The Cattle-Baron's Daughter

“It is not for the want of effort. There are few things that would please me better.”

Torrance glanced at Clavering sharply. “No. I fancied once or twice you had a score of your own against him. In fact, I heard Allonby say something of the same kind, too.”

“Chris is a trifle officious,” said Clavering. “Any way, it’s quite evident that we shall scarcely hold the homestead-boys back until we get our thumb on Larry.”

“How are we going to do it? He has come out ahead of us so far.”

“We took the wrong way,” said Clavering. “Now, Larry, as you know, puts all his dealings through the Tillotson Company. Tillotson, as I found out in Chicago, has a free hand to buy stocks or produce with his balances, and Larry, who does not seem to bank his dollars, draws on him. It’s not an unusual thing. Well, I’ve been writing to folks in Chicago, and they tell me Tillotson is in quite a tight place since the upward move in lard. It appears he has been selling right along for a fall.”

Torrance looked thoughtful. “Tillotson is a straight man, but I’ve had a notion he has been financing some of the homestead-boys. He handles all Larry’s dollars?”

Clavering nodded. “He put them into lard. Now, the Brand Company hold Tillotson’s biggest contract, and if it suited them they could break him. I don’t think they want to. Tillotson is a kind of useful man to them.”

Torrance brought his fist down on the table. “Well,” he said grimly, “we have a stronger pull than Tillotson. Most of the business in this country goes to them, and if he thought it worth while, Brand would sell all his relations up to-morrow. I’ll go right through to Chicago and fix the thing.”

Clavering smiled. “If you can manage it, you will cut off Larry’s supplies.”

“Then,” said Torrance, “I’ll start to-morrow. Still, I don’t want to leave the girls here, and it would suit me if you could drive them over to Allonby’s. I don’t mind admitting that they have given me a good deal of anxiety, though they’ve made things pleasant, too, and I’ve ’most got afraid of wondering what Cedar will feel like when they go away.”

“Will Miss Torrance go away?”

“She will,” said Torrance, with a little sigh, though there was pride in his eyes, “when the trouble’s over – but not before. She came home to see the old man through.”

Clavering seized the opportunity. “Did you ever contemplate the possibility of Miss Torrance marrying anybody here?”

“I have a notion that there’s nobody good enough,” Torrance said quickly.

Clavering nodded, though he felt the old man’s eyes upon him, and did not relish the implication. “Still, I fancy the same difficulty would be met with anywhere else, and that encourages me to ask if you would have any insuperable objections to myself?”

Torrance looked at him steadily. “I have been expecting this. Once I thought it was Miss Schuyler; but she does not like you.”

“I am sorry,” and Clavering wondered whether his host was right, “though, the latter fact is not of any great moment. I have long had a sincere respect for Miss Torrance, but I am afraid it would be difficult to tell you all I think of her.”

“The point,” said Torrance, somewhat grimly, “is what she thinks of you.”

“I don’t know. It did not seem quite fitting to ask her until I had spoken to you.”

Torrance said nothing for almost a minute, and to Clavering the silence became almost intolerable. The old man’s forehead was wrinkled and he stared at the wall in front of him with vacant eyes. Then, he spoke very slowly.

“That was the square thing, and I have to thank you. For twenty years now I have worked and saved for Hetty – that she might have the things her mother longed for and never got. And I’ve never been sorry – the girl is good all through. It is natural that she should marry; and even so far as the dollars go, she will bring as much to her husband as he can give her, and if it’s needful more; but there are one or two points about you I don’t quite like.”

The old man’s voice vibrated and his face grew softer and the respect that Clavering showed when he answered was not all assumed.

“I know my own unworthiness, sir, but I think any passing follies I may have indulged in are well behind me now.”

“Well,” said Torrance drily, “it’s quite hard to shake some tastes and habits off, and one or two of them have a trick of hanging on to the man who thinks he has done with them. Now, I want a straight answer. Do you know any special reason why it would not be the square thing for you to marry my daughter?”

A faint colour crept into Clavering’s face. “I know a good many which would make the bargain unfair to her,” he said, “but there are very few men in this country who would be good enough for her.”

