CHAPTER IV.
The events of the day had produced a remarkable impression on the facialaspect of the charcoal-burning Fairley. Extraordinary processes ofthought, indicated by repeated rubbing of his forehead, had produced ahigh light in the middle and a corresponding deepening of shadow at thesides, until it bore the appearance of a perfect sphere. It was thisforehead that confronted Flip reproachfully as became a deceivedcomrade, menacingly as became an outraged parent in the presence of athird party and--a Postmaster!
"Fine doin's this, yer receivin' clandecent bundles and letters, eh?"he began. Flip sent one swift, withering look of contempt at thePostmaster, who at once becoming invertebrate and groveling, mumbledthat he must "get on" to the Crossing, and rose to go. But the oldman, who had counted on his presence for moral support, and was clearlybeginning to hate him for precipitating this scene with his daughter,whom he feared, violently protested.
"Sit down, can't ye? Don't you see you're a witness?" he screamedhysterically.
It was a fatal suggestion. "Witness," repeated Flip, scornfully.
"Yes, a witness! He gave ye letters and bundles."
"Weren't they directed to me?" asked Flip.
"Yes," said the Postmaster, hesitatingly; "in course, yes."
"Do YOU lay claim to them?" she said, turning to her father.
"No," responded the old man.
"Do you?" sharply, to the Postmaster.
"No," he replied.
"Then," said Flip, coolly, "if you're not claimin' 'em for yourself, andyou hear father say they ain't his, I reckon the less you have to sayabout 'em the better."
"Thar's suthin' in that," said the old man, shamelessly abandoning thePostmaster.
"Then why don't she say who sent 'em, and what they are like," said thePostmaster, "if there's nothin' in it?"
"Yes," echoed Dad. "Flip, why don't you?"
Without answering the direct question, Flip turned upon her father.
"Maybe you forget how you used to row and tear round here because trampsand such like came to the ranch for suthin', and I gave it to 'em? Maybeyou'll quit tearin' round and letting yourself be made a fool of nowby that man, just because one of those tramps gets up and sends us somepresents back in turn?"
"'Twasn't me, Flip," said the old man, deprecatingly, but glaring at theastonished Postmaster. "Twasn't my doin'. I allus said if you cast yourbread on the waters it would come back to you by return mail. The factis, the Gov'ment is gettin' too high-handed! Some o' these bloatedofficials had better climb down before next leckshen."
"Maybe," continued Flip to her father, without looking at herdiscomfited visitor, "ye'd better find out whether one of thoseofficials comes up to this yer ranch to steal away a gal about my ownsize, or to get points about diamond-making. I reckon he don't travelround to find out who writes all the letters that go through the PostOffice."
The Postmaster had seemingly miscalculated the old man's infirm temperand the daughter's skillful use of it. He was unprepared for Flip'sboldness and audacity, and when he saw that both barrels of theaccusation had taken effect on the charcoal burner, who was risingwith epileptic rage, he fairly turned and fled. The old man would havefollowed him with objurgation beyond the door, but for the restraininghand of Flip.
Baffled and beaten, nevertheless Fate was not wholly unkind to theretreating suitor. Near the Gin and Ginger Woods he picked up a letterwhich had fallen from Flip's pocket. He recognized the writing, and didnot scruple to read it. It was not a love epistle,--at least, not such aone as he would have written,--it did not give the address nor the nameof the correspondent; but he read the following with greedy eyes:--
"Perhaps it's just as well that you don't rig yourself out for thebenefit of those dead beats at the Crossing, or any tramp that mighthang round the ranch. Keep all your style for me when I come. I can'ttell you when, it's mighty uncertain before the rainy season. ButI'm coming soon. Don't go back on your promise about lettin up on thetramps, and being a little more high-toned. And don't you give 'em somuch. It's true I sent you hats TWICE. I clean forgot all about thefirst; but I wouldn't have given a ten-dollar hat to a nigger womanwho had a sick baby because I had an extra hat. I'd have let that babyslide. I forgot to ask whether the skirt is worn separately; I must seethe dressmaking sharp about it; but I think you'll want something onbesides a jacket and skirt; at least, it looks like it up here. I don'tthink you could manage a piano down there without the old man knowingit, and raisin' the devil generally. I promised you I'd let up on him.Mind you keep all your promises to me. I'm glad you're gettin' on withthe six-shooter; tin cans are good at fifteen yards, but try it onsuthin' that MOVES! I forgot to say that I am on the track of yourbig brother. It's a three years' old track, and he was in Arizona. Thefriend who told me didn't expatiate much on what he did there, but Ireckon they had a high old time. If he's above the earth I'll find him,you bet. The yerba buena and the southern wood came all right,--theysmelt like you. Say, Flip, do you remember the last--the VERYlast--thing that happened when you said 'Good-by' on the trail? Don'tlet me ever find out that you've let anybody else kiss--"
But here the virtuous indignation of the Postmaster found vent in anoath. He threw the letter away. He retained of it only two facts,--FlipHAD a brother who was missing; she had a lover present in the flesh.
