Part 48 (1/2)
”Your man?”--looking at the girl and then at Beck in bewilderment.
”Your--”
”Yes, my man! Oh, don't think I don't know. I saw it all. I saw one of your hands take him to your home last night. I followed him, I watched through your window. I seen you beg with him and plead with him. I know what you want....
”Why, he's told me everything, from th' first! You got him to follow you out here, you got mad at him and threw him out of your house once.
Now you want him back. You want him back. I suppose while he,”--tilting her head toward Tom--”is away on round-up! You want him back when you've got everything you want and he's all I got, all I ever had!”
Tears sprang into her eyes and her voice came trembling through trembling lips. Jane, swept by confusion, sought words and found none.
It was preposterous! And yet the very accusation degraded her. Drawn into a quarrel over a man, and such a man!
”You'd take this claim, if you could, when you've got more land than anybody around here. You'd take my man when you've got lots of others yourself. You _must_ have lots like you got lots of other things.
Maybe you think that by takin' him you can drive me out and get the claim that way. Maybe that's your reason, you ... you....” She seemed to search in vain for an expletive that would convey her contempt.
”But you misunderstand! You're all wrong.”
”Wrong, am I? Wrong, when you put your arms around his neck and put your face close to his an' make him look at you an' beg him to do things for your sake. I watched through your window last night. I heard those words, 'For my sake.' You said 'em. I suppose that's wrong, is it? I--”
”But it wasn't that! It wasn't what you think it--”
”I s'pose you thought he wouldn't tell me, but he did. He won't come back to you. You couldn't get him away from me!”--in triumph.
Her manner was so a.s.sured, she was so convinced of the truth of Hilton's version of last night's encounter that Jane Hunter was at a loss for argument. Impulsively she turned to look at Beck, as for suggestion, and what she saw there stripped her of ability to fight back. His face was as devoid of expression as a countenance can be, but his eyes challenged, accused, bore down upon her, demanding that she explain!
He _demanded_ that she explain!
He suspected her! He gave credence to Bobby's accusation. He could do that!
A word, even a gesture, would have cleared the situation but his look struck her inarticulate, immobile. She had been so confident of herself, of his trust; and now he had grasped upon this monstrous charge and held her to answer.
”You with your fine notions, your money, your city ways!” the other taunted. ”You, with all you've got, would take the only thing I've got, the only thing I've ever had!
”An' now you come, askin' favors. Favors from me! Why, all I'll do for you is to run you out of this country. I've heard what they call me here: the catamount. I'll show you how the catamount can scratch and bite!”
It swept over Jane that she must reply, that she must say some word in her defense, that she must say it now ... _now_ ... that in this second of time her fate swung in balance, that bitter though explanation might be she must make it, for Beck was listening, Beck was watching, Beck was doubting!
And, as she would have spoken, lamely, but with enough clarity to absolve her from suspicion, Bobby stepped closer.
”You take your men an' light out!” she snapped. ”You keep your men out of here an' your cattle away from this fence. Th' first steer that breaks through 'll get shot down, th' first man that tries to help 'em through will find that he needs help himself. I hate you!” she cried.
”I hate you worse 'n I hate a snake an' I'll treat you like a snake from now on.
”You carry that idea home with you an' you carry this ... as first payment, to bind the bargain!”
With a quick, sharp swing of her arm, she whipped her quirt through the air and it wrapped about Jane's soft throat with a vicious snap.
She stepped back with a choking cry, hiding her face. She heard Beck's short, ”That'll do!” in a strange, unnatural voice, as though his throat were dry. She heard the Catamount's contemptuous sniff and her hard, ”Clear out!”
She found herself in her saddle again, riding beside Beck as they moved toward the other HC riders, who, dismounted and seated on the ground, had not witnessed the dramatic parley and its humiliating climax. She was confronted by a situation which clearly spelled disaster for her ranch unless solved and solved quickly but that did not matter now.