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  CHAPTER XVII

  WESTLAKE BRINGS NEWS

  In the week that followed the partners of the Three Star managed to findmany hours for holiday-making. The ranch ran well on its own routine,and Molly was a princess to be entertained. Kate Nicholson emerged fromher chrysalis and became almost a butterfly rather than the pale graymoth they had fancied her. Even Miranda revised her opinion. TheNicholsons, it came out, had been a family of some consequence and afair degree of riches in South Carolina before an unfortunatespeculation had taken everything. Kate Nicholson, left alone soonafterward, had assumed the role of governess or companion with more orless success and drifted on, submerged in the families who had used herservices until Keith had secured her for the post with Molly when thingshad seemed particularly black. Now, riding with Molly, with Sam andSandy for escorts, over the open range or up into the canyons, onpicnics, the years slid off from her. She acquired color with thecapacity for enjoyment, she developed a quaint gift of jest and sheproved a natural horsewoman. Molly coaxed her into different modes ofhair dressing and little touches of color. She laughed understandinglyand talked spontaneously. Evenings, when they would return to thedisconsolate Mormon, who bewailed openly his lack of saddle ease, theyfound, two nights out of three, Miranda Bailey, self-charioted in herflivver with offerings of cake and doughnuts to supplement Pedro's stilluncertain efforts.

  Molly chuckled once to Sandy.

  "Miranda's a dear," she said. "I wish she'd marry Mormon. But KateNicholson is a far better cook than she is. Only she won't do anythingfor fear of hurting Miranda's feelings."

  Yet the governess did cook on occasion, trout that they caught in themountain streams, and camp biscuits and fragrant coffee when they madeexcursion, so deft a presiding genius of the camp-fire that Sam declaredshe belonged to Sageland.

  "I love it," she answered, sleeves tucked to the elbow, stooping overthe fire, her face full of color, tucking a vagrant wisp of hair intoplace.

  "Not much like the East, is it, Molly?" Sandy would ask.

  "Not a bit. Lots better."

  "You must miss a lot."

  "What, for instance, Sandy?"

  "Real music, for one thing. Concerts, theaters. Your sports. Tennis andgolf. The people you met at the Keiths'. Clothes, pritty dresses,dancin'."

  "I love dancing," she said. "But not always the way they dance. Tennisand golf are poky compared to riding Blaze. I like pretty things, butI'm not crazy about clothes, Sandy. And lots of them are, back there.Grown-up women as well as the girls I knew. And they are neversatisfied, Sandy. It isn't real there. Nobody seems to know each other.Anybody could drop out and not be missed. It is all a rush. It is goodto be back--good."

  She stopped talking, gazing into the fire. The nights at Three Star werecrisp. It was as if cold was jealous of the land that the sun wooed soardently and rushed upon it the moment the latter sank behind the hills.Sandy looked at her hungrily, wishing she would elect to sit therealways, mistress of the hearth and of him.

  "Young Keith'll be over soon, I reckon," he said presently. "He saidhe'd come. Like him, Molly?"

  It was not jealousy prompted the suggestion, but Sandy had more thanonce contrasted himself with the youngster and his easy manners, hisundeniably good looks, his youth, wondering how close he was to Molly'smoods and ideals, making him typical of the East as against the West.

  "He's a nice boy," she said. "He has always had things his own way. He'spartly spoiled, I'm afraid. He'd have been a lot nicer if he had beenbrought up on a ranch. I've told him so."

  "Why?"

  "Life's quieter out here, Sandy. It's bigger somehow. Donald onlypleases himself. He--they don't seem to have real families out East,Sandy. I don't quite mean that, but as I have seen them. The Keiths.They are kind but they don't belong just to each other. They have theirown ways and none of them do anything together. He's been nice tome--Donald. So have Mr. and Mrs. Keith."

  Sandy had no effort imagining Donald being nice to Molly, contrastedwith the other girls who just amused themselves.