Torrance checked him with a lifted hand. “That is not what I mean. It is fortunate for most of us that women of her kind believe the best of us and can forgive a good deal. I am not speaking generally: do you know any special reason – one that may make trouble for both of you? It’s a plain question, and you understand it. If you do, we’ll go into the thing right now, and then, if it can be got over, never mention it again.”

Clavering sat silent, knowing well that delay might be fatal, and yet held still by something he had heard in the old man’s voice and seen in his eyes. However, he had succeeded in signally defeating one blackmailer.

“Sir,” he said, very slowly, “I know of no reason now.”

Torrance had not moved his eyes from him. “Then,” he said, “I can only take your word. You are one of us and understand the little things that please girls like Hetty. If she will take you, you can count on my good will.”

Clavering made a little gesture of thanks. “I ask nothing more, and may wait before I urge my suit; but it seems only fair to tell you that my ranching has not been very profitable lately and my affairs – ”

Torrance cut him short. “In these things it is the man that counts the most, and not the dollars. You will not have to worry over that point, now you have told me I can trust Hetty to you.”

He said a little more on the same subject, and then Clavering went out with unpleasantly confused sensations through which a feeling of degradation came uppermost. He had not led an exemplary life, but pride had kept him clear of certain offences, and he had as yet held his word sacred when put upon his honour. It was some minutes before he ventured to join Hetty and Miss Schuyler, who he knew by the sound of the piano were in the hall.

Hetty sat with her fingers on the keyboard, the soft light of the lamps in the sconces shining upon her – very pretty, very dainty, an unusual softness in the eyes. She turned towards Clavering.

“You went in to get it” – touching the music – “just because you heard me say I would like those songs. A four days’ ride, and a blizzard raging on one of them!” she said.

Clavering looked at her gravely with something in his eyes that puzzled Miss Schuyler, who had expected a wittily graceful speech.

“You are pleased with them?” he said.

“Yes,” said the girl impulsively. “But I feel horribly mean because I sent you, although, of course, I didn’t mean to. It was very kind of you, but you must not do anything of that kind again.”

Clavering, who did not appear quite himself, watched her turn over the music in silence, for though the last words were spoken quietly, there was, he and Miss Schuyler fancied, a definite purpose behind them.

“Then, you will sing one of them?” he said.

Hetty touched the keys – there was a difference in her when she sang, for music was her passion, and as the clear voice thrilled the two who listened, a flush of exaltation, that was almost spiritual, crept into her face. Clavering set his lips, and when the last notes sank into the stillness Miss Schuyler wondered what had brought the faint dampness to his forehead. She did not know that all that was good in him had revolted against what he had done, and meant to do, just then, and had almost gained the mastery. Unfortunately, instead of letting Hetty sing again and fix Clavering’s half-formed resolution, she allowed her distrust of him to find expression; for capable young woman though she was, Flora Schuyler sometimes blundered.

“The song was worth the effort,” she said. “Mr. Clavering is, however, evidently willing to do a good deal to give folks pleasure.”

Clavering glanced at her with a little smile. “Folks? That means more than one.”

“Yes; it generally means at least two.”

Hetty laughed as she looked round. “Is there anybody else he has been giving music to?”

“I fancy the question is unnecessary,” Flora said. “He told us he came straight here, and there is nobody but you and I at Cedar he would be likely to bring anything to.”

“Of course not! Well, I never worry over your oracular observations. They generally mean nothing when you understand them,” said Hetty.

Flora Schuyler smiled maliciously at Clavering. She did not know that when a good deed hung in the balance she had, by rousing his intolerance of opposition, just tipped the beam.

XX

HETTY’S OBSTINACY

It was very cold, the red sun hung low above the prairie’s western rim, and Clavering, who sat behind Hetty and Miss Schuyler in the lurching sleigh, glanced over his shoulder anxiously.

“Hadn’t you better pull up and let me have the reins, Miss Torrance?” he said.

Hetty laughed. “Why?” she asked, “I haven’t seen the horse I could not drive.”

“Well,” said Clavering drily, “this is the first time you have either seen or tried to drive Badger, and I not infrequently get out and lead the team down the slope in front of you when I cross the creek. It has a very awkward bend in it.”