How much of the substance of this and previous letters Flip had confidedto her father I cannot say. If she suppressed anything it was probablythat which affected Lance's secret alone, and it was doubtful how muchof that she herself knew. In her own affairs she was frank without beingcommunicative, and never lost her shy obstinacy even with her father.Governing the old man as completely as she did, she appeared mostembarrassed when she was most dominant; she had her own way withoutlifting her voice or her eyes; she seemed oppressed by mauvaise hontewhen she was most triumphant; she would end a discussion with a shymurmur addressed to herself, or a single gesture of self-consciousness.
The disclosure of her strange relations with an unknown man and theexchange of presents and confidences seemed to suddenly awake Fairley toa vague, uneasy sense of some unfulfilled duties as a parent. The firsteffect of this on his weak nature was a peevish antagonism to the causeof it. He had long, fretful monologues on the vanity of diamond-making,if accompanied with a "pestering" by "interlopers;" on the wickednessof concealment and conspiracy, and their effects on charcoal-burning;on the nurturing of spies and "adders" in the family circle, and on theseditiousness of dark and mysterious councils in which a gray-hairedfather was left out. It was true that a word or look from Flip generallybrought these monologues to an inglorious and abrupt termination, butthey were none the less lugubrious as long as they lasted. In timethey were succeeded by an affectation of contrite apology andself-depreciation. "Don't go out o' the way to ask the old man," hewould say, referring to the quantity of bacon to be ordered; "it'snat'ral a young gal should have her own advisers." The state of theflour barrel would also produce a like self-abasement. "Unless ye'realready in correspondence about more flour, ye might take the opinion o'the first tramp ye meet ez to whether Santa Cruz Mills is a goodbrand, but don't ask the old man." If Flip was in conversation withthe butcher, Fairley would obtrusively retire with the hope "he wasn'tintrudin' on their secrets."
These phases of her father's weakness were not frequent enough to exciteher alarm, but she could not help noticing they were accompanied with aseriousness unusual to him. He began to be tremulously watchful of her,returning often from work at an earlier hour, and lingering by the cabinin the morning. He brought absurd and useless presents for her, andpresented them with a nervous anxiety, poorly concealed by an assumptionof careless, paternal generosity. "Suthin' I picked up at the Crossin'for ye to-day," he would say, airily, and retire to watch the effect ofa pair of shoes two sizes too large, or a fur cap in September. Hewould have hired a cheap parlor organ for her, but for the apparentlyunexpected revelation that she couldn't play. He had received the newsof a clue to his long-los
t son without emotion, but lately he seemed tolook upon it as a foregone conclusion, and one that necessarily solvedthe question of companionship for Flip. "In course, when you've got yourown flesh and blood with ye, ye can't go foolin' around with strangers."These autumnal blossoms of affection, I fear, came too late for anyeffect upon Flip, precociously matured by her father's indifferenceand selfishness. But she was good humored, and, seeing him seriouslyconcerned, gave him more of her time, even visited him in the sacredseclusion of the "diamond pit," and listened with far-off eyes to hisfitful indictment of all things outside his grimy laboratory. Muchof this patient indifference came with a capricious change in her ownhabits; she no longer indulged in the rehearsal of dress, she packedaway her most treasured garments, and her leafy boudoir knew her nomore. She sometimes walked on the hillside, and often followed the trailshe had taken with Lance when she led him to the ranch. She once ortwice extended her walk to the spot where she had parted from him,and as often came shyly away, her eyes downcast and her face warm withcolor. Perhaps because these experiences and some mysterious instinct ofmaturing womanhood had left a story in her eyes, which her two adorers,the Postmaster and the Butcher, read with passion, she became famouswithout knowing it. Extravagant stories of her fascinations broughtstrangers into the valley. The effect upon her father may be imagined.Lance could not have desired a more effective guardian than he proved tobe in this emergency. Those who had been told of this hidden pearl weresurprised to find it so jealously protected.