Part 25 (1/2)

”How many does she own?”

”About four thousand. Not much of a band, but a lot more than I ever could lay claim to. She's got a twelve-thousand acre ranch, owns every foot of it, more than half of it under fence. What do you think of that? Under fence! Runs them sheep right inside of that bull-wire fence, John, where no wolf can't git at 'em. There ain't no bears down in that part of the country. Safe? Safer'n money in the bank, and no expense of hirin' a man to run 'em.”

”It looks like you've landed on a feather bed, Dad.”

”Ain't I? What does a man care about a little hobble, or one eye, or a little chunk of fat, when he can step into a layout like that?”

”Why didn't you lead her up to the hitching-rack while you were there?

Somebody else is likely to pick your plum while your back's turned.”

”No, I don't reckon. She's been on the tree quite a spell; she ain't the kind you young fellers want, and the old ones is most generally married off or in the soldiers' home. Well, she's got a little cross of Indian and Mexican in her, anyway; that kind of keeps 'em away, you know.”

It was no trouble to frame a mental picture of Dad's inamorata. Black, squat, squint; a forehead a finger deep, a voice that would carry a mile. Mackenzie had seen that cross of Mexican and Indian blood, with a dash of debased white. They were not the kind that attracted men outside their own mixed breed, but he hadn't a doubt that this one was plenty good enough, and handsome enough, for Dad.

Mackenzie left the old man with this new happiness in his heart, through which a procession of various-hued women had worn a path during the forty years of his taking in marriage one month and taking leave the next. Dad wasn't nervous over his prospects, but calm and calculative, as became his age. Mackenzie went smiling now and then as he thought of the team the black nondescript and the old fellow would make.

He found Reid sitting on a hilltop with his face in his hands, surly and out of sorts, his revolver and belt on the ground beside him as if he had grown weary of their weight. He gave a short return to Mackenzie's unaffected greeting and interested inquiry into the conduct of the sheep and the dogs during his absence.

Reid's eyes were shot with inflamed veins, as if he had been sitting all night beside a smoky fire. When Mackenzie sat near him the wind bore the pollution of whisky from his breath. Reid made a show of being at his ease, although the veins in his temples were swollen in the stress of what must have been a splitting headache. He rolled a cigarette with nonchalance almost challenging, and smoked in silence, the corners of his wide, salamander mouth drawn down in a peculiar scoffing.

”I suppose that guy told you the whole story,” he said at last, lifting his eyes briefly to Mackenzie's face.

”The sheriff, you mean?”

”Who else?” impatiently.

”I don't know whether he told me all or not, but he told me plenty.”

”And you've pa.s.sed it on to Joan by now!”

”No.”

Reid faced around, a flush over his thin cheeks, a scowl in his eyes.

He took up his belt; Mackenzie marked how his hands trembled as he buckled it on.

”Well, you keep out of it, you d.a.m.ned pedagogue!” Reid said, the words bursting from him in vehement pa.s.sion. ”This is my game; I'll play it without any more of your interference. You've gone far enough with her--you've gone too far! Drop it; let her alone.”

Mackenzie got up. Reid stood facing him, his color gone now, his face gray. Mackenzie held him a moment with stern, accusing eyes. Then:

”Have you been over there spying on me?”

Reid pa.s.sed over the question, leaving Mackenzie to form his own conclusions. His face flushed a little at the sting of contempt that Mackenzie put into his words. He fumbled for a match to light his stub of cigarette before he spoke:

”I played into your hands when I let you go over there, and you knew I'd play into them when you proposed it. But that won't happen twice.”

”I'll not allow any man to put a deliberately false construction on my motives, Reid,” Mackenzie told him, hotly. ”I didn't propose going over to let Dad off, and you know it. I wanted you to go.”

”You knew I wouldn't,” Reid returned, with surly word.