  "I'd cut a pore figger at tennis, I reckon," he said. "Or golf."

  "So would Donald breaking a bronco," she laughed. "He's keen to rideone, to see a round-up. Why, Sandy, they think life is wonderful outhere. And it is."

  He wondered how much of her enthusiasm was lasting, how much came of theaffectionate gratitude she showed them constantly, how much she thoughtof the swifter life she was going back to presently at the end of themonth--with one week gone out of the four. He wrestled with thetemptation to ask her not to go back, or to have Miss Nicholson remainon the ranch to complete the education that was steadily widening--as hesaw it--the gap between them.

  Sandy was not ignorant. His speech was mostly dialect, born ofenvironment. He wrote correctly enough, aided by the dictionary he hadacquired. He had business capacity, executive ability, strong manhood.He read increasingly, his mind was plastic. But these things hebelittled. And he was her guardian. Though he knew he might win herpromise to stay easily enough, he did not wish to exercise hisauthority. It might be misunderstood, even by Molly herself, later. Hecould not force his hand in this vital matter, as he handled otherthings. And yet....

  * * * * *

  Sam had stopped playing, Kate Nicholson was weaving chords in musicunknown to those who listened, save that it seemed to speak some commonlanguage that had been forgotten since childhood. The fire shifted,there was silence in the big room. Mormon sat shading his face, MirandaBailey beside him, her knitting idle. Sam lounged in a shady corner nearthe harmonium. Grit lay asleep. It was infinitely peaceful.

  There was the sound of a motor outside, the honk of a horn. The dooropened and a man came in, gazing uncertainly about him in thehalf-light--Westlake.

  "This is the Three Star, isn't it?" he asked, evidently puzzled at thegroup.

  Sandy lit the big lamp as they all rose, Grit nosing the engineer,accepting him.

  "Sure is," he said. "You know Miss Bailey, Westlake? Miss Keith an' MissNicholson, Mr. Westlake. They both know something about you. Come tostay, I hope."

  His voice was cordial as he gripped Westlake's hand, though theremembrance of what Sam had said at the mining camp leaped up withinhim. Westlake and Molly! Here was a man who might mate with her, mightsuit her wonderfully well. Upstanding, educated, no lightweightpleasure-seeker, as he estimated Donald Keith. Here was a complicationin his dreams of happiness that he had lost sight of. He saw the twoappraising each other and approving.

  "If you can put up with me, for a bit," said Westlake. "I've come partlyon business, Bourke. I've left Casey Town."

  He seemed to speak with some embarrassment, glancing toward Molly. Sandysensed that something had happened with his relations with Keith.

  "You're more than welcome," he said. "Any one with you?"

  "No, I came over with a machine from the garage at Hereford," he said."I'll get my things and send him back."

  Sandy went outside with him and helped him with his grips. The machinestarted.

  "Quit Keith?" asked Sandy.

  "Yes, we had a misunderstanding. About my staying here, Bourke. It maybe a bit awkward. Young Donald Keith intends coming over. I am sure hedoesn't know a thing about his father's business affairs. But I have astrong hunch that Keith himself will be along later to offset any talkhe thinks I may have with you. He'll figure I've come here. He doesn'tknow all that I have found out, at that. If it's likely to embarrass youor your guests in the least I'll go on to Denver to-morrow. I'm headedthat way. I've got a South American proposition in view. Wired themyesterday and may hear at any minute."

  "Shucks!" said Sandy. "Yo're my friend. Young Keith don't interest me,save as Molly wants to entertain him. I'm under no obligations to Keithhimse'f. Yo're my guest an' we'll keep you's long we can hold you in thecorral. As fo' Molly, you don't know her. If it come to a show-downbetween you an' Keith, with you in the right, there ain't any questionas to where she'd horn in."

  "I
had no idea Miss Casey would be like--what she is," said Westlake, asMiranda Bailey, Mormon in attendance, came out of the house.

