But her self-denial was strained to breaking as the interminable minutes grew, and, at last, she abandoned her principles to her woman's curiosity, and slipped into the room. She knew well enough that none of those present would resent her intrusion. And, anyway, it was hard to stand by when her whole interest was absorbed in the decisions to be arrived at.
She passed round the room and took up a position on the arm of her father's chair. No one spoke to her. Scarcely an eye turned in her direction. And something of the impressiveness of it all caught the girl's imagination.
There was the dear familiar room with its simple furnishing, and its poignant associations. It was part of her life. It was certainly part of her father's and Jeff's. Then there was the warm sunlight pouring in through the open windows. It lit the tanned, strong faces of the men, and searched the weak spots in their toil-worn equipment. There was not a weak face among them. And Nan felt comfort in the thought that theirs was the decision.
The face of Jay Pendick, their own headman, with its small, alert dark eyes reflected the intentness of his mind. His capacity had been tried over and over again in his long years of service. Then Lal Hobhouse, the best-hated man on the countryside for his ruthless genius in obtaining work from those under him, and the driving force of Jeff's side of the partnership. Her father, wise and silent, except for his heavy breathing. And lastly Jeff, full of a hard determination to beat the game in which he was engaged.
So keen was the interest of the gathering that Bud alone was smoking. But then Bud regarded tobacco as a necessary adjunct to soundness of judgment.
He slipped an arm about Nan's waist as she took up her position at his side.
Jeff was seated at the centre table, a position strongly reminiscent to the girl of a smaller gathering some four years back, when he had occupied the position of leadership in the enterprise which had had such successful results for them all. Jay was poised upon the edge of a small chair which suggested immediate peril under his forceful and scarcely elegant methods when discussing the doings of rustlers, and imparting his opinion upon all and sundry of their class. Lal disdained all parlor attitude. He was squatting against the edge of the table without the least consideration for its somewhat trifling powers of endurance. But Jeff was talking, and Nan's whole attention was swiftly caught and held by the man whose words and actions were at all times irresistible to her.
He was talking slowly and clearly with that shadow of a drawl which was his way when his decision was arrived at.
"Say, it's as clear as don't matter we're up against an experienced and organized proposition," he said. "I don't guess this is any kind of scallawag outfit of toughs which just get around and duff a bunch, and hit the trail for safety till the froth they've raised dies down again. It's Orrville repeating itself." He paused thoughtfully. His eyes were regarding the table before him. When he raised them again they were full of a peculiar light which shone in Bud's direction. "Ther's features in the game carry a parallel to that play, and I guess they point the fact that the fellers of that gang who got away at their round-up have got around this region now, and figure to carry on the same play right here. You'll get that, Bud—sure." Bud nodded. "Well, it's up to us," Jeff went on, as though the other's agreement had left his course of action clear. "Maybe ther's States Marshalls around, and a pretty bunch of deputies lying behind Sheriff Hank Killick, but there never was an official gang these folk couldn't beat a mile. Guess they're not duffing the private property of Hank Killick, or any of his boys. We best get busy our own way, which is the way Dug McFarlane took nearly five years to dream out."
His blue eyes had grown colder and harder while he talked. There was a bite, too, in the manner in which he referred to the doings in Orrville of four years ago. There was a curious curl to his firm lips, which, to Nan's mind, suggested a painful smile. And she disliked it. She disliked his whole manner, which, just now, was none of the Jeff she had always known. Bud read deeper. And that which he read carried him back to an unforgettable scene in the Cathills, when a twin stood gazing upon its other half, hanging by the neck dead under the shade of a wide-spreading tree.