CHAPTER XXXII
"And so you're going to marry this Casey Dunne," said old Jim Hess. Heand Clyde sat on the veranda at Chakchak, and they had been discussingthe ranch, its owner, and the events that had led up to his absence.
"Yes, Uncle Jim, I'm going to marry him."
"Well," said the big railway man, "making allowance for your naturalpartiality, his stock seems to be worth about par. I'll know betterwhen I've had a look at him. I tell you one thing, I'm glad he isn't aforeigner. I never liked those fellows who tagged about after you. Thiscountry can produce as good men as you'll find. The others weren't mysort. All right in their way, perhaps, but they seemed to go too muchon family and ancestry. That's good enough, too, but it seems to methat the ancestors of some of them must have been a blamed sight bettermen than they were. After all, a girl doesn't marry the ancestor. Dunneseems to have hoed his own row. That's what I did. I'm prepared to likehim. Only I don't want you to make any mistake."
"There's no mistake, Uncle Jim," she said, patting his big hand."Casey's a _man_. You _will_ like him. Look away out there where thedust is rising! Aren't those men on horseback? Yes, they are. It mustbe Casey coming home." Her pleasure was apparent in her voice.
The dust cloud resolved itself into four mounted men and three packanimals. They moved slowly, at a walk almost, the dust puffing up fromthe hoofs drifting over and enveloping them.
"Which is your Casey Dunne?" asked Hess.
Clyde stared with troubled eyes.
"I--I don't see him. There's Tom McHale, and the sheriff, and SandyMcCrae, and the old Indian. Why, Tom McHale has been hurt. His arm isin a sling. How slowly they ride! It's--it's like a funeral. Surelynothing can have happened. Oh, surely----" She caught her breathsharply, her eyes dilating. "Look!" she cried. "The last pack horse!"
The load on the last horse was a shapeless thing, not compact and builtup like a pack, but hanging low on either side, shrouded by a canvas.From under this cover a hand and arm dangled, swinging to and fro witheach motion of the animal.
Clyde felt a great fear, cold as the clutch of a dead hand itself,close on her heart, driving the young blood from her cheeks. "It can'tbe!" she said to herself. "Oh--it _can't_ be."
Hess swore beneath his breath. If it were Casey Dunne lying across thatpack horse----He put a huge protective arm around Clyde's shoulders, asif to shield her from the evil they both feared.
But she slipped from beneath his arm and fled down the steps toward theparty who would have passed in the direction of the stables withouthalting. The sheriff, seeing her, pulled up. She caught McHale'shardened paw in both her hands, searching his eyes for the truth. ButMcHale's face, though weary and lined with pain, and, moreover,rendered decidedly unprepossessing by a growth of stubble, contained nosigns of disaster.
"Where's Casey, Tom?"
"Casey?" McHale replied. "Why, he hiked on ahead to git a medicine manto fix up this arm of mine. Arm's done busted. He ought to be here mostany time now."
To Clyde it was as if the sun had shot through a lowering, ominouscloud. She was faint with the joy of relief. "Thank God! Thank God!"she murmured.
"You seem to be upset about something, ma'am," said the sheriff gently."Has anything went wrong?"
Hess answered for her. "What have you got on that last pack horse,sheriff?"
Jim Dove looked around and muttered an oath. "If that ain't plumbcareless of me! I thought I had him all covered up. Rope must haveslipped. That's Jake Betts, holdup and bad man, that's been callin'himself Dade around here. There's five hundred reward for him, and tocollect the money I had to pack him in. I sure didn't allow to scareany women by lettin' an arm hang loose. And the little lady thought itwas Dunne? Dunne's all safe and rugged. We thought he'd be here aheadof us."
Hess followed the sheriff to the stable and introduced himself, goingdirectly to the point, as was his custom.
"Sheriff," he said, "I've just come, and naturally I don't know allthat has happened, but there are two or three things I want you toknow. In the first place, my niece, Miss Burnaby, is going to marrythis man Dunne. And, in the second place, I'm now running thisirrigation company and the railway that owns it, and so far as anyprosecutions are concerned I won't have anything to do with them. Doesthat make any difference to you?"
"Some," said the sheriff. "It lets young McCrae out, I reckon."
"How about McHale?"
"That's a killin'. You got nothin' to do with that. Anyway, he's got agood defence."
"I'll sign his bail bond to any amount."
"I reckon there won't be no trouble about that," said the sheriff. "Iknow a man when I see him. McHale's all right. You won't find me makin'things hard for anybody around here, Mr. Hess."
