The Forfeit Part 17

The day was fresh for midsummer. The sky was ruffled with great billowing white summer clouds, and a cool northwest breeze was coming off the mountain tops. The whole world about them was a.s.suming that tawny green of the ripening season, and the trail was sufficiently dusty for its abandonment in favor of the bordering gra.s.s. But if midsummer reigned over Nature, Spring, fresh, radiant Spring was in the hearts of those seeking the mild excitement of Calthorpe's race-track.

Nan and young Dugdale laughed and chattered their way in the wake of the several couples ahead. Dugdale's desire to please was more than evident. And Nan was at no time difficult. Just now she seemed to enter into the spirit of everything with a zest which sent the man's hopes soaring skyward.

Once only during the brief ride did the girl give the least sign that her interest lay on anything but her good-looking escort. It was at a moment when Dugdale was pointing out to her the humorous inspiration of his own registered cattle brand.

"You see, 'B.B.' don't sound much of a scream, Miss Tristram," he said, in great seriousness. "I don't guess it's likely to set you falling out of your saddle in one wild hysterical whoop of unrestrained mirth.

Course I'm known by it, same as you're known by the 'Obar,' but some of the language the boys fix to my brand 'ud set a Baptist minister hollerin' help. Say, I can't hand you it all. I just can't, that's all. 'Bill's Bughouse' is sort of skimmed milk to pea soup. Then there's 'Bill's Boneyard.' That wouldn't offend any one but my foreman. 'Busy Bee' kind of hands me a credit I don't guess I'm ent.i.tled to. But there's others smack of the intelligence of badly raised hogs." Then he laughed. "The truth is, when I first pitched camp on Lime Creek I wasn't as wise to things ranching as a Sunday-school committee. I lived mostly on beans an' bacon, and when the boys fell in at night, why, I don't guess there was much beside beans and bacon to keep 'em from falling into a state of coma on my blankets. It generally fixed them right, and I'm bound to say they never seemed to find they couldn't sit a saddle after it. Yes, and hit the trail for fifty miles, if there was fresh meat at the end of it. I sort of got known around as 'Beans and Bacon.' Then it was abbreviated to B.B. And so when I registered my brand it just seemed natural to set down B.B."

Nan's laugh was very genuine. Dugdale's ingenuous manner always pleased her.

"You hadn't learned prairie hospitality," she said. "You surely were committing a grave offense."

The man was full of pretended penitence.

"I don't guess that needed _learning_!" he said, with a wry smile.

"The boys just handed it to me same as a parson hands a heart-to-heart talk on things you're hatin' to hear about. Oh, I was put wise quick.

But when you've got just about ten thousand dollars that's telling you you're all sorts of a fool, and you're yearning for 'em to believe you're a twin brother to Pierpont Morgan, why, you don't feel your hide's made of gossamer, and don't care a cuss if folks start right in to hammer tacks into it for shoe leather."

"And the dollars? You convinced them?" Nan's eyes were full of humor.

"Convinced 'em?" The man's eyes opened wide. "Say, Miss Tristram, it was a mighty big argument. Oh, yes, and I guess there were times when we come near bein' such bad friends that I wanted to hand 'em right on to the nearest saloon-keeper I could find. But in the end I won. Oh, I won. I just told 'em right out what I thought of 'em, and their parents, and their ancestors, and their forthcoming progeny, and--that, seemed to fix things. They got civil then. Sort of raised their hats, and--got busy. You'd be astonished if you saw the way they hatched out--after that. You see," he added whimsically, "there's just about only one way of makin' life act the way you need it. Set your back teeth into the seat of things, and--hang on."

But Nan's reply was slow in coming, and her usually ready laugh was not in evidence. His final remark had brought very near the surface all those feelings and thoughts she had striven so hard to bury where they could no longer offend. It seemed to the man that her eyes had grown unnecessarily serious. But then he did not know that there was any unusual interest for her in the fact that Jeff Masters was escorting Mrs. Van Blooren.

When she did speak it was with her gaze fixed upon the couple ahead.

"Yes, that's it," she said. "Hang on. Hang on with every ounce of courage and strength you've got. And if you've got to go under, why, I guess it's best done with a smile, eh?" Quite abruptly she indicated the woman in front. "I do think she's real beautiful, don't you?"

"Who?" The man had no concern for anybody at that moment but the girl at his side.

"Who? Say, aren't you just foolish. I was thinking of Mrs. Van Blooren."

The man laughed.

"I surely am," he declared. "And I've won prizes for thought-reading at parlor games, too."

They both laughed. Then Nan went on with a persistence which was quite lost upon the thought-reader.

"Who is she? Mrs. Van Blooren?" she demanded.

"Why, you met her, sure?" Then the man added with some significance: "She's riding with Jeff Masters."

"Oh, yes. I've met her. I met her last night, and I've seen her many times before." Then she added with a shadow of coldness in her manner: "But she doesn't belong to the cattle folk."

The man's eyes were following the direction of Nan's.

"No-o," he said seriously. "Guess I'm not wise. They say her husband was a rancher--before he acted foolish an' died."

Nan's laugh came readily.

"That's bright. I don't guess he started running cattle--after."

