The Cattle-Baron's Daughter

“I admit that I have a good many shortcomings, but, since you ask, I must confess that I don’t quite understand why my respectful offer should rouse your indignation.”

“No?” said Hetty coldly, with the vindictive sparkle still in her eyes. “Then aren’t you very foolish?”

Clavering smiled, though it was not easy. “Well,” he said, “I was evidently too audacious; but you have not told me yet why the proposal I ventured to make should appear quite preposterous.”

“I think,” said Hetty, “it would be considerably nicer for you if I didn’t. I can, however, tell you this – I would never, under any circumstances, marry you.”

Clavering bent his head, and took himself away with the best grace he could, while Hetty, who, perhaps because she had been under a heavy strain, became suddenly sensible of a most illogical desire to laugh, afterwards admitted that he really accomplished it becomingly. But the laughter that would have been a relief to her did not come, and after toying in a purposeless fashion with her writing-case, she rose and slipped out of the room, unfortunately leaving it open.

A few minutes later Clavering met the maid in the corridor that led to Torrance’s room, and the girl, who saw his face, and may have guessed what had brought the anger into his eyes, stopped a moment. It is also probable that, being a young woman with quick perceptions, she had guessed with some correctness how far his regard for Hetty went.

“You don’t seem pleased to-night,” she said.

“No?” said Clavering, with a little laugh which rang hollow. “Well, I should be. It is quite a while since I had a talk with you.”

“Pshaw!” said the girl, who failed to blush, though she wished to, watching him covertly. “Now, I wonder if what I’m going to tell you will make you more angry still. Suppose you heard Miss Torrance had been sending letters to Larry Grant?”

“I don’t know that I should believe it,” said Clavering, as unconcernedly as he could.

“Well, she has,” the girl said. “What is more, she has been going out to meet him in the Cedar Bluff.”

Clavering’s face betrayed him, and for a moment the girl, who saw his lips set, was almost afraid. He contrived, however, to make a light answer, and was about to ask a question when a door creaked. The next moment Torrance came out into the corridor, and Clavering’s opportunity vanished with the maid. Torrance, who had evidently not seen her, kept him talking for a while.

In the meanwhile, the girl contrived an excuse for entering the room where she was quite aware Hetty and Clavering had met. She did not find her mistress, but, as it happened, noticed the writing-case, and, having a stake in affairs, opened it. Inside she found two sheets of paper, and after considering the probabilities of detection appropriated one of them on which was written, “Larry dear.”

She had, however, no intention of showing it to Clavering just then, but, deciding that such a paper might be worth a good many dollars to the person who knew how to make use of it, she slipped it into her pocket, and went out into the hall, where she saw him talking to Torrance. As she watched they shook hands, and Clavering swung himself on to the back of a horse somebody led up to the door. It was two or three weeks before he came back again, and was led straight to the room where Torrance and some of his neighbours were sitting. Clavering took his place among the rest, and watched the faces that showed amidst the blue cigar-smoke. Some were intent and eager, a few very grim, but the stamp of care was on all of them save that of Torrance, who sat immobile and expressionless at the head of the table. Allonby was speaking somewhat dejectedly.

“It seems to me that we have only gone round,” he said. “It has cost us more dollars than any of us care to reckon, and I for one am tolerably near the end of my tether.”

“So are the homestead-boys. We can last them out, and we have got to,” said somebody.

Allonby raised his hand with a little hopeless gesture. “I’m not quite sure; but what I want to show you is that we have come back to the place we started from. When we first met here we decided that it was advisable to put down Larry Grant, and though we have not accomplished it yet, it seems to me more necessary than ever just now.”

“I don’t understand you,” said one of the younger men. “Larry’s boys have broken loose from him, and he can’t worry anybody much alone.”

Torrance glanced at Allonby with a sardonic twinkle in his eyes. “That sounds very like sense,” he said.

“Well,” said Allonby drily, “it isn’t, and I think you know it at least as well as I do. It is because the boys have broken out we want to get our thumb on Larry.”

There was a little murmur of bewilderment, for men were present that night who had not attended many meetings of the district committee.

“You will have to make it plainer,” somebody said.

Allonby glanced at Torrance, who nodded, and then went on. “Now, I know that what I am going to tell you does not sound nice, and a year ago I would have had unpleasant thoughts of the man who suggested any course of that kind to me; but we have got to go under or pull down the enemy. The legislature are beginning to look at things with the homesteaders’ eyes, and what we want is popular sympathy. We lost a good chance of getting it over the stock-train. Larry was too clever for us again, and that brings me to the point which should be quite plain. The homestead-boys have lost their heads and will cut their own throats if they are let alone. They are ripe for ranch-burning and firing on the cavalry, and once they start the State will have to step in and whip them out for us.”

