically.

"You are refusing me?"

"Of course. Do you think you are so profound that you can't be seen through? Now, let's talk sense. When are you going to stop this piracy and let me go? You will find you're keeping a white elephant. Sooner or later there will be trouble for you."

"I had thought you owned a little solid wisdom," he muttered. "I see you are but a giddy thing. I'll teach you better. Ay, I will."

She rose. "I give you warning you will learn more than you teach, Mr. Stubbins."

Stubbins watched her vanish toward her bedroom, his hands locked behind his broad back. He was scowling heavily in the heavy outraged manner of a man who had found his charitable intentions trampled under. Like many another of his kind he lacked humor; not the small incidental humor that causes a man to laugh at incongruous things, but the deep, rich vein of amusement rising out of self-knowledge. He was, in truth, a grave ass who thought he was doing Jill Breck a great turn. Naturally, he expected to profit from it. The fact of the matter was he did care somewhat for the girl, but this curious affection had been nourished almost wholly on the assumption that in marrying her he would be master of Pilgrim Valley.

Deprived of this manner of acquiring territory he became distinctly dangerous. Cautious, disposed to use a soft word where it would do the work of a hard one, he nevertheless always pushed toward the main object, never allowing himself to be shunted aside. He had feared Breck as he had feared no other living man; that alone kept him humble. But Breck was gone and, like Trono, he felt a weight removed. From now on he would be less cautious.

So he stood before the fireplace, pipe clenched in his teeth, studying his problem. Possession of Jill was no simple matter; he knew he had most of the county officials beneath his thumb and he likewise knew that with the 3Cross crew and the JIB crew—the latter chosen by him through Trono—he could stand off a good sized posse. Even so, it was a dangerous situation. Once a sentiment thoroughly took hold of the country it swept men along at a tremendous rate. If Jill's captivity should become general knowledge it would do nothing but harm to him.

"Trono," he muttered, "was a cursed fool for making this move. He should have taken the girl back to the JIB and held her there. Then nobody could say she was being kidnapped—on her own ranch."