CHAPTER XI
HAZEL MALLINSBEE'S CAMPAIGN
The seductive mystery of the hills was beyond all words. A wonderfuloutlook of wide valleys, bounded in almost every direction by the vastincline of wood-clad hills, opened out a world that seemed to terminateabruptly everywhere, yet to go on and on in an endless series of greatgreen valleys and mountain streams. Darkling wood-belts crept up thegreat hillsides, deep in mysterious shadows, stirring imagination, andcarrying it back to all those haunting dreams of early childhood. Forthe most part these were all untrodden by human foot, and so theirmystery deepened. Then above, often penetrating into the low-lyingclouds, the crowning glory of alabaster peaks whose snowy sheen dazedthe wondering eyes raised towards them.
In the valleys below, the green, the wonderful green, bright anddelicate, and quite unfaded by the scorching sun of the prairie awaybeyond. Pastures beyond the dreams of all animal imagination in theirhumid richness. Water, too, and low, broken scrubs and woodlandbluffs--one vast panorama of verdant beauty, such as only the eye of anartist or the heart of a ranchman could appreciate.
It was the setting of Silas Mallinsbee's ranch, that ranch which wasmore to him than all the world, except his motherless daughter. Gordonhad seen it all as he rode out to spend the week-end on a ranch horse,placed by Mallinsbee at his disposal. He had marveled then at thedelights spread out before his eyes. Now, on the Sunday morning, whilehe awaited breakfast, he wondered still more as he examined, even moreclosely, that wealth of natural splendor spread out for his delight.
He was lounging on the deep sun-sheltered veranda which faced thesouth. The ranch house was perched high up on the southern slope ofone of the lesser hills. Above him the gentle morning breeze sighed inthe rustling tree-tops of a great crowning woodland. Below him, andall around him, were the widespreading buildings and corrals of a greatranching enterprise. It seemed incredible to him that within twentymiles of him, away to the east, there could exist so mundane and sordidan undertaking as the Bude and Sideley Coal Company, and the viciouschorus of ground sharks which haunted Snake's Fall. He felt as thoughhe were gazing out upon some enchanted valley of dreamland, where thesoft breezes and glinting sunlight possessed a magic to rest theteeming energy of modern highly tuned brain and nerves.
Its seductiveness lulled him to a profound meditation, and into hisdreaming stole the figure of the mistress of these miles of perfectbeauty. Now he had some understanding of that fascinating buoyancy ofspirit, the simple devotion with which she contemplated the life thatclaimed her. How could it be otherwise? Here was nature in all itswonders of simplicity, shedding upon the life sheltering at its bosoman equal simplicity, an equal strength, an equal singleness of mindwith which it was itself endowed. He felt that if he, too, had beenbrought up in such surroundings no city flesh-pots could ever haveoffered him any fascination. He, too, must have felt that this--thisalone was the real life of man.
The play of the dancing sunlight through the distant trees held hisgaze. He forgot to smoke, he forgot everything except the beauty abouthim, the stirring ranch life below him, and the girl whose fascinationwas daily possessing a greater and greater hold upon him.
Then, quite gently, something else subtly merged itself with thepleasant tide of his meditations. It was the deep note of a voicewhich came from close beside him in a rolling bass that afforded no jar.
"A picture that's mighty hard to beat," it said.
Gordon nodded without turning.
"Sure."
"Kind of holds you till you wonder why folks ever build cities andthings."
"Sure."
"There ain't a muck hole in miles and miles around that you could fallinto, and not come out of with a clean conscience an' a wholesome mind.Kind of different to a city."
Gordon stirred. He turned and looked into Silas Mallinsbee's smilingeyes.
"It's--all yours?" he inquired.
"For miles an' miles around. I got nigh a hundred miles of grazing inthese hills--and nobody else don't seem to want it. Makes you wonder."
Gordon laughed.
"Say, set a spade into the ground and find a marketable mineral andtell somebody. Then see."
Mallinsbee chewed an unlit cigar, and his chin beard twisted absurdly.
"That's it," he said slowly. "There's nothing to these hills as theyare, except to a cattleman, I guess. Cattle don't suit the modern man.Your profitable crop's a three years' waiting, and that don't mean athing to folk nowadays, except a dead loss of time on the round-up ofdollars. They don't figure that once you're good and going that threeyears' crop comes around once every year. So they miss a deal."
"Yes, they'd reckon it slow, I guess," Gordon agreed. "But," he wenton with enthusiasm, "the life of it. The air." He took a deep breathof the sparkling mountain atmosphere. "It's champagne. The champagneof life. Say, it's good to be alive in such a place. And you," hegazed inquiringly into the man's strong face, "you began it from--thebeginning?"