Hetty looked about her, and, as it happened, the glare of sunlight flung back from the snow was in her eyes. Still, she could dimly see the trail dip over what seemed to be the edge of a gully close ahead, and she knew the descent to the creek in its bottom was a trifle perilous. She was, however, fearless and a trifle obstinate, and Clavering had, unfortunately, already ventured to give her what she considered quite unnecessary instructions as to the handling of the team. There had also been an indefinite change in his attitude towards her during the last week or two, which the girl, without exactly knowing why, resented and this appeared a fitting opportunity for checking any further presumption.

“You can get down now if you wish,” she said. “We will stop and pick you up when we reach the level again.”

Clavering said nothing further, for he knew that Miss Torrance was very like her father in some respects, and Hetty shook the reins. The next minute they had swept over the brink, and Flora Schuyler saw the trail dip steeply but slantwise to lessen the gradient to the frozen creek. The sinking sun was hidden by the high bank now and the snow had faded to a cold blue-whiteness, through which the trail ran, a faint line of dusky grey. It was difficult to distinguish at the pace the team were making, and the ground dropped sharply on one side of it.

“Let him have the reins, Hetty,” she said.

Unfortunately Clavering, who was a trifle nettled and knew that team, especially the temper of Badger the near horse better than Hetty did, laughed just then.

“Hold fast, Miss Schuyler, and remember that if anything does happen, the right-hand side is the one to get out from,” he said.

“Now,” said Hetty, “I’m not going to forgive you that. You sit quite still, and we’ll show him something, Flo.”

She touched the horses with the lash, and Badger flung up his head; another moment and he and the other beast had broken into a gallop. Hetty threw herself backwards with both hands on the reins, but no cry escaped her, and Clavering, who had a suspicion that he could do no more than she was doing now, even if he could get over the back of the seat in time, which was out of the question, set his lips as he watched the bank of snow the trail twisted round rush towards them. The sleigh bounced beneath him in another second or two, there was a stifled scream from Flora Schuyler, and leaning over he tore the robe about the girls from its fastenings. Then, there was a bewildering jolting and a crash, and he was flung out head foremost into dusty snow.

When he scrambled to his feet again Hetty was sitting in the snow close by him, and Flora Schuyler creeping out of a wreath of it on her hands and knees. The sleigh lay on one side, not far away, with the Badger rolling and kicking amidst a tangle of harness, though the other horse was still upon its feet.

Clavering was pleased to find all his limbs intact, and almost as gratified to see only indignant astonishment in Hetty’s face. She rose before he could help her and in another moment or two Flora Schuyler also stood upright, clinging to his arm.

“No,” she said, with a little gasp, “I don’t think I’m killed, though I felt quite sure of it at first. Now I only feel as though I’d been through an earthquake.”

Hetty turned and looked at Clavering, with a little red spot in either cheek. “Why don’t you say something?” she asked. “Are you waiting for me?”

“I don’t know that anything very appropriate occurs to me. You know I’m devoutly thankful you have both escaped injury,” said the man, who was more shaken than he cared to admit.

“Then I’ll have to begin,” and Hetty’s eyes sparkled. “It was my fault, Mr. Clavering, and, if it is any relief to you, I feel most horribly ashamed of my obstinacy. Will that satisfy you?”

Clavering turned his head away, for he felt greatly inclined to laugh, but he knew the Torrance temper. Hetty had been very haughty during that drive, but she had not appeared especially dignified when she sat blinking about her in the snow, nor had Miss Schuyler, and he felt that they realized it; and in feminine fashion blamed him for being there. It was Miss Schuyler who relieved the situation.

“Hadn’t you better do something for the horse? It is apparently trying to hang itself – and I almost wish it would. It deserves to succeed.”

Clavering could have done very little by himself, but in another minute Hetty was kneeling on the horse’s head, while, at more than a little risk from the battering hoofs, he loosed some of the harness. Then, the Badger was allowed to flounder to his feet, and Clavering proceeded to readjust his trappings. A buckle had drawn, however, and a strap had burst.

“No,” said Hetty sharply. “Not that way. Don’t you see you’ve got to lead the trace through. It is most unfortunate Larry isn’t here.”

Clavering glanced at Miss Schuyler, and both of them laughed, while Hetty frowned.

“Well,” she said, “he would have fixed the thing in half the time, and we can’t stay here for ever.”

