CHAPTER IX: A RUINED RANCH
That same day Nan rode with Len Ayres. Sailor had a touch of rheumatism, which made riding a painful pastime, so he stayed at the ranch.
By this time Nan had become accustomed to the saddle, and was really enjoying the riding. Len had never had much to say to her about himself or his past, and most of his conversation consisted in explaining the duties connected with running a successful cattle ranch.
This particular day he was more quiet and thoughtful than ever. They rode westward from the Box S, crossed the railroad tracks and forded the river between Lobo Wells and the OK ranch. They followed the river for a short distance, but swung west again along a small stream, until they reached a tumbledown sort of a small cattle ranch.
They drew rein on a slope above the cluster of small houses, which were deserted, and Len studied them for a long time. Finally he turned to Nan, a whimsical smile in his greenish-gray eyes.
“There’s a monument to busted hopes,” he said slowly.
“I don’t understand, Len,” she said.
“No, that’s right; you wouldn’t,” he said gravely. “I don’t reckon many folks around here realise it. To them it’s just an old deserted ranch. The range country is full of ’em, Nan. But this one happened to have been mine—once. It was when I took a step upward from bein’ just a cowboy.”
“Oh, was this your ranch, Len?”
He nodded and began the manufacture of a cigarette.
“It’s a line camp for the JP now. They own it.”
“Why did you sell out?”
He sighed as he scratched a match on the leg of his batwing chaps and lighted his cigarette.
“I didn’t have much to say about it, Nan. The court gave my wife a divorce and all the property. She sold it.”
“Oh, that was too bad.”
“They call it justice, Nan. I had a nice start in cattle and horses.”
“I have heard some of it. Whispering told me part of it. She married a banker, didn’t she?”
“A bank cashier,” he nodded. “Quite a jump from the wife of a wild cowboy. But she was ambitious, I reckon.”
“Whispering said that she was very pretty.”
“I suppose she was. She knew it. That ruined her, Nan.”
“Knowing that she was pretty?”
“Shore,” Len smiled wistfully. “It spoiled her. When a woman finds out she’s pretty, she’s like a young man who finds out he’s a good shot. They’re both goin’ to hurt somebody before they get through.”
“I’m glad I’m not pretty, Len.”
He turned in his saddle and looked at her closely.
“No, you’re not pretty, Nan; but yo’re good-lookin’. You’ve got good eyes, pretty teeth and red hair. Some day, some feller is goin’ to think yo’re beautiful, and he’ll tell yuh. But you’ve got plenty sense, and yuh won’t break his heart, because yuh know yuh ain’t beautiful.”
Nan flushed hotly under his diagnosis. No woman cares to be told that she is not beautiful, even if she knows that it is the painful truth.
“Don’t get mad at me, Nan,” he said quickly.
“I’m not mad, Len.”
“That’s fine. I reckon I got kinda rough with yuh, but when I look down at that place I kinda lose faith in women and men. That’s where my boy was born, Nan. I remember that night so well. I rode for the doctor to Lobo Wells and got him out of bed. He wanted to hitch up his buggy horse, but I made him pile on to my bronc, ’cause we needed him bad.
“I said I’d hitch up his horse and foller behind. I was so excited that I plumb forgot that I was ridin’ a bad bronc, and about halfway between here and the town I picked up the doctor. He was scratchin’ matches in the middle of the road, tryin’ to find his medicine case. The bronc throwed him flat. But we got there in time.
“Oh, he was a fine little boy. I was the nurse. The cattle business went flat with me. We didn’t have no cook; so I done the cookin’ and the nursin’. This is the first time I’ve seen the old place in over five years, Nan—and it hurts. Memories hurt, even if they’re happy memories. Mine are both kinds.”
“Was she happy with this other man, Len?”
“Quién sabe? I hope she was, Nan. Everybody is entitled to happiness. Accordin’ to my viewpoint, she didn’t play square. She wasn’t happy nor satisfied for a long time. Nan, a woman has got to love a man to live with him in the range country. Not only that, but she’s got to sacrifice a lot. Girls who are born to it get along the best. They don’t know anythin’ else.”
“It is a lonesome life,” said Nan slowly. “But I think I could learn to love it, Len. The city seems so narrow beside this country. I could understand hate in a city, but not out here.”
“There will always be hate, as long as men live, Nan.”
“Did you love your wife, Len?”
He looked queerly at her, turned away and rubbed the palm of his right hand on his saddle-horn.
“I admired her, Nan. Mebbe I loved her. I loved my baby. She said I loved the baby more than I did her. Women get queer notions. Do you get queer notions, Nan?”
“About what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That was a foolish question. Didja ever have a sweetheart, Nan?”
“I suppose I have,” laughed Nan.
“Didja love him?”
“I don’t think I did, Len.”
“Uh-huh. My wife used to tell about the sweethearts she had. I reckon she kept quite a tally. But she said she never loved one, until she met me. If that was the case, God was mighty good to them other boys.”
“Did she sell everything you owned, Len?”
“Shore. I had a house in town, too. Wasn’t worth much, but she sold it. She took what money I had in the bank. Whisperin’ says she wasn’t satisfied with what she got. There was another bank roll, and she thought it was where she could get it, but it wasn’t in sight. Baggs, yore lawyer, wrote me a letter, askin’ where it was. I reckon she hired him to write the letter.”
