THE GATHERING STORM

On the north bank of the river, from which it derived its name, the town of Crawling Water lay sprawled out in the shape of an irregular horn. Its original settlers had been men of large ideas, and having had plenty of space at their disposal, they had used it lavishly. The streets, bordered by dusty, weather-beaten, frame buildings, were as wide as those of a large city; indeed, in area, the town could compete with many a metropolis; but there the resemblance ended. Crawling Water was not fated to become a big city. The fact that the nearest railroad point was at Sheridan, forty miles away, did away with any ambitions that Crawling Water might have had to be more than a neighborhood center.

The mixed population was composed of cattlemen, sheep men, cow punchers and herders, with a sprinkling of gamblers and other riff-raff. Rough, uncouth, full-blooded men, they were, for the most part; hard working; decisive in their likes and dislikes; fearing neither God nor man, they met Life as they found it and faced Death with a laugh. They were the last of a fast disappearing type, picturesque, but lacking in many of the attributes which differentiate mankind from the beasts.

Hardly more than a village, Crawling Water was yet a town, and the seat of such machinery of government as had been established, and accordingly, Gordon Wade had ridden directly thither after his far from satisfactory interview with Oscar Jensen. After he had stabled his horse and seen it fed, he started up the street in the direction of Moran’s office. He was resolved to find out where the agent stood on the sheep question without any unnecessary delay. Save for a few dogs, sleeping in the blaze of the noon-day sun, which hung overhead like a ball of fire, the town seemed deserted.

When Wade entered the office, Moran was seated at his desk, chewing on a cigar, above which his closely cropped reddish mustache bristled. Like Senator Rexhill, he was a man of girth and bulk, but his ape-like body was endowed with a strength which not even his gross life had been able to wreck, and he was always muscularly fit. Except for the miner’s hip boots, which he wore, he was rather handsomely dressed, and would have been called tastefully so in the betting ring of a metropolitan race-track, where his diamond scarf-pin and ring would have been admired.

“Hello!” he boomed as Wade entered. “Have a cigar.” He pushed a box of an excellent brand toward his visitor and waved him to a chair. His greeting was noisy rather than cordial.

Wade declined both the chair and the cigar.

“I dropped in to find out why you told Jensen to run his sheep in on my range,” he began bluntly.

“Let me see ” The agent very deliberately lifted a large, white hand and took the cigar out of his mouth. “Just what range is that?”

“The upper valley range which I have under lease.”

“Which you have under lease?” Moran affected sarcastic surprise. “I wasn’t aware that you had any legal right to that part of the valley. It’s government land, ain’t it?”

“You seem to have forgotten that you once tried to buy the lease from me.” The rancher bared his teeth in a grim smile. “We’ll not quibble over that, however. We’ve got our legal rights, all of us; but we’re a long distance from the courts here. What I want to know in plain English is, will you order Jensen to trail those sheep? Now, wait a moment!”

Moran subsided with a show of tolerance he did not feel.

“Think well before you answer,” Wade went on. “I’m not here to threaten you, but there are desperate men in this valley who will take matters into their own hands, if this business is not stopped. There’s plenty of grass on the other side of the mountains and your sheep are welcome to it. Why don’t you make use of it?”

“Why should I? The sheep have a right to be where they are and there they’ll stay until I get ready to move ’em. You cattlemen think you own this country, but when it comes to the show down, you’re a bunch of bluffers. Now, Wade, I made you an offer once, I’ll admit it, and I’ll make it again for the last time. Sell me your homestead and lease rights at the price I offered you ten thousand dollars, and get out smiling. There isn’t room for the two of us in the valley.”

“Ten thousand for the homestead and the lease combined!” Wade laughed mirthlessly. “You’re crazy, man. Why, you offered me that much for the lease alone a few weeks ago.”

