Aline had passed into the house, moved
by an instinct which shrank from publicity in the
inevitable personal meeting between her and her husband.
Now, Harley, with the cavalier nod of dismissal, which
only a multimillionaire can afford, followed her and
closed the door. A passionate rush of blood swept
Ridgway’s face. He saw red as he stood
there with eyes burning into that door which had been
shut in his face. The nails of his clenched fingers
bit into his palms, and his muscles gathered themselves
tensely. He had been cast aside, barred from the
woman he loved by this septuagenarian, as carelessly
as if he had no claim.
And it came home to him that now he
had no claim, none before the law and society.
They had walked in Arcadia where shepherds pipe.
They had taken life for granted as do the creatures
of the woods, forgetful of the edicts of a world that
had seemed far and remote. But that world had
obtruded itself and shattered their dream. In
the person of Simon Harley it had shut the door which
was to separate him and her. Hitherto he had
taken from life what he had wanted, but already he
was grappling with the blind fear of a fate for once
too strong for him.
“Well, I’m damned if it
isn’t Waring Ridgway,” called a mellow
voice from across the gulch.
The man named turned, and gradually
the set lines of his jaw relaxed.
“I didn’t notice it was
you, Sam. Better bring the horses across this
side of that fringe of aspens.”
The dismounted horseman followed directions
and brought the floundering horses through, and after
leaving them in the cleared place where Ridgway had
cut his firewood he strolled leisurely forward to meet
the mine-owner. He was a youngish man, broad
of shoulder and slender of waist, a trifle bowed in
the legs from much riding, but with an elastic sufficiency
that promised him the man for an emergency, a pledge
which his steady steel-blue eyes, with the humorous
lines about the corners, served to make more valuable.
His apparel suggested the careless efficiency of the
cow-man, from the high-heeled boots into which were
thrust his corduroys to the broad-brimmed white Stetson
set on his sunreddened wavy hair. A man’s
man, one would vote him at first sight, and subsequent
impressions would not contradict the first.
“Didn’t know you were
down in this neck of woods, Waring,” he said
pleasantly, as they shook hands.
An onlooker might have noticed that
both of them gripped hands heartily and looked each
other squarely in the eye.
“I came down on business and
got caught in the blizzard on my way back. Came
on her freezing in the machine and brought her here
along with me. I had my eye on that slide.
The snow up there didn’t look good to me, and
the grub was about out, anyhow, so I was heading for
the C B Ranch when I sighted you.”
“Golden luck for her. I
knew it was a chance in a million that she was still
alive, but Harley wanted to take it. Say, that
old fellow’s made of steel wire. Two of
my boys are plugging along a mile or two behind us,
but he stayed right with the game to a finish - and
him seventy-three, mind you, and a New Yorker at that.
The old boy rides like he was born in a saddle,”
said Sam Yesler with enthusiasm.
“I never said he was a quitter,”
conceded Ridgway ungraciously.
“You’re right he ain’t.
And say, but he’s fond of his wife. Soon
as he struck the ranch the old man butted out again
into the blizzard to get her - slipped out
before we knew it. The boys rounded him up wandering
round the big pasture, and none too soon neither.
All the time we had to keep herd on him to keep him
from taking another whirl at it. He was like
a crazy man to tackle it, though he must a-known it
was suicide. Funny how a man takes a shine to
a woman and thinks the sun rises and sets by her.
Far, as I have been able to make out women are much
of a sameness, though I ain’t setting up for
a judge. Like as not this woman don’t care
a hand’s turn for him.”
“Why should she? He bought
her with his millions, I suppose. What right
has an old man like that with one foot in the grave
to pick out a child and marry her? I tell you,
Sam, there’s something ghastly about it.”
“Oh, well, I reckon when she
sold herself she knew what she was getting. It’s
about an even thing - six of one and half
a dozen of the other. There must be something
rotten about a woman who will do a thing of that sort.”
“Wait till you’ve seen
her before passing judgment. And after you have
you’ll apologize if you’re a white man
for thinking such a thing about her,” the miner
said hotly.
Yesler looked at his friend in amiable
surprise. “I don’t reckon we need
to quarrel about Simon Harley’s matrimonial affairs,
do we?” he laughed.
“Not unless you want to say any harm of that
lamb.”
