Dennison Grant Part 19

"Zen? You don't mean Y.D.'s daughter?"

"If I don't mean Y.D.'s daughter I don't mean anybody, and you can take that from me. You bet it's Zen. Say, Linder, I didn't think I could go silly over a girl, but I'm plumb locoed. I bought the biggest old sparkler in this town and sent it out with Y.D., if he didn't lose it through the lining of his vest--he handled it like it might have been a box of pills--bad pills, Linder--and I've got an architect figuring how much expense he can put on a house--he gets a commission on the cost, you see--and one of these nights I'm going to buy you a dinner that'll keep you fed till Christmas. I never knew before that silliness and happiness go together, but they do. I'm glad I've got a sober old foreman--that's all that keeps the business going."

And after Transley had turned away Linder had scratched his head and said "By thunder.... Linder, when you wake up you'll be dead.... After her practically saying 'The water's fine.'... Well, that's why I'm a foreman, and always will be."

But after a little reflection Linder came to the conclusion that perhaps it was all for the best. He could not have bought Y.D.'s daughter a big sparkler or have built her a fine home--because he was a foreman. It was a round circle.... He threw himself into the building of Transley's house with as much fidelity as if it had been his own. He gave his undivided attention to Transley's interests, making dollars for him while earning cents for himself. This attention was more needed than it ever had been, as Transley found it necessary to make weekly trips to the ranch in the foothills to consult with Y.D. upon business matters.

Zen found her interest in Transley growing as his attentions continued.

He spent money upon her lavishly, to the point at which she protested, for although Y.D. was rated as a millionaire the family life was one of almost stark simplicity. Transley a.s.sured her that he was making money faster than he possibly could spend it, and even if not, money had no n.o.bler mission than to bring her happiness. He explained the blue-prints of the house, and discussed with her details of the appointments. As the building progressed he brought her weekly photographs of it. He urged her to set the date about Christmas; during the winter contracting would be at a standstill, so they would spend three months in California and return in time for the spring business.

Day by day the girl turned the situation over in her mind. Her life had been swept into strange and unexpected channels, and the experience puzzled her. Since the episode with Drazk she had lost some of her native recklessness; she was more disposed to weigh the result of her actions, and she approached the future not without some misgivings. She a.s.sured herself that she looked forward to her marriage with Transley with the proper delight of a bride-to-be, and indeed it was a prospect that could well be contemplated with pleasure.... Transley had won the complete confidence of her father and when doubts a.s.sailed her Zen found in that fact a very considerable comfort. Y.D. was a shrewd man; a man who seldom guessed wrong. Zen did not admit that she was allowing her father to choose a husband for her, but the fact that her father concurred in the choice strengthened her in it. Transley had in him qualities which would win not only wealth, but distinction, and she would share in the laurels. She told herself that it was a delightful outlook; that she was a very happy girl indeed--and wondered why she was not happier!

Particularly she laid it upon herself that she must now, finally, dismiss Dennison Grant from her mind. It was absurd to suppose that she cared more for Grant than she did for Transley. The two men were so different; it was impossible to make comparisons. They occupied quite different spheres in her regard. To be sure, Grant was a very likeable man, but he was not eligible as a husband, and she could not marry two, in any case. Zen entertained no girlish delusions about there being only one man in the world. On the contrary, she was convinced that there were very many men in the world, and, among the better types, there was, perhaps, not so much to choose between them. Grant would undoubtedly be a good husband within his means; so would Transley, and his means were greater. The blue-prints of the new house in town had not been without their effect. It was a different prospect from being a foreman's wife on a ranch. Her father would never hear of it....

So she busied herself with preparations for the great event, and what preparations they were! "Zen," her father had said, "for once the lid is off. Go the limit!" She took him at his word. There were many trips to town, and activities about the old ranch buildings such as they had never known since Jessie Wilson came to finish Y.D.'s up-bringing, nor even then. The good word spread throughout the foothill country and down over the prairies, and many a lazy cloud of dust lay along the November hillsides as the women folk of neighboring ranches came to pay their respects and gratify their curiosity. Zen had treasures to show which sent them home with new standards of extravagance.

Y.D. had not thought he could become so worked up over a simple matter like a wedding. Time had dulled the edge of memory, but even after making allowances he could not recall that his marriage to Jessie Wilson had been such an event in his life as this. It did not at least reflect so much glory upon him personally. He basked in the reflected glow of his daughter's beauty and popularity, as happily as the big cat lying on the sunny side of the bunk-house. He found all sorts of excuses for invading where his presence was little wanted while Zen's finery was being displayed for admiration. Y.D. always pretended that such invasions were quite accidental, and affected a fine indifference to all this "women's fuss an' feathers," but his affectations deceived at least none of the older visitors.

As the great day approached Y.D.'s wife shot a bomb-sh.e.l.l at him. "What do you propose to wear for Zen's wedding?" she demanded.

"What's the matter with the suit I go to town in?"

"Y.D.," said his wife, kindly, "there are certain little touches which you overlook. Your town suit is all right for selling steers, although I won't say that it hasn't outlived its prime even for that. To attend Zen's wedding it is--hardly the thing."