“Did I? I’d forgotten it. Anyway, it’s a fair offer. The land is still owned by Uncle Sam, you know. You haven’t proved up on your claims, and you never will if I can help it. We are spending lots of money here, and the government will see that our interests are protected. You cattlemen can’t hog the whole of Crawling Water Valley. Times have changed. Well, what do you say?”

The ranchman dismissed the proposition with a gesture, but did not immediately speak. Silently, the two big men faced each other, their glances crossing like rapiers: the cattleman like a statue in bronze in the fixed rigidity of his attitude, but with an expression that showed him one dangerous to trifle with; the agent affecting that half tolerant amusement which one may feel toward an enemy unworthy of one’s prowess. Wade presently broke the silence.

“Moran, you may be a big man in the East, but you’re not big enough for the job you’ve tackled here. I’ve held my friends back as long as I can longer than I thought I could and when they break loose, this valley will be a little hell, perhaps a shambles. Men are going to be killed, and I have a feeling that you are going to be one of them. Against that time, once more, I warn you. Tell Jensen to trail his sheep!”

Swinging on his heel, the ranchman left the office, paying no attention to the ironical “Good night,” which Moran called after him.

In the street, Wade chanced upon a neighboring cattle owner, Lem Trowbridge of the Circle Heart outfit, who fell into step with him.

“Gordon, how long are we going to stand for this thing, eh? Say, do you know what some are saying about you? Now, I’m your friend, and I’m telling you straight that you’ve gone far enough with this pacifist stuff.”

“They say I’m afraid, I suppose?” Wade stopped and faced Trowbridge. “Have they said that to you?”

“To me? Say, what the kind of a friend do you take me for?” Trowbridge flamed up like a match. “No, they haven’t said just that, Gordon; but they’re hinting, and I don’t like it.”

“Well, if you hear it direct, send the man on to me with it,” said Wade, his lips compressing ominously. “I’m about through, Lem, not quite, but pretty nearly. I’ve told Moran to have Jensen trail those sheep, and if he doesn’t....”

Trowbridge nodded and smiled, as they paused at a street corner one of the few that Crawling Water possessed.

“That’s the idea, Gordon. We’ll all be the readier for the waiting. Well, I’ll not go any farther with you.” He winked with elaborate precision and looked in the direction of a snug little cottage, with flower boxes in the windows, a biscuit toss away. “She’s home. I saw her leave the store yonder a little while ago.”

Wade blushed like a boy and looked foolish.

“I don’t get into town so very often,” he began lamely, when Trowbridge slapped him heartily on the back.

“You don’t need to make any excuses to me, old man,” he said, moving off. “That little woman has put Crawling Water on edge with admiration. You’re not the only one or, maybe, you are.”

Secretly eager though Wade was to reach the cottage, the nearer he approached it, the slower he walked, fuming at himself for his sudden spinelessness. Although no ladies’ man, he had never been woman wary until lately, and this of itself was a sign, the significance of which he was far from realizing. When he was with Dorothy Purnell, he almost forgot her sex in the easy companionability of their relationship; when away from her, he thought no more of her than he might of some man friend; but the approach had become a matter of embarrassing difficulty with him. There had even been occasions when he had walked past the cottage and ridden home without seeing her, trying speciously to convince himself that such had all along been his intention.

Something of the sort might have happened now had she not hailed him from the open doorway.

“Whither bound, stranger?” she smilingly demanded, in her low, rich contralto. “Better come in where it’s cool. Mother’ll be glad to see you, and I shan’t mind.”

She had come to Crawling Water for the restorative effect of the bracing mountain air upon the health of her mother, who was threatened with nervous invalidism, following the death of Mr. Purnell, two years before. The town called them Easterners because their home was as far East as Michigan, but they had never been city dwellers, as Dorothy’s fresh complexion and lithe, alert figure bore witness.