“But where does Larry come in?” asked somebody.

“That,” said Clavering, “is quite easy. So long as Larry is loose he will have a following, and somehow he will hear of and stop their wildest moves. As most of you know, I don’t like him; but Larry is not a fool.”

“To be quite plain, we are to cut out the restraining influence, and give the rabble a free hand to let loose anarchy,” said one man. “Then, you can strike me off the roll. That is a kind of meanness that wouldn’t suit me!”

There were murmurs of approval from one or two of the company, but Torrance checked them. “Gentlemen,” he said, “we must win or be beaten and get no mercy. You can’t draw back, and the first step is to put Larry down. If the State had backed us we would have made an end of the trouble, and it is most square and fitting they should have the whipping of the rabble forced upon them now. Are we cavalry troopers or a Sheriff’s posse, to do their work for them, and be kicked by way of thanks? They would not nip the trouble when they could, and we’ll sit tight and watch them try to crush it when it’s ’most too big for them.”

Again there was a murmur, of grim approval this time; but one of the objectors rose with an ironical smile.

“You have made a very poor show at catching Larry so far,” he said. “Are you quite sure the thing is within your ability?”

“I guess it is,” said Torrance sharply. “He is living at his homestead, and we need not be afraid of a hundred men with rifles coming to take him from us now.”

“He has a few neighbours who believe in him,” one of the men said. “They are not rabble, but level-headed Americans, with the hardest kind of grit in them. It wouldn’t suit us to be whipped again.”

Clavering stood up, with his eyes fixed on Torrance. “I agree with our leader – it can be done. In fact, I quite believe we can lay our hands on Larry alone,” he said. “Can I have a word with you, Mr. Torrance?”

Torrance nodded, and, leaving Allonby speaking, led Clavering into an adjoining room. “Sit down, and get through as quick as you can,” he said.

For five minutes Clavering spoke rapidly, in a slightly strained voice, and a dark flush spread across the old man’s face and grew deeper on his forehead, from which the veins swelled. It had faded before he finished, and there were paler patches in the cattle-baron’s cheeks when he struck the table with his fist.

“Clavering,” he said hoarsely, “if you are deceiving me you are not going to find a hole in this country that would hide you.”

Clavering contrived to meet his gaze, though it was difficult. “I was very unwilling to mention it,” he said. “Still, if you will call Miss Torrance’s maid, and the man who grooms her horses, you can convince yourself. It would be better if I was not present when you talk to them.”

Torrance said nothing, but pointed to the door, and when the maid and man he sent for had gone, sat for five long minutes rigidly still with a set white face and his hands clenched on the table.

“My daughter – playing the traitress – and worse! It is too hard to bear,” he said.

Then he stood up, shaking the passion from him, when Clavering came in, and, holding himself very stiff and square, turned to him.

“I don’t know why you have told me – now – and do not want to hear,” he said. “Still, by the Lord who made us both, if you try to make use of this knowledge for any purpose, or let a whisper get about, I’ll crush you utterly.”

“Have I deserved these threats, sir?”

Torrance looked at him steadily. “Did you expect thanks? The man who grooms her horses would tell me nothing – he lied like a gentleman. But they are not threats. You found buying up mortgages – with our dollars – an easy game.”

“But – ” said Clavering.

Torrance stopped him with a little scornful gesture. “I knew when I took this thing up I would have to let my scruples go, and now – while I wonder whether my hands will ever feel clean again – I’m going through. You are useful to the committee, and I’ll have to tolerate you.”

Clavering turned away, with pulses throbbing furiously and rage in his heart, though he had known what the cost would be when he staked everything he hoped for on Larry’s destruction; while his neighbours noticed a change in Torrance when he once more sat down at the head of the table. He seemed several years older, and his face was very grim.

“I believe I can promise you that Larry will make us no more trouble,” he said. “Mr. Clavering has a workable scheme, and it will only need the Sheriff and a few men whom I will choose when I am ready.”

Nobody seemed to consider it advisable to ask questions, and the men dispersed; but as they went down the stairway, Allonby turned to Torrance.

“This thing is getting too big for you and me,” he said. “You have not complained, but to-night one could fancy that it’s breaking you. Now, I’m not made like you, and when I think of what it has cost me I have got to talk.”

Torrance turned, and Allonby shivered as he met his eyes.

“It has cost me what every dollar I ever made could not buy me back,” he said, and the damp showed on his forehead as he checked a groan.