"I built the first ranch house with my own hands. My old wife an' Ibuilt up this ranch and ran it. And now it's rich and big--she's gone.She never saw it win out. Hazel's took her place, and it's been forher to see it grow to what it is. She helped me ship my first singleyear's crop of twenty thousand beeves to the market ten years ago. Shewas a small kiddie then, and she cried her pretty eyes out when I toldher they were going to the slaughter yards of Chicago. You see, she'dknown most of 'em as calves."
"The work of it must be enormous," meditated Gordon, after a pause inwhich he had pictured that small child weeping over her lost calves.
"So," rumbled Mallinsbee. "We're used to it. I run thirty boys allthe year round, and more at round-up. Guess if I was missing Hazelwouldn't be at a loss to carry on. She's a great ranchman. She knowsit all."
"Wonderful," Gordon cried in admiration. "It's staggering to think ofa girl like that handling this great concern."
"There's two foremen, though. They've been with us years," said theother simply.
But Gordon's wonder remained no less, and Mallinsbee went on--
"After breakfast we'll take a gun and get up into those woods yonder.Maybe we'll put up a jack rabbit, or a blacktail deer. Anyway, I guessthere's always a bunch of prairie chicken around."
"Fine," cried Gordon, all his sporting instincts banishing every otherthought. "Which----"
But Hazel's voice interrupted him, summoning them both to breakfast.
"Come along, folks," she cried, "or the coffee 'll be cold."
The men hurried into the house. Gordon felt that there was nothing andno power on earth that could keep him from his breakfast in thatdelicious mountain air, with Hazel for his hostess.
The meal was all he anticipated. Simple, ample, wholesome countryfare, with the accompaniment of perfect cooking. He ate with anappetite that set Hazel's merry eyes dancing, and her tongueaccompanying them with an equally merry banter. And all the time SilasMallinsbee looked on, and smiled, and rumbled an occasional remark.
After breakfast the two men set out with their guns.
"We're sure making Sunday service," said Hazel's father, glancing intothe breech of his favorite gun.
Gordon concurred.
"Up in the woods there," he laughed.
"With a congregation of fur and feather," laughed Hazel.
"Which is as wholesome as petticoats an' swallowtails," said herfather, "an' a good deal more healthy fer our bodies."
"But what about your souls?" inquired Hazel slyly.
"Souls?" Her father snapped the breech closed. "A soul's like a goodsailin' ship. If she's driving on a lee shore it's through badseamanship and the winds of heaven, and you can't save it anyway. Ifshe ain't driving on a lee shore--well, I don't guess she needs saving."
"It's a great big scallywag," came through the open doorway after them,as they departed. The tenderness and affection in the manner of thegirl's parting words made Gordon feel that his great host had somecompensatio
n for the absence of that mother who had blessed him withsuch a pledge of their love.
The two men were returning with their bag. It was not extensive, butit was select. A small blacktail was lying across Mallinsbee's broadshoulders. Gordon was carrying a large jack-rabbit, and several braceof prairie chicken. The younger man was enthusiastic over their sport.
"Talk to me of a city! Why, I could do this twice a day and every day,till I was blind and silly, and deaf and dumb. I sort of feel lifedon't begin to tell you things till you get out in the open, at theright end of a gun. Makes you feel sorry for the fellows chasingdollars in a city."
They were approaching the limits of a woodland bluff, from the edge ofwhich the ranch would be in view.
"Guess that's how I've always felt--till little Hazel got without amother," replied Mallinsbee. "After that--well, I just guess I neededother things to fill up spare thoughts."
Gordon's enthusiasm promptly lessened out of sympathy. Something ofthe loneliness of the ranch life--when one of the partners wastaken--now occurred to him.
"Yes," he said earnestly, "the right woman's just the whole of a man'sworld. I guess there are circumstances when--this sun don't shine sobright. When a man feels something of the vastness and solitude ofthese hills, when their mystery sort of gets hold of him. I can getthat--sure."
"Yep. It's just about then when a bit of coal makes all thedifference," Mallinsbee smiled. "I wouldn't just call coal the gayestthing in life. But it's got its uses. When the summer's past, why, Iguess the stoves of winter need banking."
Gordon nodded his understanding.
"But your daughter is just crazy on this life," he suggested.
The old man's smile had passed.
