CHAPTER XXI
A TEST OF LOYALTY
Lambert rode to his rendezvous with Grace Kerr on the appointed day,believing that she would keep it, although her promise had beeninconclusive. She had only "expected" she would be there, but he morethan expected she would come.
He was in a pleasant mood that morning, sentimentally softened to suchextent that he believed he might even call accounts off with Sim Hargusand the rest of them if Grace could arrange a peace. Vesta was a littlerough on her, he believed. Grace was showing a spirit that seemed toprove she wanted only gentle guiding to abandon the practices ofviolence to which she had been bred.
Certainly, compared to Vesta, she seemed of coarser ware, even thoughshe was as handsome as heart could desire. This he admitted withoutprejudice, not being yet wholly blind. But there was no bond of romancebetween Vesta and him. There was no place for romance between a man andhis boss. Romance bound him to Grace Kerr; sentiment enchained him. Itwas a sweet enslavement, and one to be prolonged in his desire.
Grace was not in sight when he reached their meeting-place. He let downthe wire and rode to meet her, troubled as before by that feeling ofdisloyalty to the Philbrook interests which caused him to stop more thanonce and debate whether he should turn back and wait inside the fence.
The desire to hasten the meeting with Grace was stronger than thisquestion of his loyalty. He went on, over the hill from which she usedto spy on his passing, into the valley where he had interfered betweenthe two girls on the day that he found Grace hidden away in thisunexpected place. There he met her coming down the farther slope.
Grace was quite a different figure that day from any she had presentedbefore, wearing a perky little highland bonnet with an eagle feather init, and a skirt and blouse of the same plaid. His eyes announced hisapproval as they met, leaning to shake hands from the saddle.
Immediately he brought himself to task for his late admission that shewas inferior in the eyes to Vesta. That misappraisement was due to thedisadvantage under which he had seen Grace heretofore. This morning shewas as dainty as a fresh-blown pink, and as delicately sweet. He swungfrom the saddle and stood off admiring her with so much speaking fromhis eyes that she grew rosy in their fire.
"Will you get down, Grace? I've never had a chance to see how tall youare--I couldn't tell that day on the train."
The eagle feather came even with his ear when she stood beside him,slender and strong, health in her eyes, her womanhood ripening in herlips. Not as tall as Vesta, not as full of figure, he began in mentalmeasurement, burning with self-reproof when he caught himself at it. Whyshould he always be drawing comparisons between her and Vesta, to herdisadvantage in all things? It was unwarranted, it was absurd!
They sat on the hillside, their horses nipping each other inintroductory preliminaries, then settling down to immediate friendship.They were far beyond sight of the fence. Lambert hoped, with an uneasyreturn of that feeling of disloyalty and guilt, that Vesta would notcome riding up that way and find the open strands of wire.
This thought passed away and troubled him no more as they sat talking ofthe strange way of their "meeting on the run," as she said.
"There isn't a horse in a thousand that could have caught up with methat day."
"Not one in thousands," he amended, with due gratitude to Whetstone.
"I expected you'd be riding him today, Duke."
"He backed into a fire," said he uneasily, "and burned off most of histail. He's no sight for a lady in his present shape."
She laughed, looking at him shrewdly, as if she believed it to be a joketo cover something that he didn't want her to know.
"But you promised to give him to me, Duke, when he rested up a little."
"I will," he declared earnestly, getting hold of her hand where it layin the grass between them. "I'll give you anything I've got, Grace, fromthe breath in my body to the blood in my heart!"
She bent her head, her face rosy with her mounting blood.
"Would you, Duke?" said she, so softly that it was not much more thanthe flutter of the wings of words.
He leaned a little nearer, his heart climbing, as if it meant to smotherhim and cut him short in that crowning moment of his dream.
"I'd have gone to the end of the world to find you, Grace," he said, hisvoice shaking as if he had a chill, his hands cold, his face hot, atingling in his body, a sound in his ears like bells. "I want to tellyou how----"
"Wait, Duke--I want to hear it all--but wait a minute. There's somethingI want to ask you to do for me. Will you do me a favor, Duke, a simplefavor, but one that means the world and all to me?"
"Try me," said he, with boundless confidence.
"It's more than giving me your horse, Duke; a whole lot more than that,but it'll not hurt you--you can do it, if you will."
"I know you wouldn't ask me to do anything that would reflect on myhonesty or honor," he said, beginning to do a little thinking as hisnervous chill passed.
"A man doesn't--when a man _cares_--" She stopped, looking away, alittle constriction in her throat.
"What is it, Grace?" pressing her hand encouragingly, master of thesituation now, as he believed.
"Duke"--she turned to him suddenly, her eyes wide and luminous, herheart going so he could see the tremor of its vibrations in the lace ather throat--"I want you to lend me tomorrow morning, for one day, justone day, Duke--five hundred head of Vesta Philbrook's cattle."
"That's a funny thing to ask, Grace," said he uneasily.