"It's been a good suit," he protested. "It is--"

"It HAS. It is also a venerable suit. But really, Y.D., it will not do for this occasion. You must get yourself a new suit, and a white shirt--"

"What do I want with a white shirt--"

"It has to be," his wife insisted. "You'll have to deck yourself out in a new suit and a while shirt and collar."

Y.D. stamped around the room, and in a moment slipped out. "All fool nonsense," he confided to himself, on his way to the bunk-house. "It's all right for Zen to have good clothes--didn't I tell her to go the limit?--but as for me, 'tain't me that's gettin' married, is it?

Standin' up before all them cow punchers in a white shirt!" The bitterness of such disgrace cut the old rancher no less keenly than the physical discomfort which he forecast for himself, yet he put his own desires sufficiently to one side to buy a suit of clothes, and a white shirt and collar, when he was next in town.

It must not be supposed that Y.D. admitted to the salesman that he personally was descending to any such garb.

"A suit for a fellow about my size," he explained. "He's visitin' out at the ranch, an' he hefts about the same as me. Put in one of them Hereford shirts an' a collar."

Y.D. tucked the package surrept.i.tiously in his room and awaited the day of Zen's marriage with mingled emotions.

Zen, yielding to Transley's importunities, had at last said that it should be Christmas Day. The wedding would be in the house, with the leading ranchers and farmers of the district as invited guests, and the general understanding was to be given out that the countryside as a whole would be welcome. All could not be taken care of in the house, so Y.D. gave orders that the hay was to be cleared out of one of the barns and the floor put in shape for dancing. Open house would be held in the barn and in the bunk-house, where substantial refreshments would be served to all and sundry.

Christmas Day dawned with a seasonable nip to the air, but the sun rose warm and bright. There was no snow, and by early afternoon clouds of dust were rising on every trail leading to the Y.D. The old ranchers and their wives drove in buckboards, and one or two in automobiles; the younger generation, of both s.e.xes, came on horseback, with many an exciting impromptu race by the way. Y.D. received them all in the yard, commenting on the horses and the weather, and how the steers were wintering, and revealing, at the proper moments, the location of a well-filled stone jug. The faithful Linder was on hand to a.s.sist in caring for the horses and maintaining organization about the yard. The women were ushered into the house, but the men sat about the bunk-house or leaned against the sunny side of the barn, sharpening their wits in conversational sallies which occasionally brought loud guffaws of merriment.

In the house every arrangement had been completed. Zen was to come down the stairs leaning on her father's arm, and the ceremony would take place in the big central room, lavishly decorated with flowers which Transley had sent from town in a heated automobile. After the ceremony the princ.i.p.als and the older people would eat the wedding dinner in the house, and all others would be served in the bunk-house. One of the downstairs rooms was already filled with presents.

As the hour approached Zen found herself possessed of a calmness which she deemed worthy of Y.D.'s daughter. She had elected to be unattended as she had no very special girl friend, and that seemed the simplest way out of the problem of selecting someone for this honor. She was, however, amply a.s.sisted with her dressing, and the color of her fine cheeks burned deeper with the compliments to which she listened with modest appreciation.

At a quarter to the hour it was discovered that Y.D. had not yet dressed for the occasion. He was, in fact, engaged with Landson in making a tentative arrangement for the distribution of next year's hay. Zen had been so insistent upon an invitation being sent to Mr. and Mrs. Landson, that Y.D., although fearing a snub for his pains, at last conceded the point. He had done his neighbor rather less than justice, and now he and Landson, with the a.s.sistance of the jug already referred to, were burying the hatchet in a corner of the bunk-house.

"Dang this dressin'," Y.D. remonstrated when a message demanding instant action reached him. "Landson, hear me now! I wouldn't take a million dollars for that girl, y' understand--and I wouldn't trade a mangy cayuse for another!"

So, grumbling, he found his way to his room and began a wrestle with his "store" clothes. Before the fight was over he was being reminded through the door that he wasn't roping a steer, and everybody was waiting. At the last moment he discovered that he had neglected to buy shoes. There was nothing for it but his long ranch boots, so on they went.

He sought Zen in her room. "Will I do in this?" he asked, feeling very sheepish.

Zen could have laughed, or she could have cried, but she did neither.

She sensed in some way the fact that to her father this experience was a positive ordeal. So she just slipped her arm through his and whispered, "Of course you'll do, you silly old duffer," and tripped down the stairs by the side of his ponderous steps.

After the ceremony the elder people sat down to dinner in the house, and the others in the bunk-house. Zen was radiant and calm; Transley handsome, delighted, self-possessed. His good luck was the subject of many a comment, both inside and out of the old house. He accepted it at its full value, and yet as one who has a right to expect that luck will play him some favors.