  "Time fo' me to be trailin' back," said the spinster. "Moon's risin'.Good night, Mr. Westlake. See you ag'in before you go, I hope. I reckonyou sure gave me good advice when you said to take cash fo' my claims."

  She climbed into the machine which Mormon cranked. It moved off, Mormonwatching it. Then Sam came out and joined them.

  "Gels gone to bed," he announced. "What's Keith doin' up to Casey Town,Westlake?"

  "It won't take long to tell you."

  The four walked over to the corral and the three partners climbed on thetop rail, ranch-fashion. Westlake stood before them.

  "Practically all the gold found in Casey Town comes from the main gulchwhere the creek runs. The gulch was once non-existent. It is likelythere was a hill there. Its nub was a porphyry cap, the rest of it wascomposed of layers of porphyry and valueless rock dipping downward,nested like saucers in the synclinal layers. Ice and water wore off thenub and leveled the hill, then gouged out the gulch. They ground away,in my belief, all the porphyry that held gold except the portions nowlying either side of the gulch. That gold was distributed far down thecreek, carried by glacier and stream. Casey found indications and workedup to where he believed he had struck the mother vein. He did strike itbut it had been worn down like the blade of an old knife.

  "It was the top layers that held the richest ore. Of those that are leftonly one carries it and that is the reef that outcrops here and thereboth sides of the gulch. This isn't theory. All strikes have been madein this top layer. Where they have sunk through to a lower porphyrystratum they have found only indications where they found anything atall. But the strikes were rich because sylvanite is one of the richestof all gold ores. They look big and they encourage further developmentand--what is more to the point--further investment. Some of the strikeshave been on the Keith Group properties. They have boosted the stock ofall of them.

  "I have been developing these group projects. The value of grouppromotion, to the promoter, is, that as long as one claim shows promise,the shares keep selling. The public loves to gamble. Keith came backthis trip and proposed to purchase a lot of claims that are nothing butplain rock, surface dirt and sage-brush. They are not even on the maingulch. He can buy them for almost nothing. But he does not propose tosell them for that. He was going to start another group. He ordered meto make the preliminary surveys. Later I was to plan development work,to make a showing for his prospectus.

  "He knew one would have as much chance digging in a New York back-yard.I told him so. He has his own expert and, if he didn't tell him so too,he's a crook.

  "Keith said he understood his business and suggested I should attendstrictly to mine. I told him I understood mine and that it included somepersonal honor. I was hot. I suggested that wildcat development was notmy business. He called me a quixotic young fool among other things, andI may have called him a robber. I'm not sure. Anyway, I quit.

  "Now, Keith's kept me off from the properties as soon as they have beenfairly started and I have been only consulting engineer for the Molly.I've been busy on preliminary work. The engineer he brought from NewYork has been in actual charge. That was all right. I'm comparatively akid. But I know what is going on generally in Casey Town. There havebeen no more strikes, for one thing; the discoveries have all been inthe one layer and they are gradually working out.

  "Keith would rather develop a good property than a bad one. He hasestablished himself, has a future to look to. He carries his investingclients from one proposition to another. He never has to risk his ownmoney and he has been lucky. He has made money--lots of it. Now then,why does he start wildcatting?"

  "Must need money," suggested Sandy.

  "That's my idea. I believe he's been stung somewhere. I know he's beenfooling with oil stocks. His mail's full of it. And I believe he's beenbitten by the other fellow's game instead of sticking to his own."

  "It's been done befo'."

  "But that isn't all." Westlake brought down his right fist into the palmof his left hand for emphasis. "This comes from information I can relyon, from logical deductions of my own, from actual observation ofconditions. Yesterday they closed up the stopes in the Molly. Boarded'em over. This was done without consulting me. The superintendent talkedsome rot about not wishing over-production and pushing development. Iheard of it after I had walked out of Keith's office, resigned, orfired. You can't issue an order like that without miners talking. I knowmost of them.

