CHAPTER X
DUNCAN ADDS TWO AND TWO
Had Langford known that there had been a witness to his visit to Dakota hemight not have ridden away from the latter's cabin so entirely satisfiedwith the result of his interview.
Duncan had been much interested in Langford's differences with Doubler. Hehad agitated the trouble, and he fully expected Langford to take him intohis confidence should any aggressive movement be contemplated. He had evenexpected to be allowed to plan the details of the scheme which would haveas its object the downfall of the nester, for thus he hoped to satisfy hispersonal vengeance against the latter.
But since the interview with Doubler at Doubler's cabin, Langford had beenstrangely silent regarding his plans. Not once had he referred to thenester, and his silence had nettled Duncan. Langford had ignored hishints, had returned monosyllabic replies to his tentative questions,causing the manager to appear to be an outsider in an affair in which hefelt a vital interest.
It was annoying, to say the least, and Duncan's nature rebelled againstthe slight, whether intentional or accidental. He had waited patientlyuntil the morning following his conversation with Langford about Dakota,certain that the Double R owner would speak, but when after breakfast thenext morning Langford had ridden away without breaking his silence, themanager had gone into the ranchhouse, secured his field glasses, mountedhis pony, and followed.
He kept discreetly in the rear, lingering in the depressions, skirting thebases of the hills, concealing himself in draws and behind boulders--neveronce making the mistake of appearing on the skyline. And when Langford wassitting on the box in front of Dakota's cabin, the manager was deep intothe woods that surrounded the clearing where the cabin stood, watchingintently through his field glasses.
He saw Langford depart, remained after his departure to see Dakotarepeatedly read the signed agreement. Of course, he was entirely ignorantof what had transpired, but there was little doubt in his mind that thetwo had reached some sort of an understanding. That their conversation andsubsequent agreement concerned Doubler he had little doubt either, forfresh in his mind was a recollection of his conversation with Langford,distinguished by Langford's carefully guarded questions regarding Dakota'sability with the six-shooter. He felt that Langford was deliberatelyleaving him out of the scheme, whatever it was.
Puzzled and raging inwardly over the slight, Duncan did not return to theranchhouse that day and spent the night at one of the line camps. Thefollowing day he rode in to the ranchhouse to find that Langford had goneout riding with Sheila. Morose, sullen, Duncan again rode abroad,returning with the dusk. In his conversation with Langford that night theDouble R owner made no reference to Doubler, and, studying Sheila, Duncanthought she seemed depressed.
During her ride that day with her father Sheila had received a startlingrevelation of his character. She had questioned him regarding histreatment of Doubler, ending with a plea for justice for the latter. Forthe first time during all the time she had known Langford she had seen anangry intolerance in his eyes, and though his voice had been as bland andsmooth as ever, it did not heal the wound which had been made in her heartover the discovery that he could feel impatient with her.
"My dear Sheila," he said, "I should regret to find that you areinterested in my business affairs."
"Doubler declares that you are unjust," she persisted, determined to doher best to avert the trouble that seemed impending.
"Doubler is an obstacle in the path of progress and will get theconsideration he deserves," he said shortly. "Please do not meddle withwhat does not concern you."
Thus had an idol which Sheila worshiped been tumbled from its pedestal.Sheila surveyed it, lying shattered at her feet, with moist eyes. It mightbe restored, patched so that it would resemble its original shape, butnever again would it appear the same in her eyes. She had received aglimpse of her father's real character; she saw the merciless, designing,real man stripped of the polished veneer that she had admired; his soullay naked before her, seared and rendered unlovely by the blackness ofdeceit and trickery.
As the days passed, however, she collected the fragments of the shatteredidol and began to replace them. Piece by piece she fitted them together,cementing them with her faith, so that in time the idol resembled itsoriginal shape.