In half an hour Casey rode up, bringing with him a man of medicine inthe person of Doctor Billy Swift. And Billy Swift, whose chronicgrievance was that Coldstream was altogether too healthy for aphysician to live in, greeted his patients with enthusiasm and got busyat once.
Hess, strolling up from a confidential talk with Sheriff Dove, ran intoClyde and Casey snugly ensconced in a corner of the veranda, wherethick hop vines shaded them from the public gaze.
"Excuse _me_!" said Hess, with little originality, but muchembarrassment.
"Not at all," Casey replied, under the impression that he was carryingoff matters very nonchalantly. Clyde laughed at both of them.
"We don't mind you, Uncle Jim, do we, Casey?"
"Look here," said Hess, "if this is the young man who has been raisin'Cain around here, and destroying my property before I owned it, supposeyou introduce me?"
The two men shook hands, gripping hard, measuring each other with theireyes. And Clyde was tactful enough to leave them to develop theiracquaintance alone.
"I want to thank you for your wire to Clyde," said Casey. "You canguess what it meant to all of us here."
"I've a fair notion," said Hess. "Of course, I only know what Clyde hastold me, but I can see that you people have been up against a hardproposition. After this I hope you won't have much to kick at. We won'ttake advantage of that clause in the old railway charter--at least notenough to interfere with men who are actually using water now. But Iwant you to be satisfied with enough to irrigate, used economically."
"That's all we ever wanted."
"I'm glad to hear it. Now I've fixed up this matter of young McCrae's.That's settled. No more trouble about it. As to your man, McHale, I'mtold that his trial will be a mere matter of form. Wade will look afterthat. Now, about Clyde."
"Yes," said Casey.
"She's her own mistress--you understand that. You have a good propertyhere--not as much money as she has, but enough to get along on if shehadn't anything. That's all right. I suppose her money's no drawback,eh? Don't look mad about it, young man. You're fond of her, of course.I understand you made what you've got yourself?"
"Every cent. I've been out for myself since I was about fifteen. Thisis what I've got to show for it."
"And it's a good little stake," said Hess heartily. "I made my ownpile, too. That's what I like. Now, I'm going to ask you a personalquestion: What sort of life have you behind you? You understand me.There must be no comeback where Clyde is concerned. I want a straightanswer."
"You'll get it. I've always been too busy to be foolish. My habits areabout average--possibly better than average. I'm absolutely healthy.I've not had a day's sickness--bar accidents--since I grew up. There'sabsolutely no reason why I shouldn't marry Clyde."
"That's the boy!" said old Jim Hess, with satisfaction, gripping hishand again. "Your stock's par with me, remember, and I want you toconsider me your friend, even if I am to be a relation by marriage."
Shortly afterward Sheila and Farwell arrived on hard-ridden horses.
"She hustled me right over here," said the latter. "Didn't even give metime to shave. I told her McHale and Sandy were all right, but she hadto come to see for herself."
"Seeing that Sandy has eaten six fried eggs with bacon and
bread bunsto match, I imagine he may be regarded as convalescent," laughed Casey."Tom has the tobacco trust half broken already."
Sandy McCrae squirmed uneasily in his sister's embrace, finding itembarrassing.
"That's plenty, that's plenty!" he growled. "You'd think I was a solesurvivor or something. Say, what are you trying to do--choke me? There,you've kissed me three times already. Ouch! Darn it, don't hug me. Myside's sore. Try that hold on Farwell. He looks as if he wouldn'tmind."
Casey laughed. Sheila and Farwell reddened. A smothered chuckle fromMcHale showed that he was enjoying himself. He grinned over Sandy'sshoulder.
"Howdy, Miss Sheila? Brothers don't know their own luck. Wisht I had asister about your size."
"I'll adopt you right now!" she declared, and proceeded to givepractical proof of it, somewhat to his confusion.
"You're an awful bluff, Tom," she accused him. "Really, I believeyou're bashful with girls. I never suspected it before."
"It's just want of practice," grinned McHale. "Some day when I havetime I'm going out to get me a girl like you. There was one downat----"
But Clyde's appearance interrupted McHale's reminiscences. She andSheila, arms about each other, strolled away to exchange confidences.Casey and Farwell followed.
"We ain't in it," said McHale.
"Well, who wants to be?" said Sandy.
"A few weeks ago," McHale mused, "them two girls warmed up to eachother about as much as two wet sticks of wood; and them two sportswould have locked horns at the bat of an eye. Look at 'em now! Whatdone it?"
