Part 41 (2/2)

Burt combed the horse's mane with his fingers.

”What's he in--what's he doing?” There was no personal interest in the question.

Helen hesitated for a second, knowing instinctively the effect her answer would have upon him--then she replied with a touch of defiance:

”Mining.”

”Minin'!” His tone was full of disgust, much as though she had said gambling or burglary. ”I might have known it would be some fool thing like that. No, ma'am,” harshly, ”by writin' first you might have saved yourself the trip for not a dollar of my money ever has or ever will go into any minin' scheme. I don't speculate.”

”But Mr. Burt--” Helen began pleadingly. She had a panicky feeling that she was going to cry.

”It's no use arguin',” he interrupted. ”He can't get me into any wild-cat minin' scheme--”

”It isn't a wild-cat mining scheme,” Helen defended hotly.

Burt went on--

”If he wants to come home and help me with the cattle and behave himself now that he's fooled away his time and failed--”

”But he hasn't failed.” Helen insisted with eager impatience. ”He won't fail if----”

”Well he's hard up--he wants money----” Burt spoke as though the fact were a crime.

”A good many men have been 'hard up' and needed money before they succeeded,” Helen pleaded. ”Surely you know that crises come in nearly every undertaking where there isn't unlimited capital, obstacles and combinations of circ.u.mstances that no one can forsee. And if you knew what Bruce has had to fight----”

Helen had expected of course to tell Bruce's father of the placer properties and his efforts to develop them. She had thought he would have a father's natural pride in what Bruce had accomplished in the face of dangers and difficulties. She had intended to tell him of Sprudell, to show him Smaltz's confession, and the options which would defeat Sprudell's plotting, but in the face of his narrow obstinacy, his deep prejudices, she felt the futility of words or argument. She had not for a moment counted upon such opposition; now she felt helpless, impotent before this armor of hardness.

”I don't care what he's had to fight. I'd just as soon put my money in the stove as put it in a mining scheme. There's two things I never do, young lady, and that's speculate and go on people's notes.”

”But, Mr. Burt,” she begged hopelessly, ”If you'd only make an exception--just this once. Go to him--see for yourself that all he needs is a helping hand across this one hard place.”

”I got on without any helping hands. n.o.body saw me across hard places.

I've told you the only way that he can expect to get anything from me.”

”Then it's useless, quite, quite useless for me to say any more?” Helen was struggling hard to keep her voice steady to the end. ”No matter what the circ.u.mstances may be you refuse to do anything for Bruce?”

”That's the size of it--unless he comes back. There's plenty for him to do here.” His tone was implacable and he was waiting with a stolid patience for her to go.

”I'm sorry if I've bored you and I shan't inflict you any more. Please remember that Bruce knew nothing of my coming. I came upon my own responsibility. But his success meant so much to him--to me that I--that I----” she choked and turned away abruptly. She dared not even say good-bye.

Burt remained standing by his horse looking after her straight, slender figure as she walked toward the gate. His face was still sphinx-like but there was a speculative look in his shrewd eyes. Bruce's success ”meant so much to her,” did it? That, then, was why she had come. The distance she had travelled for the purpose of seeing him had not impressed him in the least before.

Helen was halfway to the gate when she stopped to replace the rubber that stuck in the muddy corral and slipped from her heel. Her chin was quivering, her sensitive lips drooped and, feeling that Burt was looking at her, she raised her eyes to his. They were br.i.m.m.i.n.g full of tears.

She looked for all the world like a sorrowful, disappointed, woe-begone little girl of not more than ten or twelve.

The unconscious pathos of some look or pose grips the heart harder than any spoken word and so it was that this unstudied trick of expression found the vulnerable spot in Burt's armor--the spot which might have remained impervious indefinitely to any plea. It went straight to his one weakness, his single point of susceptibility, and that was his unsuspected but excessive fondness for little girls.

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