am going to scratch your eyes out, Mr. Stubbins," said she, quite earnestly. "Once I get the chance."
He pondered over this, not quite knowing whether she meant it literally or figuratively. The girl made herself clear.
"Don't take me for a baby. Trono is quite crooked—and you are behind him. You mean to make life so miserable for me that I'll be glad to give you the JIB."
"Who told you that?" he asked, drawing the question through his nose.
"It's to be seen."
He put his cup down, growing slightly red around the gills. "That newcomer filled you with that yarn. You sh'd have known better than to've trusted him."
"How is it you know so much about him in so short a time?" she countered. "Evidently someone has been keeping you informed."
The Englishman studied her at some length and at last came to a decision. "Well, if you want the cards on the table, I'll not deny I've been interested. But I'm a little better than you give me credit for being. Truth is, I have long cherished a notion."
"Yes?"
For so stolid a temper, he displayed unusual signs of nervousness. Rising, he kicked back the log of the fire, aligned the pipes on the mantle, and jammed one hand in his coat pocket. "Jill, you can't go on alone. Who ever heard of a woman running a cattle ranch? Now, look; I'm a substantial man. I own a great deal of land and stock and I can command a fair size of money. I'm not so old and, bless me, I do know how to enjoy life. But it is plagued lonesome batching in this house. Here—I'm getting into deep water! Will you throw in with me, Jill?"
"Marry you?"
"Well, it's a pleasant idea."
He was not expecting the torrent of laughter that followed. Indignant refusal he could understand, but laughter! Ridicule! The rosy color stained his long, horsey jaws from temple to cleft and he stood very quiet, waiting for her to stop. "What would you be marrying me for?" she asked, catching her breath.
"Why, devil! What does a man marry for? Companionship."
"And land and cattle." she added ironically.
"You are refusing me?"
"Of course. Do you think you are so profound that you can't be seen through? Now, let's talk sense. When are you going to stop this piracy and let me go? You will find you're keeping a white elephant. Sooner or later there will be trouble for you."
"I had thought you owned a little solid wisdom," he muttered. "I see you are but a giddy thing. I'll teach you better. Ay, I will."
She rose. "I give you warning you will learn more than you teach, Mr. Stubbins."
Stubbins watched her vanish toward her bedroom, his hands locked behind his broad back. He was scowling heavily in the heavy outraged manner of a man who had found his charitable intentions trampled under. Like many another of his kind he lacked humor; not the small incidental humor that causes a man to laugh at incongruous things, but the deep, rich vein of amusement rising out of self-knowledge. He was, in truth, a grave ass who thought he was doing Jill Breck a great turn. Naturally, he expected to profit from it. The fact of the matter was he did care somewhat for the girl, but this curious affection had been nourished almost wholly on the assumption that in marrying her he would be master of Pilgrim Valley.
Deprived of this manner of acquiring territory he became distinctly dangerous. Cautious, disposed to use a soft word where it would do the work of a hard one, he nevertheless always pushed toward the main object, never allowing himself to be shunted aside. He had feared Breck as he had feared no other living man; that alone kept him humble. But Breck was gone and, like Trono, he felt a weight removed. From now on he would be less cautious.
So he stood before the fireplace, pipe clenched in his teeth, studying his problem. Possession of Jill was no simple matter; he knew he had most of the county officials beneath his thumb and he likewise knew that with the 3Cross crew and the JIB crew—the latter chosen by him through Trono—he could stand off a good sized posse. Even so, it was a dangerous situation. Once a sentiment thoroughly took hold of the country it swept men along at a tremendous rate. If Jill's captivity should become general knowledge it would do nothing but harm to him.
"Trono," he muttered, "was a cursed fool for making this move. He should have taken the girl back to the JIB and held her there. Then nobody could say she was being kidnapped—on her own ranch."
Trono, as it had often turned out before, was the stumbling block. The man was forever doing the wrong thing, the bull-headed thing. Always butting into trouble. Trono didn't know that you could only push a community about so far; after that they rose and wrought destruction.
"Well," he said to himself, "she made a bad bargain when she turned me down. I may look soft but I'll not let her turn me. Gad, I will not! She chooses to take pot luck. All right. I'll use a man's weapons on her. That I will."
Jill, meanwhile, had gone storming to her room with mixed emotions. In the darkness—there seemed to be no lamp—she stood quite still, listening for the lock to turn; but Stubbins had not followed her and she felt more relieved than she could express. Stubbins had made his bid and in doing so had disclosed his mind. Here was another of those men who would stop at no point short of his destination. He used a little bluster, he was quite the suave gentleman when it pleased him; that made him the more formidable. Jill, on tiptoes, went to the window and peeped through the blind. A cigarette tip glowed in the darkness, warning her that she was still guarded.
It heightened her feeling of desperate resistance. Catching hold of the door knob she turned it until the lock clicked ever so slightly. Inch at a time she slipped it open; down the hall the boards glowed from the reflection of the fire in the big room. That way she could not go without crossing Stubbins' vision. The other way, then. Slipping through, she closed the door with equal care and slid into darkness, not knowing where this black alley led. Dishes rattled from the kitchen, a patch of light fell athwart her path, then a draught of air. Luck! She was on the sill of an open door that led into the back yard of the house.
The glowing cigarette tip was just out of range around an elbow of the house. The barn loomed against the sky, a landmark on which she unconsciously set her course. Somewhere she'd find a horse and get clear of this Englishman and his plans. But Red, where was he? Jill, setting her foot into an unexpected hollow, bit her tongue and wistfully wished for the comfort of his presence. Her father had judged right at first sight—Red was a man!
The barn's shadow engulfed her and Jill, fearful that Stubbins might now be discovering her absence, moved faster. She brushed a post, lost her balance in the sharp turn and unexpectedly kicked over a bucket, waking what seemed to her every echo on the ranch. To the right, the bunkhouse door suddenly opened and a figure stood silhouetted in a gush of yellow light. Someone drawled, "That you, Bill?" Hard on this, she heard Stubbins' mealy accent bark across the yard. "Ashbey, where the devil have you been? She's given me the slip! Roust out!"
At that she ran faster, circling the barn, seeing the man spring from the bunkhouse in hot pursuit. She collided against the sharp bars of a corral and said "darn!" in an aggravated, rising tone. She could not turn back, so she started to climb over; but that, too, was fatal. Boots thudded near by and an ungentle hand hauled her down from her perch. "Honey," said a soft, southern voice, "you got spunk, but yore buckin' the wrong brand."
She marched meekly back to the house and into the light of the big room. Stubbins stared at her with a hard, glowering gaze. "Get to your room! Don't try that again, hear! I have men on guard around this house and they're ordered to shoot."
Jill said, malice in her voice, "I told you, Mr. Stubbins, you'd have trouble keeping me. I'll scratch your eyes out yet." She went quickly to her room, this time hearing the key turn. There was another sound, too. Hoofs drummed on the hard ground outside and a man challenged, evoking a rumbling, familiar reply. "Oh, put up yore damn gun. Yuh'd think this was an army. It's me—Trono."
The interview between Trono and Stubbins was very brief, as usual. The two men seemed to find little comfort in each other's company; for all their common crookedness. Trono strode