She had been too exacting, she told herself. Men had ways of dealing withone another which women could not understand. Her ideas of justice weretempered with mercy and pity; she allowed her heart to map out her line ofconduct toward her fellow men, and as a consequence her sympathies werebroad and tender. In business, though, she supposed, it must be different.There mind must rule. It was a struggle in which the keenest wit and thesharpest instinct counted, and in which the emotion of mercy wassubordinate to the love of gain. And so in time she erected her idol againand the cracks and seams in it became almost invisible.
While she had been restoring her idol there had been other things tooccupy her mind. A thin line divides tragedy from comedy, and after thetragedy of discovering her father's real character Sheila longed forsomething to take her mind out of the darkness. A recollection of Duncan'sjealousy, which he had exhibited on the day that she had related the storyof her rescue by Dakota, still abided with her, and convinced that shemight secure diversion by fanning the spark that she had discovered, shebegan by inducing Duncan to ask her to ride with him.
Sitting on the grass one day in the shade of some fir-balsams on a slopeseveral miles down the river, Sheila looked at Duncan with a smile.
"I believe that I am beginning to like the country," she said.
"I expected you would like it after you were here a while. Everybody does.It grows into one. If you ever go back East you will never becontented--you'll be dreaming and longing. The West improves onacquaintance, like the people."
"Meaning?" she said, with a defiant mockery so plain in her eyes thatDuncan drew a deep breath.
"Meaning that you ought to begin to like us--the people," he said.
"Perhaps I do like some of the people," she laughed.
"For instance," he said, his face reddening a little.
She looked at him with a taunting smile. "I don't believe that I likeyou--so very well. You get too cross when things don't suit you."
"I think you are mistaken," he challenged. "When have I been cross?"
Sheila laughed. "Do you remember the night that I came home and told youand father how Dakota had rescued me from the quicksand? Well," shecontinued, noting his nod and the frown which accompanied it, "you werecross that night--almost boorish. You moped and went off to bed withoutsaying good-night."
It pleased Duncan to tell her that he had forgotten if he had ever actedthat way, and she did not press him. And so a silence fell between them.
"You said you were beginning to like some of the people," said Duncanpresently. "You don't like me. Then who do you like?"
"Well," she said, appearing to meditate, but in reality watching himclosely so that she might catch his gaze when he looked up. "There's BenDoubler. He seems to be a very nice old man. And"--Duncan looked at herand she met his gaze fairly, her eyes dancing with mischief--"and Dakota.He is a character, don't you think?"
Duncan frowned darkly and removed his gaze from her face, directing itdown into the plain on the other side of the river. What strange fatalityhad linked her sympathies and admiration with his enemies? A rage which hedared not let her see seized him, and he sat silent, clenching andunclenching his hands.
She saw his condition and pressed him without mercy.
"He _is_ a character, isn't he? An odd one, but attractive?"
Duncan sneered. "He pulled you out of the quicksand, of course. Anybodycould have done that, if they'd been around. I reckon that's what makeshim 'attractive' in your eyes. On the other hand, he put Texas Blanca outof business. Does that killing help to make him attractive?"
"Wasn't Blanca his enemy. If you remember, you told father and me thatBlanca sold him some stolen cattle. Then, accordin
g to what I have heardof the story, he met Blanca in Lazette, ordered him to leave, and when hedidn't go he shot him. I understand that that is the code in matters ofthat sort--people have to take the law in their own hands. But he gaveBlanca the opportunity to shoot first. Wasn't that fair?"
It seemed odd to her that she was defending the man who had wronged her,yet strangely enough she discovered that defending him gave her a thrillof satisfaction, though she assured herself that the satisfaction camefrom the fact that she was engaged in the task of arousing Duncan'sjealousy.
"You've been inquiring about him, then?" said Duncan, his face dark withrage and hatred. "What I told you about that calf deal is the story thatDakota himself tells about it. A lot of people in this country don'tbelieve Dakota's story. They believe what I believe, that Dakota andBlanca were in partnership on that deal, and that Dakota framed up thatstory about Blanca selling out to him to avert suspicion. It's likely thatthey wised up to the fact that we were on to them."