  "Now then--there's no gold left back of the boarding in thosestopes--practically none! The Molly is played out, picked like a walnutof its meat! If they do develop down to the second porphyry level theywon't find anything to pay for the work. They have taken all thesylvanite out of your mine and _Keith is trying to cover up that fact_."

  Westlake stopped and eyed them. They took it differently. Mormon softlywhistled. Sam slid out his harmonica, cuddled in beneath his mustacheand played a little of the _Cowboy's Lament_. Sandy's eyes closedslightly. They glittered like gray metal in the moonlight.

  "Keith can't help the mine peterin' out," he said. "Jest why is hehidin' it? So's he can sell new shares an' keep the price up of the oldones. So's he can unload?"

  "Plain enough. Now the Molly Mine stock isn't on the market. It is allowned, as I understand, by Miss Casey and you three holding thecontrolling interest, Keith the rest. It's been paying dividends fromthe start. Keith will try to unload."

  "He'll have to do it on the quiet or it 'ud have the same effect as ifthe news came out about the mine," said Sandy.

  "True. He may try to sell it to you."

  "Not likely. He doesn't expect us to have the money. We haven't. I takeit he can't dump 'em in a hurry. That's why he's boardin' the stopes. Ifhe don't trail over here in a day or so I'll shack over to Casey Townfo' a li'l' chat. I'd admire to go over the mine. Mebbe we'll all go.Might even call a directors' meetin'. Quien sabe? Much obliged to you,Westlake."

  Westlake nodded. He understood that quiet drawl of Sandy's. If the li'l'chat came off, Keith would not enjoy himself, he fancied.

  "The question is what move to make an' when to make it. If Molly is onething she is game. We've got a good deal out of the mine an' it's allcome so far from the sale of gold to the mint, I take it. We don'tdabble in stocks. We're ahead. If the mine's gone bu'st she's donenicely by us, at that."

  Back of Sandy's talk thoughts formed in his brain that held a good dealof comfort. Molly was no longer an heiress, if Westlake's news was true.And he did not doubt it. Molly would not have to go back East. Herrelations with the Keiths would be broken. She had not spent all hershare of the dividends. Keith held some portion of this. Just how muchSandy did not know. He had not held Keith to strict accountings, he hadtrusted him to bank the funds. That Molly had a banking-account, heknew. It might mean her staying west. The principal used on the ThreeStar was intact and would be turned over to her, if they could make heraccept it, but it began to look as if Molly might remain, all thingsconsidered.

  "I figger you're right about Keith trailin' over here to see if you'veshowed," Sandy went on. "That's the way I'd play him. As you say, he'sgot to git rid of his shares quietly an' he can't do it in a rush. Idon't want to tell Molly she's bu'sted until we're plumb certain. An'Keith's got money of hers. We want to git that out of the pot befo' webreak with Keith. He'll give us an openin' fo' a general understandin',I reckon. If he don't show inside of a couple of days I'll take a pasearover to Casey Town an' have a li'l' chat with him.

  "Young Keith sabe his father's play?" asked Sandy.

  "No." Westlake spoke decidedly. "He's not interested in mining. He's onthe trip because his father holds the purse strings. He's a good deal ofa cub, at present. I mean he don't show much inclination to use hisbrains. He's having a good time on easy money. He doesn't know thedifference between an adit and an air-drill. Doesn't want to. Makes ashow of interest, naturally, to stand in with his old
man, but he putsin a good deal of time scooting round the hills in that big car oftheirs, or going hunting. I heard he was trying to buck a poker game,but Keith's secretary heard that too and I imagine attended to it. Itwas not my province. He's a likable kid in many ways but he's just akid."

  "'Tw'udn't be fair to hold anythin' ag'in' him, 'count of his breedin',"said Sandy, "but colts that ain't bred right bear watchin'. Men an'hawsses, there's a sight of difference between thoroughbred an' _well_bred. I've known a heap of folks mighty well bred who didn't have muchpedigree. So long's the blood's pure, names don't amount to shucks. Nowtell us some about that South American berth of yours, Westlake."

