The Range Boss

  CHAPTER VIII

  WHAT UNCLE JEPSON HEARD

  Every detail of the killing of Jim Pickett remained vivid in Ruth'srecollection. She felt that she would never forget it. But her horrorgradually abated, and at the end of a week she was able to look atRanderson without shuddering. During the week she had evaded him. And he,divining the state of her feelings, kept away from the house as much aspossible.

  Masten's demeanor on hearing of the insult that had been offered her byPickett had seemed that of a man who was lacking in courage: at the timeshe had not been able to make it conform to her ideas of a man's duty tothe woman he had promised to marry--or to any woman. She had heard himspeak of reason in connection with the affair, as though there were nosuch thing in the world as rage so justifiable as to make a man yearn toinflict punishment upon another man who had attacked his woman. He hadlooked upon the matter cold-bloodedly, and she had resented that. But nowthat she had been avenged, she felt that she had been wrong. It had beensuch a trivial thing, after all; the punishment seemed monstrous incomparison with it. She had seen Pickett's movement when Randerson hadmomentarily turned his back to him, but she had also seen Randerson'sretaliatory movement. She had known then, that Randerson had expectedPickett's action, and that he had been prepared for it, and therefore itseemed to her that in forcing the trouble Randerson had not only foreseenthe ending but had even courted it.

  Remorse over her momentary doubt of Masten's motive in refusing to callPickett to account, afflicted her. He had been wiser than she; he hadtraced the line that divided reason from the primitive passions--man frombeast. His only reference to the incident--a wordless one, which she feltwas sufficiently eloquent--came when one day, while they were standingbeside the corral fence, looking at the horses, they saw Randerson ridingin. Masten nodded toward him and shook his head slowly from side to side,compressing his lips as he did so. And then, seeing her looking at him,he smiled compassionately, as though to say that he regretted the killingof Pickett as well as she.

  She seized his arm impulsively.

  "I was wrong, Willard," she said.

  "Wrong, dear?" he said. "It wasn't your fault."

  "But I thought--things about you that I shouldn't have thought. I feltthat you ought to have punished Pickett. I am glad, now, that youdidn't." She shuddered, and looked again at Randerson, just dismountingat the bunkhouse, paying no attention to them.

  "Then you wouldn't have me like him?" He indicated Randerson.

  "No," she said.

  He gave her shoulder a slight pressure, and turning his head, smiledtriumphantly.

  Later, when they had walked to a far corner of the pasture, talkingconfidentially and laughing a little, he halted and drew her close tohim.

  "Ruth," he said, gently, "the world is going very well for you now. Youare settled here, you like it, and things are running smoothly. Why nottake a ride over to Lazette one of these days. There is a justice of thepeace over there. It won't need to be a formal affair, you know. Just onthe quiet--a sort of a lark. I have waited a long time," he coaxed.

  She smiled at his earnestness. But that spark which he had tried in vainto fan into flame still smoldered. She felt no responsive impulse; astrange reluctance dragged at her.

  "Wait, Willard," she said, "until after the fall round-up. There is nohurry. We are sure of each other."

  They went on toward the ranchhouse. When they passed the bunkhouse, andthrough the open door saw Randerson and Uncle Jepson sitting on a benchsmoking, Ruth quickened her step, and Masten made a grimace of hatred.

  * * * * *

  Inside the bunkhouse, Uncle Jepson, who had been speaking, paused longenough to wrinkle his nose at Masten. Randerson's expression did notchange; it was one of grave expectancy.

  "You was sayin'--" he prompted, looking at Uncle Jepson.

  "That the whole darned deal was a frame-up," declared Uncle Jepson. "Iwas settin' in the messhouse along in the afternoon of the day of thekillin'--smokin' an' thinkin', but most of the time just settin', Ical'late, when I heard Chavis an' Pickett talkin' low an' easy outside.They was a crack in the wall, an' I plastered one ear up ag'in it, an'took in all they was sayin'. First, they was talkin' about the badfeelin' between you an' Pickett. Pickett said he wanted to 'git' you, an'that Masten wanted to get you out of the way because of what you'd doneto him at Calamity. But I reckon that ain't the real reason; he's gotsome idea that you an' Ruth--"

  "Shucks," said Randerson impatiently.

  "Anyway," grinned Uncle Jepson, "for some reason, he don't want youhangin' around. Far as I could gather, Pickett wanted some excuse to haveyou fire him, so's he could shoot you. He talked some to Masten about it,an' Masten told him to tackle Ruth, but not to get too rough about it,an' not to go too far."

  "Great guns! The low-down, mean, sneakin'--" said Randerson. His eyeswere glowing; his words came with difficulty through his straightenedlips.

  "Masten wouldn't take it up, he told Pickett," went on Uncle Jepson."He'd put it up to you. An' when you'd tackle Pickett about it, Pickettwould shoot you. If they was any chance for Chavis to help along, he'd doit. But mostly, Pickett was to do the job. I cal'late that's aboutall--except that I layed for you an' told you to look out."

  "You heard this talk after--after Pickett had--"

  "Of course," growled Uncle Jepson, a venomous flash in his eyes, slightlyreproachful.

  "Sure--of course," agreed Randerson. He was grim-eyed; there was coldcontempt in the twist of his lips. He sat for a long time, silent,staring out through the door, Uncle Jepson watching him, subdued by thelook in his eyes.

  When he spoke at last, there was a cold, bitter humor in his voice.

  "So that's Willard's measure!" he said. "He grades up like a side-winderslidin' under the sagebrush. There's nothin' clean about him but hisclothes. But he's playin' a game--him an' Chavis. An' I'm the guy they'reafter!" He laughed, and Uncle Jepson shivered. "She's seen one killin',an' I reckon, if she stays here a while longer, she'll see another:Chavis'." He stopped and then went on: "Why, I reckon Chavis dyin'wouldn't make no more impression on her than Pickett dyin'. But I reckonshe thinks a heap of Willard, don't she, Uncle Jep?" "If a girlpromises--" began Uncle Jepson.

  "I reckon--" interrupted Randerson. And then he shut his lips and lookedgrimly out at the horses in the corral.

  "Do you reckon she'd--" Randerson began again, after a short silence."No," he answered the question himself, "I reckon if you'd tell her shewouldn't believe you. No good woman will believe anything bad about theman she loves--or thinks she loves. But Willard--"

  He got up, walked out the door, mounted Patches and rode away. Going tothe door, Uncle Jepson watched him until he faded into the shimmeringsunshine of the plains.

  "I cal'late that Willard--"

  But he, too, left his speech unfinished, as though thought had suddenlyceased, or speculation had become futile and ridiculous.