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The Story of the Foss River Ranch by Ridgwell Cullum

R >> Ridgwell Cullum >> The Story of the Foss River Ranch




The apartment was very bare, mannish, and scarcely the acme of neatness.
A desk, a deck chair, a bench and a couple of old-fashioned 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 shirt 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
fashion 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 space. In reality they were
watching the doughy countenance before him. "What do you propose to do?"
Lablache asked, ignoring the other's flippant tone.

Bill shrugged.

"Debts of honor must be met first," he said quietly. "Mancha must be
paid in full. I shall take care of that. For the rest, I have no doubt
your business knowledge will prompt you as to what course the Calford
Loan Co. and yourself had best adopt."

Lablache was slightly taken aback at the cool indifference of this man.
He scarcely knew how to deal with him. He had driven out this morning
intending to coerce, or, at least, strike a hard bargain. But the object
of his attentions was, to say the least of it, difficult.

He moved uneasily and crossed his legs.

"There is only one course open to your creditors. It is a harsh method
and one which goes devilishly against the grain. But--"

"Pray don't apologize, Mr. Lablache," broke in the other, smiling
sardonically. "I am fully aware of the tender condition of your
feelings. I only trust that in this matter you will carry out
your--er--painful duty without worrying me with the detail of the
necessary routine. I shall settle Mancha's debt at once and then you are
welcome to the confounded lot."

Bill moved from his position and walked towards the door. The
significance of his action was well marked. Lablache, however, had no
intention of going yet. He moved heavily round upon his chair so as to
face his man.

"One moment--er--Ford. You are a trifle precipitate. I was going on to
say, when you interrupted me, that if you cared to meet me half-way I
have a proposition to make which might solve your difficulty. It is an
unusual one, I admit, but," with a meaning smile, "I rather fancy that
the Calford Loan Co. might be induced to see the advantage, _to them_,
of delaying action."

The object of this early morning visit was about to be made apparent.
Bill returned to his position at the desk and lit another cigarette. The
suave manner of his unwelcome guest was dangerous. He was prepared.
There was something almost feline in the attitude and the expression of
the young rancher as he waited for the money-lender to proceed. Perhaps
Lablache understood him. Perhaps his understanding warned him to adopt
his best manner. His usual method in dealing with his victims was hardly
the same as he was now using.

"Well, what is this 'unusual' course?" asked Bill, in no very tolerant
tone. He wished it made quite plain that he cared nothing about the
"selling up" process to which he knew he must be subjected. Lablache
noted the haughty manner and resented it, but still he gave no outward
sign. He had a definite object to attain and he would not allow his
anger to interfere with his chances of success.

"Merely a pleasant little business arrangement which should meet all
parties' requirements," he said easily. "At present you are paying a ten
per cent, interest on a principal of thirty-five thousand dollars to the
Calford Loan Co. A debt of twenty thousand to me includes an amount of
interest which represents ten per cent, interest for ten years. Very
well, Your ranch should be yielding a greater profit than it is. With
your permission the Calford Trust Co. shall put in a competent manager,
whose salary shall be paid out of the profits. The balance of said
profits shall be handed Over to your creditors, less an annual income to
you of fifteen hundred dollars. Thus the principal of your debts, at a
careful computation, should be liquidated in seven years. In
consideration of thus shortening the period of the loans by three years
the Calford Trust Co. shall allow you a rebate of five per cent,
interest. Failing the profits in seven years amounting to the sums of
money required, the Calford Trust Co. and myself will forego the balance
due to us. Let me plainly assure you that this is no philanthropic
scheme but the result of practical calculation. The advantage to you is
obvious. An assured income during that period, and your ranch well and
ably managed and improved. Your property at the end of seven years will
return to you a vastly more valuable possession than it is at present.
And we, on our part, will recover our money and interest without the
unpleasant reflection that, in doing so, we have beggared you."