  Westlake rather marveled at the ease with which Sandy and his chumsdismissed a matter that meant a material loss of money to them, but hehad seen the light in Sandy's eyes and he knew his capacity for actionwhen the moment arrived. The four sat up late, talking of mining invarious ways and places.

  "This Westlake hombre'll go a long ways," summed up Sam to Sandy afterWestlake had turned in and Mormon had yawned himself off to bed. "Hesure knows a heap, he don't brag, he's on the square an' he ain't afraidof work."

  "A good deal of a he-man," assented Sandy. "Stands up on his hind laigs.He didn't come out of the same mold as Keith. Sam, you ain't a potenshulmillionaire any longer, just plain ranchman. You can go to sleep 'thoutworryin' how yo're goin' to spend yore dividends."

  "That so't of worry won't tuhn my ha'r gray," retorted Sam, "though Iwish you'd talk plain United States an' forgit the dikshunary. What I'mworryin' about is Molly."

  "So'm I, Sam," said Sandy. "Good night."

  That Westlake won approval from Molly, and also from Kate Nicholson, waspatent before breakfast was over the next morning. A buyer came out fromHereford demanding Sandy's attention and he stayed at the ranch whilethe three and Sam went off saddleback. Westlake had expressed a desireto see the ranch and Molly had volunteered to display her own renewedknowledge of it. The buyer looked at the Three Star stock with experteyes and made bids that were highly satisfactory.

  "Better beef, better prices, that's the modern slogan," he said at thenoon meal with Sandy and Mormon. "I see you believe in it. You canestablish a brand for the Three Star steers, Mr. Bourke, just as readilyas any producer of staple goods, and you can command your own market.

  "I heard some talk in Hereford this morning of trouble at one ranch notfar from here," he went on. "A horse ranch run by a man named Plimsoll.Waterline Ranch, I think they call it. I have a commission from a man inChicago to look up some horses for him and I had heard of Plimsollbefore, not over-favorably. I understand he is a horse-dealer ratherthan a breeder. And that he is not fussy over brands."

  "He's got a big herd," said Sandy non-committally. "Claims to round upslick-ears."

  "Slick-ears?"

  "Same as broom-tails--wild hawsses. What was the trouble?"

  "General row among the crowd, far as I could make out. Plimsoll shot atone of his men named Wyatt, I believe, and started to run him off theranch. There were sides taken and shots fired."

  "News to me," said Sandy. He was not especially interested in Waterlinehappenings so long as Plimsoll remained set. The buyer left and the restof the day went slowly.

  When the quartet returned, Molly and Westlake were obviously more thanmere acquaintances. Sandy felt out of the running though Molly held himin the conversation. Kate Nicholson unconsciously intensified his mood.

  "They make a wonderful pair, don't they?" she said to him. "BothWestern, full of life and mutual interest."

  Miranda Bailey, driving over, created a welcome diversion.

  "I've brought a telegram out for you, Mr. Westlake," she said. "Theoperator phoned us to see if any one was coming over. Said you left wordyou were at the Three Star. Here it is. When you goin' to have yourphone put into the ranch, Sandy?"

  "Company promised to finish the party line next month," answered Sandy."Held up for poles."

  He answered with his eyes on the yellow envelope that Westlake, with anapology, was opening. The engineer read it and passed it to Molly. Sandysaw her face glow.

  "That's fine!" she exclaimed. "But it means you've got to go. I'm sorryfor that."

  The relief that Sandy felt, and dismissed as selfish, was marred by thecordial understanding that had sprung up between the two. He wondered ifthey had discovered a real attachment for each other. Such things couldhappen in a flash. His view was apt to be jaundiced, but he did notrealize that.

  "I'll have to go first thing to-morrow," said Westlake. "I'm sorry, too.They've come up to my counter-offer, Bourke, and they want me to come onimmediately. It means a lot to me. Everything," he added, with a smilethat Molly returned.

