The Range Boss

  CHAPTER XX

  THE BUBBLE--DREAMS

  Loping his pony through the golden haze of the afternoon, Randerson cameover the plains toward the Flying W ranchhouse, tingling withanticipation. The still small voice to which he had listened in the daysbefore Ruth's coming had not lied to him; Fate, or whatever power ruledthe destinies of lovers, had made her for him. Man's interference mightdelay the time of possession, his thoughts were of Masten for a briefinstant, and his lips straightened, but in the end there could be noother outcome.

  But though he was as certain of her as he was that the sun would continueto rule the days, he kept his confidence from betraying his thoughts, andwhen at last he rode slowly down along the corral fence, past thebunkhouse and the other buildings, to the edge of the porch, sittingquietly in the saddle and looking down at Ruth, who was sitting in arocker, sewing, his face was grave and his manner that of unconsciousreverence.

  Ruth had been on the porch for more than an hour. And as on the day whenhe had come riding in in obedience to her orders to teach her themysteries of the six-shooter, she watched him today--with anticipation,but with anticipation of a different sort, in which was mingled a littleregret, but burdened largely with an eagerness to show him, unmistakably,that he was not the sort of man that she could look upon seriously. Andso when she saw him ride up to the porch and bring his pony to a halt,she laid her sewing in her lap, folded her hands over it, and watched himwith outward calmness, though with a vague sorrow gripping her. For inspite of what he had done, she still felt the man's strong personality,his virility--the compelling lure of him. She experienced a quick,involuntary tightening of the muscles when she heard his voice--for itintensified the regret in her--low, drawling, gentle:

  "I have come in to report to you, ma'am."

  "Very well," she said calmly. She leaned back in her chair, looking athim, feeling a quick pulse of pity for him, for as she sat there andwaited, saying nothing further, she saw a faint red steal into hischeeks. She knew that he had expected an invitation to join her on theporch; he was entitled to that courtesy because of her treatment of himon the occasion of his previous visit; and that when the invitation didnot come he could not but feel deeply the embarrassment of the situation.

  The faint glow died out of his face, and the lines of his lips grew atrifle more firm. This reception was not the one he had anticipated, butthen there were moods into which people fell. She was subject to moods,too, for he remembered the night she had hurt her ankle--how she had"roasted" him. And his face grew long with an inward mirth. She would askhim to get off his horse, presently, and then he was going to tell her ofhis feelings on that night.

  But she did not invite him to alight. On the contrary, she maintained asilence that was nearly severe. He divined that this mood was to continueand instead of getting off his pony he swung crossways in the saddle.

  "We've got the cattle all out of the hills an' the timber, an' we'reworkin' down the crick toward here," he told her. "There ain't nothin'unusual happened, except"--and here he paused for a brief instant--"thatI had to shoot a man. It was Watt Kelso, from over Lazette way. I hiredhim two weeks before."

  "I heard of it," she returned steadily, her voice expressionless.

  "I hated like poison to do it. But I had no choice. He brought it onhimself."

  "Yes, I suppose so," she said flatly. She looked at him now with thefirst flash of emotion that she had allowed him to see. "If killingpeople is your trade, and you choose to persist in it, I don't see how weare to stop you."

  He looked sharply at her, but his voice was low and even. "I don't shootfolks for the fun of it, ma'am."

  "No?"--with scornful disbelief. "Well, I presume it doesn't make muchdifference. Dead people wouldn't appreciate the joke, anyway."

  His face was serious now, for he could see that she was deeply disturbedover the shooting.

  "I reckon you wouldn't believe me, no matter how hard I talked," he said."You'd have your own opinion. It sure does look bad for me--havin' toplug two guys in one season. An' I don't blame you for feelin' like youdo about it. But I've got this to say," he went on earnestly. "Kelso cometo the outfit, lookin' for trouble. I'd had a run-in with him a few yearsago. An' I shot him--in the arm. I thought it was all over. But alongcomes Kelso, with his mustache shaved off so's I wouldn't know him--whichI did. He asked me for a job, an' I give it to him--hopin'. But hopes--"

  "If you knew him, why did you give him a job?" she interrupted. "It mighthave saved you shooting him."