Lablache, usurer, scoundrel, smiled benignly at his companion as he
pronounced his concluding words. The Hon. Bunning-Ford looked, thought,
and looked again. He began to think that Lablache was meditating a more
rascally proceeding than he had given him credit for. His words were so
specious. His pie was so delicately crusted with such a tempting
exterior. What was the object of this magnanimous offer? He felt he must
know more.

"It sounds awfully well, but surely that is not all. What, in return, is
demanded of me?"

Lablache had carefully watched the effect of his words. He was wondering
whether the man he was dealing with was clever beyond the average, or a
fool. He was still balancing the point in his mind when Bill put the
question.

Lablache looked away, produced a snuff-box and drew up a large pinch of
snuff before answering. He blew his nose with trumpet-like vehemence on
a great red bandana.

"The only return asked of you is that you vacate the country for the
next two years," he said heavily. And in that rejoinder "Lord" Bill
understood the man's guile.

It was a sudden awakening, but it came to him as no sort of surprise. He
had long suspected, although he had never given serious credence to his
suspicions, the object the money-lender had in inveigling both himself
and "Poker" John into their present difficulties. Now he understood, and
a burning desire swept over him to shoot the man down where he sat. Then
a revulsion of feeling came to him and he saw the ludicrous side of the
situation. He gazed at Lablache, that obese mountain of blubber, and
tried to think of the beautiful, wild Jacky as the money-lender's wife.
The thing seemed so preposterous that he burst out into a mocking laugh.

Lablache, whose fishy eyes had never left the rancher's face, heard the
tone and slowly flushed with anger. For an instant he seemed about to
rise, then instead he leant forward.

"Well?" he asked, breathing his monosyllabic inquiry hissing upon the
air.

Bill emitted a thin cloud of smoke into the money-lender's face. His
eyes had suddenly become wide open and blazing with anger. He pointed to
the door.

"I'll see you damned first! Now--git!"

At the door Lablache turned. In his face was written all the fury of
hell.

"Mancha's debt is transferred to me. You will settle it without delay."

He had scarcely uttered the last word when there was a loud report, and
simultaneously the crash of a bullet in the casing of the door. Lablache
accepted his dismissal with precipitation and hastened to where his
horses were stationed, to the accompaniment of "Lord" Bill's mocking
laugh. He had no wish to test the rancher's marksmanship further.




CHAPTER XII

LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT


A month--just one month and the early spring has developed with almost
tropical suddenness into a golden summer. The rapid passing of seasons,
the abrupt break, the lightning change from one into another, is one of
the many beauties of the climate of that fair land where there are no
half measures in Nature's mode of dealing out from her varied store of
moods. Spring chases Winter, hoary, bitter, cruel Winter, in the hours
of one night; and in turn Spring's delicate influence is overpowered
with equal celerity by the more matured and unctuous ripeness of Summer.

Foss River had now become a glorious picture of vivid coloring. The
clumps of pine woods no longer present their tattered purplish
appearance, the garb in which grim Winter is wont to robe them. They are
lighter, gayer, and bathed in the gleaming sunlight they are transformed
from their somber forbidding aspect to that of radiant, welcome shade.
The river is high, almost to flooding point. And the melting snow on the
distant mountain-tops has urged it into a sparkling torrent of icy cold
water rushing on at a pace which threatens to tear out its deterring
banks and shallow bed in its mad career.

The most magical change which the first month of summer has brought is
to be seen in the stock. Cattle, when first brought in from distant
parts at the outset of the round-up, usually are thin, mean-looking, and
half-starved. Two weeks of the delicious spring grass and the fat on
their ribs and loins rolls and shakes as they move, growing almost
visibly under the succulent influence of the delicate vegetation.

