CHAPTER VII
She stood up, listening. From the distance came the low rumble of awagon. The men were returning. For some time she kept her face from him,in attitude intent upon the distant rumble. She was thinking hard. Shecould not be rude to Livingston, she could not very well explain, yetshe dared not allow him to accompany her back to Harris' ranch. Whatshould she do? Naturally he would insist, yet how could she tell himthat she feared for his safety? That would sound idiotic without acomplete explanation, for she was almost a total stranger to him. Shewas concerned, that was the worst of it; but not without reason.To-night the men were in a fever of revenge. If he were seen that wouldsettle it. To-morrow not one of them but would hesitate a long timebefore committing such a crime; so, she argued, she had a right to beconcerned. But, after all, how foolish of her! Surely he was not a babythat he could not protect himself! Did she expect to worry about himduring the whole summer? As she stood there gazing into the darkness, hewatched her, speechless, something that was not sorrow piercing hisheart with a greater pain. In her moment of tenderness she had become tohim a woman divine. He not only loved her, and knew it, but felt thehopelessness of ever winning her. It was not exactly new, only revealedto him, for it had come upon him gradually since the evening that shehad given him the water at the spring. He had cursed himself that nightfor thinking of an Indian girl, he, a man with a name to sustain--a namewhich counted little in this new country of the West. He tried toimagine her as married to Carter. The thought sickened him. Carter mightbe all right,--he had met him when he first came into the country; heundoubtedly was all right,--but married to this girl! As he thought,bitterly, forgetting even the dead young German at his feet, Hope wasalternately calling herself a fool and wondering what she could do toprevent him from taking her home. But her fertile brain could not solveit. She turned toward him with manner constrained and frigid. It wasshyness, nothing less, yet it affected him unpleasantly.
"The wagon is coming." Relief sounded in her tone, giving the lie to hermoment of tenderness. "You can hear it quite plainly. These corralsshould not be so far from the house. It must be nearly a mile. I supposeyou've not been in the business very long or you wouldn't have put ithere, on the edge of this cut-bank."
"You are right, Miss Hathaway, I have not been long in the business norin your country. This is quite new to me. Any place seemed good enoughfor a corral, to my ignorant mind. Are you interested in the sheepindustry?" He spoke pleasantly. She threw back her head as she alwaysdid when angered or excited.
"_Interested in the sheep industry?_ Well, I should say not! It neveroccurred to me before as an industry, only as a nuisance. I hate sheep.They ruin our range. One band can eat off miles and miles in a season,and spoil all the water in the country. I would go miles out of my wayto avoid a band of them."
He began slowly to comprehend. "Your people have cattle, I understand.Everyone up here seems to have cattle, too. I have heard that a strongfeeling of antagonism existed between sheep and cattle owners, butthought nothing about it. I see that the feeling is not confined to themen only. Does that explain this--outrage here to-night?"
She shrugged her shoulders slightly and turned away.
"You can draw your own conclusions. Why do you ask me? I am neither acattle-man nor a sheep-man, yet I could advise that you look about theplace and see, if you can, what is meant by it all--what damage has beendone. The wagon is still some distance away." Her shyness was fastdisappearing. The ground she trod now was her own. He smiled down ather, finding her more natural, more prepossessing in that mood.
"I should have thought of that myself before this. After what you havetold me of your dislike for the animals, I can hardly ask you to go withme, but I do not like to leave you here alone in the dark, for I musttake the lantern; however, I can wait until the men get here."
"You don't need to wait at all," she said quickly. "I'll go with you,for I am curious to see what has been done--the cause of all this."
"Then come on," said the man briefly, turning toward the corral. Shekept near him, her eyes following the bright rays of the lantern thatswung in his hand. She feared that the boys had aimed too low, and wasnervously anxious to see just what mischief had been done. Almostanything, she thought, would have been better than permitting thosethousands of sheep to be piled up at the bottom of the cut-bank and thebrutes of men to ride away satisfied with their dirty work.
Livingston examined the sheep while Hope, with a glance here and thereabout the enclosure, went to one side and looked at the panelscarefully, discovering many bullet holes which told that her bravescouts, more bloodthirsty than she suspected, had aimed too low.
