'Firebrand' Trevison
handiwork--no filmy curtains at the windows--merely shades; no cushion was
on the chair--which, by the way, looked lonesome--but perhaps that was
merely her imagination. Much dust had gathered on the gallery floor and on
the sash of the windows--a woman would have had things looking
differently. And so she divined that Trevison was not married. It
surprised her to discover that that thought had been in her mind, and she
turned to continue her inspection, filled with wonder that it had been
there.
She got an impression of breadth and spaciousness out of her survey of the
buildings and the surrounding country. The buildings were in good
condition; everything looked substantial and homelike and her
contemplation of it aroused in her a yearning for a house and land in this
section of the country, it was so peaceful and dignified in comparison
with the life she knew.
She watched Trevison when he emerged from the house, and smiled when he
returned the empty handbag. He went to a small building near a fenced
enclosure--the corral, she learned afterward--and came out carrying a
saddle, which he hung on the fence while he captured the black horse,
which she had already observed. The animal evaded capture, playfully, but
in the end it trotted mincingly to Trevison and permitted him to throw the
bridle on. Then, shortly afterward he mounted the black and together they
rode back toward the cut.
As they rode the girl's curiosity for the man who rode beside her grew
acute. She was aware--she had been aware all along--that he was far
different from the other men of Manti--there was about him an atmosphere
of refinement and quiet confidence that mingled admirably with his
magnificent physical force, tempering it, suggesting reserve power,
hinting of excellent mental capacity. She determined to know something
about him. And so she began subtly:
"In a section of country so large as this it seems that our American
measure of length--a mile--should be stretched to something that would
more adequately express size. Don't you think so?"
He looked quickly at her. "That is an odd thought," he laughed, "but it
inevitably attacks the person who views the yawning distances here for the
first time. Why not use the English mile if the American doesn't
satisfy?"
"There is a measure that exceeds that, isn't there? Wasn't there a Persian
measure somewhat longer, fathered by Herodotus or another of the ancients?
I am sure there was--or is--but I have forgotten?"
"Yes," he said, "--a parasang." He looked narrowly at her and saw her eyes
brighten.
She had made progress; she felt much satisfaction.
"You are not a native," she said.
"How do you know?"
"Cowboys do not commonly measure their distances with parasangs," she
laughed.
"Nor do ordinary women try to shake off ennui by coming West in private
cars," he drawled.
She started and looking quickly at him. "How did you know that was what
happened to me?" she demanded.
"Because you're too spirited and vigorous to spend your life dawdling in
society. You yearn for action, for the broad, free life of the open.
You're in love with this country right now."
"Yes, yes," she said, astonished; "but how do you know?"
"You might have sent a man here in your place--Braman, for instance; he
could be trusted. You came yourself, eager for adventure--you came on a
borrowed horse. When you were looking at the country from the horse in
front of my house, I saw you sigh."
"Well," she said, with flushed face and glowing eyes; "I _have_ decided to
live out here--for a time, at least. So you were watching me?"
"Just a glance," he defended, grinning; "I couldn't help it. Please
forgive me."
"I suppose I'll have to," she laughed, delighted, reveling in this freedom
of speech, in his directness. His manner touched a spark somewhere in her,
she felt strangely elated, exhilarated. When she reflected that this was
only their second meeting and that she had not been conventionally
introduced to him, she was amazed. Had a stranger of her set talked to her
so familiarly she would have resented it. Out here it seemed to be
perfectly natural.
"How do you know I borrowed a horse to come here?" she asked.
"That's easy," he grinned; "there's the Diamond K brand on his hip."
"Oh."
They rode on a little distance in silence, and then she remembered that
she was still curious about him. His frankness had affected her; she did
not think it impertinent to betray curiosity.
"How long have you lived out here?" she asked.
"About ten years."
"You weren't born here, of course--you have admitted that. Then where did
you come from?"
"This is a large country," he returned, unsmilingly.
It was a reproof, certainly--Rosalind could go no farther in that
direction. But her words had brought a mystery into existence, thus
sharpening her interest in him. She was conscious, though, of a slight
pique--what possible reason could he have for evasion? He had not the
appearance of a fugitive from justice.
"So you're going to live out here?" he said, after an interval. "Where?"
"I heard father speak of buying Blakeley's place. Do you know where it
is?"
"It adjoins mine." There was a leaping note in his voice, which she did
not fail to catch. "Do you see that dark line over there?" He pointed
eastward--a mile perhaps. "That's a gully; it divides my land from
Blakeley's. Blakeley told me a month ago that he was dickering with an
eastern man. If you are thinking of looking the place over, and want a
trustworthy escort I should be pleased to recommend--myself." And he
grinned widely at her.
"I shall consider your offer--and I thank you for it," she returned. "I
feel positive that father will buy a ranch here, for he has much faith in
the future of Manti--he is obsessed with it."
He looked sharply at her. "Then your father is going to have a hand in the
development of Manti? I heard a rumor to the effect that some eastern
company was interested, had, in fact, secured the water rights for an
enormous section."