A glitter of mischief gleamed from
the cattleman’s eyes. “Meaning Harley,
Waring?”
“You know who I mean. I
tell you she’s an angel from heaven, pure as
the driven snow.”
“And I tell you that I’ll
take your word for it without quarreling with you,”
was the goodhumored retort. “What’s
up, anyhow? I never saw you so touchy before.
You’re a regular pepper-box.”
The rescuers had brought food with
them, and the party ate lunch before starting back.
The cow-punchers of the C B had now joined them, both
of them, as well as their horses, very tired with
the heavy travel.
“This here Marathon race business
through three-foot snow ain’t for invalids like
me and Husky,” one of them said cheerfully, with
his mouth full of sandwich. “We’re
also rans, and don’t even show for place.”
Yet though two of them had, temporarily
at least, been rescued from imminent danger, and success
beyond their expectations had met the others, it was
a silent party. A blanket of depression seemed
to rest upon it, which the good stories of Yesler
and the genial nonsense of his man, Chinn, were unable
to lift. Three of them, at least, were brooding
over what the morning had brought forth, and trying
to realize what it might mean for them.
“We’d best be going, I
expect,” said Yesler at last. “We’ve
got a right heavy bit of work cut out for us, and
the horses are through feeding. We can’t
get started any too soon for me.”
Ridgway nodded silently. He knew
that the stockman was dubious, as he himself was,
about being able to make the return trip in safety.
The horses were tired; so, too, were the men who had
broken the heavy trail for so many miles, with the
exception of Sam himself, who seemed built of whipcord
and elastic. They would be greatly encumbered
by the woman, for she would certainly give out during
the journey. The one point in their favor was
that they could follow a trail which had already been
trodden down.
Simon Harley helped his wife into
the boy’s saddle on the back of the animal they
had led, but his inexperience had to give way to Yesler’s
skill in fitting the stirrups to the proper length
for her feet. To Ridgway, who had held himself
aloof during this preparation, the stockman now turned
with a wave of his hand toward his horse.
“You ride, Waring.”
“No, I’m fresh.”
“All right. We’ll take turns.”
Ridgway led the party across the gulch,
following the trail that had been swept by the slide.
The cowboys followed him, next came Harley, his wife,
and in the rear the cattleman. They descended
the draw, and presently dipped over rolling ground
to the plain beyond. The procession plowed steadily
forward mile after mile, the pomes floundering through
drifts after the man ahead.
Chinn, who had watched him breasting
the soft heavy blanket that lay on the ground so deep
and hemmed them in, turned to his companion.
“On the way coming I told you,
Husky, we had the best man in Montana at our head.
We got that beat now to a fare-you-well. We got
the two best in this party, by crickey.”
“He’s got the guts, all
right, but there ain’t nothing on two legs can
keep it up much longer,” replied the other.
“If you want to know, I’m about all in
myself.”
“Here, too,” grunted the other. “And
so’s the bronc.”
It was not, however, until dusk was
beginning to fall that the leader stopped. Yesler’s
voice brought him up short in his tracks.
“Hold on, Waring. The lady’s down.”
Ridgway strode back past the exhausted
cowboys and Harley, the latter so beaten with fatigue
that he could scarce cling to the pommel of his saddle.
“I saw it coming. She’s
been done for a long time, but she hung on like a
thoroughbred,” explained Yesler from the snow-bank
where Aline had fallen.
He had her in his arms and was trying
to get at a flask of whisky in his hip-pocket.
“All right. I’ll
take care of her, Sam. You go ahead with your
horse and break trail. I don’t like the
way this wind is rising. It’s wiping out
the path you made when you broke through. How
far’s the ranch now?”
“Close to five miles.”
Both men had lowered their voices almost to a whisper.
“It’s going to be a near
thing, Sam. Your men are played out. Harley
will never make it without help. From now on every
mile will be worse than the last.”
Yesler nodded quietly. “Some
one has got to go ahead for help. That’s
the only way.”
“It will have to be you, of
course. You know the road best and can get back
quickest. Better take her pony. It’s
the fittest.”
The owner of the C B hesitated an
instant before he answered. He was the last man
in the world to desert a comrade that was down, but
his common sense told him his friend had spoken wisely.
The only chance for the party was to get help to it
from the ranch.