Few at Foss River appreciated the blessings of summer more fully than
did Jacky Allandale, and few worked harder than did she. Almost
single-handed she grappled with the stupendous task of the management of
the great ranch, and no "hand," however experienced, was more capable in
the most arduous tasks which that management involved. From the skillful
organization down to the roping and branding of a wild two-year-old
steer there was no one who understood the business of stock-raising
better than she. She loved it--it was the very essence of life to her.

Silas, her uncle's foreman, was in the habit of summing her up in his
brief but expressive way.

"Missie Jacky?" he would exclaim, in tones of surprise, to any one who
dared to express wonder at her masterly management. "Guess a cyclone
does its biz mighty thorough, but I take it ef that gal 'ud been born a
hurricane she'd 'ave dislodged mountains an' played baseball with the
glaciers."

But this year things were different with the mistress of the Foss River
Ranch. True she went about her work with that thorough appreciation
which she always displayed, but the young face had last something of its
happy girlish delight--that _debonnaire_ cheerfulness which usually
characterized it. A shadow seemed to be hanging over her--a shadow,
which, although it marred in no way her fresh young beauty, added a
deepened pensiveness to her great somber eyes, and seemed to broaden the
fringing black ring round the gray pupils. This year the girl had more
to grapple with than the mere management of the ranch.

Her uncle needed all her care. And, too, the consciousness that the
result of all her work was insufficient to pay the exorbitant interest
on mortgages which had been forced upon her uncle by the hated,
designing Lablache took something of the zest from her labors. Then,
besides this, there were thoughts of the compact sealed between her
lover and herself in Bad Man's Hollow, and the knowledge of the
intentions of the money-lender towards "Lord" Bill, all helped to render
her distrait. She knew all about the scene which had taken place at
Bill's ranch, and she knew that, for her lover at least, the crash had
come. During that first month of the open season the girl had been
sorely tried. There was no one but "Aunt" Margaret to whom she could go
for comfort or sympathy, and even she, with her wise councils and
far-seeing judgment, could not share in the secrets which weighed so
heavily upon the girl.

Jacky had not experienced, as might have been expected, very great
difficulty in keeping her uncle fast to the grind-stone of duty.
Whatever his faults and weaknesses, John Allandale was first of all a
rancher, and when once the winter breaks every rancher must work--ay,
work like no negro slave ever worked. It was only in the evenings, when
bodily fatigue had weakened the purpose of ranching habit, and when the
girl, wearied with her day's work, relaxed her vigilance, that the old
man craved for the object of his passion and its degrading
accompaniment. Then he would nibble at the whisky bottle, having "earned
his tonic," as he would say, until the potent spirit had warmed his
courage and he would hurry off to the saloon for "half an hour's
flutter," which generally terminated in the small hours of the morning.

Such was the state of affairs at the Foss River Ranch when Lablache put
into execution his threats against the Hon. Bunning-Ford. The settlement
had returned to its customary torpid serenity. The round-up was over,
and all the "hands" had returned to the various ranches to which they
belonged. The little place had entered upon its period of placid sleep,
which would last until the advent of the farmers to spend the proceeds
of their garnered harvest. But this would be much later in the year, and
in the meantime Foss River would sleep.

The night before the sale of "Lord" Bill's ranch, he and Jacky went for
a ride. They had thus ridden out on many evenings of late. Old John was
too absorbed in his own affairs to bother himself at these evening
journeyings, although, in his careless way, he noticed how frequent a
visitor at the ranch Bill had lately become. Still, he made no
objection. If his niece saw fit to encourage these visits he would not
interfere. In his eyes the girl could do no wrong. It was his one
redeeming feature, his love for the motherless girl, and although his
way of showing it was more than open to criticism, it was true he loved
her with a deep, strong affection.

Foss River was far too sleepy to bother about these comings and goings.
Lablache, alone, of the sleepy hamlet, eyed the evening journeys with
suspicion. But even he was unable to fathom their object, and was forced
to set them down, his whole being consumed with jealousy the while, to
lovers' wanderings. However, these nightly rides were taken with
purpose. After galloping across the prairie in various directions they
always, as darkness crept on, terminated at a certain spot--the clump of
willows and reeds at which the secret path across the great keg began.