"Does your arm hurt you much?" Sandy asked.
"Sortin' out the hand done it," McHale continued, unheeding. "Each girlfinds out that the other ain't organizin' to be hostile. And the menfind out that they're playin' different systems; likewise, that eachhas a good point or two."
"She sure must have been a hard trip for you down from the hills,"Sandy commented, with much sarcasm.
"Love," said McHale sentimentally, "is a durn funny thing."
Sandy's disgusted comment consisted of but one word not usuallyassociated with the tender passion. "Well, may be--sometimes," McHaleadmitted.
It was a merry party that sat down to the best supper Feng couldprepare on short notice. Wade was in great form. He outdid himself,keeping up a rapid fire of jokes and conversation. The sheriff,infected by his example, uncovered a vein of unsuspected humour.McHale, who referred to himself as "a temp'rary southpaw," contributedhis quota. Sandy was silent and dour, as usual. Jim Hess said little,but he beamed on everybody, enjoying their happiness.
When Sheila insisted that she must go, Casey saddled Dolly for Clydeand Shiner for himself. He rode with Sheila, temporarily relinquishingClyde to Farwell. A couple of hundred yards behind the others, justfree of their dust, they jogged easily side by side.
"Our rides together are about over, Casey," she said, with a littlesigh.
"How is that?"
"You know as well as I do. The blessed proprieties are butting in herenowadays; and, besides, we both belong to other people. Dick wants tobe married soon. Of course, I'll have to go where he goes. Thankgoodness, he hasn't got any people to be my people, and to passjudgment on me."
"I'll be sorry to lose you, Sheila; and I think you'll be sorry to go."
"Yes. I'll miss the rolling country, and the hills to the west, and thelong days outdoors. Oh, heavens, how I'll miss them! And yet it's worthwhile, Casey!"
"I'm awfully glad, for your sake, that you think so much of him, oldgirl. He's a fine chap--when you get to know him. But I'll miss you.How long is it since we had our first ride together?"
"Seven years--no, eight. I was riding a bad pinto. Dad traded himafterward. You wouldn't let me go home alone. Remember?"
"Of course. Awful brute for a girl to ride!"
"He never set me afoot," she said proudly. "But you'll be leaving here,too, Casey."
"I don't think so."
"Oh, yes, you will. Clyde's money----"
"Hang her money! Don't throw that up to me."
"Nonsense! Don't be so touchy. I wish _I_ had it. You'll go wherethere are people and things happening. You'll keep the ranch, but Tomwill look after it."
"No, no."
"Yes, yes. You won't be idle--you're not that kind--but you'll findother interests, and the money may be a stepping-stone. She's a deargirl, Casey. Be good to her."
"I couldn't be anything else. You needn't tell me I'm not worthy ofher; I know it."
"You're worthy of any girl," she said firmly. "Not a bit of hot air,either, old boy. I almost fell in love with you myself."
"By George!" he exclaimed, "there were times when I wondered how much Ithought of you."
She laughed, well pleased. "We know the difference now, don't we? Whata mistake it would have been! I'm glad we kept these thoughts toourselves--glad we never played at being in love. Now we can talkwithout fear of misunderstanding. Somehow, now, the years here seemlike a dream to me. Yes, I know they've been busy years, crowded withwork for both of us; but just now they don't seem real. We seem--Iseem--to be standing at the boundary of a new life. All that is overwas just preparation for it--the long days in the sun and the wind, thequiet nights beneath the stars, the big, lonely, brown land, and thehazy blue of the hills. The girl that lived among them seems like alittle, dead sister. And yet I love these things. Wherever I go,whatever happens to me, I shall think of them always."
"That's absolutely true. They are in your heart--a part of you. Iunderstand. The little boy that lay on a lake shore years ago andwatched the old stone hookers wallowing through the long swells doesn'tseem to be Casey Dunne. And yet I can smell the wet sand and the cleanlake breezes now. These are the things that keep our hearts young. Youwere born in the West, Sheila, and I in the East; but the roots of ourbeings fed on the clean things of the earth that mothered us somethousands of miles apart, and the taste will never be forgotten. In theyears to come we will think of the years here as to-night we think ofour childhood."
She held out her hand. Gauntlet met gauntlet in the hard grip ofcomradeship.
"Good-bye, Casey. It's not likely we'll ever talk of these thingsagain. I'm glad you've been a part of my life."
"Good luck to you always, Sheila."
