Part 64 (1/2)

”What judge?”

”Probably Judge Brinkley.”

”I am glad of that. Mr. Hanscom knows Judge Brinkley. As soon as you hear from Mr. Lyford let me know, please.”

Meanwhile Hanscom had been stopped while bringing the valises to the hotel and was now in Throop's care. Each hour seemed to involve the ranger deeper, ever deeper, in his slough of troubles, for it was reported that Cuneo had 'phoned in from the Cambria power-dam saying he would reach the town in two hours, and one who had talked with him said the receiver burned his ear, so hot was the sheepman's wrath.

Helen, greatly troubled, in an agony of impatience awaited Willing's return, and the housekeeper of the hotel, who came to offer her advice, did not help to tranquillity.

”It's a good thing the ranger's locked up,” she said, ”for old Cuneo, father of the girl, is in town and on the ranger's trail with blood in his eye.”

Of course the eager gossip did not know that the ranger and this handsome girl were something more than acquaintances, hence she felt free to enlarge upon and embroider each sc.r.a.p of rumor, after the fas.h.i.+on of her kind, and Helen had great difficulty in concealing her increasing anxiety and self-accusation.

”Don't say any of these things in my father's hearing,” she sharply urged. ”He must be kept free from excitement.”

It was a singular, a most revealing experience for Helen to find that her deepening care for her stepfather and a grave sense of responsibility toward Hanscom were bringing out decision and determination in her own character. She increased in vigor and perception. ”They shall not persecute this man because he is poor and alone,” she declared, recalling with keen sense of pity his frank statement that all his property consisted of a couple of ponies, a saddle, and a typewriter.

She could not leave her father till a nurse came, and, as there was no telephone in her room, she could only wait--wait and think, and in this thinking she gave large s.p.a.ce to the forester. Her apathy, her bitterness were both gone. She was no longer the recluse. The mood which had made her a hermit now seemed both futile and morbid--and yet she was not ready to return to her friends and relatives in the East. That life she had also put away. ”What if I were to make a new home--somewhere in the West?” she said, and in this speculation the wors.h.i.+pful face of the ranger came clear before her eyes.

She was restless and aching with inaction when a hall-boy announced the return of Mr. Willing, and, stepping into the hall, she discovered an entirely different Mr. Willing. He was no longer gallant; he was quietly respectful. With congratulatory word he handed to her two telegrams, one addressed to her, the other to the bank. One was from the president of the Walnut Hills Trust Company. It read: ”Place five thousand dollars to Miss McLaren's credit. See that she wants for nothing. Report if she needs help. Her family is greatly alarmed. Any information concerning her will be deeply appreciated. Ask her to report at once.”

The other was to Helen from Mr. Lyford, whom she had known for many years. As she read her face flushed and her eyes misted; then a glowing tide of power, a sense of security, swept over her.

”After all, I am alive and young and rightful owner of this money,” she said to herself. ”I will claim it and use it for some good purpose, and at this moment, what better purpose than to see that a brave, good man shall not lie in prison?” And, thanking the banker for his aid, she added: ”If Mr. Rawlins, the supervisor, is still in town, I wish you would find him and ask him to come to me; tell him I want to see him immediately.”

Willing took occasion, as he went through the hotel office down-stairs, to call the proprietor aside and say: ”Anything Miss McLaren wants you'd better supply. She's able to pay.”

The landlord, who had shared the general suspicion abroad in the community, stared. ”Are you sure of that? I was just wondering about these folks. They have the reputation of being as poor as Job's off ox.”

”You needn't worry. The girl has a balance in our bank of several thousand dollars.”

”You don't tell me!” exclaimed the landlord.

Willing went on, smoothly: ”Better give her the parlor and put an extension 'phone in for her use. She needs a trained nurse, but I'll attend to that if you'll see to the 'phone.”

In theory, we all despise money; in fact, we find it of wondrous potency. Behold this hotelkeeper mentally taking his feet from his desk and removing his hat when he learned that one of these hermits had unlimited credit at the bank. Mr. Willing's cas.h.i.+er was also deeply impressed and puzzled.

”What did such a girl mean by living away up there with that Sh.e.l.lfish gang of rustlers and counterfeiters? What's the idea?” he asked, irritably. ”She certainly has acted like a fly-by-night up to this time.”

”Well, she's established herself now. Her connections are first cla.s.s,”

Willing rejoined. ”Here's another telegram from Louisville asking full information concerning Miss McLaren and Arnold Kauffman. They don't stop at expense. Evidently they have all been in the dark about the girl's whereabouts and want the facts. Some story to put into a telegram, but I'll do my best.”

”Don't scare 'em,” cautioned Knight. ”Say she's all right and surrounded by friends.”

Willing took his turn at smiling. ”Didn't look that way this morning, did it? But she's all right now--except that she's terribly wrought up over Hanscom's predicament.”

”Well, no wonder. As near as I can figger, he's stood by her like a brother-in-law, and the least she can do is to stick around and help him out.”

Conditions between Helen and the ranger were now precisely reversed. It was she who was eagerly trying to save him from the prison cell. She was alarmed, also, by the prediction made by the housekeeper that if the ranger were released on bail he would only be out of the frying-pan into the fire, for old Cuneo would surely meet him and demand satisfaction.