It is easy to find a probable cause for any given act, but when one seeks the Ultimate Cause—the reason behind it all—that calls for deep thinking, and finesse. Human conduct is not so variable in many of its phases as to call for extended scrutiny, but the problem before Meshackatee was both so baffling and so disquieting that it left his brains in a whirl. That a girl as modest as Allifair Randolph, a woman who for months had received the attentions of scores of cowboys without one answering smile, should suddenly and for no reason throw aside all decorum and rush into the arms of a stranger—that was beyond the bounds of reason. It was so unreasonable it was foolish, and the great Cause must be sought for somewhere else. Then, surely, they had met before. Yes, met and learned to love and this was the reunion of two souls that had drifted far apart Allifair was that "certain party" for whom Hall had been seeking, and he had found her in the kitchen of the Scarboroughs.
Yet this comforting conclusion, plain and obvious as it was, merely opened up new fields of thought. Who was Allifair Randolph and who was this man Hall, and why did they make concealment of their love; and what would he do now, since he had discovered his beloved in the house of the man he despised? Would he cast aside his scruples against feuds and cattle wars and join the gang to be near her, or would he go his way and devise other means of winning the woman of his heart? Meshackatee thought it over and then his scheming mind began to turn the facts to his own purpose; and when the morning came he beckoned to his prisoner and led him across the creek to the mound. Here, beneath a gnarled oak which had grown up near the summit, drawing its strength from the dust of ancient dead, Meshackatee took out his field glasses and gazed long to the east before he broached the matter on his mind.
To the east lay Turkey Creek and the log fort of the Bassetts—and Grimes and his Mexicans as well—and it was to them fully as much as to the winning over of this stranger that his thoughts were turned that day. He had a dual mind, one part taking cognizance of the facts and the other busily using them to work his will; and when he spoke it was all to fit his program, though disguised in the mock-solemnity of a jest.
"Mr. Hall," he began, "I make it a principle never to interfere in the private affairs of any gentleman; but I saw something last night which pained me very much and I jest want to ask a few questions. Now in the first place, Mr. Hall, I want you to understand that Miss Allifair holds a high place in my regard; and I jest want to ask—as a friend, you understand—if your intentions are perfectly honorable?"
"My intentions!" faltered Hall, and then he went white and turned his face away. "Don't tell anybody!" he pleaded, clutching Meshackatee by the leg, "it would ruin our happiness forever. Oh, I was mad—insane—I should never have done it! But Meshackatee—she had thought I was dead!"
"Oh, dead, eh?" rumbled Meshackatee, squinting his calculating eyes and regarding him from beneath his long hair, "well, that makes a difference, of course. She'd heard about that shooting, and the bullet-hole under your heart and——"
"That's it—they told her I was dead!"
"'They'?"
"Yes. Her folks, and Mrs. Scarborough. She was a Randolph, you know, before her marriage; and she told Allifair I was dead."
"I—see!" observed Meshackatee, nodding his head and spitting wisely, "and was you young folks engaged to git married?"