CHAPTER XXXIII
ANOTHER SURPRISE
Outwardly, life on the Mackay ranch settled back to its old groove. Workwent on as usual. Angus entered into an agreement with McGinity whichrelieved him from present money worries. But the actual railwayconstruction would take time, and meanwhile, next season, he could takeoff another crop.
Already the summer was done, the days shortening, the evenings growingcool. Birds were full-grown and strong of wing. Fogs hung in themornings, to be dispelled by the sun slanting a little to southward. Thedays were clear, warm, windless. In the lake, trees and mountain rangeswere reflected with the accuracy of a mirror. On these shadows, asperfect upside down as right side up, Faith expended photographic filmprodigally.
Chetwood had returned to the ranch, but Jean had refused to restore thestatus quo. She treated him with formal politeness, avoiding himskilfully, taking care that he should not see her alone. Mrs. Foley, nowin complete charge of the ranch kitchen, commented thereon.
"What's th' racket bechune yez?" she asked bluntly. "Ye act like ye wasfeared to be wid th' lad alone. An' a while ago I felt it me duty as afellow-woman to cough, or dhrop a broom--"
"Nonsense!" Jean interrupted tartly.
"Well, a dacint lad he is--f'r a sassenach--fair-spoken, wid a smile,an' a pleasant word f'r th' likes iv me, an' always a josh on th' tip ivhis tongue."
Jean sniffed.
"Havin' buried four min, I know their ways," Mrs. Foley continued. "Whina man's eyes rest on a woman wishful, like a hungry dog's on a greenbone, that's thrue love."
"I'm not a bone!" Jean snapped.
"I am not makin' no cracks at th' build iv yez," Mrs. Foley assured her."A foine, well-growed shlip iv a gyurl ye are; an' a swate arrumful--"
"Mrs. Foley!" Jean cried, cheeks afire.
"Well, glory be, an' what else is a gyurl's waist an' a man's arrumfor?" Mrs. Foley demanded practically. "Sure, I am no quince-mouthedowld maid, talkin' wide iv phwat ivery woman--maid, wife, an'widdy--knows. I misdoubt, f'r all yer high head, ye're in love wid th'lad. Then why don't ye let love take its coorse?"
"I'm not in love with him," Jean declared. "I don't want to see him. Iwish he'd go away."
"An' if he did ye'd be afther cryin' thim purty brown eyes out."
"I would _not_!" Jean asseverated. "He's nothing to me--less thannothing."
"Well, well, God knows our hearts," Mrs. Foley commented piously. "Foourmin I've buried, an' I know their ways."
"You might have another husband if you liked," Jean told her by way ofcounter-attack.
"Ye mane th' big Swede," Mrs. Foley responded calmly, "Maybe I could.But I've had no luck keepin' min, an' he might not last either, thoughhim bein' phwat he is it might not matther. Still an' all, buryin'husbands is onsettlin' to a woman."
"But Gus is so healthy!" Jean giggled.
"So was me poor b'ys that's gone," Mrs. Foley sighed. "They was thathealthy it hurt 'em. Health makes f'r divilmint, an' divilmint shortensa man's days. I'm tellin' ye, ut's th' scrawny little divils that ain'thealthy enough to enj'y life that nawthin' shakes loose from ut. Butrip-roarin', full-blooded b'ys, like thim I had, they leaves a womanlorn."
"Were your husbands _all_ Irish?" Jean asked.
"They wor," Mrs. Foley replied, "if Galway, Wicklow, Clare an' Downbreed Irishmin, God rest thim!"
"Well, Gus is a good worker. He's been with us for years."
"But ye could fire him when ye liked," Mrs. Foley pointed out. "Ahusband an' a hired man is cats of diff'rent stripes. But they tell methis lad of yours has money. Then why is he workin' as a hired manonless f'r love of ye, tell me that?"
"I can't help his feelings," Jean returned.
"No, but ye might soothe thim, instid iv playin' cat-an'-mouse--"
"I'm not!" Jean cried. "And I wish you wouldn't talk about him anymore."
The net result was that, feeling herself under Mrs. Foley's skepticaleye, she treated the unfortunate Chetwood more distantly than ever.Faith observed, but said nothing, waiting for an opportune moment whichwas slow in coming.
Since her wedding Faith's ranch had been abandoned. She had removed someof her personal belongings, but the furniture remained. She was aware,now, of the worthlessness of the place. The reasons which had impelledGodfrey French to purchase, whatever they were, were not operative withhis children. If Braden had been behind that offer it was improbablethat it would be renewed by him. The place was dead horse.
Nevertheless, Faith held a fondness for it, principally sentimental.Occasionally she rode over to see that all was in order. She had an ideathat, if the Mackay ranch was cut up, they might live there, and she hada wish, of which she had not yet spoken to her husband, to spend a weekor two there alone with him before the winter. And so one day she paid avisit to her property.