"I want you to meet me over there where I cut the fence before sunup inthe morning, and have everybody out of the way, so we can cut them outand drive them over here. You can manage it, if you want to, Duke. Youwill, if you--if you _care_."
"If they were my cattle, Grace, I wouldn't hesitate a second."
"You'll do it, anyhow, won't you, Duke, for me?"
"What in the world do you want them for, just for one day?"
"I can't explain that to you now, Duke, but I pledge you my honor, Ipledge you everything, that they'll be returned to you before night, nota head missing, nothing wrong."
"Does your father know--does he----"
"It's for myself that I'm asking this of you, Duke; nobody else. Itmeans--it means--_everything_ to me."
"If they were my cattle, Grace, if they were my cattle," said heaimlessly, amazed by the request, groping for the answer that lay behindit. What could a girl want to borrow five hundred head of cattle for?What in the world would she get out of holding them in her possessionone day and then turning them back into the pasture? There was somethingback of it; she was the innocent emissary of a crafty hand that had atrick to play.
"We could run them over here, just you and I, and nobody would knowanything about it," she tempted, the color back in her cheeks, her eyesbright as in the pleasure of a request already granted.
"I don't like to refuse you even that, Grace."
"You'll do it, you'll do it, Duke?" Her hand was on his arm in beguilingcaress, her eyes were pleading into his.
"I'm afraid not, Grace."
Perhaps she felt a shading of coldness in his denial, for distrust andsuspicion were rising in his cautious mind. It did not seem to him athing that could be asked with any honest purpose, but for whatdishonest one he had no conjecture to fit.
"Are you going to turn me down on the first request I ever made of you,Duke?" She watched him keenly as she spoke, making her eyes small, aninflection of sorrowful injury in her tone.
"If there's anything of my own you want, if there's anything you canname for me to do, personally, all you've got to do is hint at itonce."
"It's easy to say that when there's nothing else I want!" she said,snapping it at him as sharp as the crack of a little whip.
"If there _was_ anything----"
"There'll never be anything!"
She got up, flashing him an indignant look. He stood beside her,despising the poverty of his condition which would not allow him todeliver over to her, ou
t of hand, the small matter of five hundredbeeves.
She went to her horse, mightily put out and impatient with him, as hecould see, threw the reins over her pommel, as if she intended to leavehim at once. She delayed mounting, suddenly putting out her hands insupplication, tears springing in her eyes.
"Oh, Duke! If you knew how much it means to me," she said.
"Why don't you tell me, Grace?"
"Even if you stayed back there on the hills somewhere and watched themyou wouldn't do it, Duke?" she appealed, evading his request.
He shook his head slowly, while the thoughts within it ran likewildfire, seeking the thing that she covered.
"It can't be done."
"I give you my word, Duke, that if you'll do it nobody will ever lift ahand against this ranch again."
"It's almost worth it," said he.
She quickened at this, enlarging her guarantee.
"We'll drop all of the old feud and let Vesta alone. I give you my wordfor all of them, and I'll see that they carry it out. You can do Vestaas big a favor as you'll be doing me, Duke."
"It couldn't be done without her consent, Grace. If you want to go toher with this same proposal, putting it plainly like you have to me, Ithink she'll let you have the cattle, if you can show her any goodreason for it."
"Just as if I'd be fool enough to ask her!"
"That's the only way."
"Duke," said she coaxingly, "wouldn't it be worth something to you,personally, to have your troubles settled without a fight? I'll promiseyou nobody will ever lift a hand against you again if you'll do this forme."
He started, looked at her sternly, approaching her a step.
"What do you know about anything that's happened to me?" he demanded.
"I don't know anything about what's happened, but I know what's due tohappen if it isn't headed off."
Lambert did some hard thinking for a little while, so hard that itwrenched him to the marrow. If he had had suspicion of her entireinnocence in the solicitation of this unusual favor before, it hadsprung in a moment into distrust. Such a quick reversion cannot takeplace in the sentiment without a shock. It seemed to Lambert thatsomething valuable had been snatched away from him, and that he stood inbewilderment, unable to reach out and retrieve his loss.
"Then there's no use in discussing it any more," he said, groping back,trying to answer her.
"You'd do it for her!"
"Not for her any quicker than for you."
"I know it looks crooked to you, Duke--I don't blame you for yoursuspicions," she said with a frankness that seemed more like herself,he thought. She even seemed to be coming back to him in that approach.It made him glad.
"Tell me all about it, Grace," he urged.
She came close to him, put her arm about his neck, drew his head down asif to whisper her confidence in his ear. Her breath was on his cheek,his heart was afire in one foolish leap. She put up her lips as if tokiss him, and he, reeling in the ecstasy of his proximity to her radiantbody, bent nearer to take what she seemed to offer.
She drew back, her hand interposed before his eager lips, shaking herhead, denying him prettily.
"In the morning, I'll tell you all in the morning when I meet you todrive the cattle over," she said. "Don't say a word--I'll not take nofor my answer." She turned quickly to her horse and swung lightly intothe saddle. From this perch she leaned toward him, her hand on hisshoulder, her lips drawing him in their fiery lure again. "In themorning--in the morning--you can kiss me, Duke!"
