“Welcome to the Diamond K, Miss Benham,” he said. “Won’t you get off your horse?”
“Thank you; I came on business and must return immediately. There has been a misunderstanding, my father says. He wired me, directing me to apologize, for him, for Mr. Corrigan’s actions of yesterday. Perhaps Mr. Corrigan over-stepped his authority—I have no means of knowing.” She passed the morocco bag over to him, and he took it, looking at it in some perplexity. “You will find cash in there to the amount named by the check that Mr. Corrigan destroyed. I hope,” she added, smiling at him, “that there will be no more trouble.”
“The payment of this money for the right-of-way removes the provocation for trouble,” he laughed. “Barkwell,” he directed, turning to the foreman; “you may go back to the outfit.” He looked after the foreman as the latter rode away, turning presently to Rosalind. “If you will wait a few minutes, until I stow this money in a safe place, I’ll ride back to the cut with you and pull the boys off.”
She had wondered much over the rifles in the hands of his men at the cut. “Would your men have used their guns?” she asked.
He had turned to go to the house, and he wheeled quickly, astonished. “Certainly!” he said; “why not?”
“That would be lawlessness, would it not?” It made her shiver slightly to hear him so frankly confess to murderous designs.
“It was not my quarrel,” he said, looking at her narrowly, his brows contracted. “Law is all right where everybody accepts it as a governor to their actions. I accept it when it deals fairly with me—when it’s just. Certain rights are mine, and I’ll fight for them. This situation was brought on by Corrigan’s obstinacy. We had a fight, and it peeved him because I wouldn’t permit him to hammer my head off. He destroyed the check, and as the company’s option expired yesterday it was unlawful for the company to trespass on my land.”
“Well,” she smiled, affected by his vehemence; “we shall have peace now, presumably. And—” she reddened again “—I want to ask your pardon on my own account, for speaking to you as I did yesterday. I thought you brutal—the way you rode your horse over Mr. Corrigan. Mr. Carson assured me that the horse was to blame.”
“I am indebted to Carson,” he laughed, bowing. Rosalind watched him go into the house, and then turned and inspected her surroundings. The house was big, roomy, with a massive hip roof. A paved gallery stretched the entire length of the front—she would have liked to rest for a few minutes in the heavy rocker that stood in its cool shadows. No woman lived here, she was certain, because there was a lack of evidence of woman’s handiwork—no filmy curtains at the windows—merely shades; no cushion was on the chair—which, by the way, looked lonesome—but perhaps that was merely her imagination. Much dust had gathered on the gallery floor and on the sash of the windows—a woman would have had things looking differently. And so she divined that Trevison was not married. It surprised her to discover that that thought had been in her mind, and she turned to continue her inspection, filled with wonder that it had been there.
She got an impression of breadth and spaciousness out of her survey of the buildings and the surrounding country. The buildings were in good condition; everything looked substantial and homelike and her contemplation of it aroused in her a yearning for a house and land in this section of the country, it was so peaceful and dignified in comparison with the life she knew.