The Cattle-Baron's Daughter Part 56

"I am going to answer you plainly, and I think an examination of Hetty's cheque-book and the money she left behind will bear me out," she said.

"Once only did Hetty give Mr. Grant any dollars--fifty of them, I think, to feed some hungry children. He would not take them until she a.s.sured him that they were a part of a small annuity left her by her mother, and that not one of them came from you. I also know that Mr. Grant allowed his friends to suspect him of being bribed by you sooner than tell them where he obtained the dollars in question. The adventurer dealt most honourably with you. Your daughter twice disclosed your plans, once when Clavering had plotted Grant's arrest, and again when had she not done so it would most a.s.suredly have led to the destruction of the cattle-train. Mr.

Clavering came near making a horrible blunder on that occasion, and but for Hetty's warning not a head of your stock would have reached Omaha."

Her tone carried conviction with it, as did the flash in her eyes, but Torrance's smile was sardonic. "You would try to persuade me Larry saved the train out of goodwill to us?"

"He did it, knowing what it was going to cost him, to prevent the men he led starting on a course of outrage and lawlessness."

"And they have paid him for it!"

"I fancy that is outside the question," said Miss Schuyler. "Twice, when every good impulse that is in our kind laid her under compulsion, Hetty warned the man she loved, but at no other time did a word to your prejudice pa.s.s her lips; and if she had spoken it Grant would not have listened. Hetty was loyal, and he treated you with a fairness that none of you merited. You sent the Sheriff a bribe and an order for his arrest, and by inadvertence it fell into his hands. He brought it back here unopened at his peril."

Torrance looked at her in astonishment. "He brought back my letter to the Sheriff?"

"Yes. There was nothing else a man of that kind could have done."

Torrance stood silent for a s.p.a.ce, and then, stooping, picked up a half-burnt paper from the hearth, glanced at it with a curious expression, and flung it into the embers. When it had charred away he turned to Miss Schuyler.

"You have shown yourself a good friend," he said gravely. "Still, you may understand the other side of the question if you listen to me."

He turned and pointed to an empty tin case, and the charred papers in the hearth. "That is the end of the plans of half a lifetime--and they were all for Hetty. I had no one else after her mother was taken from me, and I sc.r.a.ped the dollars together for her, that she should have what her heart could wish for, and the enjoyments her parents had never known; and while I did so I and the others built up the prosperity of the cattle country.

We fed the railroads and built the towns, and when we would have rested, Larry and his friends took hold. You see what they have made of it--a great industry ruined, the country under martial law, its commerce crippled, and the proclamation that can only mean disaster to us hung out everywhere. My daughter turned against me--and nothing left me but to go out, a wanderer! Larry has done his work thoroughly, and you would have me make friends with him?"

Miss Schuyler made a little sympathetic gesture, for he seemed very jaded and weary. "No," she said. "One could not expect too much, but Hetty is your daughter, the only one you have, and for her mother's sake you will at least do nothing that would embitter her life."

Torrance looked at her with a curious smile. "There is nothing I could do.

Larry and the rabble are our masters now; but I will see her once before I go away. Is there any other thing--that would be a little easier--I could do to please you?"

"Yes. You could release Mr. Breckenridge."

Torrance turned and struck a bell. "I had almost forgotten him. Will you wait and see me do what you have asked me?"

In a few minutes more Breckenridge was ushered in. He smiled at Miss Schuyler, and made Torrance a slight, dignified salutation. Torrance acknowledged it courteously.

"You have yourself to blame for any inconvenience you have been put to, Mr. Breckenridge," he said. "You conspired to a.s.sist your partner in an undertaking you could not expect me to forgive."

"No," said Breckenridge. "I offered to ride with Larry, and he would not have me. I went without him knowing it and made my plans myself?"

"This is the truth?"

Breckenridge straightened himself and looked at Torrance with a little flash in his eye. "You must take my word--I shall not substantiate it. If you had had an army corps of cut-throats ready to do what you told them that night, Larry would have gone alone."

Torrance nodded gravely. "It is taken. At least, you bluffed us into following you."

"Yes," and Breckenridge smiled, "I did. I also prevented my companion shooting one of your friends, as he seemed quite anxious to do. I don't wish to hurt your feelings, sir, but I have not the least regret for anything I did that night."

