“Thank you,” said Pierre.
He came in and talked and stayed for dinner. Yarnall was used to the Western fashion of doing business. He knew that it would be a long time before the young man would come to his point. But the Englishman was in no hurry, for he liked his visitor and found his talk diverting enough. Landis had been in Alaska—a lumber camp. He had risen to be foreman and now he was off for a vacation, but had to go back soon. He had been everywhere. It seemed to Yarnall that the stranger had visited every ranch in the Rocky Mountain belt.
After dinner, strolling beside his host toward his horse, Pierre spoke, and before Yarnall had heard a word he knew that the long delay had been caused by suppressed emotion. Pierre, when he did ask his question, was white to the lips.
“I’ve taken a lot of your time,” he said slowly. “I came to ask you about someone. I heard that you had a woman on your ranch, a woman who came in and didn’t give you any history. I want to see her if I may.” He was actually fighting an unevenness of breath, and Yarnall, unemotional as he was, was gripped with sympathetic suspense. “I want,” stammered the young man, “to know her name.”
Yarnall swore. “Her name, as she gave it,” said he, “is Jane. But, my boy, you can’t see her. She left this morning.”
Pierre raised a white, tense face.
“Left?” He turned as if he would run after her.
“Yes, sir. These people I’ve had here took her away with them. That is, they’ve been urging her to go, but she’d refused. Then, suddenly, this morning, just as they were putting the trunks in, up came Jane, white as chalk, asking them to take her with them, said she must go. Well, sir, they rigged her up with some traveling clothes and drove away with her. That was six hours ago. By now they’re in the train, bound for New York.”
Yarnall’s guest looked at him without speaking, and Yarnall nervously went on, “She’s been with us about six months, Landis, and I don’t know anything about her. She was tall, gray eyes, black hair, slow speaking, and with the kind of voice you’d be apt to notice ... yes, I see she’s the girl you’ve been looking for. I can give you the New York people’s address, but first, for Jane’s sake,—I’m a pretty good friend of hers, I think a lot of Jane,—I’ll have to know what you want with her—what she is to you.”
Pierre’s pupils widened till they all but swallowed the smoke-colored iris.