Suddenly there was a rush from outside, and Zen found herself being carried bodily away. The young people had decided that the dancing could wait no longer, so a half dozen hustlers had been deputed to kidnap the bride and carry her to the barn, where the fiddles were already strumming. Zen insisted that the first dance must belong to Transley, but after that she danced with the young ranchers and cowboys with strict impartiality. And even as she danced she found herself wondering if, among all this representation of the countryside, that one upon whom her thoughts had turned so much should be missing. She found herself watching the door. Surely it would have been only a decent respect to her--surely he might have helped to whirl her joyously away into the new life in which the past had to be forgotten.... How much better that they should part that way, than with the memories they had!

But Dennison Grant did not appear. Evidently he preferred to keep his memories....

When at last the night had worn thin and it was time for the bridal couple to leave if they were to catch the morning train in town, and they had ridden down the foothill trails to the thunder of many accompanying hoof-beats, the old ranch became suddenly a place very quiet and still and alone. Y.D. sat down in the corner of the big room by the fire, and saw strange pictures in its dying embers. Zen....

Zen!... Transley was a good fellow, but how much a man will take with scarce a thank-you!... Presently Y.D. became aware of a hand resting upon his shoulder, and tingling from its fingertips came something akin to the almost forgotten rapture of a day long gone. He raised his great palm and took that slowly ageing hand, once round and fresh like Zen's, in his. Together they watched the fire die out in the silence of their empty house....

CHAPTER XI

Grant read the account of her wedding in the city papers a day or two later. It was given the place of prominence among the Christmas Day nuptials. He read it through twice and then tossed the paper to the end of his little office. Grant was housed in a building by himself; a shack twelve by sixteen feet, double boarded and tar-papered. A single square window in the eastern wall commanded a view of the Landson corrals.

On the opposite side of the room was his bed; in the centre a huge wood-burning stove; near the window stood a table littered with daily papers and agricultural journals. The floor was of bare boards; a leather trunk, with D. G. in aggressive letters, sat by the head of his bed, and in the corner near the foot was a washstand with basin and pitcher of graniteware. In another corner was a short shelf of well-selected books; clothing hung from nails driven into the two-by-fours which formed the framework of the little building; a rifle was suspended over the door, and lariat and saddle hung from spikes in the wall. Grant sat in an arm chair by the stove, where the bracket lamp on the wall could shed its yellow glare upon his paper.

After throwing the sheet across the room he half turned in his chair, so that the yellow light fell across his face. Fidget, the pup, always alert for action, was on her feet in a moment, eager to lead the way to the door and whatever adventure might lie outside. But Grant did not leave his chair, and, finding all her tail-waving of no avail, she presently settled down again by the stove, her chin on her outstretched paws, her drooping eyes half closed, but a wakeful ear flopping occasionally forward and back. Grant snuggled his foot against her friendly side and fell into reverie....

There was nothing else for it; he must absolutely dismiss Zen--Zen Transley--from his mind. That was not only the course of honor; it was the course of common sense. After all, he had not sought her for his bride. He had not pressed his suit. He had given her to Transley. The thought was rather a pleasant one. It implied some sort of voluntary action upon Grant's part. He had been magnanimous. Nevertheless, he was cave man enough to know pangs of jealousy which his magnanimity could not suppress.

"If things had been different," he remarked to himself; "if I had been in a position to offer her decent conditions, I would have followed up the lead. And I would have won." He turned the incident on the river bank over in his mind, and a faint smile played along his lips. "I would have won. But I couldn't bring her here.... It's the first time I ever felt that money could really contribute to happiness. Well--I was happy before I met her; I can be happy still. This little episode...."

He crossed the room and picked up the newspaper he had thrown away; he crumpled it in his hand as he approached the stove. It said the bride was beautiful--the happy couple--the groom, prosperous young contractor--California--three months.... He turned to the table, smoothed out the paper, and studied it again. Of course he had heard the whole thing from the Landsons; they had done Y.D. and his daughter justice. He clipped the article carefully from the sheet and folded it away in a little book on the shelf.

Then he told himself that Zen had been swept from his mind; that if ever they should meet--and he dallied a moment with that possibility--they would shake hands and say some decent, insipid things and part as people who had never met before. Only they would know....

Grant occupied himself with the work of the ranch that winter, spring, and summer. Occasional news of Mrs. Transley filtered through; she was too prominent a character in that countryside to be lost track of in a season. But anything which reached Grant came through accidental channels; he sought no information of her, and turned a deaf ear, almost, to what he heard. Then in the fall came an incident which immediately changed the course of his career.

It came in the form of an important-looking letter with an eastern postmark. It had been delivered with other mail at the house, and Landson himself brought it down. Grant read it and at first stared at it somewhat blankly, as one not taking in its full portent.

"Not bad news, I hope?" said his employer, cloaking his curiosity in commiseration.

"Rather," Grant admitted, and handed him the letter. Landson read:

"It is our duty to place before you information which must be of a very distressing nature, and which at the same time will have the effect of greatly increasing your responsibilities and opportunities. Unless you have happened to see the brief despatches which have appeared in the Press this letter will doubtless be the first intimation to you that your father and younger brother Roy were the victims of a most regrettable accident while motoring on a brief holiday in the South. The automobile in which they were travelling was struck by a fast train, and both of them received injuries from which they succ.u.mbed almost immediately.