The Cattle-Baron's Daughter

“Mrs. Grant can count upon it,” he said. “Those men were chasing you?”

“Yes,” said Grant. “One of them is the Sheriff. I believe he intends to arrest me.”

“Sheriff Slocane?”

“Yes. I shall resist capture by him; but I heard that the civil law would be suspended in this district, and if that has been done, I will give myself up to you.”

Cheyne nodded again. “Give one of the boys your rifle, and step back with Mrs. Grant in the meanwhile. You are on parole.”

He said something sharply, and there was a trample of hoofs and jingle of steel as the troopers swung into changed formation. They sat still as the cattle-men rode up, and when Clavering reined his horse in a few lengths away from them Cheyne acknowledged his salute.

“We have come after a notorious disturber of this district who has, I notice, taken refuge with you,” he said. “I must ask you to give him up.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cheyne firmly. “It can’t be done just yet.”

Clavering glanced at the men behind him – and there were a good many of them, all without fear, and irresponsible; then he looked at the little handful of troopers, and Cheyne’s face hardened as he saw the insolent significance of his glance.

“Hadn’t you better think it over? The boys are a little difficult to hold in hand, and we can’t go back without our man,” he said.

Cheyne eyed him steadily. “Mr. Grant has given himself up to me. If there is any charge against him it shall be gone into. In the meanwhile, draw your men off and dismount if you wish to talk to me.”

Clavering sat perfectly still, with an ironical smile on his lips. “Be wise, and don’t thrust yourself into this affair, which does not concern you, or you may regret it,” he said. “Here is a gentleman who will convince you.”

He backed his horse as another man rode forward and with an assumption of importance addressed Cheyne. “Now,” he said, “we don’t want any unpleasantness, but I have come for the person of Larry Grant, and I mean to take him.”

“Will you tell me who I have the honour of addressing?” said Cheyne.

“Sheriff Slocane. I have a warrant for Larry Grant, and you will put me to any inconvenience in carrying it out at your peril.”

Cheyne smiled drily. “Then, as it is evidently some days since you left home, I am afraid I have bad news for you. You are superseded, Mr. Slocane.”

The Sheriff’s face flushed darkly, Clavering’s grew set, and there was an angry murmur from the men behind them.

“Boys,” said Clavering, “are you going to be beaten by Larry again?”

There was a trampling of hoofs as some of the cow-boys edged their horses closer, and the murmurs grew louder; but Cheyne flung up one hand.

“Another word, and I’ll arrest you, Mr. Clavering,” he said. “Sling those rifles, all of you! I have another troop with horses picketed behind the bluff.”

There was sudden silence until the Sheriff spoke. “Boys,” he said, “don’t be blamed fools when it isn’t any use. Larry has come out on top again. But I don’t know that I am sorry I have done with him and the cattle-men.”

The men made no further sign of hostility, and Cheyne turned to the Sheriff. “Thank you,” he said. “Now, I have to inform you that this district is under martial law, and I have been entrusted, within limits, with jurisdiction. If you and Mr. Clavering have any offences to urge against Grant, I shall be pleased to hear you. In that case you can tell your men to picket their horses, and follow me to our bivouac.”

The two men dismounted, and while Hetty sat trembling amidst the birches talked for half an hour in Cheyne’s tent. Then, Clavering, who saw that they were gaining little, lost his head, and stood up white with anger.

“We are wasting time,” he said. “Still, I warn you that the State will hold you responsible if you turn that man loose again. Our wishes can still command a certain attention in high places.”

Cheyne smiled coldly. “I shall be quite prepared to account for whatever I do. The State, I fancy, is not to be dictated to by the cattle-men’s committees. It is, of course, no affair of mine, but I can’t help thinking that it will prove a trifle unfortunate for one or two of you that, when you asked for more cavalry, you were listened to.”

“Well,” said the Sheriff dejectedly, “I quite fancy it will be; but I’m not going to worry. The cattle-men made it blamed unpleasant for me. What was I superseded for, any way?”

“Incapacity and corruption, I believe,” Cheyne said drily.

Clavering stood still a moment, with an unpleasant look in his eyes, but the Sheriff, who seemed the least disconcerted, touched his arm.