“All right. If anybody
plays out beside her try to keep him going. If
it comes to a showdown leave him for me to pick up.
Don’t let him stop the whole outfit.”
“Sure. Better leave me that bottle of whisky.
So-long.”
“You’re going to ride, I reckon?”
“Yes. I’ll have to.”
“Get up on my horse and I’ll
give her to you. That’s right Well, I’ll
see you later.”
And with that the stockman was gone.
For long they could see him, plunging slowly forward
through the drifts, getting always smaller and smaller,
till distance and the growing darkness swallowed him.
Presently the girl in Ridgway’s arms opened
her eyes.
“I heard what you and he said,” she told
him quietly.
“About what?” he smiled
down into the white face that looked up into his.
“You know. About our danger. I’m
not afraid, not the least little bit.”
“You needn’t be.
We’re coming through, all right. Sam will
make it to the ranch. He’s a man in a million.”
“I don’t mean that. I’m not
afraid, anyway, whether we do or not.”
“Why?” he asked, his heart beating wildly.
“I don’t know, but I’m not,”
she murmured with drowsy content.
But he knew if she did not. Her
fear had passed because he was there, holding her
in his arms, fighting to the last ounce of power in
him for her life. She felt he would never leave
her, and that, if it came to the worst, she would
pass from life with him close to her. Again he
knew that wild exultant beat of blood no woman before
this one had ever stirred in him.
Harley was the first to give up.
He lurched forward and slipped from the saddle to
the snow, and could not be cursed into rising.
The man behind dismounted, put down his burden, and
dragged the old man to his feet.
“Here! This won’t do. You’ve
got to stick it out.”
“I can’t. I’ve
reached my limit.” Then testily: “’Are
not my days few? Cease then, and let me alone,’”
he added wearily, with his everready tag of Scripture.
The instant the other’s hold
on him relaxed the old man sank back. Ridgway
dragged him up and cuffed him like a troublesome child.
He knew this was no time for reasoning.
“Are you going to lie down and
quit, you old loafer? I tell you the ranch is
only a mile or two. Here, get into the saddle.”
By sheer strength the younger man
hoisted him into the seat. He was very tired
himself, but the vital sap of youth in him still ran
strong in his blood. For a few yards farther
they pushed on before Harley slid down again and his
horse stopped.
Ridgway passed him by, guiding his
bronco in a half-circle through the snow.
“I’ll send back help for you,” he
promised.
“It will be too late, but save her - save
her,” the old man begged.
“I will,” called back the other between
set teeth.
Chinn was the next to drop out, and
after him the one he called Husky. Both their
horses had been abandoned a mile or two back, too exhausted
to continue. Each of them Ridgway urged to stick
to the trail and come on as fast as they could.
He knew the horse he was riding could
not much longer keep going with the double weight,
and when at length its strength gave out completely
he went on afoot, carrying her in his arms as on that
eventful night when he had saved her from the blizzard.
It was so the rescue-party found him,
still staggering forward with her like a man in a
sleep, flesh and blood and muscles all protestant
against the cruelty of his indomitable will that urged
them on in spite of themselves. In a dream he
heard Yesler’s cheery voice, gave up his burden
to one of the rescuers, and found himself being lifted
to a fresh horse. From this dream he awakened
to find himself before the great fire of the living-room
of the ranch-house, wakened from it only long enough
to know that somebody was undressing him and helping
him into bed.
Nature, with her instinct for renewing
life, saw to it that Ridgway slept round the clock.
He arose fit for anything. His body, hard as
nails, suffered no reaction from the terrific strain
he had put upon it, and he went down to his breakfast
with an appetite ravenous for whatever good things
Yesler’s Chinese cook might have prepared for
him.
He found his host already at work on a juicy steak.
“Mornin’,” nodded that gentleman.
“Hope you feel as good as you look.”
“I’m all right, barring
a little stiffness in my muscles. I’ll feel
good as the wheat when I’ve got outside of the
twin steak to that one you have.”
Yesler touched a bell, whereupon a
soft-footed Oriental appeared, turned almond eyes
on his proprietor, took orders and padded silently
back to his kingdom - the kitchen. Almost
immediately he reappeared with a bowl of oatmeal and
a pitcher of cream.
“Go to it, Waring.”