"Then, you are still very bitter against me?"

Breckenridge considered. "No, sir. The one man I am bitter against is Clavering. Now, it may sound presumptuous, and not come very well from me, but I believe that Clavering, for his own purposes, forced your hand, and I had a certain respect for you, if only because of your thoroughness. You see, one can't help realizing that you can look at every question quite differently."

Torrance smiled drily. "Then if you are not too proud to be my guest to-night, I should be glad of your company and will find you a horse to take you back to Fremont when it suits you."

Breckenridge, for some reason that was not very apparent, seemed pleased to agree, but a faint smile just showed in Torrance's eyes when he went out again. Then, he turned to Miss Schuyler.

"I wonder what Mr. Clavering has done to win everybody's dislike," he said. "You do not seem anxious to plead for him."

Flora Schuyler's face grew almost vindictive. "No," she said, "I don't. I can, however, mention one thing I find it difficult to forgive him. When you promised him Hetty he had found favour with her maid, and made the most of the fact. It was not flattering to your daughter or my friend. He may not have told you that he promised to marry her."

Torrance stared at her a moment, a dark flush rising to his forehead. "You are quite sure?"

"Ask the girl," said Flora Schuyler.

Torrance struck the bell again, and waited until the maid came in. "I understand Mr. Clavering promised to marry you," he said very quietly.

"You would be willing to take him?"

The girl's face grew a trifle pale, and she glanced at Miss Schuyler who nodded encouragingly.

"Yes," she said.

Torrance smiled, but Miss Schuyler did not like the glint in his eyes.

"Then," he said with incisive distinctness, "if you are in the same mind in another week, he shall."

The girl went out, and Torrance, who had watched her face, turned to Miss Schuyler. "I guess that young woman will be quite equal to him," he said.

"Well, I am putting my house in order, and I will ride over once and see Hetty before I leave Cedar. You will stay here until she comes back to Fremont, any way."

Miss Schuyler promised to do so, and stayed two days, as did Breckenridge, who eventually rode to Fremont with her. He was very quiet during the journey, and somewhat astonished his companion by gravely swinging off his broad hat when they pulled upon the crest of a rise.

"I wonder if you would listen to something I wish to tell you," he said.

"The trouble is that it requires an explanation."

Flora Schuyler glanced at him thoughtfully, for she recognized the symptoms now. Breckenridge appeared unusually grave, and there was a little flush on his forehead, and a diffidence she had not hitherto seen there, in his eyes.

"I can decide about the rest when I have heard the explanation," she answered.

"Well," said Breckenridge slowly, "I came out West, so to speak, because I was under a cloud. Now, I had never done anything distinctly bad, but my one ability seemed to consist in spending money, and when I had got through a good deal of it my friends sent me here, which was perhaps a little rough on your country. Well, as it happened, I fell in with men and women of the right kind--Larry, and somebody else who did more for me.

That made a difference; and while I was realizing how very little I had got for the time and dollars I had wasted, affairs began to happen in the old country, and I should have the responsibility of handling a good many of them if I went back there now. It sounds abominably egotistical, but you see what it is leading to?"

Miss Schuyler, who had no difficulty on that point, regarded him thoughtfully. Breckenridge was a handsome young Englishman and she had liked him from the first. Larry had fallen to another, and that perhaps counted for more than a little to Breckenridge; but she had seen more than one friend of hers contented with the second best. Still, she sighed before she met his gaze.

"I think you must make it a little plainer," she said.

"Well," said Breckenridge quietly, "it is just this. You have done a good deal for me already, and I almost dare to fancy I could be a credit to you if you would do a little more, while it would carry conviction to my most doubting relatives if you went back to the old country with me. They would only have to see you."

Flora Schuyler smiled. "This is serious, Mr. Breckenridge?"

Breckenridge made her a little inclination, and while in a curious fashion it increased Flora Schuyler's liking for him she recognized that he was no longer the light-hearted and irresponsible young Englishman she had met a few months ago. He, too, had borne the burden, and there was a gravity in his eyes and a slight hardening of his lips that had its meaning.

"I never was more serious in my life, madam," he said. "I know that I might have spoken--not more respectfully, but differently--but when I am too solemn everybody laughs at me."