“You come along before you do something you will be sorry for,” he said. “I’m not anxious for any unnecessary trouble, and it would have been considerably more sensible if I had stood in with the homestead-boys.”

They went away, and Cheyne led Larry, who had been confronted with them, back to where Hetty was sitting.

“I understand the men left your father behind, some distance back,” he said. “He was more fatigued than the rest and his horse went lame. Your husband’s case will have consideration, but I scarcely fancy he need have any great apprehension, and I must try to make you comfortable in the meanwhile.”

Hetty glanced up at him with her eyes shining and quivering lips. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Larry, I am so tired.”

Cheyne called an orderly, and ten minutes later led her to a tent. “Your husband placed you in my charge, and I must ask for obedience,” he said. “You will eat and drink what you see there, and then go to sleep. I will take good care of Mr. Grant.”

He drew Larry away and sat talking with him for a while, then bade an orderly find him a waterproof sheet and rug. Larry was asleep within ten minutes, and the moon was shining above the bluff when he awakened and moved to the tent where Hetty lay. Drawing back the canvas, he crept in softly and dropped almost reverently on one knee beside her. He could hear her faint, restful breathing, and the little hand he felt for was pleasantly cool. As he stooped and touched her forehead with his lips, the fingers closed a trifle on his own, and the girl moved in her sleep. “Larry,” she said drowsily, “Larry, dear!”

Grant drew his hand away very softly, and went out with his heart throbbing furiously, to find Cheyne waiting in the vicinity. His face showed plain in the moonlight, and it was quietly grave; but Grant once more saw the expression in it that had astonished him. Now, however, he understood it, and Cheyne knew that he did so. They stood quite still a moment, looking into each other’s eyes.

“Mrs. Grant is resting well?” Cheyne asked.

“Yes,” said Larry. “I owe a good deal to you.”

It did not express what they felt, but they understood each other, and Cheyne smiled a little. “You need not thank me yet. Your case will require consideration, and if the new Sheriff urges his predecessor’s charge, I shall pass it on. In the meantime I have sent to Windsor for a buggy, in which you can take Mrs. Grant away to-morrow.”

It was early next morning when the buggy arrived, and Cheyne, who ordered two troopers to lead the hired horses, had a hasty breakfast served. When the plates had been removed he turned to Hetty with a smile.

“I have decided to release your husband – on condition that he drives straight back to his homestead and stays there with you,” he said. “The State has undertaken to keep order and give every man what he is entitled to now; and if we find Mr. Grant has a finger in any further trouble, I shall blame you.”

He handed Hetty into the buggy, passed the reins to Larry, and stood alone looking after them as they drove away. Hetty turned to her husband, with a blush in her cheek.

“Larry,” she said softly, “I have something to tell you.”

Grant checked her with a smile. “I have guessed it already; and it means a new responsibility.”

“I don’t understand,” said Hetty.

Again the little twinkle showed in Larry’s eyes. “Well,” he said quietly, “that you should have taken me when you had men of his kind to choose from means a good deal. I wouldn’t like you to find out that you had been mistaken, Hetty.”

XXXI

TORRANCE RIDES AWAY

It was late at night, and Miss Schuyler, sitting alone in Hetty’s room, found the time pass very heavily. She had raised her voice in warning when the cow-boys mounted the night Grant had ridden away with Hetty, and had seen the fugitives vanish into the darkness, but since then she had had no news of them, for while Breckenridge had arrived at Cedar the next day, in custody of two mounted men, nobody would tell him what had really happened. Her first impulse had been to ask for an escort to the depot and take the cars for New York, but she was intensely anxious to discover whether Hetty had evaded pursuit, and her pride forbade her slipping away without announcing her intention to Torrance, who had not yet come back to the Range. She felt that something was due to him, especially as she had not regained the house unnoticed when the pursuit commenced.

Rising, she moved restlessly up and down the room; but that in no way lessened the suspense, and sitting down again she resolutely took up a book, but she listened instead of reading it. There was, however, no sound from the prairie, and the house seemed exasperatingly still.

“You will have to shake this nervousness off or you will make a fool of yourself before that man,” she muttered.