  "If he was wantin' to force trouble he'd have done it sooner or later,ma'am."

  "Well?" she said, interested in spite of herself.

  "He waited two weeks for a chance. I didn't give him any chance. An'then, one night, after Red Owen had been cuttin' up some monkey shines,he talked fresh an' pulled his gun. He was a regular gunfighter, ma'am;he'd been hired to put me out of business."

  There was an appeal in his eyes that did not show in his voice; and itwould be all the appeal that he would make. Looking fixedly at him, shebecame certain of that.

  "Do you know who hired him?"

  There was that in her tone which told him that he might now make his casestrong--might even convince her, and thus be restored to that grace fromwhich he, plainly, had fallen. But he was a claimant for her hand, he hadtold her that he would not press that claim until she broke herengagement with Masten, and if he now told her that it had been theEasterner who had hired Kelso to kill him, he would have felt that shewould think he had taken advantage of the situation, selfishly. And hepreferred to take his chance, slender though it seemed to be.

  "He didn't tell me."

  "Then you only suspected it?"

  He was silent for an instant. Then: "A man told me he was hired."

  "Who told you?"

  "I ain't mentionin', ma'am." He could not tell her that Blair had toldhim, after he had told Blair not to mention it.

  She smiled with cold incredulity, and he knew his chance had gone.

  But he was not prepared for her next words. In her horror for his deed,she had ceased to respect him; she had ceased to believe him; his earnestprotestations of innocence of wantonness she thought were hypocritical--animpression strengthened by his statement that Kelso had been hired to killhim, and by his inability to show evidence to prove it. A shiver ofrepulsion, for him and his killings, ran over her.

  "I believe you are lying, Randerson," she said, coldly.

  He started, stiffened, and then stared, at her, his face slowlywhitening. She had said words that, spoken by a man, would have broughtabout another of those killings that horrified her. She watched him,sensing for the first time something of the terrible emotions thatsometimes beset men in tense situations but entirely unconscious of thefact that she had hurt him far more than any bullet could have hurt him.

  Yet, aside from the whiteness of his face, he took the fatal thrustwithout a sign. His dreams, that had seemed to be so real to him whileriding over the plains toward the ranchhouse, had been bubbles that shehad burst with a breath. He saw the wrecks of them go sailing into thedust at his feet.

  He had gazed downward, and he did not look up at once. When he did, hisgaze rested, as though by prearrangement, on her. Her eyes were stillcold, still disbelieving, and he drew himself slowly erect.

  "I reckon you've said enough, ma'am," he told her quietly, though hisvoice was a trifle hoarse. "A man couldn't help but understand that." Hewheeled Patches and took off his hat to her. "I'll send Red Owen to seeyou, ma'am," he added. "I can recommend Red."

  She was on her feet, ready to turn to go into the house, for his mannerof receiving her insult had made her feel infinitely small and mean. Butat his words she halted and looked at him.

  "Why should you send Red Owen to see me? What do you mean?" she demanded.

  "Why, you've made it pretty plain, ma'am," he answered with a low laugh,turning his head to look back at her. "I reckon you wouldn'
t expect me togo on workin' for you, after you've got so you don't trust me any more.Red will make you a good range boss."

  He urged Patches on. But she called to him, a strange regret filling her,whitening her cheeks, and Patches came again to a halt.

  "I--I don't want Red Owen for a range boss," she declared with a gulp."If you are determined to quit, I--I suppose I cannot prevent it. But youcan stay a week or two, can't you--until I can get somebody I like?"

  He smiled gravely. "Why, I reckon I can, ma'am," he answeredrespectfully. "There won't be no awful hurry about it. I wouldn't want todisconvenience you."

  And then he was off into the deepening haze of the coming evening, ridingtall and rigid, with never a look behind to show her that he cared.

  Standing in the doorway of the house, the girl watched him, both hands ather breast, her eyes wide, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, until thesomber shadows of twilight came down and swallowed him. Then, oppressedwith a sudden sense of the emptiness of the world, she went into thehouse.