The Last Straw Part 19

"Not a horse," he mumbled. "They're sneaking out of the country with 'em. Tom, come here,"--with a jerk of his head. Beck walked over and sat down. "Did you hear what the Reverend says?" Dad asked. "About the horses?"

"Yes, I ain't surprised. Are you?"

His eyes, again amused, bored into Hepburn's face with the query:

"No, but--"

The sharp batter of running hoofs cut him short. The whole a.s.semblage was listening. The rider stopped short at the gate, they heard it creak and a moment later he came across toward the bunk house at a high lope.

They heard him speak gruffly to the horse, heard the creak of leather as he swung down and then jingling spurs marked his further progress toward the door.

It was Henry Riley, owner of the Bar Z ranch, thirty miles down Coyote creek. A cattleman of the old order, a man not given to haste or excitement. His appearance caught the interest of all, for he was breathing fast and his eyes blazed.

"Where's Dad?" he asked and Hepburn, rising, said: "Here. What's the matter, Henry?"

"Who's this nester in Devil's Hole?" Riley asked.

"Why ... I didn't know there was a nester there."

Dad answered hesitatingly and Beck sc.r.a.ped one foot on the floor.

"Well, there is. Guess we've all been asleep. He's there, with a girl, and they filed on that water yesterday. That shuts your outfit and mine out of the best range in the country if he fences, which he will! If they're goin' to dry farm our steers off the range we'd better look alive."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," muttered Hepburn. "That was one of the next things I was goin' to have her do, file on that water."

He scratched his head and turned. Beck was waiting for him to face about.

"Now," he said slowly, "what are you going to do?"

His eyes flashed angrily and any who watched could see the challenge.

Silently Hepburn reached for his belt and gun, strapped it on, dug in his blankets for another revolver and shoved it into his shirt.

"First," he said, "I'm goin' after those horses. _That_ ain't too late to be remedied. No, I'll go alone!" as Tom stepped toward his bunk where his gun hung.

Hepburn gave Beck stare for stare as though defying him now to impute his motives and strode out into a fine rain, drawing on his slicker.

CHAPTER IX

THE DESTROYER

While the men were eating that night another rider had come to H.C. He entered slowly, tied his horse to the fence and walked down along the cottonwoods toward the house. He stood outside a time, looking through the window at Jane whose golden head was bowed in the mellow glow of the student lamp as she worked at her desk.

He stepped lightly across the veranda and rapped; at her bidding he entered.

"d.i.c.k!" she exclaimed.

"Undoubtedly," he said, with forced attempt at lightness.

"How did you get here? Why come at this time of day?"--rising and walking toward him.

"I rode a horse, and I came because I couldn't stay away from you any longer."

She looked at him, head tilted a bit to one side, and genuine regret was in her slow smile.

"Oh, d.i.c.k, don't look or feel like that! I'm glad to see you, but I _wish_ you'd stop thinking and talking and looking like that. I don't like to have you so dreadfully determined ... when it's no use.

"All this way to see me! And did you eat? Of course you didn't!"

"I don't want anything," he protested glumly.

"But you must."

She seized on his need as welcome distraction from the love making, which undoubtedly was his purpose. She took his coat and hat, placed cigarettes for him and went to the kitchen to help Carlotta prepare a quick meal. She served it herself, going to pains to make it attractive, and finally seated herself across the table from Hilton, who made a pretense of eating.

She talked, a bit feverishly, perhaps, but compelled him to stick to matters far from personal and after he had finished his scant meal and lighted a cigarette he leaned back in his chair and smiled easily at her. It was a good smile, open and frank and gentle, but when it died that nasty light came back; as though the smile showed the man Jane Hunter had tolerated for long, masking the man she now tried to put from her.

"If your enthusiasm were for anything else, I'd like it," he said.

"But it isn't. Why can't you like it as it is?"

He ignored the question.

"Busy, Jane?"

"As the devil on Forty-Second street."

"And still think it's worth while?"

"The only worth-while thing I've ever done; more worth while every day.

So much worth while that I'm made over from the heart out and I've been here less than a month!"

"After taking a bottle of your bitters I am now able to support my husband and children," he quoted ironically.

"Laugh if you must,"--with a lift of her shoulders. "I mean it."

"You get along with the men, Jane?"

"Very well so far. They're fine, real, honest men. I like them all.

There are some things I don't quite understand yet," examining a finger nail closely. "I haven't made up my mind that my foreman can be trusted or that he's as honest as he seems to be."

"The fellow who was with you yesterday?"

"No; Dad Hepburn. An older man. He.... He seems to evade me some times."

Hilton watched her closely. She was one of the few women he knew who had been able to judge men; he made a mental note of the name she had mentioned.