Part 19 (1/2)

He propped his back against the veranda post, and, taking a deep inhalation from his cigarette, gazed long and earnestly, with half-closed eyes, down the winding southern trail.

His curiosity, if such a feeling might have been attributed to him, was soon set at rest, for, as the horses raced up the hill towards him, he had no difficulty in recognizing the bulky proportions of his visitor.

Seeing the driver of the buckboard making for the house, two of the ”hands” had hastened up the hill to take the horses. Lablache, for it was the fleshy money-lender, slid, as agilely as his great bulk would permit him, from the vehicle, and the two men took charge of the horses.

Bill was not altogether cordial. It was not his way to be so to anybody but his friends.

”How are you?” he said with a nod, but without rising from his rec.u.mbent att.i.tude. ”Goin' to stay long?”

His latter question sounded churlish, but Lablache understood his meaning. It was of the horses the rancher was thinking.

”An hour, maybe,” replied Lablache, breathing heavily as a result of his climb out of the buckboard.

”Right Take 'em away, boys. Remove the harness and give 'em a good rub down. Don't water or feed 'em till they're cool. They're spanking 'plugs,' Lablache,” he added, as he watched the horses being led down to the barn. ”Come inside. Had breakfast?” rising and knocking the dust from the seat of his moleskin trousers.

”Yes, I had breakfast before daylight, thanks,” Lablache said, glancing quickly down at the empty corrals, where his horses were about to undergo a rubbing down. ”I came out to have a business chat with you.

Shall we go in-doors?”

”Most certainly.”

There was an expressive curtness in the two words. Bill permitted himself a brief survey of the great man's back as the latter turned towards the front door. And although his half-closed lids hid the expression of his eyes, the pursing of the lips and the fluctuating muscles of his jaw spoke of unpleasant thoughts pa.s.sing through his mind. A business talk with Lablache, under the circ.u.mstances, could not afford the rancher much pleasure. He followed the money-lender into the sitting-room.

The apartment was very bare, mannish, and scarcely the acme of neatness.

A desk, a deck chair, a bench and a couple of old-fas.h.i.+oned windsor chairs; a small table, on which breakfast things were set, an old saddle, a rack of guns and rifles, a few trophies of the chase in the shape of skins and antelope heads comprised the furniture and decorations of the room. And too, in that slightly uncouth collection, something of the character of the proprietor was revealed.

Bunning-Ford was essentially careless of comfort. And surely he was nothing if not a keen and ardent sportsman.

”Sit down.” Bill indicated the chairs with a wave of the arm. Lablache dubiously eyed the deck chair, then selected one of the unyielding Windsor chairs as more safe for the burden of his precious body, tested it, and sat down, emitting a gasp of breath like an escape of steam from a safety-valve. The younger man propped himself on the corner of his desk.

Lablache looked furtively into his companion's face. Then he turned his eyes in the direction of the window. Bill said nothing, his face was calm. He intended the money-lender to speak first. The latter seemed indisposed to do so. His lashless eyes gazed steadily out at the prairie beyond. ”Lord” Bill's persistent silence at length forced the other into speech. His words came slowly and were frequently punctuated with deep breaths.

”Your ranch--everything you possess is held on first mortgage.”

”Not all.” Bunning-Ford's answer came swiftly. The abruptness of the other's announcement nettled him. The tone of the words conveyed a challenge which the younger man was not slow to accept.

Lablache shrugged his shoulders with deliberation until his fleshy jowl creased against the woolen folds of his s.h.i.+rt front.

”It comes to the same thing,” he said; ”what I--what is not mortgaged is held in bonds. The balance, practically all of it, you owe under signature to Pedro Mancha. It is because of that--latest--debt I am here.”

”Ah!”

Bill rolled a fresh cigarette and lit it. He guessed something of what was coming--but not all.

”Mancha will force you to meet your liabilities to him. Your interest is shortly due to the Calford Loan Co. You cannot meet both.”

Lablache gazed unblinkingly into the other's face. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Bill was staring pensively at his cigarette. One leg swung pendulum fas.h.i.+on beside the desk. His indebtedness troubled him not a jot. He was trying to fathom the object of this prelude. Lablache, he knew, had not come purposely to make these plain statements. He blew a cloud of smoke down his nostrils with much appreciation. Then he heaved a sigh as though his troubles were too great for him to bear.

”Right--dead right, first time.”

The lazy eyes appeared to be staring into s.p.a.ce. In reality they were watching the doughy countenance before him. ”What do you propose to do?”