With that word, that promise, she turned and galloped away.
It was late afternoon, and Lambert had faced back toward the ranchhouse,troubled by all that he could not understand in that morning's meeting,thrilled and fired by all that was sweet to remember, when he met a manwho came riding in the haste of one who had business ahead of him thatcould not wait. He was riding one of Vesta Philbrook's horses, acircumstance that sharpened Lambert's interest in him at once.
As they closed the distance between them, Lambert keeping his hand inthe easy neighborhood of his gun, the man raised his hand, palm forward,in the Indian sign of peace. Lambert saw that he wore a shoulder holsterwhich supported two heavy revolvers. He was a solemn-looking man with anarrow face, a mustache that crowded Taterleg's for the championship, abuckskin vest with pearl buttons. His coat was tied on the saddle at hisback.
"I didn't steal this horse," he explained with a sorrowful grin as hedrew up within arm's length of Lambert, "I requisitioned it. I'm thesheriff."
"Yes, sir?" said Lambert, not quite taking him for granted, nointention of letting him pass on with that explanation.
"Miss Philbrook said I'd run across you up this way."
The officer produced his badge, his commission, his card, hisletterhead, his credentials of undoubted strength. On the proof thussupplied, Lambert shook hands with him.
"I guess everybody else in the county knows me--this is my second term,and I never was taken for a horse thief before," the sheriff said,solemn as a crow, as he put his papers away.
"I'm a stranger in this country, I don't know anybody, nobody knows me,so you'll not take it as a slight that I didn't recognize you, Mr.Sheriff."
"No harm done, Duke, no harm done. Well, I guess you're a little widerknown than you make out. I didn't bring a man along with me because Iknew you were up here at Philbrook's. Hold up your hand and be sworn."
"What's the occasion?" Lambert inquired, making no move to comply withthe order.
"I've got a warrant for this man Kerr over south of here, and I want youto go with me. Kerr's a bad egg, in a nest of bad eggs. There's likelyto be too much trouble for one man to handle alone. You do solemnlyswear to support the constitution of the----"
"Wait a minute, Mr. Sheriff," Lambert demurred; "I don't know that Iwant to mix up in----"
"It's not for you to say what you want to do--that's my business," thesheriff said sharply. He forthwith deputized Lambert, and gave him aduplicate of the warrant. "You don't need it, but it'll clear your mindof all doubt of your power," he explained. "Can we get through thisfence?"
"Up here six or seven miles, about opposite Kerr's place. But I'd liketo go on to the house and change horses; I've rode this one over fortymiles today already."
The sheriff agreed. "Where's that outlaw you won from Jim Wilder?" heinquired, turning his eyes on Lambert in friendly appreciation.
"I'll ride him," Lambert returned briefly. "What's Kerr been up to?"
"Mortgaged a bunch of cattle he's got over there to three differentbanks. He was down a couple of days ago tryin' to put through anotherloan. The investigation that banker started laid him bare. He promisedKerr to come up tomorrow and look over his security, and passed the wordon to the county attorney. Kerr said he'd just bought five hundred headof stock. He wanted to raise the loan on them."
"Five hundred," said Lambert, mechanically repeating the sheriff'swords, doing some calculating of his own.
"He ain't got any that ain't blanketed with mortgage paper so thickalready they'd go through a blizzard and never know it. His scheme wasto raise five or six thousand dollars more on that outfit and skip thecountry."
And Grace Kerr had relied on his infatuation for her to work on him forthe loan of the necessary cattle. Lambert could not believe that it wasall her scheme, but it seemed incredible that a man as shrewdlydishonest as Kerr would entertain a plan that promised so little outlookof success. They must have believed over at Kerr's that they had himpretty well on the line.
But Kerr had figured too surely on having his neighbor's cattle to showthe banker to stake all on the chance of Grace being able to wheedle himinto the scheme. If he couldn't get them by seduction, he meant to takethem in a raid. Grace never intended to come to meet him in the morningalone.
One crime more would amount to little in addition to what Kerr had donealready, and it would be a trick on which he would pride himself andlaugh over all the rest of his life. It seemed certain now that Grace'sfriendliness al
l along had been laid on a false pretense, with the oneintention of beguiling him to his disgrace, his destruction, if disgracecould not be accomplished without it.
As he rode Whetstone--now quite recovered from his scorching, save forthe hair of his once fine tail--beside the sheriff, Lambert had someuneasy cogitations on his sentimental blindness of the past; on thegood, honest advice that Vesta Philbrook had given him. Blood was blood,after all. If the source of it was base, it was too much to hope that alittle removal, a little dilution, would ennoble it. She had lived thereall her life the associate of thieves and rascals; her way of lookingon men and property must naturally be that of the depredator, thepillager, and thief.
"And yet," thought he, thumb in the pocket of his hairy vest where thelittle handkerchief lay, "and yet----"