"I think this one is dead," said Livingston, dragging out a sheep fromthe midst of a number huddled in one corner. "Judging from the blood, Ishould say it is shot. A few are piled up over there from fright, but somany are sleeping that it will be impossible to determine the loss untilmorning. The loss is small; probably a hundred piled up and hurt, notmore, from the looks of the band. I heard considerable firing, whichlasted about a minute. I wonder if my friends about here thought theycould kill off a band of sheep so easily."
Hope had not been searching for sheep, but for dead or wounded men, andfinding none breathed easier. She thought of the man whose hand she hadmarked and who fell in such a panic among the sheep. It struck her asbeing a very funny incident, and laughed a little. Livingston heard thelaugh and looked around in wonderment. He could see nothing amusing.This Western girl was totally different from any girl that he had known,English or American. She must possess a sense of humor out of allproportion with anything of his conception. He thought a few minutesbefore that he loved her, but she seemed far removed now--an absolutestranger. The boyish laugh annoyed him. His manner as he turned to herwas quite as formally polite as ever her own had been. She resented it,naturally.
"Step outside, please, until I drive in the ones near the gate, so thatI may close it."
Instinctively she obeyed, with a defiant look which was lost in thedimness of the night, and hurrying past him never stopped until she drewback with a shudder at the blanket-covered form of the dead herder. Adeep roar of thunder startled her into a half-suppressed scream. In thelantern's light she had not noticed the steadily increasing darkness, orthe flashes of lightning. She felt herself shaking with a nervousexcitement which was half fear.
Thunderstorms often made her nervous, yet she would not haveacknowledged that she feared them, or any other thing. But hernervousness was only the culmination of the night, every moment of whichhad been a strain upon her. Another peal of thunder followed the first,fairly weakening her. She ran to her horse and, mounting, rode up nearthe corral. At the same instant the wagon came up, and Livingston,having placed the panel in position, turned toward it. He was closebeside the girl before he saw her, and she, for an instant at a loss,sat there speechless; but as he held up the lantern, looking at her byits light, she blurted out, in a tone that she had little intention ofusing: "I'm going. Hope you will get along all right. Good-night."
"Wait!" he exclaimed. "I will accompany you. My horse is here now. Justa moment----"
"You don't need to go with me. Someone is waiting for me down there. Ithink I hear a whistle."
"Then I will go along with you until you meet the person whose whistleyou hear. You do not imagine that I will allow you to go alone?"
She leaned toward him impulsively, placing her hand down upon hisshoulder.
"Listen," she said softly, "I heard no whistle. There is no one waitingfor me. A moment ago it seemed easy to lie to you, to make you believethings that were not absolutely true, but I can't do it now, noragain--_ever_. You think I am heartless, a creature of stone--indifferent.It isn't so. My heart has held a little place for aching all theseyears. Think of me as half-witted,--idiotic,--but not _that_. Listen tome. You have such a heart--such _tenderness_--you are good and kind. Youwill understand me--or try to, and not be offended. I want to go home bymyself. I _must_ go back _alone
_. There is a reason which I will tellyou--sometime. I ask as a favor--as a friend to a friend, that you willstay behind."
"But are you not afraid?"
She interrupted him. "Afraid? Not I! Why, I was born here, and am a partof it, and it of me! Ask your men there, they know. I want to ride likethe wind--alone--ahead of the storm, to get there soon. I am tired." Herlow, quick speech bewildered him. Her words were too inconsistent, toohurried, to convey any real meaning.
"Will you ride with one of my men?" he asked.
"Oh, why _can't_ you let me do as I wish!" she cried impatiently. "Iwant to go alone."
"It seems quite evident that you do not want _my_ company, but one ofthe men must go and take a lantern. It's too dark to see the road." Histone was decisive.
She leaned toward him again. This time her words fell harshly.
"You are a man of your word?"
"I hope so; but that is not the issue just now."
"Then promise you will not go with me to-night."
"No need of that. I have decided to send one of my men--and I think," headded briefly, "that there is no necessity of prolonging thisconversation. Good-evening."
"Then you will not come!" she exclaimed, relieved. "And never mindtelling your man, for I shall ride like the wind, and will be halfwayhome before he can get on his horse." She turned like a flash. The quickbeats of her horse's hoofs echoed back until the sound was lost in thedistance.
Livingston stood silent, listening, until he could no longer hear thedull notes on the dry earth--his thoughts perturbed as the night.