"Sure." Then he sighed. "She's been my partner ever since, sort ofjunior partner. But sometime she 'll be--going." Then his slow smilecrept back into his eyes. "Then it'll be winter all the time. Thenit'll have to be coal, an' again coal--right along."
They emerged from the woods, and instinctively Gordon gazed across atthe distant ranch. In a moment he was standing stock still staringacross the valley. And swiftly there leaped into his eyes a dangerouslight. Mallinsbee halted, too. He shaded his eyes, and an ominouscloud settled upon his heavy brows.
"Some one driven out," he muttered, examining narrowly a team and buggystanding at the veranda.
Gordon emitted a sound that was like a laugh, but had no mirth in it.
"It's a man, and he's talking to Miss Mallinsbee on the veranda. Itdon't take me guessing his identity. That suit's fixed right on mymind."
"David Slosson," muttered Mallinsbee, and he hurried on at an increasedpace.
It was after the midday dinner which David Slosson had shared with them.
When her father and Gordon arrived, and before objection could beoffered by anybody, Hazel asked her uninvited guest to stay to dinner.David Slosson, without the least hesitation, accepted the invitation.In this manner all opposition from her father was discounted, alldisplay of either man's displeasure avoided. She contrived, withsubtle feminine wit, to twist the situation to the ends she had inview. She disliked the visitor intensely. The part she had decided toplay troubled her, but she meant to carry it through whatever it costher, and she felt that an opportunity like the present was not to bemissed.
Her father accepted the cue he was offered, but Gordon was obsessedwith murderous thoughts which certainly Hazel read, even in the smilewith which he greeted the man he had decided was to be his enemy.
To Gordon, David Slosson was even more detestable socially than inbusiness. Here his obvious vulgarity and commonness had no opportunityof disguise. He displayed it in the very explanation of his visit.
"Say," he cried, "Snake's Fall is just the bummest location this sideof the Sahara on a Sunday. I was lyin' around the hotel with a grouchon I couldn't have scotched with a dozen highballs. I was hatin'myself that bad I got right up an' hired a team and drove along outhere on the off-chance of hitting up against some one interestin'."Then he added, with a glance at Hazel, which Gordon would willinglyhave slain him for: "Guess I hit."
This was on the veranda. But later, throughout the meal, his offenses,in Gordon's eyes, mounted up and up, till the tally nearly reached thebreaking strain.
The man put himself at his ease to his own satisfaction from the start.He addressed all his talk either to Hazel or to her father, and, byignoring Gordon almost entirely, displayed the fact that antagonism wasmutual.
He criticised everything he saw about him, from the simple furnishingof the room in which they were dining, and the food they were partakingof, and its cooking, even to the riding-costume Hazel was wearing. Helost no opportunity of comparing unfavorably the life on the ranch, thelife, as he put it, to which her father condemned Hazel, with the lifeof the cities he knew and had lived in. He passed from one rudeness toanother under the firm conviction that he was making an impression uponthis flower of the plains. The men mattered nothing to him. As far asMallinsbee was concerned, he felt he held him in the palm of his hand.
Never in his life had Gordon undergone such an ordeal as that meal,which he had so looked forward to, in the pleasant company of fatherand daughter. Never had he known before the real meaning ofself-restraint. More than all it was made harder by the fact that hefelt Hazel was aware of something of his feelings. And the certaintythat her father understood was made plain by the amused twinkle of hiseyes when they were turned in his direction.
Then came the _denouement_. It was at the finish of the meal thatHazel launched her bombshell. Slosson, in a long, coarse disquisitionupon ranching, had been displaying his most perfect ignorance andconceit. He finished up with the definite statement that ranching wasdone, "busted." He knew. He had seen. There was nothing in it. Onlyin grain or mixed farming. He had had wide experience on the prairie,and you couldn't teach him a thing.
"You must let me show you how fallible is your opinion," said Hazel,with more politeness of language than intent. There was a subtlesparkle in her eyes which Gordon was rejoiced to detect. "Let me see,"she went on, "it's light till nearly nine o'clock. You see, I mustn'tkeep you driving on the prairie after dark for fear of losingyourself." She laughed. "Now, I'll lend you a saddle horse--if youcan ride," she went on demurely, "and we'll ride round the range tillsupper. That'll leave you ample time to get back to Snake's Fallwithout losing yourself in the dark."
Gordon wanted to laugh, but forced himself to refrain. Mallinsbeeaudibly chuckled. David Slosson looked sharply at Hazel with hisnarrow black eyes, and his face went scarlet. Then he forced aboisterous laugh.