Her chestnut hair, piled in a silken crown on her shapely head, shaded a face that made those who saw it for the first time, catch their breath in instant admiration. Her radiance was of a glorious, compelling, and wholly distinct type, as refreshing as some view of green mountains from out a gloomy canyon. She had eyes, blue in repose, but shading to violet tints when aglow with vivacity; her nose was not perfect, because a trifle tip-tilted, but her face gained character through the defect; her very red lips held most delicious allurement in their slightly full curves. Her hands and feet were small enough to pay tribute to her birth and breeding, but not so small as to be doll-like. She wore a simple, white dress, freshly laundered, which made her look cool and inviting.

“You won’t mind? Now that’s good of you, and no mistake.” Wade shook hands with her, slowly relinquishing her cool palm. “How is Mrs. Purnell? Better?”

“Oh, yes, I think so. You’re better, aren’t you, mother?” she asked, as they entered the cozy little living-room, where the temperature was in pleasant contrast to the outer heat. “The air up here does you good, doesn’t it?”

Mrs. Purnell, a dispirited little person, admitted that she felt very well indeed, and seemed cheered at the sight of Wade, who greeted her deferentially but with easy geniality. She liked him for his wholesomeness, and she frequently declared that he was worth all the doctors in the country because of the impression of health and optimism which he bore with him. But she was aware that Dorothy liked him, too, and so presently made an excuse to leave the two young people together.

“Now, you may tell me all about what’s worrying you,” the girl said, seating herself across from Wade. “Something is. You can’t keep the signs from me.”

“Good girl!” His voice held a suggestion of tenderness, as he rolled and lighted a cigarette, in the home-like privilege which they allowed him there. “That’s your way, always. No matter who’s in trouble, you are ready to hasten to the rescue.”

“Oh ,” she deprecatingly began, with a trace of violet showing in her eyes, which meant a great deal more than words.

“No wonder every man in the valley considers himself your own, especial knight.”

“I thought perhaps I could help you,” she said briskly, to cover her sentimental moment. “But that was foolish of me, too, wasn’t it? The idea of any one helping you.”

“I’m likely to need all my friends soon, Dorothy,” Wade answered soberly. “I came in to-day to see Race Moran. There’s a big band of sheep on our upper range, and Jensen, who has charge of them, admitted to me this morning that Moran is behind him.”

“Goodness, more sheep! Wherever do they come from?”

“I don’t know where they come from, but they can’t stay where they are unless I go out of business, that’s certain.” In a few words, he explained to her the significance of the movement, and told her of his talk with Moran. “I’ve no use for the man,” he concluded, “and if it comes to a showdown between us, he need expect no sympathy. I’ve held back as long as I can. I understand better than he does what the crack of the first rifle will lead to.”

“You have not liked him since you found that he took that snapshot of me,” she said whimsically. “I didn’t mind, but I can’t imagine what he wanted it for.”

Wade’s face darkened.

“It was a confounded impertinence, whatever he wanted with it. But my dislike of him goes farther back than that.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, resting her chin in her hand, and looking him straight in the eyes, as she always did to those with whom she talked.

“It largely depends on him. Santry you know how hot-headed he is would run the herders away by force and kill off the sheep. As a last resort, of course, we may have to do something like that, but I want to win this fight without open violence if we can. A faction war, in the end, would be likely to ruin us all.”

“You must be careful,” the girl declared earnestly. “Moran is not going to be an easy man to handle. He seems to have plenty of money, and they say here in town that he stands in with the government; that he has some sort of ‘pull.’ He’s clever, I think. He’ll trick you if he can.”

“I’m sure of that, Dorothy, but we’re not going to let him. If only...! Say, do you know something else that is being said in this town? Something that they’re saying about me?”

“Something nice?” her tone was archly inquiring.

He leaned forward and lightly rested his hand on her knee, just as he might have done with a man friend, and she took as little notice of it. His fingers were trembling a little under the stress of the emotion he felt.

“They’re saying, those who don’t like me, I guess, that I’m afraid of Moran and his crowd; afraid of a lot of sheep herders. No, of course, my friends don’t believe it,” he hastened to add when she started to interrupt. “But it’s not doing me any good, especially now that public feeling is running so high.”

