The Cattle-Baron's Daughter

“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.