Hartley’s eyes expressed incredulity; but he did not put his feelings into words, for he perceived in Lize a type with which he was entirely familiar—one to be handled with care. “What are you two women doing here? Are you related to one of these rangers?”
Lize resented this. “You’re asking a good many questions, Mr. Man.”
“That’s my trade,” was the unabashed reply, “and I’m not so old but that I can rise to a romantic situation.” Thereupon he dropped all direct interrogation, and with an air of candor told the story of his mission. Lize, entirely sympathetic, invited him to lunch, and he was soon in possession of their story, even to the tender relationship between Lee Virginia and the plague-besieged forest ranger.
“We’re not so mighty disinterested,” he said, referring to his paper. “The Round-up represents the New West in part, but to us the New West means opportunity to loot water-sites and pile up unearned increment. Oh yes, we’re on the side of the fruit and alfalfa grower, because it pays. If the boss of my paper happened to be in the sheep business, as Senator Blank White is, we would sing a different tune. Or if I were a Congressman representing a district of cattle-men, I’d be very slow about helping to build up any system that would make me pay for my grass. As it is, I’m commissioned to make it hot for the ranchers that killed those dagoes, and I’m going to do it. If this country had a man like Cavanagh for sheriff, we’d have the murderers in two days. He knows who the butchers are, and I’d like his help; but he’s nailed down here, and there’s no hope of his getting away. A few men like him could civilize this cursed country.”
Thereupon he drew from three pairs of lips a statement of the kind of man Ross Cavanagh was, but most significant of all were the few words of the girl, to whom this man of the pad and pencil was a magician, capable of exalting her hero and of advancing light and civilization by the mere motion of his hand. She liked him, and grew more and more willing to communicate, and he, perceiving in her something unusual, lingered on questioning. Then he rose. “I must be going,” he said to Lee. “You’ve given me a lovely afternoon.”
Lee Virginia was all too ignorant of the ways of reporters to resent his note-taking, and she accepted his hand, believing him to be the sincere admirer of her ranger. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going back to Sulphur to spread the report of Cavanagh’s quarantine.” Again that meaning smile. “I don’t want any other newspaper men mixed up in my game. I’m lonesome Ned in stunts like this, and I hope if they do come up you’ll be judiciously silent. Good-bye.”
Soon after the reporter left, Cavanagh called to Swenson: “The old man can’t last through another such a night as last night was, and I wish you would persuade Mrs. Wetherford and her daughter to return to the valley. They can do nothing here—absolutely nothing. Please say that.”
Swenson repeated his commands with all the emphasis he could give them, but neither Lize nor Lee would consent to go. “It would be heathenish to leave him alone in this lonesome hole,” protested Lize.
“I shall stay till he is free,” added Lee. And with uneasy heart she crossed the bridge and walked on and on toward the cabin till she was close enough to detect the lines of care on her lover’s haggard face.