“But you mustn’t mind what they say, Gordon. That’s part of the courage your friends know that you have; to do what you feel to be right, no matter what is said.”

Her cheeks were glowing with indignation, and he appreciatively patted her hand before sitting erect in his chair again. It was no wonder, he reflected, in that almost womanless land, that many a cowpuncher rode the range by night, seeing her image in every star. The thought that each single man, and many a married one, in Crawling Water, would ride into the Pit itself to win one of her smiles, had been Wade’s comfort, even when he was thinking of the possibility of bloodshed between the two hostile factions. But now, in the moment of her sympathy for him, he felt that he could not be content without some further assurance of her safety.

“What you say sounds well, Dorothy, but my pride’s working on me, too, now. I can’t help it. If my friends, who have been good enough to accept my leadership so far, should lose their heads and go to it without me, I might talk afterward until Kingdom come. I’d never convince anybody that I hadn’t funked the thing. You spoke a few minutes ago of helping me. You can help me a great deal.”

Her lovely face instantly blazed with eagerness.

“Can I? How?”

“By promising me that, if it comes to a fight, you and your mother will come out to my ranch. You’d be safer there. That is, of course, unless you’d prefer to leave Crawling Water altogether.”

“Indeed, I shouldn’t prefer to leave Crawling Water at this stage of the game, and” she smiled reassuringly “I’m sure we should be safe enough right here whatever happened. But, if you’d feel better about it, we would go to the ranch.”

“Thanks. I feel better about it already, more free to show my hand. You are safe enough here now, of course, and might be clear through to the finish; but cheap whiskey has led many a fairly good man astray.”

“If only there were some peaceable way out of it all.” Her eyes became anxious as she thought of what he might have to face. “Can’t you telegraph to Washington, or something?”

“Washington doesn’t know whether Crawling Water is in the United States or in Timbuctoo,” Wade laughed. “If we had some one in authority right here on the ground we might make him understand, but Mahomet will never come to these mountains, and they can’t go to Mahomet. Why, what’s the matter?”

His question was prompted by the sudden elation with which she had clapped her hands and sprung to her feet.

“How stupid of me, Gordon, to have forgotten.” She stood over him with shining eyes and eager countenance, as lovely as a Lorelei. “There is an official of the United States Government here at this very moment.”

“Here? In Crawling Water?” he exclaimed in amazement. “Who is he?”

“Senator Rexhill, Gordon.” Wade stared almost vacuously at her as she ran on with her news. “He came in with his daughter last night on the Sheridan stage. Isn’t that glorious? You must go up to see him at once.”

“I will, of course,” Wade said slowly, trying to catch his mental balance. “And with pleasure, too. It’s been a long time since I last saw either of them.”

“You know them him?” Dorothy hesitated a little over which pronoun to use, with the somewhat disturbing reflection that Helen Rexhill was a most beautiful and distinguished looking girl. “That will make it all the easier,” she added generously.

“Of course, Senator Rexhill has no authority of his own in such a matter, you know; but if we can get him interested, he may wake up Washington in our behalf. Only, I don’t see what can have brought him to Crawling Water.”

“Do you do you know the daughter well?” Dorothy asked, with feminine cogency. “I suppose you met her back East?”

“We’ve known each other for a number of years.” He arose, his face expressive of the delight he felt at the Rexhills’ presence in town. “We used to be good friends. You’ll like her. But it’s strange they didn’t tell me of their coming. You’ll pardon me if I hurry over to the hotel, won’t you, Dorothy?”

She gently urged him out of the house.

“Of course! Don’t waste a moment, and let me know just as soon as you can what the outcome is. I do hope the Senator can settle all this trouble.”

“I want you to meet them right away,” he called, over his shoulder, and when he looked back for his answer, she nodded brightly.

But as she turned back into the cottage after watching him swing up the street she was not at all sure that she would like Helen Rexhill.