"They've left us behind," she said. "Come on! One last good run,Casey!"
Clyde and Farwell, riding decorously at an easy jog trot, heard thethunder of hoofs behind them, and turned to see the bay and thebuckskin sweep past, encouraged by voice and heel.
"She'll kill herself some day," Farwell ejaculated, and he scolded herroundly when they rode up to where she and Casey had finally haltedtheir blown steeds.
"Listen to him!" cried Sheila, in derision. "As if I didn't savvy ahorse! All right, my lord, I won't do it again till next time. And now,Casey, you and Clyde must not come any farther. It will be dark beforeyou get back."
"If you want to be rid of us----" he suggested.
"You've been sorry for yourself for the last hour, and you needn't denyit," she retorted.
Clyde and Casey rode slowly homeward through the falling dusk. For thefirst time since his return they were really alone together. She madehim tell her all that had occurred, down to the minutest detail.
"But now there will be no more trouble of any kind," she predicted.
"Thanks to you."
"Thanks to Uncle Jim."
"Both of you. He's a big man--a nation builder--but if his niece hadn'thad the good taste to fall in love with me his interest would have beenless personal. He wouldn't have got around to a little matter like thisfor months. Anyway, we bracket you together. Do you know that some ofthe kids are being taught to pray for you?"
"Not really?"
"Fact. Doctor Swift told me. 'God bless pa, and ma, and Mister JimHess, and Miss Burnaby.' That's the formula. Swift predicts that thenext batch of christenings will include a 'Yim Hess' Swanson and a'Clyde Burnaby' Brule. Such is fame! Think you can stand the dizzypopularity?"
&n
bsp; "Lovely!" cried Clyde. "I'll order silver mugs to-morrow, and start asavings account for each baby."
"Go slow!" he laughed. "You'll have 'em all named after you at thatrate."
"I'll get the mugs and a spoon, anyway. I never was so flatteredbefore. I've just begun to _live_ since I came out here. Why, Casey, mylife was absolutely empty. You can't imagine how lonely and bored Iwas."
"What a shame! We'll see that it doesn't occur again. Which opens aninteresting question: When are you going to marry me?"
"Why--I hadn't thought. I suppose we should think of it."
"Well, it's usual, under the circumstances."
"Next June? I think I should like to be a June bride."
"See here, young lady," said Casey severely, "what sort of a gold brickis this? Are you aware that we are in the fag end of July?"
"It's really not a long engagement. A year soon passes."
"And the years soon pass. I'm not going to be defrauded of a year'shappiness. I'll stand for any time in September, but not a day later."
"September! But, my dearest boy, that's only a few weeks."
"That's why I said September."
She laughed happily. "Very well, September. But I'll have a thousandthings to do. I'll have to go back with Uncle Jim."
"What's the use? Stay here. Kitty Wade will stay, too. I'll coax her."
"But I've all sorts of things to buy?"
"Order 'em by mail."
"My trousseau _by mail_!" she exclaimed, in horror. "It would besacrilege."
"Oh, well, suit yourself," said Casey, with a sigh of resignation."Thank the Lord it only happens once."
She laughed. "And then there's our honeymoon to plan. Where shall wespend it?"
"It's up to you. Wherever you say."
"You've never been to Europe?"
"No. But I'd rather do my honeymooning where I can ask for what I wantwith some chance of getting it."
"But I speak French, German, and Italian--not fluently, but well enoughto get along on."
"And I talk United States, Chinook, and some Cree--we ought to getalong almost anywhere," he laughed. "Let's leave this Europe businessopen. Now here's a really serious question: When our honeymoon isover--what?"
"I don't understand."
"Where shall we live? I can sell out here, if you like."
"But you wouldn't like?"
"I'd hate to," he admitted.
"I know. So should I. We'll live here, at Chakchak. It shall be ourhome."
"Would you be contented? It's lonely at times. The winters are long.You'd miss your friends and your old life."
"I ran away from both. I love your country because it's yours. It shallbe mine, too. Look!" Away in the distance a tiny point of lighttwinkled. "There are the lights of Chakchak--our home lights, dear!"
Her hand sought his in the darkness, met, and clasped it. A star shotin a blazing trail across the velvet blackness of the sky. The firstbreath of the night breeze, cold from the mountain passes, brushedtheir cheeks. Save for the distant light the world was dark, the landlonely, silent, devoid of life. The great spaces enfolded them, wrappedthem in silence as in a vast robe. But the old, sweet song was in theirhearts as they rode slowly forward--to the Light!