"I believe you mentioned your suspicions to Dakota himself, didn't you?The day you went over after the calves? You had quite a talk with himabout them, didn't you?" said Sheila, sweetly.
Duncan's face whitened. "Who told you that?" he demanded.
"And he told you that if you ever interfered with him again, or that if heheard of you repeating your suspicions to anyone, he would do something toyou--run you out of the country, or something like that, didn't he?"
"Who told you that?" repeated Duncan.
"Doubler told me," returned Sheila with a smile.
Duncan's face worked with impotent wrath as he looked at her. "SoDoubler's been gassing again?" he said with a sneer. "Well, there's neverbeen any love lost between Doubler and me, and so what he says don'tamount to much." He laughed oddly. "It's strange to think how thick youare with Doubler," he said. "I understand that your dad and Doubler ain'texactly on a friendly footing, that your dad was trying to buy him out andthat he won't sell. There's likely to be trouble, for your dad isdetermined to get Doubler's land."
However, that was a subject upon which Sheila did not care to dwell.
"I don't think that I am interested in that," she said. "I presume thatfather is able to take care of his own affairs without any assistance fromme."
Duncan's eyes lighted with interest. Her words showed that she was awareof Langford's differences with the nester. Probably her father had toldher--taking her into his confidence while ignoring his manager. Perhaps hehad even told her of his visit to Dakota; perhaps there had been more thanone visit and Sheila had accompanied him. Undoubtedly, he told himself,Sheila's admiration for Dakota had resulted from not one, but many,meetings. He flushed at the thought, and was forced to look away fromSheila for fear that she might see the passion that flamed in his eyes.
"You seen Dakota lately?" he questioned, after he had regained sufficientcontrol of himself to be able to speak quietly.
"No." Sheila was flecking some dust from her skirts with her riding whip,and her manner was one of absolute lack of interest.
"Then you ain't been riding with your father?" said Duncan.
"Some." Sheila continued to brush the dust from her skirts. Afteranswering Duncan's question, however, she realized that there had been asubtle undercurrent of meaning in his voice, and she turned and lookedsharply at him.
"Why?" she demanded. "Do you mean that father has visited Dakota?"
"I reckon I'm meaning just that."
Sheila did not like the expression in Duncan's eyes, and her chin wasraised a little as she turned from him and gave her attention to fleckingthe grass near her with the lash of her riding whip.
"Father attends to his own business," she said with some coldness, for sheresented Duncan's apparent desire to interfere. "I told you that before.What he does in a business way does not interest me."
"No?" said Duncan mockingly. "Well, he's made some sort of a deal withDakota!" he snapped, aware of his lack of wisdom in telling her this, butunable to control his resentment over the slight which had been imposed onhim by Langford, and by her own chilling manner, which seemed to emphasizethe fact that he had been left outside their intimate councils.
"A deal?" said Sheila quickly, unable to control her interest.
For a moment he did not answer. He felt her gaze upon him, and he met it,smiling mysteriously. Under the sudden necessity of proving his statement,his thoughts centered upon the conclusion which had resulted from hissuspicions--that Langford's visit to Dakota concerned Doubler.Equivocation would have taken him safely away from the pitfall into whichhis rash words had almost plunged him, but he felt that any evasion nowwould only bring scorn into the eyes which he wished to see alight withsomething else. Besides, here was an opportunity to speak a derogatoryword about his enemy, and he could not resist--could not throw itcarelessly aside. There was a venomous note in his voice when he finallyanswered:
"The other day your father was speaking to me about gun-men. I told himthat Dakota would do anything for money."
A slow red appeared in Sheila's cheeks, mounted to her temples,disappeared entirely and was succeeded by a paleness. She kept her gazeaverted, and Duncan could not see her eyes--they were turned toward theslumberous plains that stretched away into the distance on the other sideof the river. But Duncan knew that he had scored, and was not botheredover the possibility of there being little truth in his implied charge. Hewatched her, gloating over her, certain that at a stroke he hadeffectually eliminated Dakota as a rival.