The sun was well down below the distant mountain peaks when Jacky and
her lover reached the scrubby bush of willows and reeds upon the evening
before the day of the sale of Bill's ranch. As they drew up their
panting horses, and dismounted, the evening twilight was deepening over
the vast expanse of the mire.

The girl stood at the brink of the bottomless caldron of viscid muck and
gazed out across the deadly plain. Bill stood still beside her, watching
her face with eager, hungry eyes.

"Well?" he said at last, as his impatience forced itself to his lips.

"Yes, Bill," the girl answered slowly, as one balancing her decision
well before giving judgment, "the path has widened. The rain has kept
off long enough, and the sun has done his best for us. It is a good
omen. Follow me."

She linked her arm through the reins of her horse's bridle, and leading
the faithful animal, stepped fearlessly out on to the muskeg. As she
trod the rotten crust she took a zigzag direction from one side of the
secret path to the other. That which, in early spring, had scarcely been
six feet in width, would now have borne ten horsemen abreast. Presently
she turned back. "We need go no further, Bill; what is safe here
continues safe across the keg. It will widen in places, but in no place
will the path grow narrower."

"But tell me," said the man, anxious to assure himself that no detail
was forgotten, "what about the trail of our footprints?"

The girl laughed. Then indenting the ground with her shapely boot until
the moisture below oozed into the imprint, she looked up into the lazy
face before her.

"See--we wait for one minute, and you shall see the result."

They waited in silence in the growing darkness. The night insects and
mosquitoes buzzed around them. The man's attention was riveted upon the
impression made by the girl's foot. Slowly the water filled the print,
then slowly, under the moist influence, the ground, sponge-like, rose
again, the water disappeared, and all sign of the footmark was gone.

When again the ground had resumed its natural appearance the girl looked
up.

"Are you satisfied, Bill? No man or beast who passes over this path
leaves a trail which lasts longer than a minute. Even the rank grass,
however badly trodden down, rears itself again with amazing vitality. I
guess this place was created through the devil's agency and for the
purpose of devil's work."

Bill gave one sweeping glance around. Then he turned, and the two made
their way back to the edge of the sucking mire.

"Yes, it'll do, dear. Now let us hasten home."

They remounted their horses and were soon lost in the gathering darkness
as they made their way over the brow of the rising ground, in the
direction of the settlement.

The next day saw the possession of the Hon. Bunning-Ford's ranch pass
into other hands. Punctually at noon, the sale began. And by four
o'clock the process, which robbed the rancher of everything that he
possessed in the world, was completed.

Bill stationed himself on the veranda and smoked incessantly while the
sale proceeded. He was there to see how the things went, and, in fact,
seemed to take an outsider's interest only. He experienced no morbid
sentiment at the loss of his property--it is doubtful if he cared at
all. Anyhow, his leisurely attitude and his appearance of good-natured
indifference caused many surprised remarks amongst the motley collection
of bidders who were present. In spite of these appearances, however, he
did take a very keen interest. A representative of Lablache's was there
to purchase stock, and Bill knew it, and his interest was centered on
this would-be purchaser.

The stock was the last thing to come under the hammer. There were twenty
lots. Of these Lablache's representative purchased
fifteen--three-quarters of the stock of the entire ranch.

Bill waited only for this, then, as the sale closed, he leisurely rolled
and lit another cigarette and strolled to where a horse, which he had
borrowed from the Allandales stable, was tied, and rode slowly away.