"Say, that's a bet, Miss Hazel," he cried familiarly. "If you can loseme out on the prairie you're welcome, and when it comes to the saddle,why, I guess I can ride anything with hair on."
"Better let him have my plug, Sunset," suggested Mallinsbee gutturally.
But Hazel's eyes opened wide. She shook her head.
"I wouldn't insult a man of Mr. Slosson's experience by offering him acushy old thing like Sunset," she expostulated. Then she turned toSlosson. "Sunset's a rocking-horse," she explained. "Now, there's adandy three-year-old I've just finished breaking in the barn. He's alifey boy. Wouldn't you rather have him?" she inquired wickedly.
Slosson's inclination was obvious. He would have preferred Sunset.But he couldn't take a bluff from a prairie girl, he told himself.Forthwith he promptly demanded the three-year-old, and his demandelicited the first genuine smile Gordon had been able to muster sincehe had become aware of Slosson's presence on the ranch.
Within half an hour one of the ranch hands brought the two horses tothe veranda. Hazel's mare, keen-eyed, alert and full of life, was apicture for the eye of a horseman. The other horse, shy and wild-eyed,was a picture also, but a picture of quite a different type.
Hazel glanced keenly round the saddle of the youngster. Then sheapproached Slosson, who was stroking his black mustache pensively onthe veranda, and looked
up at him with her sweetest smile.
"Shall I get on him first?" she inquired. "Maybe he'll cat jump some.He's pretty lifey. I'd hate him to pitch you."
But to his credit it must be said that Slosson possessed the courage ofhis bluff. With a half-angry gesture he left the veranda and took thehorse from the grinning, bechapped ranchman. He knew now that he wasbeing "jollied."
"Guess you can't scare me that way, Miss Hazel," he cried, but therewas no mirth in the harsh laugh that accompanied his words.
He was in the saddle in a trice, and, almost as quickly, he was verynearly out of it. That cat jump had come on the instant.
"Stick to him," Hazel cried.
And David Slosson did his best. He caught hold of the horn of thesaddle, his heels went into the horse's sides, and, in two seconds, hisattitude was much that of a shipwrecked mariner trying to balance on abarrel in a stormy sea. But he stuck to the saddle, although so nearlywrecked, and though the terrified horse gave a pretty display ofbucking, it could not shed its unwelcome burden. So, in a few moments,it abandoned its attempt.
Then David Slosson sat up in triumph, and his vanity shone forth uponhis pale face in a beaming smile.
"He's some horseman," rumbled Mallinsbee, loud enough for Slosson tohear as the horses went off.
"Quite," returned Gordon, in a still louder voice. "If there's onething I like to see it's a fine exhibition of horsemanship."
Then as the horses started at a headlong gallop down towards thevalley, the two men left behind turned to each other with a laugh.
"He called Hazel's bluff," said the girl's father, with a wry thrust ofhis chin beard.
"Which makes it all the more pleasant to think of the time when my turncomes," said Gordon sharply.
David Slosson was more than pleased with himself. He was so delightedthat, by a miraculous effort, he had stuck to his horse, that hisvanity completely ran away with him. He would show this girl and hermossback father. They wanted to "jolly" him. Well, let them keeptrying.
Once the horses had started he gave his its head, and set it at a hardgallop. He turned in the saddle with a challenge to his companion.
"Let's have a run for it," he cried.
The girl laughed back at him.
"Where you go I'll follow," she cried.
Her words were well calculated. The light of vainglory was in theman's eyes, and he hammered his heels into his horse's flanks till itwas racing headlong. But Hazel's mare was at his shoulder, stridingalong with perfect confidence and controlled under hands equallyperfect.
"We'll go along this valley and I'll show you our next year's crop ofbeeves," cried Hazel, later. "They're away yonder, beyond thatsouthern hill, guess we'll find half of them around there. You saidranching was played out, I think."
"Right ho," cried the man, with a sneering laugh. "Guess you'll needto convince me. Say, this is some hoss."
"Useful," admitted Hazel, watching with distressed eyes the man'slumbering seat in the saddle.
They rode on for some moments in silence. Then Hazel eased her handupon the Lady Jane, and drew up on the youngster like a shot from a gun.
"We'll have to get across this stream," she declared, indicating thesix-foot stream along which they were riding. "There's a cattle bridgelower down which you'd better take. There it is, away on. Guess youcan see it from here."
"What are you goin' to do?" asked the man sharply. He was expectinganother bluff, and was in the right mood to call it, since his successwith the first.
But Hazel had calculated things to a nicety. She owed this man a gooddeal already for herself. She owed him more for his impertinentignoring of Gordon, and also for his disparagement of the ranch lifeshe loved.