“You didn’t tell him, did you, Len?”
Len smiled bitterly.
“No, I didn’t, Nan. I told him where he could go, but he didn’t take my advice. Queer jigger, that Baggs person.”
“Has he a good reputation, Len?”
He looked at her queerly.
“Why do you ask that question, Nan?”
“Just curiosity, I suppose.”
“I suppose I’m prejudiced, Nan. Yuh see, he sent me to the penitentiary. The evidence wasn’t so awful. They found my hat in the bank, after a robbery. Kinda foolish for a man to leave his hat, after robbin’ a bank, wasn’t it?” He smiled wryly at her, as he eased himself in his saddle.
“But Baggs is a bitter devil,” he continued. “He said a lot of dirty things about me durin’ that trial, and he made the jury believe ’em. I didn’t have any friends on that jury, Nan; Baggs saw to that, and Charley Prentice was the star witness. He swore he recognised me, and the judge sent me up for five years.”
“Why did you come back here, Len?”
“Why?”
“With all the bitter memories and the things against you.”
He looked at her, his greenish-gray eyes half-closed thoughtfully.
“Mebbe I came back to dig up the money they say I hid.”
“I’m sorry I asked that question, Len.”
“Oh, it don’t matter, Nan. Everybody wonders, I reckon. Well,” he picked up his reins, “I suppose I’ll dig it up some day. Hope to. Right now, it don’t look promisin’, but yuh never can tell.”
“Don’t you want to go down and look at the old place, Len?”
He shook his head quickly.
“I don’t think so. Whisperin’ told me that they tore up all the floors and dug all around, lookin’ for my cache. I s’pose every cowpuncher in this country has hunted for my buried treasure in the last five years. They can dig for five more, and never find it, Nan. Well, we might as well start back home.”
“All right, Len. Do you know, I was just wondering why Baggs asked me to make you foreman of the Box S, when he was so bitter toward you before.”
“Mebbe he felt sorry for me,” smiled Len.
“Perhaps,” doubtfully. “I wouldn’t trust him too far.”
“You wouldn’t? Well, I guess that’s right. Yuh see, I don’t trust anybody, Nan.”
“You’d trust me, wouldn’t you?”
He turned and looked squarely at her for a moment.
“Mebbe I’ll tell yuh about it sometime,” he replied enigmatically, and they rode slowly back toward the river.
Len’s reply worried Nan. Did he know she was an impostor, she wondered? She knew that Len had been very close to old Harmony Singer. Whispering had told her about the friendship between these two men for years, and that Harmony had looked upon Len almost as a son. She wondered what it was behind those greenish-gray eyes that caused Len to look so queerly at her at times.
If there had been any other claimants to the Box S Nan would have slipped quietly out of the country, but Whispering had told her that she was the only living relative of Harmony Singer, as far as he knew. Some one had to own the ranch.
She was afraid of Amos Baggs, but she did not know what his game was. And why did he ask her to keep Len Ayres, she wondered? Was Len in on the deal in some way? She had no one to talk with; no one to confide in. It was just a case of going ahead day by day, waiting to see what might develop, at least until the will had been probated.
Nothing more had been said about the cheque which Baggs had asked her to sign, but as they rode in at the Box S Len turned to her and said:
“Baggs is probably sore about yuh not signin’ that cheque for him, Nan; but you stick to it. After the will is probated, it’ll be all right. Stick as close to the law as yuh can—it’s the safest thing to do.”
“He can’t make me sign it,” smiled Nan, and Len looked sharply at her for a moment.
“No, I don’t reckon he can. Anyway, his price is pretty steep for just notifyin’ yuh. I suppose he got paid as he went along, and never ran any bills. But don’tcha worry about Baggs.”
“Oh, I’m not worrying about him, Len. I’d rather take your advice than his.”
“Well,” drawled Len, “I wouldn’t go so far as that, if I was you, Nan. He knows a lot about the workings of the law, while about all I know is the effects of it.”
Nan slipped to the ground and handed her reins to Len. “You shouldn’t remind yourself of that all the time, Len,” she said.
“I’ve got to,” he told her seriously. “Why, if I didn’t remind myself all the time of them five years, I’d go out and—and prob’ly get sent back again. Nan, don’t never do anythin’ that might send yuh to jail.”
He turned abruptly and started toward the stable with the two horses, leaving Nan rather breathless, looking after him. Came the soft drumming of the old triangle beside the kitchen door, and she turned to see Whispering grinning at her.
“Supper time, boss,” he said, his red face beaming like a full moon. “Amos Baggs came out to see yuh to-day, and me and Sailor shore sent him back home talkin’ to himself. First time I ever seen Amos Baggs with a skinful of liquor. Oh, he wasn’t drunk, but he had plenty. He was jist a mongrel when he showed up here, but me and Sailor shore sent him home with a pedigree.”
“Did he say what he wanted?” asked Nan.
“Never had no chance, ma’am. We didn’t listen—we talked. You hop into yore other clothes quick, ’cause them biscuits are due to rise out of the oven right now. Sailor felt so good over his talk with Baggs that he cut me plenty good wood for once in his rheumatic existence.”
“Was Mr. Baggs angry?” asked Nan.
“I dunno,” grinned Whispering. “But ’f he wasn’t, he’s shore deaf as hell or got a wonderful disposition.”