Dugdale chuckled explosively.

"Who's to say?" he cried. Then he went on with enthusiasm: "Say, wouldn't it be bully to think of? Just get a thought of it. Flapping around with elegant store wings, rounding up golden steers trimmed with fancy halos, and with jeweled eyes. Branding calves of silver with flaming irons and turning 'em out to feed on a pasture of purple gra.s.s with emeralds and sapphires for blossoms all growing around. And then----"

"Think again. Say, your taste's just--cheap. But we're talking of Mrs. Van Blooren."

"I'm sorry. Why, I guess she's daughter to the Carruthers's. John D.

Carruthers. He was princ.i.p.al at St. Bude's College. Pensioned. Guess it's five years since she handed us boys the G. B. and hooked up with a white-gilled hoodlum from down East. He got around here with a wad he'd raised from his father. Can't say who his father was. Folks guessed he was some millionaire. I don't just know the rights of it.

Anyway, he left her well enough fixed. Gee! Fancy a feller acting that way--dying, with a wife like that. Wonder what sort of mush he kept in his thinking depot? I'd say folks with sense have to live on the chances fools can't just kick to death. Anyway, seeing she's started right in to set her wings rustling again I guess some feller with hoss sense'll be getting busy. They'd make a swell couple," he added with a grin. "Jeff's a good-looker."

Nan nodded.

But she made no answer. Had the man been less concerned with his match-making suggestions he must have observed the effect of his careless words. Nan had paled under the pretty tanning of her rounded cheeks. She was hurt, hurt beyond words, and though she could willingly have cried out she was forced to smother her feelings. The panic of the moment pa.s.sed, however, and, with a great effort, she was able to give her suggestion its proper value. But somehow, for the rest of the ride, it seemed to her that the sun was less bright, the wind even had become chilly, and altogether there was a curious, enervating world-weariness hanging over everything.

By the time they reached the race-track she felt in her simple heart she ought to apologize for having spoiled her escort's ride. But the inclination was only the result of her depression. She even told herself, with a gleam of humor, that if she attempted it she would have to burst into tears.

However, the later excitement of the racing helped to revive Nan's drooping spirits. The scene was irresistible. The atmosphere. The happy buoyant enjoyment on every side could not long be denied whatever the troubles awaiting more sober moments. There were the sleek and glossy horses. There were the brilliant colors of the jockey's silks.

There was the babel of excited voices, the shouting as the horses rushed down the picturesque "straight." Then the betting. The lunching. The sun. The blessed sun and gracious woodland slopes shutting in this happy playground of men and women become children again at the touch of pleasure's magic wand. No, for all her anxiety, Nan had no power to withstand the charm and delirium of it all. And, for a while, she flung herself into it with an abandon which matched the most reckless.

Twice she found herself in financial difficulties through reckless betting, and twice the open-handed Bud had to come to her a.s.sistance.

Each time his comment was characteristic, and Nan laughed at him with the irresponsibility of a child who tastes the delight of gambling for the first time.

"Say, little gal," Bud admonished her, the second time he unrolled his "wad" of bills. "Makin' dollars on a race-track's jest about as easy as makin' ice-cream. Ther's jest one way of doing it. Ast yourself which hoss you're craziest to dope out your money on, an' when you're plumb sure then get right along an' bet on the other feller.

Meanwhiles think in dollars an' play in cents."

And Nan's answer reflected her feelings of the moment.

"You can't play in cents, my Daddy, when it's time to play in dollars.

You never know when the time's coming along when even cents are denied you."

Then before the worshipping parent could add to his advice the girl darted off with her hands full of outspread bills seeking the pool rooms.

She had seen the horses cantering over to the post for the half-mile dash. It was a race for legitimate cow-ponies and she knew Jeff's "Sa.s.safras" was running in it. She meant to bet on Jeff's horse. It mattered nothing to her what other horses were running. She knew little enough of their claims. She had one thought in life. Anything to do with Jeff Masters, anything of his was good enough for her to gamble on--even with her life. This was the real, all unconscious Nan.

It was not in her to give half measure. She had no idea of what she was doing. She had no subtlety or calculation of anything where her love was concerned. She would back Jeff to the limit, and stand or fall by it. It was the simple loyalty and devotion which only a woman can yield.

On her way to the pool room she encountered Jeff himself, and, in the excitement of the moment, clasping her money in both hands, she thrust them out toward him.

"Say, Jeff," she cried, "I'm just crazy. The horses have gone right out to the start now, and--and I'm gasping to put my dollars on Sa.s.safras."

The man's quiet smile was good to see. And Nan warmed under its influence. This was the Jeff she had known so long and loved so well.

There was no other woman near to have provoked that smile. It was hers. She felt it was all hers, and her eyes shone up into the depths of blue she so loved.

"Why, Nan, I just hate to disappoint you," he said, in a gentle fashion. "But you'll surely be crazy to back my plug with Tommy Cleveden's 'Jack Rabbit' in the race. It's a cinch for him. It is so."

Nan laughed a glad buoyant laugh.

"Jack Rabbit?" she echoed scornfully. "Why, he points the toe. Guess he'd outrun Sa.s.safras if he kept his feet, but he'll never do it.