Sheila turned suddenly to him. "How do you know that Dakota would doanything like that?"
Duncan smiled as he saw her lips, straight and white, and tighteningcoldly.
"How do I know?" he jeered. "How does a man know anything in this country?By using his eyes, of course. I've used mine. I've watched Dakota for fiveyears. I've known all along that he isn't on the square--that he has beenrunning his branding iron on other folks' cattle. I've told you that heworked a crooked deal on me, and then sent Blanca over the divide when hethought there was a chance of Blanca giving the deal away. I am told thatwhen he met Blanca in the Red Dog Blanca told him plainly that he didn'tknow anything about the calf deal. That shows how he treats his friends.He'll do anything for money.
"The other day I saw your father at his cabin, talking to him. They hadquite a confab. Your father has had trouble with Doubler--you know that.He has threatened to run Doubler off the Two Forks. I heard that myself.He wouldn't try to run Doubler off himself--that's too dangerous abusiness for him to undertake. Not wanting to take the chance himself hehires someone else. Who? Dakota's the only gunman around these parts.Therefore, your dad goes to Dakota. He and Dakota signed a paper--I sawDakota reading it. I've just put two and two together, and that's theresult. I reckon I ain't far out of the way."
Sheila laughed as she might have laughed had someone told her that sheherself had plotted to murder Doubler--a laugh full of scorn and mockery.Yet in her eyes, which were wide with horror, and in her face, which wassuddenly drawn and white, was proof that Duncan's words had hurt hermortally.
She was silent; she did not offer to defend Dakota, for in her thoughtsstill lingered a recollection of the scene of the shooting in Lazette. Andwhen she considered her father's distant manner toward her and BenDoubler's grave prediction of trouble, it seemed that perhaps Duncan wasright. Yet in spite of the shooting of Blanca and the evil light which wasnow thrown on Dakota through Duncan's deductions, she felt confident thatDakota would not become a party to a plot in which the murder of a man wasdeliberately planned. He had wronged her and he had killed a man, but atthe quicksand crossing that day--despite the rage which had been in herheart against him--she had studied him and had become convinced thatbehind his recklessness, back of the questionable impulses that seemed attimes to move him, there lurked qualities which were wholly admirable, andwhich could be felt by anyone who came in contact with him. Certainlythose qualities which she had seen had not been undiscovered byDuncan--and others.
Sh
e remembered now that on a former occasion the manager had practicallyadmitted his fear of Dakota, and then there was his conduct on that daywhen she had asked him to return Dakota's pony. Duncan's manner then hadseemed to indicate that he feared Dakota--at the least did not like him.Ben Doubler had given her a different version of the trouble betweenDakota and Duncan; how Duncan had accused Dakota of stealing the Double Rcalves, and how in the presence of Duncan's own men Dakota had forced himto apologize. Taken altogether, it seemed that Duncan's present suspicionswere the result of his dislike, or fear, of Dakota. Convinced of this, hereyes flashed with contempt when she looked at the manager.
"I believe you are lying," she said coldly. "You don't like Dakota. But Ihave faith in him--in his manhood. I don't believe that any man who hasthe courage to force another man to apologize to him in the face of greatodds, would, or could, be so entirely base as to plan to murder a poor,unoffending old man in cold blood. Perhaps you are not lying," sheconcluded with straight lips, "but the very least that can be said for youis that you have a lurid imagination!"
In Duncan's gleaming, shifting eyes, in the lips which were tensed overhis teeth in a snarl, she could see the bitterness that was in his heartover the incident to which she had just referred.
"Wait," he said smiling evilly. "You'll know more about Dakota beforelong."
Sheila rose and walked to her pony, mounting the animal and riding slowlyaway from the river. She did not see the queer smile on Duncan's face asshe rode, but looking back at the distance of a hundred yards, she sawthat he did not intend to follow her. He was still sitting where she hadleft him, his back to her, his face turned toward the plains which spreadaway toward Dakota's cabin, twenty miles down the river.