Clavering did what he could; but repairing harness in the open under twenty or thirty degrees of frost is a difficult task for any man, especially when he has no tools to work with and cannot remove his mittens, and it was at least twenty minutes before he somewhat doubtfully announced that all was ready. He handed Miss Schuyler into the sleigh, and then passed the reins to Hetty, who stood with one foot on the step, apparently waiting for something.

“I don’t think he will run away again,” he said.

The girl glanced at him sharply. “I am vexed with myself. Don’t make me vexed with you,” she said.

Clavering said nothing, but took the reins and they slid slowly down into the hollow, and, more slowly still, across the frozen creek and up the opposite ascent. After awhile Hetty touched his shoulder.

“I really don’t want to meddle; but, while caution is commendable, it will be dark very soon,” she said.

“Something has gone wrong,” Clavering said gravely. “I’m afraid I’ll have to get down.”

He stood for several minutes looking at the frame of the sleigh and an indented line ploughed behind it in the snow, and then quietly commenced to loose the horses.

“Well,” said Hetty sharply, “what are you going to do?”

“Take them out,” said Clavering.

“Why?”

Clavering laughed. “They are not elephants and have been doing rather more than one could expect any horse to do. It is really not my fault, you know, but one of the runners has broken, and the piece sticks into the snow.”

“Then, whatever are we to do?”

“I am afraid you and Miss Schuyler will have to ride on to Allonby’s. I can fix the furs so they’ll make some kind of saddle, and it can’t be more than eight miles or so.”

Miss Schuyler almost screamed. “I can’t,” she said.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Flo,” said Hetty. “You’ll just have to.”

Clavering’s fingers were very cold, and the girls’ still colder, before he had somehow girthed a rug about each of the horses and ruthlessly cut and knotted the reins. The extemporized saddles did not look very secure, but Hetty lightly swung herself into one, though Miss Schuyler found it difficult to repress a cry, and was not sure that she quite succeeded, when Clavering lifted her to the other.

“I’m quite sure I shall fall off,” she said.

Hetty was evidently very much displeased at something, for she seemed to forget Clavering was there. “If you do I’ll never speak to you again,” she said. “You might have been fond of him, Flo. There wasn’t the least necessity to put your arm right around his neck.”

Clavering wisely stooped to do something to one of his moccasins, for he saw an ominous sparkle in Miss Schuyler’s eyes, but he looked up prematurely and the smile was still upon his lips when he met Hetty’s gaze.

“How are you going to get anywhere?” she asked.

“Well,” said Clavering, “it is quite a long while now since I was able to walk alone.”

Hetty shook her bridle, and the Badger started at a trot; but when Miss Schuyler followed, Clavering, who fancied that her prediction would be fulfilled, also set off at a run. He was, however, not quite fast enough, for when he reached her Miss Schuyler was sitting in the snow. She appeared to be unpleasantly shaken and her lips were quivering. Clavering helped her to her feet, and then caught the horse.

“The wretched thing turned round and slid me off,” she said, when he came back with it, pointing to the rug.

Clavering tugged at the extemporized girth. “I am afraid you can only try again. I don’t think it will slip now,” he said.

Miss Schuyler, who had evidently lost her nerve, mounted with difficulty and after trotting for some minutes pulled up once more, and was sitting still looking about her hopelessly when Clavering rejoined her.

“I am very sorry, but I really can’t hold on,” she said.

Clavering glanced at the prairie, and Hetty looked at him. Nothing moved upon all the empty plain which was fading to a curious dusky blue. Darkness crept up across it from the east, and a last faint patch of orange was dying out on its western rim, while with the approaching night there came a stinging cold.

“It might be best if you rode on, Miss Torrance, and sent a sleigh back for us,” he said. “Walk your horse, Miss Schuyler, and I’ll keep close beside you. If you fell I could catch you.”

Hetty’s face was anxious, but she shook her head. “No, it was my fault, and I mean to see it through,” she said. “You couldn’t keep catching her all the time, you know. I’m not made of eider-down, and she’s a good deal heavier than me. It really is a pity you can’t ride, Flo.”

“Nevertheless,” said Miss Schuyler tartly, “I can’t – without a saddle – and I’m quite thankful I can’t drive.”

Hetty said nothing, and they went on in silence, until when a dusky bluff appeared on the skyline, Clavering, taking the bridle, led Miss Schuyler’s horse into a forking trail.