As he rode away he turned his head in the direction of the house upon
the hill. He was leaving for good and all the place which had so long
claimed him as master. He saw the small gathering of people still
hanging about the veranda, upon which the auctioneer still stood with
his clerk, busy over the sales. He noticed others passing hither and
thither, as they prepared to depart with their purchases. But none of
these things which he looked upon affected him in any mawkish,
sentimental manner. It was all over. That little hill, with its wooded
background and vast frontage of prairie, from which he had loved to
watch the sun get up after its nightly sojourn, would know him no more.
His indifference was unassumed. His was not the nature to regret past
follies.

He smiled softly as he turned his attention to the future which lay
before him, and his smile was not in keeping with the expression of a
broken man.

In these last days of waning prosperity Bunning-Ford had noticeably
changed. With loss of property he had lost much of that curious veneer
of indolence, utter disregard of consequences, which had always been
his. Not, that he had suddenly developed a violent activity or
boisterous enthusiasm. Simply his interest in things and persons seemed
to have received a fillip. There seemed to be an air of latent activity
about him; a setness of purpose which must have been patent to any one
sufficiently interested to observe the young rancher closely. But Foss
River was too sleepy--indifferent--to worry itself about anybody, except
those in its ranks who were riding the high horse of success. Those who
fell out by the wayside were far too numerous to have more than a
passing thought devoted to them. So this subtle change in the man was
allowed to pass without comment by any except, perhaps, the
money-lender, Lablache, and the shrewd, kindly wife of the
doctor--people not much given to gossip.

It was only since the discovery of Lablache's perfidy that "Lord" Bill
had understood what living meant. His discovery in Smith's saloon had
roused in him a very human manhood. Since that time he had been seized
with a mental activity, a craving for action he had never, in all his
lazy life, before experienced. This sudden change had been aggravated by
Lablache's subsequent conduct, and the flame had been fanned by the
right that Jacky had given him to protect her. The sensation was one of
absorbing excitement, and the loss of property sat lightly upon him in
consequence. Money he had not--property he had not. But he had now what
he had never possessed before--he had an object.

A lasting, implacable vengeance was his, from the contemplation of which
he drew a satisfaction which no possession of property could have given
him. Nature had, with incorrigible perversity, cut him out for a life of
ease, whilst endowing him with a character capable of very great things.
Now, in her waywardness she had aroused that character and overthrown
the hindering superficialty in which she had clothed it. And further to
mark her freakish mood, these same capabilities which might easily,
under other circumstances, have led him into the fore-front of life's
battle, she directed, with inexorable cruelty, into an adverse course.
He had been cheated, robbed, and his soul thirsted for revenge. Lablache
had robbed the uncle of the girl he loved, and, worse than all, the
wretch had tried to oust him from the affections of the girl herself.
Yes, he thirsted for revenge as might any traveler in a desert crave for
water. His eyes, no longer sleepy, gleamed as he thought. His long,
square jaws seemed welded into one as he thought of his wrongs. His was
the vengeance which, if necessary, would last his lifetime. At least,
whilst Lablache lived no quarter would he give or accept.

Something of this he was thinking as he took his farewell of the ranch
on the hill, and struck out in the direction of the half-breed camp
situated in a hollow some distance outside the settlement of Foss
River.




CHAPTER XIII

THE FIRST CHECK


The afterglow of sunset slowly faded out of the western sky. And the
hush of the night was over all. The feeling of an awful solitude, which
comes to those whose business is to pass the night on the open prairie,
is enhanced rather than reduced by the buzz of insect life upon the
night air. The steady hum of the mosquito--the night song of the
grasshoppers and frogs--the ticking, spasmodic call of the invisible
beetles--all these things help to intensify the loneliness and magnitude
of the wild surroundings. Nor does the smoldering camp-fire lessen the
loneliness. Its very light deepens the surrounding dark, and its only
use, after the evening meal is cooked, is merely to dispel the savage
attack of the voracious mosquito and put the fear of man into the hearts
of the prairie scavenger, the coyote, whose dismal howl awakens the
echoes of the night at painfully certain intervals, and often drives
sleep from the eyes of the weary traveler.

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