Though the day was warm the interior struck chill. She threw the doorsopen and raised the blinds, letting in the air and sun. Then, taking abook, she moved a rocker to the front veranda, and basked in the sun.For a time she admired the mountains sharply defined, gulch, shoulderand summit, in the clear air, but speedily she became lost in her ownthoughts.
A sudden, thudding detonation broke her reverie and brought her uprightin her chair. It rumbled into the hills, caught by the rocks, flungacross gorges and back in a maze of echoes, diminishing and dying in thefar ranges. For a startled instant she wondered what it could be, andthen she knew that it was powder--a blast.
The shot seemed near, not more than a mile distant. It was either on herland or very near it, in the vicinity of the foot of the round mountainwhich projected from the foot of the range. While she puzzled, anothershot came. Yes, undoubtedly that was where it was. But who could beusing powder on her property?
She made up her mind to find out what was going on. She locked thedoors, and mounting her pony took as straight a line as she could in thedirection of the blasts.
There were no more shots, but she rode on, and presently came to whatseemed to be a new trail leading upward beside the shoulder of the roundhill aforesaid. Her pony scrambled up the rough going, walled on eitherside by brush. Then she emerged upon a bench a few acres in extent,above which the hill rose steeply. There stood a couple of tents. Thebrush had been cut away, and earth and stones stripped from the mountainside, leaving a new, raw wound. Fragments of gray country rock, splitand driven by the force which had ripped them loose, lay around. By theface thus exposed half a dozen men were at work. Closer at hand two menconversed. As she pulled up her pony they saw her.
For a moment they stared at her. She rode forward.
"I--I hope I'm not in the way," she began, feeling the words inadequate."I was down at the ranch and heard the blasts. I am Miss--I mean I amMrs. Mackay." She was not yet accustomed to the latter designation.
"My name is Garland," said the younger of the two. "This is Mr. Poole."
Mr. Poole murmured unintelligibly. Then both waited. A hammer man beganto strike. The measured clang punctuated the stillness.
"I thought I would ride up and see what was going on," Faith explained.
"We're doing a little development work."
"Oh," Faith said, and hesitated for an instant. "But--but this is myland."
"Your land!" Garland and Poole were plainly surprised. They exchangedglances. In them was quick suspicion, unspoken question, speculation.
"Where would your line run?" Garland asked.
But Faith could not tell him. Godfrey French had indicated in generalterms where her boundaries lay, but she had never followed them. Shecould only repeat her conviction. Again the men exchanged glances.
"I'm afraid you'll have to see Braden about that," Garland told her."This is his property--or he thinks it is. We're working for him."
"But what are you working at? What are you doing?"
"We're opening up a prospect--what's going to be a mine."
"A mine! What kind of a mine?"
"A coal mine," Garland replied, "and a good one, too. I guess
thislittle mountain is mostly coal. We're just clearing off the face, butyou can see the seam if you like."
Coal! Faith stared at the wound in the hillside. She could see a darkbelt, the "seam" of which Garland had spoken, partially exposed. There,overlain by soil and worthless rock, screened by tree and brush, was thestored fertility of some bygone age, the compression of the growth of ayoung world, potential heat, light, power.
"This isn't much more than outcrop," Garland was saying, "but it's goodcoal. Braden will make a clean-up on this when the railway comesthrough--that is if it is his." His eyes met Poole's, and again therewas the unspoken query, the speculation.
"But I'm sure it isn't," said Faith. "That is, I'm almost sure."
"It would be a good thing to be sure about," Garland told her.
"I think my husband will be able to tell you," said Faith.
"No use telling us," Garland replied. "Braden's the man for him to see.And--well, our instructions are not to allow anybody on the ground."
"No trespassing," Poole corroborated.
"But if this is my property--"
"That's the point--_if_ it is."
"I think it is. And until I know it isn't I have a right to come here,and so has my husband."
Garland shrugged his shoulders. "I'm only telling you our instructions.I may as well tell you Braden wouldn't want your husband coming here.They're not friends, I guess. You'd better tell him to keep away."
"My husband will go where he likes without asking Mr. Braden'spermission."
"We're working for Braden," said Garland, "and what he says goes. Wedon't want any trouble with anybody, but we're going to carry out ourinstructions."
"I'll tell my husband," Faith returned. "Good-bye."
Garland and Poole watched her out of sight and stared at each other.
"Now what do you think of that?" the former asked.
"Darned if I know. She seemed sure. But Braden ought to know what he'sabout."
"He _ought_ to," Garland admitted. "He sold her father whatever land shehas. He owns a whole bunch of it around here." He was silent for amoment. "I wonder if he's putting something over; I wonder if she _does_own this, and Braden has framed something on her?"
"Her deed would show what she owns."
"That's so. But if Braden is putting something over and we can get ontoit, we could make him come through. This thing is going to be worthhaving a share in."
"How are we going to get onto it?"
"I don't know," Garland admitted, "but you never can tell what will turnup."
"Suppose young Mackay comes horning in here. He'd come on the prod."
"This bunch can handle him," Garland said with confidence. "That bigSwede that's using the hammer is a bad actor. I'll give him a pointerabout Mackay."