She remembered what Corrigan had told her, and blushingly dissembled:
"I put no faith in rumor--do you? Mr. Corrigan is the head of the company
which is to develop Manti. But of course _that_ is an eastern company,
isn't it?"
He nodded, and she smiled at a thought that came to her. "How far is it to
Blakeley's ranchhouse?" she asked.
"About two parasangs," he answered gravely.
"Well," she said, mimicking him; "I could _never_ walk there, could I? If
I go, I shall have to borrow a horse--or buy one. Could you recommend a
horse that would be as trustworthy as the escort you have promised me?"
"We shall go to Blakeley's tomorrow," he told her. "I shall bring you a
trustworthy horse at ten o'clock in the morning."
They were approaching the cut, and she nodded an acceptance. An instant
later he was talking to his men, and she sat near him, watching them as
they raced over the plains toward the Diamond K ranchhouse. One man
remained; he was without a mount, and he grinned with embarrassment when
Rosalind's gaze rested on him.
"Oh," she said; "you are waiting for your horse! How stupid of me!" She
dismounted and turned the animal over to him. When she looked around,
Trevison had also dismounted and was coming toward her, leading the black,
the reins looped through his arm. Rosalind flushed, and thought of Agatha,
but offered no objection.
It was a long walk down the slope of the hill and around its base to the
private car, but they made it still longer by walking slowly and taking
the most roundabout way. Three persons saw them coming--Agatha, standing
rigid on the platform; the negro attendant, standing behind Agatha in the
doorway, his eyes wide with interest; and Carson, seated on a boulder a
little distance down the cut, grinning broadly.
"Bedad," he rumbled; "the bhoy's made a hit wid her, or I'm a sinner! But
didn't I know he wud? The two bulldogs is goin' to have it now, sure as
I'm a foot high!"
CHAPTER VI
A JUDICIAL PUPPET
Bowling along over the new tracks toward Manti in a special car secured at
Dry Bottom by Corrigan, one compartment of which was packed closely with
books, papers, ledger records, legal documents, blanks, and even office
furniture, Judge Lindman watched the landscape unfold with mingled
feelings of trepidation, reluctance, and impotent regret. The Judge's face
was not a strong one--had it been he would not have been seated in the
special car, talking with Corrigan. He was just under sixty-five years,
and their weight seemed to rest heavily upon him. His eyes were slightly
bleary, and had a look of weariness, as though he had endured much and was
utterly tired. His mouth was flaccid, the lips pouting when he compressed
his jaws, giving his face the sullen, indecisive look of the brooder
lacking the mental and physical courage of independent action and
initiative. The Judge could be led; Corrigan was leading him now, and the
Judge was reluctant, but his courage had oozed, back in Dry Bottom, when
Corrigan had mentioned a culpable action which the Judge had regretted
many times.
Some legal records of the county were on the table between the two men.
The Judge had objected when Corrigan had secured them from the compartment
where the others were piled.
"It isn't regular, Mr. Corrigan," he had said; "no one except a legally
authorized person has the right to look over those books."
"We'll say that I am legally authorized, then," grinned Corrigan. The look
in his eyes was one of amused contempt. "It isn't the only irregular thing
you have done, Lindman."
The Judge subsided, but back in his eyes was a slumbering hatred for this
man, who was forcing him to complicity in another crime. He regretted that
other crime; why should this man deliberately remind him of it?
After looking over the records, Corrigan outlined a scheme of action that
made the Judge's face blanch.
"I won't be a party to any such scurrilous undertaking!" he declared when,
he could trust his voice; "I--I won't permit it!"
Corrigan stretched his legs out under the table, shoved his hands into his
trousers' pockets and laughed.
"Why the high moral attitude, Judge? It doesn't become you. Refuse if you
like. When we get to Manti I shall wire Benham. It's likely he'll feel
pretty sore. He's got his heart set on this. And I have no doubt that
after he gets my wire he'll jump the next train for Washington, and--"
The Judge exclaimed with weak incoherence, and a few minutes later he was
bending over the records with Corrigan--the latter making sundry copies on
a pad of paper, which he placed in a pocket when the work was completed.
At noon the special car was in Manti. Corrigan, the Judge, and Braman,
carried the Judge's effects and stored them in the rear room of the bank
building. "I'll build you a courthouse, tomorrow," he promised the Judge;
"big enough for you and a number of deputies. You'll need deputies, you
know." He grinned as the Judge shrank. Then, leaving the Judge in the room
with his books and papers, Corrigan drew Braman outside.
"I got hell from Benham for destroying Trevison's check--he wired me to
attend to my other deals and let him run the railroad--the damned old
fool! You must have taken the cash to Trevison--I see the gang's working
again."
"The cash went," said the banker, watching Corrigan covertly, "but I
didn't take it. J. C. wired explicit orders for his daughter to act."
Corrigan cursed viciously, his face dark with wrath as he turned to look
at the private car, on the switch. The banker watched him with secret,
vindictive enjoyment. Miss Benham had judged Braman correctly--he was
cold, crafty, selfish, and wholly devoid of sympathy. He was for Braman,
first and last--and in the interim.