His host waved him the freedom of
the diningroom, and Ridgway fell to. Never before
had food tasted so good. He had been too sleepy
to cat last night, but now he made amends. The
steak, the muffins, the coffee, were all beyond praise,
and when he came to the buckwheat hot cakes, sandwiched
with butter and drenched with real maple syrup, his
satisfied soul rose up and called Hop Lee blessed.
When he had finished, Sam capped the climax by shoving
toward him his case of Havanas.
Ridgway’s eyes glistened.
“I haven’t smoked for days,” he explained,
and after the smoke had begun to rise, he added:
“Ask what you will, even to the half of my kingdom,
it’s yours.”
“Or half of the Consolidated’s,”
amended his friend with twinkling eyes.
“Even so, Sam,” returned
the other equably. “And now, tell me how
you managed to round us all up safely.”
“You’ve heard, then, that
we got the whole party in time?”
“Yes, I’ve been talking
with one of your enthusiastic riders that went out
with you after us. He’s been flimflammed
into believing you the greatest man in the United
States. Tell me how you do it.”
“Nick’s a good boy, but
I reckon he didn’t tell you quite all that.”
“Didn’t he? You should
have heard him reel off your praises by the yard.
I got the whole story of how you headed the relief-party
after you had reached the ranch more dead than alive.”
“Then, if you’ve got it,
I don’t need to tell you. I was a bit
worried about the old man. He was pretty far
gone when we reached him, but he pulled through all
right. He’s still sleeping like a top.”
“Is he?” His guest’s
hard gaze came round to meet his. “And the
lady? Do you know how she stood it?”
“My sister says she was pretty
badly played out, but all she needs is rest.
Nell put her in her own bed, and she, too, has been
doing nothing but sleep.”
Ridgway smoked out his cigar in silence
then tossed it into the fireplace as he rose briskly.
“I want to talk to Mesa over the phone, Sam.”
“Can’t do it. The
wires are down. This storm played the deuce with
them.”
“The devil! I’ll have to get through
myself then.”
“Forget business for a day or
two, Waring, and take it easy up here,” counseled
his host.
“Can’t do it. I have
to make arrangements to welcome Simon Harley to Mesa.
The truth is, Sam, that there are several things that
won’t wait. I’ve got to frame them
up my way. Can you get me through to the railroad
in time to catch the Limited?”
“I think so. The road has
been traveled for two or three days. If you really
must go. I hate to have you streak off like this.”
“I’d like to stay, Sam,
but I can’t. For one thing, there’s
that senatorial fight coming on. Now that Harley’s
on the ground in person, I’ll have to look after
my fences pretty close. He’s a good fighter,
and he’ll be out to win.”
“After what you’ve done
for him. Don’t you think that will make
a difference, Waring?”
His friend laughed without mirth.
“What have I done for him? I left him in
the snow to die, and while a good many thousand other
people would bless me for it, probably he has a different
point of view.”
“I was thinking of what you did for his wife.”
“You’ve said it exactly.
I did it for her, not for him. I’ll accept
nothing from Harley on that account. He is outside
of the friendship between her and me, and he can’t
jimmy his way in.”
Yesler shrugged his shoulders.
“All right. I’ll order a rig hitched
for you and drive you over myself. I want to
talk over this senatorial fight anyhow. The way
things look now it’s going to be the rottenest
session of the legislature we’ve ever had.
Sometimes I’m sick of being mixed up in the
thing, but I got myself elected to help straighten
out things, and I’m certainly going to try.”
“That’s right, Sam.
With a few good fighters like you we can win out.
Anything to beat the Consolidated.”
“Anything to keep our politics
decent,” corrected the other. “I’ve
got nothing against the Consolidated, but I won’t
lie down and let it or any other private concern hog-tie
this State - not if I can help it, anyhow.”
Behind wary eyes Ridgway studied him.
He was wondering how far this man would go as his
tool. Sam Yesler held a unique position in the
State. His influence was commanding among the
sturdy old-time population represented by the non-mining
interests of the smaller towns and open plains.
He must be won at all hazards to lend it in the impending
fight against Harley. The mine-owner knew that
no thought of personal gain would move him. He
must be made to feel that it was for the good of the
State that the Consolidated be routed. Ridgway
resolved to make him see it that way.