  "You'll write?" she said. "You promised."

  Kate Nicholson looked at Sandy with arching eyebrows. She too appearedto scent romance, to approve of it. Miranda broke in.

  "I'm sure glad it's good news," she said.

  Sandy fancied she was about to ask about Keith. He knew her curiosityto be lively, though he thought her tact would appreciate the situationwith regard to Molly. "I've got some of my own," she continued. "There'sbeen trouble out to Jim Plimsoll's. He shot at Wyatt or Wyatt at him, Idon't know which rightly. But there was sides taken an' a gen'ralrumpus. Several of his men quit or was run off the place. It's been areg'lar scandal. Called the place the Waterline. Whiskyline w'ud havesuited it better, I reckon. Plimsoll's aimin' to sell out, Ed heard.It'll be a good riddance."

  "Whoever buys the stock is takin' a long chance," said Mormon. "Aimin'to sell, is he?"

  "I'll have a telegram fo' you to take back, Mirandy," said Sandy. "Yousendin' one, Westlake?"

  "If you'll take it, Miss Bailey."

  "Glad to."

  Westlake and Molly were both standing. They moved toward the door andout to the moonlit veranda together.

  "They seem to hit it off well, that pair," said Miranda.

  Kate Nicholson murmured something about the kitchen and left the room toattend to some refreshments. She had gradually taken over supervision ofPedro and the results had justified Molly's praise of her qualificationsas a housekeeper.

  "Now tell me about Keith," demanded Miranda. "What's he been up to?"

  Sandy told her.

  "I ain't a mite surprised. That Westlake acts white. I liked him fromthe start. What are you goin' to do about Molly? You ain't told heryet?"

  "No use spoilin' her holiday befo' we have to," said Sandy. "I'm goin'to talk with Keith first."

  "It'll be a good thing in a way, mebbe," said Miranda. "Molly belongsout west where she was born an' brought up. I hope she stays," she addedwith a shrewd glance at Sandy that startled him into a suspicion thatMiranda had guessed his secret.

  Kate Nicholson returned and the talk changed. Westlake and Mollyremained outside until the food was served. Then there was music.Through the evening the pair talked together, confidentially, apart fromthe rest. Miranda departed at last with the telegrams. Molly lingered asgood nights were said.

  "I've got something to tell you, Sandy," she said. "It's private, forthe present," she added with a glance toward Westlake.

  Sandy sat down by the fire with a sinking qualm. Molly perched herselfon the arm of his chair, silent for a moment or two.

  "It's a love story, Sandy," she said presently.

  "Westlake?"

  "Yes. He wanted me to tell you before he went. He's very fond of you,Sandy."

  "Is he?" Sandy spoke slowly, rousing himself with an effort. "I thinkhe's a fine chap. I sure wish him all the luck in the world." He fanciedhis voice sounded flat.

  "I suppose you wondered why we were so chummy all the evening?"

  "Yes. I wondered a li'l' about that." Sandy did not look at her, butgazed into the dying fire. He saw himself sitting there, lonely,woman-shy once more, through the long stretch of years, with a lettercoming once in a while from far-off places telling of a happiness thathe had hoped for and yet had known could not be for him; Sandy Bourke,cow-punch
er, two-gun man, rancher, growing old.

  "I was the first girl he had seen for a long while, you see," Molly wassaying. "And he had to talk it over with some one. He told me about itfirst this morning and then the telegram came."

  "Talkin' about what?"

  "His sweetheart. Now he can marry her with this opportunity. She maysail with him. Isn't it fine? He showed me her picture."

  "It's the best news I've heard fo' a long time," answered Sandy soberly.

  "I'm sleepy," said Molly. "Good night, Sandy, dear."

  She put her lips to his tanned cheek and left him in a maze. The dyingfire leaped up and the room lightened. It died down again, but Sandy satthere, smoking cigarette after cigarette.