Without a word she swung her mare sharply to the left. A dozenstrides, a gazelle-like lifting of the round, brown body, and the LadyJane was on the opposite bank of the stream.
Before David Slosson was aware of her purpose, and its accomplishment,his racing horse, still uneducated of mouth, had carried him thirty orforty yards beyond the spot where Hazel had jumped the stream. Atlength, however, he contrived to pull the youngster up.
He smiled as he saw the girl on the other side of the stream. Heremembered her suggestion of the bridge, and he shut his teeth with asnap. The stream was narrower here, so he had an advantage which, hebelieved, she had miscalculated. He took his horse back some distanceand galloped at the stream. Hazel sat watching him with a smile, justbeyond where he should land. His horse shuffled its feet as it came upto the bank. Then it lifted. Slosson clung to the horn of the saddle.Then the horse landed, stumbled, fell, hurling its rider headlong in aperfect quagmire of swamp.
Slosson gathered himself up, a mass of mud and pretty well wet through.Hazel was out of the saddle in a moment and offering him assistancewith every expression of concern. She came to the edge of the swampand reached out her quirt. The man ignored it. He ignored her, andscrambled to dry ground without assistance.
"I told you to take the bridge," Hazel cried shamelessly. "You knewyou were on a young horse. Oh dear, dear! What a terrible muss you'rein. My, but my daddy will be angry with me for--for letting thishappen."
Her apparently genuine concern slightly mollified the man.
"I thought you were putting up another bluff at me, Miss Hazel," hesaid, still angrily. "Say, you best quit bluffing me. I don't take'em from anybody."
"Bluff? Why, Mr. Slosson, I couldn't bluff you. I--I warned you.Same as I did about the cat-jumping your horse put up. Say, this isjust dreadful. We'll have to get right back, and get you dried out andcleaned. I guess that horse is too young for a--city man. I ought tohave given you Sunset. He'd have jumped that stream a mile--if youwanted him to. Say--there, I'll have to round up your horse, he'smaking for home."
In a moment Hazel was in the saddle again, and the man alternatelywatched her and scraped the thick mud off his clothes.
He was decidedly angry. His pride was outraged. But even these thingsbegan to pass as he noted the ease and skill with which she rounded upthe runaway horse. She was doing all she could to help him out, andthe fact helped to further mollify him. After all, she _had_ warnedhim to take the bridge. Perhaps he had been too ready to see a bluffin what she had suggested. After all, why should she attempt to bluffhim? He remembered how powerful he was to affect her father'sinterests, and took comfort from it.
She came back with the horse and dismounted.
"Say," she cried, in dismay, "that dandy suit of yours. It's allmussed to death. I'm real sorry, Mr. Slosson. My word, won't my daddybe angry."
The man began to smile under the girl's evident distress, and, histemper recovered, his peculiar nature promptly reasserted itself.
"Say, Miss Hazel--oh, hang the 'miss.' You owe me something for this,you do, an' I don't let folks owe me things long."
"Owe?" Hazel's face was blankly astonished.
"Sure." The man eyed her in an unmistakable fashion.
Suddenly the girl began to laugh. She pointed at him.
"Guess we'll need to get you home and cleaned down some before we talkof anything else I owe. That surely is something I owe you. Here, youget up into the saddle. I'll hold your horse, he's a bit scared.We'll talk of debts as we ride back."
But Slosson was in no mood to be denied just now. Although his angerhad abated, he felt that Hazel was not to go free of penalty. He cameto her as though about to take the reins from her hand, but, instead,he thrust out an arm to seize her by the waist.
Then it was that a curious thing happened. The young horse suddenlyjumped backwards, dragging the girl with it out of the man's reach. Ithad responded to the swift flick of Hazel's quirt, and left the manwithout understanding, and his amorous intentions quite unsatisfied.The next moment the girl was in her own saddle and laughing down at him.
"I forgot," she cried, "you'd just hate to have your horse held bya--girl. You best hurry into the saddle, or you'll contract
lungtrouble in all that wet."
Slosson cursed softly. But he knew that she was beyond his reach inthe saddle. A tacit admission that, at least here, on the ranch, shedominated the situation.
"And I've never been able to show you those beeves, and convince youabout ranching," Hazel sighed regretfully later on, as they rode backtowards the ranch. But her sigh was sham and her heart was full oflaughter.
She was thinking of the delight she would witness in Gordon's eyes,when he beheld the much besmirched suit of this man, to whom he hadtaken such a dislike.