Few at Foss River appreciated the blessings of summer more fully than did Jacky Allandale, and few worked harder than did she. Almost single-handed she grappled with the stupendous task of the management of the great ranch, and no "hand," however experienced, was more capable in the most arduous tasks which that management involved. From the skillful organization down to the roping and branding of a wild two-year-old steer there was no one who understood the business of stock-raising better than she. She loved it—it was the very essence of life to her.
Silas, her uncle's foreman, was in the habit of summing her up in his brief but expressive way.
"Missie Jacky?" he would exclaim, in tones of surprise, to any one who dared to express wonder at her masterly management. "Guess a cyclone does its biz mighty thorough, but I take it ef that gal 'ud been born a hurricane she'd 'ave dislodged mountains an' played baseball with the glaciers."
But this year things were different with the mistress of the Foss River Ranch. True she went about her work with that thorough appreciation which she always displayed, but the young face had last something of its happy girlish delight—that débonnaire cheerfulness which usually characterized it. A shadow seemed to be hanging over her—a shadow, which, although it marred in no way her fresh young beauty, added a deepened pensiveness to her great somber eyes, and seemed to broaden the fringing black ring round the gray pupils. This year the girl had more to grapple with than the mere management of the ranch.
Her uncle needed all her care. And, too, the consciousness that the result of all her work was insufficient to pay the exorbitant interest on mortgages which had been forced upon her uncle by the hated, designing Lablache took something of the zest from her labors. Then, besides this, there were thoughts of the compact sealed between her lover and herself in Bad Man's Hollow, and the knowledge of the intentions of the money-lender towards "Lord" Bill, all helped to render her distrait. She knew all about the scene which had taken place at Bill's ranch, and she knew that, for her lover at least, the crash had come. During that first month of the open season the girl had been sorely tried. There was no one but "Aunt" Margaret to whom she could go for comfort or sympathy, and even she, with her wise councils and far-seeing judgment, could not share in the secrets which weighed so heavily upon the girl.
Jacky had not experienced, as might have been expected, very great difficulty in keeping her uncle fast to the grind-stone of duty. Whatever his faults and weaknesses, John Allandale was first of all a rancher, and when once the winter breaks every rancher must work—ay, work like no negro slave ever worked. It was only in the evenings, when bodily fatigue had weakened the purpose of ranching habit, and when the girl, wearied with her day's work, relaxed her vigilance, that the old man craved for the object of his passion and its degrading accompaniment. Then he would nibble at the whisky bottle, having "earned his tonic," as he would say, until the potent spirit had warmed his courage and he would hurry off to the saloon for "half an hour's flutter," which generally terminated in the small hours of the morning.
Such was the state of affairs at the Foss River Ranch when Lablache put into execution his threats against the Hon. Bunning-Ford. The settlement had returned to its customary torpid serenity. The round-up was over, and all the "hands" had returned to the various ranches to which they belonged. The little place had entered upon its period of placid sleep, which would last until the advent of the farmers to spend the proceeds of their garnered harvest. But this would be much later in the year, and in the meantime Foss River would sleep.
The night before the sale of "Lord" Bill's ranch, he and Jacky went for a ride. They had thus ridden out on many evenings of late. Old John was too absorbed in his own affairs to bother himself at these evening journeyings, although, in his careless way, he noticed how frequent a visitor at the ranch Bill had lately become. Still, he made no objection. If his niece saw fit to encourage these visits he would not interfere. In his eyes the girl could do no wrong. It was his one redeeming feature, his love for the motherless girl, and although his way of showing it was more than open to criticism, it was true he loved her with a deep, strong affection.
Foss River was far too sleepy to bother about these comings and goings. Lablache, alone, of the sleepy hamlet, eyed the evening journeys with suspicion. But even he was unable to fathom their object, and was forced to set them down, his whole being consumed with jealousy the while, to lovers' wanderings. However, these nightly rides were taken with purpose. After galloping across the prairie in various directions they always, as darkness crept on, terminated at a certain spot—the clump of willows and reeds at which the secret path across the great keg began.
The sun was well down below the distant mountain peaks when Jacky and her lover reached the scrubby bush of willows and reeds upon the evening before the day of the sale of Bill's ranch. As they drew up their panting horses, and dismounted, the evening twilight was deepening over the vast expanse of the mire.