The Cattle-Baron's Daughter Part 48

"Pshaw!" said Breckenridge. "Let it burn. I mean, what can be done for Larry?"

"We might give him some whiskey--only we haven't any. Still, I've seen this kind of thing happen in the Michigan lumber-camps, and I guess he's most as well without it. You want to give a man's brains time to settle down after they've had a big shake-up."

Breckenridge sat down limply on the foot of the bed, faint and dizzy, and wondering if he really heard a regular, rhythmic drumming through the snapping of the flame. It grew louder while he listened, and a faint musical jingling became audible with it.

"That sounds like cavalry," the cook said. "They have been riding round and seen the blaze."

And a few minutes later a voice rose sharply outside, and some, at least, of the riders pulled up. The cook, at a sign from Breckenridge, went down, and came back by and by with a man in bespattered blue uniform.

"Captain Cheyne, United States cavalry--at your service," he said. "I am afraid I have come a trifle late to be of much use; but a few of my men are trying to pick up the rustlers' trail. Now, how did that man get hurt, and what is the trouble about?"

Breckenridge told him as concisely as he could, and Cheynes bent over the silent figure on the bed.

"Quietness is often good in these cases; but there is such a thing as collapse following the shock, and I guess by your friend's face it might be well to try to rouse him," he said. "Have you any brandy?"

"No," said Breckenridge. "It has been quite a time since we had that or any other luxuries in this house. Its owner stripped himself for the benefit of the men who did their best to kill him."

Cheyne brought out a flask. "This should do as well," he said. "You can tell that man to boil some water, and in the meanwhile help me to get the flask top into your partner's mouth."

It was done with some difficulty, and Breckenridge waited anxiously until a quiver ran through the motionless body. Then Cheyne repeated the dose, and Larry gasped and slowly opened his eyes. He said something the others could not catch, and closed them again; but Breckenridge fancied a little warmth crept into his pallid skin.

"I guess that will do," said Cheyne. "In one or two of my stations we had to be our own field hospital; but I don't know enough of surgery to take the responsibility of stirring up his circulation any further. Still, when you can get them ready, we will have hot bottles at his feet."

"My boys have got the fire under," Cheyne said, coming in an hour later.

"Now, I have been in the saddle most of the day, and while your cook has promised to billet the boys, I'll have to ask you for shelter. If you told me a little about what led up to this trouble, it might pa.s.s the time."

"I don't see why I should," Breckenridge informed him.

"It could not hurt you, any way," suggested Cheyne, "and it might do you good."

Breckenridge looked at him steadily, and felt a curious confidence in the discretion of the quiet, bronze-faced man. As the result of it, he told him a good deal more than he had meant to do when he commenced the story.

"I think you have done right," Cheyne said. "A little rough on him! I had already figured he was that kind of a man. Well, I hear the rest of the boys coming back, and I'll send up a sergeant who knows a good deal about these accidents to look after him."

The sergeant came up by and by and kept watch with Breckenridge for a while; but, after an hour or so Breckenridge's head grew very heavy, and the sergeant, taking his arm, silenced his protests by nipping it and quietly put him out of the room. When he awoke next morning he found that Grant was capable at least of speech, for Cheyne was asking him questions, and receiving very unsatisfactory answers.

"In fact," said the cavalry officer, "you don't feel disposed to tell me who the men that tried to burn your place were, or anything about them?"

"No," Larry said feebly. "It would be pleasanter if you concluded I was not quite fit to talk just now."

Cheyne glanced at Breckenridge, who was watching him anxiously. "In that case I could not think of worrying you, and have no doubt I can find out.

In the meanwhile I guess the best thing you can do is to go to sleep again."

He drew Breckenridge out of the room, and shook hands with him. "If you are wanted I'll send for you," he said. "Keep your comrade quiet, and I should be astonished if he is not about again in a day or two."

Then, he went down the stairway and swung himself into the saddle, and with a rattle and jingle he and the men behind him rode away.

XXVII

CLAVERING'S LAST CARD

There was an impressive silence in Hetty's little drawing-room at Cedar Range when Cheyne, who had ridden there the day after he left Fremont, told his story. He had expected attention, but the effect his narrative produced astonished him. Hetty had softly pushed her chair back into the shadow where the light of the shaded lamp did not fall upon her, but her stillness was significant. He could, however, see Miss Schuyler, and wondered what accounted for the impa.s.siveness of her face, now the colour that had flushed her cheek had faded. The silence was becoming embarra.s.sing when Miss Schuyler broke it.

"Mr. Grant is recovering?" she asked.

"Yes," said Cheyne. "He was coming round when I left him. The blow might have been a dangerous one; but I had a suspicion he had more than that to contend with."

"Yes?" said Hetty, a little breathlessly.

"Of course, his affairs were not my business," Cheyne went on, "but it seemed to me the man had been living under a heavy strain; and though we were strangers, I could not help feeling a sympathy that almost amounted to a liking for him. He must have found it trying when the men he had done his best for came round to burn his place; but I understand he went out to speak to them with empty hands when they struck him down."

"What made them attack him?" asked Miss Schuyler.

"I'm not quite sure, but I have an idea they were displeased because he did not countenance their attempt to wreck the cattle-train. Then, I believe he held some dollars in trust for them, and, as they presumably wanted them for some fresh outrage, would not give them up. Mr. Grant is evidently a man with a sense of responsibility."

Hetty looked up suddenly. "Yes," she said. "He would have let them tear him to pieces before he gave them one."

Cheyne noticed the faint ring in her voice, and fancied it would have been plainer had she not laid a restraint upon herself. A vague suspicion he had brushed away once more crept into his mind.

"Well," he said, slowly, watching Hetty the while, "I fancy the efforts he made to save your friends' stock will cost him a good deal. The point is that a man of his abilities must have recognized it at the time."

Hetty met his glance, and Cheyne saw the little glow in her eyes. "Do you think that would have counted for anything with such a man?"

Cheyne made a little gesture of negation that in a curious fashion became him. "No. That is, I do not believe he would have let it influence him."

"That," said Miss Schuyler, "is a very comprehensive admission."

Cheyne smiled. "I don't know that I could desire a higher tribute paid to me. Might one compliment you both on your evident desire to be fair to your enemies?"

He saw the faint flush in Hetty's face, and was waiting with a curious expectancy for her answer, when Torrance came in. He appeared grimly pleased at something as he signed to Cheyne.

"His friends have burned the rascal out," he said. "Well, I don't know that we could have hoped for anything better; but I want to hear what you can tell me about it. You will have to spare me Captain Cheyne for a little, Hetty."

Cheyne rose and went away with him, while, when the door closed behind them, Hetty--who had seen the vindictive satisfaction in her father's face--turned to her companion with a flash of imperious anger in her eyes.

"Flo," she said, "how can he? It's wicked of him."

Miss Schuyler checked her with a gesture. "Any way, he is your father."

Hetty flushed, but the colour faded and left her face white again. "Well,"

she said, "Clavering isn't, and it is he who has made him so bitter against Larry. Flo, it's horrible. They would have been glad if the boys had killed him, and when he's ill and wounded they will not let me go to him."

Her voice broke and trembled, and Flora Schuyler laid a hand restrainingly upon her arm. "Of course. But why should you, Hetty?"

Hetty, who shook off her grasp, rose and stood quivering a little, but very straight, looking down on her with pride, and a curious hardness in her eyes.