The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 19

He propped his back against the veranda post, and, taking a deep inhalation from his cigarette, gazed long and earnestly, with half-closed eyes, down the winding southern trail.

His curiosity, if such a feeling might have been attributed to him, was soon set at rest, for, as the horses raced up the hill towards him, he had no difficulty in recognizing the bulky proportions of his visitor.

Seeing the driver of the buckboard making for the house, two of the "hands" had hastened up the hill to take the horses. Lablache, for it was the fleshy money-lender, slid, as agilely as his great bulk would permit him, from the vehicle, and the two men took charge of the horses.

Bill was not altogether cordial. It was not his way to be so to anybody but his friends.

"How are you?" he said with a nod, but without rising from his rec.u.mbent att.i.tude. "Goin' to stay long?"

His latter question sounded churlish, but Lablache understood his meaning. It was of the horses the rancher was thinking.

"An hour, maybe," replied Lablache, breathing heavily as a result of his climb out of the buckboard.

"Right Take 'em away, boys. Remove the harness and give 'em a good rub down. Don't water or feed 'em till they're cool. They're spanking 'plugs,' Lablache," he added, as he watched the horses being led down to the barn. "Come inside. Had breakfast?" rising and knocking the dust from the seat of his moleskin trousers.

"Yes, I had breakfast before daylight, thanks," Lablache said, glancing quickly down at the empty corrals, where his horses were about to undergo a rubbing down. "I came out to have a business chat with you.

Shall we go in-doors?"

"Most certainly."

There was an expressive curtness in the two words. Bill permitted himself a brief survey of the great man's back as the latter turned towards the front door. And although his half-closed lids hid the expression of his eyes, the pursing of the lips and the fluctuating muscles of his jaw spoke of unpleasant thoughts pa.s.sing through his mind. A business talk with Lablache, under the circ.u.mstances, could not afford the rancher much pleasure. He followed the money-lender into the sitting-room.

The apartment was very bare, mannish, and scarcely the acme of neatness.

A desk, a deck chair, a bench and a couple of old-fashioned windsor chairs; a small table, on which breakfast things were set, an old saddle, a rack of guns and rifles, a few trophies of the chase in the shape of skins and antelope heads comprised the furniture and decorations of the room. And too, in that slightly uncouth collection, something of the character of the proprietor was revealed.

Bunning-Ford was essentially careless of comfort. And surely he was nothing if not a keen and ardent sportsman.

"Sit down." Bill indicated the chairs with a wave of the arm. Lablache dubiously eyed the deck chair, then selected one of the unyielding Windsor chairs as more safe for the burden of his precious body, tested it, and sat down, emitting a gasp of breath like an escape of steam from a safety-valve. The younger man propped himself on the corner of his desk.

Lablache looked furtively into his companion's face. Then he turned his eyes in the direction of the window. Bill said nothing, his face was calm. He intended the money-lender to speak first. The latter seemed indisposed to do so. His lashless eyes gazed steadily out at the prairie beyond. "Lord" Bill's persistent silence at length forced the other into speech. His words came slowly and were frequently punctuated with deep breaths.

"Your ranch--everything you possess is held on first mortgage."

"Not all." Bunning-Ford's answer came swiftly. The abruptness of the other's announcement nettled him. The tone of the words conveyed a challenge which the younger man was not slow to accept.

Lablache shrugged his shoulders with deliberation until his fleshy jowl creased against the woolen folds of his shirt front.

"It comes to the same thing," he said; "what I--what is not mortgaged is held in bonds. The balance, practically all of it, you owe under signature to Pedro Mancha. It is because of that--latest--debt I am here."

"Ah!"

Bill rolled a fresh cigarette and lit it. He guessed something of what was coming--but not all.

"Mancha will force you to meet your liabilities to him. Your interest is shortly due to the Calford Loan Co. You cannot meet both."

Lablache gazed unblinkingly into the other's face. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Bill was staring pensively at his cigarette. One leg swung pendulum fashion beside the desk. His indebtedness troubled him not a jot. He was trying to fathom the object of this prelude. Lablache, he knew, had not come purposely to make these plain statements. He blew a cloud of smoke down his nostrils with much appreciation. Then he heaved a sigh as though his troubles were too great for him to bear.

"Right--dead right, first time."

The lazy eyes appeared to be staring into s.p.a.ce. In reality they were watching the doughy countenance before him. "What do you propose to do?"

Lablache asked, ignoring the other's flippant tone.

Bill shrugged.

"Debts of honor must be met first," he said quietly. "Mancha must be paid in full. I shall take care of that. For the rest, I have no doubt your business knowledge will prompt you as to what course the Calford Loan Co. and yourself had best adopt."

Lablache was slightly taken aback at the cool indifference of this man.

He scarcely knew how to deal with him. He had driven out this morning intending to coerce, or, at least, strike a hard bargain. But the object of his attentions was, to say the least of it, difficult.