“This is not the way to Allonby’s,” said Hetty.

“No,” said Clavering quietly. “I’m afraid you would be frozen before you got there. The homestead-boys who chop their fuel in the bluff have, however, some kind of shelter, and I’ll make you a big fire.”

“But – ” said Hetty.

Clavering checked her with a gesture. “Please let me fix this thing for you,” he said. “It is getting horribly cold already.”

They went on a trifle faster without another word, and presently, with crackle of dry twigs beneath them, plodded into the bush. Dim trees flitted by them, branches brushed them as they passed, and the stillness and shadowiness affected Miss Schuyler uncomfortably. She started with a cry when there was a sharp patter amidst the dusty snow; but Clavering’s hand was on the bridle as the horse, snorting, flung up its head.

“I think it was only a jack-rabbit; and I can see the shelter now,” he said.

A few moments later he helped Miss Schuyler down, and held out his hand to Hetty, who sprang stiffly to the ground. Then, with numbed fingers, he broke off and struck a sulphur match, and the feeble flame showed the refuge to which he had brought them. It was just high enough to stand in, and had three sides and a roof of birch logs, but the front was open and the soil inside it frozen hard as adamant. An axe and a saw stood in a corner, and there was a hearth heaped ready with kindling chips.

“If you will wait here I’ll try to get some wood,” he said.

He went out and tethered the horses, and when his footsteps died away, Miss Schuyler shivering crept closer to Hetty, who flung an arm about her.

“It’s awful, Flo – and it’s my fault,” she said. Then she sighed. “It would all be so different if Larry was only here.”

“Still,” said Flora Schuyler, “Mr. Clavering has really behaved very well; most men would have shown just a little temper.”

“I almost wish he had – it would have been so much easier for me to have kept mine and overlooked it graciously. Flo, I didn’t mean to be disagreeable, but it’s quite hard to be pleasant when one is in the wrong.”

It was some time before Clavering came back with an armful of birch branches, and a suspiciously reddened gash in one of his moccasins – for an axe ground as the Michigan man grinds it is a dangerous tool for anyone not trained to it to handle in the dark. In ten minutes he had a great fire blazing, and the shivering girls felt their spirits revive a little under the cheerful light and warmth. Then, he made a seat of the branches close in to the hearth and glanced at them anxiously.

“If you keep throwing wood on, and sit there with the furs wrapped round you, you will be able to keep the cold out until I come back,” he said.

“Until you come back!” said Hetty, checking a little cry of dismay. “Where are you going?”

“To bring a sleigh.”

“But Allonby’s is nearly eight miles away. You could not leave us here three hours.”

“No,” said Clavering gravely. “You would be very cold by then. Still, you need not be anxious. Nothing can hurt you here; and I will come, or send somebody for you, before long.”

Hetty sat very still while he drew on the fur mittens he had removed to make the fire. Then, she rose suddenly.

“No,” she said. “It was my fault – and we cannot let you go.”

Clavering smiled. “I am afraid your wishes wouldn’t go quite as far in this case as they generally do with me. You and Miss Schuyler can’t stay here until I could get a sleigh from Allonby’s.”

He turned as he spoke, and was almost out of the shanty before Hetty, stepping forward, laid her hand upon his arm.

“Now I know,” she said. “It is less than three miles to Muller’s, but the homestead-boys would make you a prisoner if you went there. Can’t you see that would be horrible for Flo and me? It was my wilfulness that made the trouble.”

Clavering very gently shook off her grasp, and Miss Schuyler almost admired him as he stood looking down upon her companion with the flickering firelight on his face. It was a striking face, and the smile in the dark eyes became it. Clavering had shaken off his furs, and the close-fitting jacket of dressed deerskin displayed his lean symmetry, for he had swung round in the entrance to the shanty and the shadows were black behind him.

“I think the fault was mine. I should not have been afraid of displeasing you, which is what encourages me to be obstinate now,” he said. “One should never make wild guesses, should they, Miss Schuyler?”

He had gone before Hetty could speak again, and a few moments later the girls heard a thud of hoofs as a horse passed at a gallop through the wood. They stood looking at each other until the sound died away, and only a little doleful wind that sighed amidst the birches and the snapping of the fire disturbed the silence. Then, Hetty sat down and drew Miss Schuyler down beside her.