Part 15 (1/2)
As though in answer to his question came a vision of Jerry as she had knelt beside Old Nick's bed. He could see her face, the hint of tears under the steadiness of her gaze, hear her voice as she repeated reverently the marriage service.
She would keep her marriage vow at any cost to herself, Courtlandt thought, no matter how she might care for someone else. She was the sort of woman who would stand the wear and tear of daily companions.h.i.+p, making allowance for a man's moods but never knuckling to them. She'd bring him up with a round turn, but she'd laugh while she did it. He couldn't imagine her irritable or fretty or snappy. She had the saving grace of humor. If women could only learn the persuasive value of a laugh as against tears or sulks how many marriages would be saved from the sc.r.a.p-heap. After all, any poor dumb-bell could get married; it was staying married which proved one's metal.
The color overhead spread with increasing beauty. The last friendly star high up above a mountain twinkled out. Somewhere toward the barns a shrill-voiced, enterprising c.o.c.k ”hailed the smiling morn.” A curl of smoke rose lazily from the cabin chimney. The sun shot up through a fleece of clouds; it painted the fields and sloping hillside with radiance. A horse whinnied in the corral, a light breeze sprang up and brought with it the odor of barns, the strong scent of wool. From the road came the labored breathing of a flivver.
”Thank G.o.d, someone's coming!” Courtlandt thought. He looked toward the cabin, transformed in the morning light into a habitation of gold. As he looked the lights in the windows went out. What was Jerry doing? Could he have helped? A flivver rattled up and stopped. In the exuberance of his relief Steve opened the door of the car before either of the occupants had a chance. ”Mother” Egan, a portly woman whose clothing suggested a starch and soap advertis.e.m.e.nt, it was so immaculate and standoutish, nodded as she stepped heavily out. Her face beamed with kindliness and sympathetic understanding as she lumbered up to the door.
Doc Rand regarded Courtlandt with an incredulous grin:
”For the love of Mike, Steve, what you doing here? This isn't your party----” with a hardened chuckle.
”Cut out the comedy, Doc. I brought Mrs. Courtlandt over to stay until you came. For G.o.d's sake get in there and stop those sounds. Send Jerry out.”
”What you say goes, Steve. Out she comes. Run the flivver round to the barn, will you? I'm likely to stay here most of the day.”
Worn black bag in hand he disappeared inside the house. As Steve started the car a horseman galloped into sight on the road. He stopped his horse with a suddenness that threw the animal back on his haunches, then, after an instant's hesitation he went on toward the huddle of buildings.
Steve looked after him curiously. Was he Jerry's Man of Mystery? He deliberately followed the horseman. When he dismounted Steve shut off his engine and jumped to the ground. The rider turned. Steve stared.
”Phil Denbigh!” he exclaimed incredulously.
CHAPTER XII
The two men faced each other silently. The morning light accentuated the lines on Denbigh's thin, ascetic face, revealed the brooding sorrow in his eyes. After his involuntary halt of surprise Courtlandt sprang forward with outstretched hand.
”Phil, old scout, it's good to see you! But--but what the d.i.c.kens are you doing here? I know Jim Carey but you're--not----”
”The same. I'm Bill Small, range-rider of the Bear Creek outfit, which extensive outfit consists at present of the owner and yours truly. It has taken some dexterity to keep out of your way, Steve. Your Uncle Nick got me the job. Curious that I should have turned to him in my despair, but--but he was the first person I thought of. I had heard Mother rail about his caustic tongue. I concluded if she thought that, he must have a keen sense of justice and fair-dealing. Mrs. Carey thinks that I dropped from the air or any old place. Jim went away three days ago and left me in charge. We didn't think that this--this--was coming so soon.
My first thought when Mrs. Carey called me last evening was to get hold of the nearest woman and--and Mrs. Courtlandt seemed to be it. I went to your ranch, first and they sent me on to the X Y Z.”
”I can't make you seem real yet, Phil. I'm dazed with the succession of surprises. Sat.u.r.day, Beechy, my late sergeant walked in and----”
”Beechy!”
”Say, 'The Devil!' and be done with it, that's what your tone implied.
What do you know about Carl Beechy?”
”I've run across him in Slippy Bend. A regular fella with the ladies, isn't he?”
”So that's it! I'll have to admit that Carl is an easy mark with the fair s.e.x, but he's all there when it comes to fighting. I wanted to keep him at the Double O, but he insisted that he must keep his contract with the railroad.”
”Oh, he did. You're fond of Beechy, Steve?”
”He saved my life, Phil. I was as sure of the man's loyalty as I was that the sun would rise in the morning.”
”Have patience, Steve, you'll get him back. Sadder and wiser, perhaps a bit damaged, but you'll get him back.”
”Damaged! What do you mean?”
”Nothing specific. I'm judging from what I've seen the railroads do. I hear Ranlett has left you. Take it from me, you're in luck.”