He moved uneasily and crossed his legs.

"There is only one course open to your creditors. It is a harsh method and one which goes devilishly against the grain. But--"

"Pray don't apologize, Mr. Lablache," broke in the other, smiling sardonically. "I am fully aware of the tender condition of your feelings. I only trust that in this matter you will carry out your--er--painful duty without worrying me with the detail of the necessary routine. I shall settle Mancha's debt at once and then you are welcome to the confounded lot."

Bill moved from his position and walked towards the door. The significance of his action was well marked. Lablache, however, had no intention of going yet. He moved heavily round upon his chair so as to face his man.

"One moment--er--Ford. You are a trifle precipitate. I was going on to say, when you interrupted me, that if you cared to meet me half-way I have a proposition to make which might solve your difficulty. It is an unusual one, I admit, but," with a meaning smile, "I rather fancy that the Calford Loan Co. might be induced to see the advantage, _to them_, of delaying action."

The object of this early morning visit was about to be made apparent.

Bill returned to his position at the desk and lit another cigarette. The suave manner of his unwelcome guest was dangerous. He was prepared.

There was something almost feline in the att.i.tude and the expression of the young rancher as he waited for the money-lender to proceed. Perhaps Lablache understood him. Perhaps his understanding warned him to adopt his best manner. His usual method in dealing with his victims was hardly the same as he was now using.

"Well, what is this 'unusual' course?" asked Bill, in no very tolerant tone. He wished it made quite plain that he cared nothing about the "selling up" process to which he knew he must be subjected. Lablache noted the haughty manner and resented it, but still he gave no outward sign. He had a definite object to attain and he would not allow his anger to interfere with his chances of success.

"Merely a pleasant little business arrangement which should meet all parties' requirements," he said easily. "At present you are paying a ten per cent, interest on a princ.i.p.al of thirty-five thousand dollars to the Calford Loan Co. A debt of twenty thousand to me includes an amount of interest which represents ten per cent, interest for ten years. Very well, Your ranch should be yielding a greater profit than it is. With your permission the Calford Trust Co. shall put in a competent manager, whose salary shall be paid out of the profits. The balance of said profits shall be handed Over to your creditors, less an annual income to you of fifteen hundred dollars. Thus the princ.i.p.al of your debts, at a careful computation, should be liquidated in seven years. In consideration of thus shortening the period of the loans by three years the Calford Trust Co. shall allow you a rebate of five per cent, interest. Failing the profits in seven years amounting to the sums of money required, the Calford Trust Co. and myself will forego the balance due to us. Let me plainly a.s.sure you that this is no philanthropic scheme but the result of practical calculation. The advantage to you is obvious. An a.s.sured income during that period, and your ranch well and ably managed and improved. Your property at the end of seven years will return to you a vastly more valuable possession than it is at present.

And we, on our part, will recover our money and interest without the unpleasant reflection that, in doing so, we have beggared you."

Lablache, usurer, scoundrel, smiled benignly at his companion as he p.r.o.nounced his concluding words. The Hon. Bunning-Ford looked, thought, and looked again. He began to think that Lablache was meditating a more rascally proceeding than he had given him credit for. His words were so specious. His pie was so delicately crusted with such a tempting exterior. What was the object of this magnanimous offer? He felt he must know more.

"It sounds awfully well, but surely that is not all. What, in return, is demanded of me?"

Lablache had carefully watched the effect of his words. He was wondering whether the man he was dealing with was clever beyond the average, or a fool. He was still balancing the point in his mind when Bill put the question.

Lablache looked away, produced a snuff-box and drew up a large pinch of snuff before answering. He blew his nose with trumpet-like vehemence on a great red bandana.

"The only return asked of you is that you vacate the country for the next two years," he said heavily. And in that rejoinder "Lord" Bill understood the man's guile.

It was a sudden awakening, but it came to him as no sort of surprise. He had long suspected, although he had never given serious credence to his suspicions, the object the money-lender had in inveigling both himself and "Poker" John into their present difficulties. Now he understood, and a burning desire swept over him to shoot the man down where he sat. Then a revulsion of feeling came to him and he saw the ludicrous side of the situation. He gazed at Lablache, that obese mountain of blubber, and tried to think of the beautiful, wild Jacky as the money-lender's wife.

The thing seemed so preposterous that he burst out into a mocking laugh.

Lablache, whose fishy eyes had never left the rancher's face, heard the tone and slowly flushed with anger. For an instant he seemed about to rise, then instead he leant forward.

"Well?" he asked, breathing his monosyllabic inquiry hissing upon the air.

Bill emitted a thin cloud of smoke into the money-lender's face. His eyes had suddenly become wide open and blazing with anger. He pointed to the door.

"I'll see you d.a.m.ned first! Now--git!"